Free Ebooks - TALES AND NOVELS

TALES AND NOVELS

VOL. 6

BY

MARIA EDGEWORTH

THE ABSENTEE.

CHAPTER I.

"Are you to be at Lady Clonbrony's gala next week?" said Lady Langdale
to Mrs. Dareville, whilst they were waiting for their carriages in the
crush-room of the opera-house.

"Oh, yes! every body's to be there, I hear," replied Mrs. Dareville.
"Your ladyship, of course?"

"Why, I don't know; if I possibly can. Lady Clonbrony makes it such
a point with me, that I believe I must look in upon her for a few
minutes. They are going to a prodigious expense on this occasion. Soho
tells me the reception rooms are all to be new furnished, and in the
most magnificent style."

"At what a famous rate those Clonbronies are dashing on," said colonel
Heathcock. "Up to any thing."

"Who are they?--these Clonbronies, that one hears of so much of
late?" said her grace of Torcaster. "Irish absentees, I know. But
how do they support all this enormous expense?" "The son _will_ have
a prodigiously fine estate when some Mr. Quin dies," said Mrs.
Dareville.

"Yes, every body who comes from Ireland _will_ have a fine estate when
somebody dies," said her grace. "But what have they at present?"

"Twenty thousand a year, they say," replied Mrs. Dareville.

"Ten thousand, I believe," cried Lady Langdale.

"Ten thousand, have they?--possibly," said her grace. "I know nothing
about them--have no acquaintance among the Irish. Torcaster knows
something of Lady Clonbrony; she has fastened herself by some means
upon him; but I charge him not to _commit_ me. Positively, I could not
for any body, and much less for that sort of person, extend the circle
of my acquaintance."

"Now that is so cruel of your grace," said Mrs. Dareville, laughing,
"when poor Lady Clonbrony works so hard, and pays so high to get into
certain circles."

"If you knew all she endures, to look, speak, move, breathe, like an
Englishwoman, you would pity her," said Lady Langdale.

"Yes, and you _cawnt_ conceive the _peens_ she _teekes_ to talk of the
_teebles_ and _cheers_, and to thank Q, and with so much _teeste_ to
speak pure English," said Mrs. Dareville.

"Pure cockney, you mean," said Lady Langdale.

"But does Lady Clonbrony expect to pass for English?" said the
duchess.

"Oh, yes! because she is not quite Irish _bred and born_--only bred,
not born," said Mrs. Dareville. "And she could not be five minutes
in your grace's company, before she would tell you that she was
_Henglish_, born in _Hoxfordshire_."

"She must be a vastly amusing personage--I should like to meet her
if one could see and hear her incog.," said the duchess. "And Lord
Clonbrony, what is he?"

"Nothing, nobody," said Mrs. Dareville: "one never even hears of him."

"A tribe of daughters, too, I suppose?"

"No, no," said Lady Langdale; "daughters would be past all endurance."

"There's a cousin, though, a Miss Nugent," said Mrs. Dareville, "that
Lady Clonbrony has with her."

"Best part of her, too," said Colonel Heathcock--"d----d fine
girl!--never saw her look better than at the opera to-night!"

"Fine _complexion_! as Lady Clonbrony says, when she means a high
colour," said Lady Langdale.

"Miss Nugent is not a lady's beauty," said Mrs. Dareville. "Has she
any fortune, colonel?"

"'Pon honour, don't know," said the colonel.

"There's a son, somewhere, is not there?" said Lady Langdale.

"Don't know, 'pon honour," replied the colonel.

"Yes--at Cambridge--not of age yet," said Mrs. Dareville. "Bless me!
here is Lady Clonbrony come back. I thought she was gone half an hour
ago!"

"Mamma," whispered one of Lady Langdale's daughters, leaning between
her mother and Mrs. Dareville, "who is that gentleman that passed us
just now?"

"Which way?"

"Towards the door.--There now, mamma, you can see him. He is speaking
to Lady Clonbrony--to Miss Nugent--now Lady Clonbrony is introducing
him to Miss Broadhurst."

"I see him now," said Lady Langdale, examining him through her glass;
"a very gentlemanlike looking young man indeed."

"Not an Irishman, I am sure, by his manner," said her grace.

"Heathcock!" said Lady Langdale, "who is Miss Broadhurst talking to?"

"Eh! now really--'pon honour--don't know," replied Heathcock.

"And yet he certainly looks like somebody one should know," pursued
Lady Langdale, "though I don't recollect seeing him any where before."

"Really now!" was all the satisfaction she could gain from the
insensible, immovable colonel. However, her ladyship, after sending
a whisper along the line, gained the desired information, that the
young gentleman was Lord Colambre, son, only son, of Lord and Lady
Clonbrony--that he was just come from Cambridge--that he was not yet
of age--that he would be of age within a year; that he would then,
after the death of somebody, come into possession of a fine estate
by the mother's side; "and therefore, Cat'rine, my dear," said she,
turning round to the daughter who had first pointed him out, "you
understand we should never talk about other people's affairs."

"No, mamma, never. I hope to goodness, mamma, Lord Colambre did not
hear what you and Mrs. Dareville were saying!"

"How could he, child?--He was quite at the other end of the world."

"I beg your pardon, ma'am--he was at my elbow, close behind us; but I
never thought about him till I heard somebody say 'my lord--'"

"Good heavens!--I hope he didn't hear."

"But, for my part, I said nothing," cried Lady Langdale.

"And for my part, I said nothing but what every body knows," cried
Mrs. Dareville.

"And for my part, I am guilty only of hearing," said the duchess. "Do,
pray, Colonel Heathcock, have the goodness to see what my people are
about, and what chance we have of getting away to-night."

"The Duchess of Torcaster's carriage stops the way!"--a joyful sound
to Colonel Heathcock and to her grace, and not less agreeable, at this
instant, to Lady Langdale, who, the moment she was disembarrassed
of the duchess, pressed through the crowd to Lady Clonbrony, and
addressing her with smiles and complacency, was charmed to have a
little moment to speak to her--could _not_ sooner get through the
crowd--would certainly do herself the honour to be at her ladyship's
gala. While Lady Langdale spoke, she never seemed to see or think of
any body but Lady Clonbrony, though, all the time, she was intent upon
every motion of Lord Colambre; and whilst she was obliged to listen
with a face of sympathy to a long complaint of Lady Clonbrony's,
about Mr. Soho's want of taste in ottomans, she was vexed to perceive
that his lordship showed no desire to be introduced to her or to
her daughters; but, on the contrary, was standing talking to Miss
Nugent. His mother, at the end of her speech, looked round for
"Colambre"--called him twice before he heard--introduced him to Lady
Langdale, and to Lady Cat'rine, and Lady Anne ----, and to Mrs.
Dareville; to all of whom he bowed with an air of proud coldness,
which gave them reason to regret that their remarks upon his mother
and his family had not been made _sotto voce_.

"Lady Langdale's carriage stops the way!" Lord Colambre made no offer
of his services, notwithstanding a look from his mother. Incapable of
the meanness of voluntarily listening to a conversation not intended
for him to hear, he had, however, been compelled, by the pressure
of the crowd, to remain a few minutes stationary, where he could not
avoid hearing the remarks of the fashionable friends: disdaining
dissimulation, he made no attempt to conceal his displeasure. Perhaps
his vexation was increased by his consciousness that there was some
mixture of truth in their sarcasms. He was sensible that his mother,
in some points--her manners, for instance--was obvious to ridicule and
satire. In Lady Clonbrony's address there was a mixture of constraint,
affectation, and indecision, unusual in a person of her birth, rank,
and knowledge of the world. A natural and unnatural manner seemed
struggling in all her gestures, and in every syllable that she
articulated--a naturally free, familiar, good-natured, precipitate,
Irish manner, had been schooled, and schooled late in life, into a
sober, cold, still, stiff deportment, which she mistook for English.
A strong Hibernian accent she had, with infinite difficulty, changed
into an English tone. Mistaking reverse of wrong for right, she
caricatured the English pronunciation; and the extraordinary precision
of her London phraseology betrayed her not to be a Londoner, as the
man who strove to pass for an Athenian was detected by his Attic
dialect. Not aware of her real danger, Lady Clonbrony was, on the
opposite side, in continual apprehension every time she opened her
lips, lest some treacherous _a_ or _e_, some strong _r_, some puzzling
aspirate or non-aspirate, some unguarded note, interrogative, or
expostulatory, should betray her to be an Irishwoman. Mrs. Dareville
had, in her mimicry, perhaps, a little exaggerated, as to the
_teebles_ and _cheers_, but still the general likeness of the
representation of Lady Clonbrony was strong enough to strike and vex
her son. He had now, for the first time, an opportunity of judging of
the estimation in which his mother and his family were held by certain
leaders of the ton, of whom, in her letters, she had spoken so much,
and into whose society, or rather into whose parties, she had been
admitted. He saw that the renegado cowardice with which she denied,
abjured, and reviled her own country, gained nothing but ridicule and
contempt. He loved his mother; and, whilst he endeavoured to conceal
her faults and foibles as much as possible from his own heart, he
could not endure those who dragged them to light and ridicule. The
next morning, the first thing that occurred to Lord Colambre's
remembrance, when he awoke, was the sound of the contemptuous emphasis
which had been laid on the words IRISH ABSENTEES!--This led to
recollections of his native country, to comparisons of past and
present scenes, to future plans of life. Young and careless as he
seemed, Lord Colambre was capable of serious reflection. Of naturally
quick and strong capacity, ardent affections, impetuous temper, the
early years of his childhood passed at his father's castle in Ireland,
where, from the lowest servant to the well-dressed dependent of the
family, every body had conspired to wait upon, to fondle, to flatter,
to worship, this darling of their lord. Yet he was not spoiled--not
rendered selfish; for in the midst of this flattery and servility,
some strokes of genuine generous affection had gone home to his little
heart: and though unqualified submission had increased the natural
impetuosity of his temper, and though visions of his future grandeur
had touched his infant thought, yet, fortunately, before he acquired
any fixed habits of insolence or tyranny, he was carried far away
from all that were bound or willing to submit to his commands, far
away from all signs of hereditary grandeur--plunged into one of our
great public schools--into a new world. Forced to struggle, mind and
body, with his equals, his rivals, the little lord became a spirited
school-boy, and in time, a man. Fortunately for him, science and
literature happened to be the fashion among a set of clever young
men with whom he was at Cambridge. His ambition for intellectual
superiority was raised, his views were enlarged, his tastes and
his manners formed. The sobriety of English good sense mixed most
advantageously with Irish vivacity: English prudence governed, but did
not extinguish, his Irish enthusiasm. But, in fact, English and Irish
had not been invidiously contrasted in his mind: he had been so long
resident in England, and so intimately connected with Englishmen, that
he was not obvious to any of the commonplace ridicule thrown upon
Hibernians; and he had lived with men who were too well informed and
liberal to misjudge or depreciate a sister country. He had found, from
experience, that, however reserved the English may be in manner, they
are warm at heart; that, however averse they may be from forming new
acquaintance, their esteem and confidence once gained, they make the
most solid friends. He had formed friendships in England; he was fully
sensible of the superior comforts, refinement, and information, of
English society; but his own country was endeared to him by early
association, and a sense of duty and patriotism attached him to
Ireland.--"And shall I too be an absentee?" was a question which
resulted from these reflections--a question which he was not yet
prepared to answer decidedly.

In the mean time, the first business of the morning was to execute
a commission for a Cambridge friend. Mr. Berryl had bought from Mr.
Mordicai, a famous London coachmaker, a curricle, _warranted sound_,
for which he had paid a sound price, upon express condition that Mr.
Mordicai should be answerable for all repairs of the curricle for six
months. In three, both the carriage and body were found to be good for
nothing--the curricle had been returned to Mordicai--nothing had since
been heard of it, or from him; and Lord Colambre had undertaken to pay
him and it a visit, and to make all proper inquiries. Accordingly,
he went to the coachmaker's; and, obtaining no satisfaction from the
underlings, desired to see the head of the house. He was answered
that Mr. Mordicai was not at home. His lordship had never seen Mr.
Mordicai; but just then he saw, walking across the yard, a man who
looked something like a Bond-street coxcomb, but not the least like a
gentleman, who called, in the tone of a master, for "Mr. Mordicai's
barouche!"--It appeared; and he was stepping into it, when Lord
Colambre took the liberty of stopping him; and, pointing to the wreck
of Mr. Berryl's curricle, now standing in the yard, began a statement
of his friend's grievances, and an appeal to common justice and
conscience, which he, unknowing the nature of the man with whom he had
to deal, imagined must be irresistible. Mr. Mordicai stood without
moving a muscle of his dark wooden face--indeed, in his face there
appeared to be no muscles, or none which could move; so that, though
he had what are generally called handsome features, there was,
altogether, something unnatural and shocking in his countenance. When,
at last, his eyes turned and his lips opened, this seemed to be done
by machinery, and not by the will of a living creature, or from the
impulse of a rational soul. Lord Colambre was so much struck with
this strange physiognomy, that he actually forgot much he had to say
of springs and wheels--But it was no matter--Whatever he had said, it
would have come to the same thing; and Mordicai would have answered
as he now did; "Sir, it was my partner made that bargain, not myself;
and I don't hold myself bound by it, for he is the sleeping partner
only, and not empowered to act in the way of business. Had Mr. Berryl
bargained with me, I should have told him that he should have looked
to these things before his carriage went out of our yard."

The indignation of Lord Colambre kindled at these words--but in vain:
to all that indignation could by word or look urge against Mordicai,
he replied, "May be so, sir: the law is open to your friend--the law
is open to all men, who can pay for it."

Lord Colambre turned in despair from the callous coachmaker, and
listened to one of his more compassionate-looking workmen, who was
reviewing the disabled curricle; and, whilst he was waiting to know
the sum of his friend's misfortune, a fat, jolly, Falstaff-looking
personage came into the yard, and accosted Mordicai with a degree of
familiarity which, from a gentleman, appeared to Lord Colambre to be
almost impossible.

"How are you, Mordicai, my good fellow?" cried he, speaking with a
strong Irish accent.

"Who is this?" whispered Lord Colambre to the foreman, who was
examining the curricle.

"Sir Terence O'Fay, sir--There must be entire new wheels."

"Now tell me, my tight fellow," continued Sir Terence, holding
Mordicai fast, "when, in the name of all the saints, good or bad, in
the calendar, do you reckon to let us sport the _suicide_?"

"Will you be so good, sir, to finish making out this estimate for me?"
interrupted Lord Colambre.

Mordicai forcibly drew his mouth into what he meant for a smile, and
answered, "As soon as possible, Sir Terence." Sir Terence, in a tone
of jocose, wheedling expostulation, entreated him to have the carriage
finished _out of hand_: "Ah, now! Mordy, my precious! let us have it
by the birthday, and come and dine with us o' Monday at the Hibernian
Hotel--there's a rare one--will you?"

Mordicai accepted the invitation, and promised faithfully that the
_suicide_ should be finished by the birthday. Sir Terence shook hands
upon this promise, and, after telling a good story, which made one of
the workmen in the yard--an Irishman--grin with delight, walked off.
Mordicai, first waiting till the knight was out of hearing, called
aloud, "You grinning rascal! mind, at your peril, and don't let that
there carriage be touched, d'ye see, till farther orders."

One of Mr. Mordicai's clerks, with a huge long feathered pen behind
his ear, observed that Mr. Mordicai was right in that caution, for
that, to the best of his comprehension, Sir Terence O'Fay, and his
principal too, were over head and ears in debt.

Mordicai coolly answered, that he was well aware of that, but that the
estate could afford to dip farther; that, for his part, he was under
no apprehension; he knew how to look sharp, and to bite before he was
bit: that he knew Sir Terence and his principal were leagued together
to give the creditors _the go by_; but that, clever as they were both
at that work, he trusted he was their match.

"Immediately, sir--Sixty-nine pound four, and the perch--Let us
see--Mr. Mordicai, ask him, ask Paddy, about Sir Terence," said the
foreman, pointing back over his shoulder to the Irish workman, who
was at this moment pretending to be wondrous hard at work. However,
when Mr. Mordicai defied him to tell him any thing he did not know,
Paddy, parting with an untasted bit of tobacco, began and recounted
some of Sir Terence O'Fay's exploits in evading duns, replevying
cattle, fighting sheriffs, bribing _subs_, managing cants, tricking
_custodees_, in language so strange, and with a countenance and
gestures so full of enjoyment of the jest, that, whilst Mordicai
stood for a moment aghast with astonishment, Lord Colambre could
not help laughing, partly at, and partly with, his countryman. All
the yard were in a roar of laughter, though they did not understand
half of what they heard; but their risible muscles were acted upon
mechanically, or maliciously, merely by the sound of the Irish brogue.

Mordicai, waiting till the laugh was over, dryly observed, that "the
law is executed in another guess sort of way in England from what it
is in Ireland;" therefore, for his part, he desired nothing better
than to set his wits fairly against such _sharks_--that there was a
pleasure in doing up a debtor, which none but a creditor could know.

"In a moment, sir; if you'll have a moment's patience, sir, if you
please," said the slow foreman to Lord Colambre; "I must go down the
pounds once more, and then I'll let you have it."

"I'll tell you what, Smithfield," continued Mr. Mordicai, coming close
beside his foreman, and speaking very low, but with a voice trembling
with anger, for he was piqued by his foreman's doubts of his capacity
to cope with Sir Terence O'Fay; "I'll tell you what, Smithfield, I'll
be cursed if I don't get every inch of them into my power--you know
how."

"You are the best judge, sir," replied the foreman; "but I would not
undertake Sir Terence; and the question is, whether the estate will
answer the _tote_ of the debts, and whether you know them all for
certain--"

"I do, sir, I tell you: there's Green--there's Blancham--there's
Gray--there's Soho"--naming several more--"and, to my knowledge, Lord
Clonbrony--"

"Stop, sir," cried Lord Colambre, in a voice which made Mordicai and
every body present start;--"I am his son--"

"The devil!" said Mordicai.

"God bless every bone in his body, then, he's an Irishman!" cried
Paddy; "and there was the _ra_son my heart warmed to him from the
first minute he come into the yard, though I did not know it till
now."

"What, sir! are you my Lord Colambre?" said Mr. Mordicai, recovering,
but not clearly recovering, his intellects: "I beg pardon, but I did
not know you _was_ Lord Colambre--I thought you told me you was the
friend of Mr. Berryl."

"I do not see the incompatibility of the assertion, sir," replied Lord
Colambre, taking from the bewildered foreman's unresisting hand the
account which he had been so long _furnishing_.

"Give me leave, my lord," said Mordicai--"I beg your pardon, my lord;
perhaps we can compromise that business for your friend Mr. Berryl;
since he is your lordship's friend, perhaps we can contrive to
_compromise_ and _split the difference_."

_To compromise_, and _split the difference_, Mordicai thought were
favourite phrases, and approved Hibernian modes of doing business,
which would conciliate this young Irish nobleman, and dissipate the
proud tempest, which had gathered, and now swelled in his breast.

"No, sir, no!" cried Lord Colambre, holding firm the paper: "I want no
favour from you. I will accept of none for my friend or for myself."

"Favour! No, my lord, I should not presume to offer--But I should
wish, if you'll allow me, to do your friend justice."

Lord Colambre, recollecting that he had no right, in his pride, to
fling away his friend's money, let Mr. Mordicai look at the account;
and his impetuous temper in a few moments recovered by good sense, he
considered, that, as his person was utterly unknown to Mr. Mordicai,
no offence could have been intended to him, and that, perhaps, in what
had been said of his father's debts and distress, there might be more
truth than he was aware of. Prudently, therefore, controlling his
feelings, and commanding himself, he suffered Mr. Mordicai to show him
into a parlour to _settle_ his friend's business. In a few minutes the
account was reduced to a reasonable form, and, in consideration of the
partner's having made the bargain, by which Mr. Mordicai felt himself
influenced in honour, though not bound in law, he undertook to have
the curricle made better than new again, for Mr. Berryl, for twenty
guineas. Then came awkward apologies to Lord Colambre, which he ill
endured. "Between ourselves, my lord," continued Mordicai--

But the familiarity of the phrase. "Between ourselves"--this
implication of equality--Lord Colambre could not admit: he moved
hastily towards the door, and departed.

CHAPTER II.

Full of what he had heard, and impatient to obtain farther information
respecting the state of his father's affairs, Lord Colambre hastened
home; but his father was out, and his mother was engaged with Mr.
Soho, directing, or rather being directed, how her apartments should
be fitted up for her gala. As Lord Colambre entered the room, he saw
his mother, Miss Nugent, and Mr. Soho, standing at a large table,
which was covered with rolls of paper, patterns, and drawings of
furniture: Mr. Soho was speaking in a conceited, dictatorial tone,
asserting that there was no "colour in nature for that room equal to
_the belly-o'-the fawn_;" which _belly-o'-the fawn_ he so pronounced,
that Lady Clonbrony understood it to be _la belle uniforme_, and,
under this mistake, repeated and assented to the assertion, till it
was set to rights, with condescending superiority, by the upholsterer.
This first architectural upholsterer of the age, as he styled himself,
and was universally admitted to be by all the world of fashion, then,
with full powers given to him, spoke _en maitre_. The whole face of
things must be changed. There must be new hangings, new draperies, new
cornices, new candelabras, new every thing!--

"The upholsterer's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Glances from ceiling to floor, from floor to ceiling;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The form of things unknown, the upholsterer's pencil
Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a NAME."

Of the value of a NAME no one could be more sensible than Mr. Soho.

"Your la'ship sees--this is merely a scratch of my pencil. Your
la'ship's sensible--just to give you an idea of the shape, the form
of the thing. You fill up your angles here with _encoinieres_--round
your walls with the _Turkish tent drapery_--a fancy of my own--in
apricot cloth, or crimson velvet, suppose, or, _en flute_, in
crimson satin draperies, fanned and riched with gold fringes, _en
suite_--intermediate spaces, Apollo's head with gold rays--and here,
ma'am, you place four _chancelieres_, with chimeras at the corners,
covered with blue silk and silver fringe, elegantly fanciful--with
my STATIRA CANOPY here--light blue silk draperies--aerial tint, with
silver balls--and for seats here, the SERAGLIO OTTOMANS, superfine
scarlet--your paws--griffin--golden--and golden tripods, here, with
antique cranes--and oriental alabaster tables here and there--quite
appropriate, your la'ship feels.

"And let me reflect. For the next apartment, it strikes me--as your
la'ship don't value expense--the _Alhambra hangings_--my own thought
entirely--Now, before I unrol them, Lady Clonbrony, I must beg you'll
not mention I've shown them. I give you my sacred honour, not a
soul has set eye upon the Alhambra hangings except Mrs. Dareville,
who stole a peep; I refused, absolutely refused, the Duchess of
Torcaster--but I can't refuse your la'ship--So see, ma'am--
(unrolling them)--scagliola porphyry columns supporting the grand
dome--entablature, silvered and decorated with imitative bronze
ornaments: under the entablature, a _valence in pelmets_, of puffed
scarlet silk, would have an unparalleled grand effect, seen through
the arches--with the TREBISOND TRELLICE PAPER, Would make a _tout
ensemble_, novel beyond example. On that trebisond trellice paper, I
confess, ladies, I do pique myself.

"Then, for the little room, I recommend turning it temporarily into a
Chinese pagoda, with this _Chinese pagoda paper_, with the _porcelain
border_, and josses, and jars, and beakers, to match; and I can
venture to promise one vase of pre-eminent size and beauty.--Oh,
indubitably! if your la'ship prefers it, you can have the _Egyptian
hieroglyphic paper_, with the _ibis border_ to match!--The only
objection is, one sees it every where--quite antediluvian--gone to
the hotels even; but, to be sure, if your la'ship has a fancy--at
all events, I humbly recommend, what her grace of Torcaster longs to
patronise, my MOON CURTAINS, with candlelight draperies. A demi-saison
elegance this--I hit off yesterday--and--True, your la'ship's quite
correct--out of the common completely. And, of course, you'd have
the _sphynx candelabras_, and the phoenix argands--Oh! nothing else
lights now, ma'am!--Expense!--Expense of the whole!--Impossible to
calculate here on the spot!--but nothing at all worth your ladyship's
consideration!"

At another moment, Lord Colambre might have been amused with all this
rhodomontade, and with the airs and voluble conceit of the orator;
but, after what he had heard at Mr. Mordicai's, this whole scene
struck him more with melancholy than with mirth. He was alarmed by the
prospect of new and unbounded expense; provoked, almost past enduring,
by the jargon and impertinence of this upholsterer; mortified and
vexed to the heart, to see his mother the dupe, the sport of such a
coxcomb.

"Prince of puppies!--Insufferable!--My own mother!" Lord Colambre
repeated to himself, as he walked hastily up and down the room.

"Colambre, won't you let us have your judgment--your _teeste_?" said
his mother.

"Excuse me, ma'am--I have no taste, no judgment in these things."

He sometimes paused, and looked at Mr. Soho, with a strong inclination
to--. But knowing that he should say too much if he said any thing, he
was silent; never dared to approach the council table--but continued
walking up and down the room, till he heard a voice which at once
arrested his attention and soothed his ire. He approached the table
instantly, and listened, whilst Miss Nugent said every thing he wished
to have said, and with all the propriety and delicacy with which he
thought he could not have spoken. He leaned on the table, and fixed
his eyes upon her--years ago he had seen his cousin--last night he had
thought her handsome, pleasing, graceful--but now he saw a new person,
or he saw her in a new light. He marked the superior intelligence,
the animation, the eloquence of her countenance, its variety, whilst
alternately, with arch raillery, or grave humour, she played off Mr.
Soho, and made him magnify the ridicule, till it was apparent even
to Lady Clonbrony. He observed the anxiety lest his mother should
expose her own foibles; he was touched by the respectful, earnest
kindness--the soft tones of persuasion with which she addressed
her--the care not to presume upon her own influence--the good sense,
the taste, she showed, yet not displaying her superiority--the
address, temper, and patience, with which she at last accomplished
her purpose, and prevented Lady Clonbrony from doing any thing
preposterously absurd, or exorbitantly extravagant.

Lord Colambre was actually sorry when the business was ended--when Mr.
Soho departed--for Miss Nugent was then silent; and it was necessary
to remove his eyes from that countenance on which he had gazed
unobserved. Beautiful and graceful, yet so unconscious was she of her
charms, that the eye of admiration could rest upon her without her
perceiving it--she seemed so intent upon others as totally to forget
herself. The whole train of Lord Colambre's thoughts was so completely
deranged, that, although he was sensible there was something of
importance he had to say to his mother, yet when Mr. Soho's departure
left him opportunity to speak, he stood silent, unable to recollect
any thing but--Grace Nugent.

When Miss Nugent left the room, after some minutes' silence, and some
effort, Lord Colambre said to his mother, "Pray, madam, do you know
any thing of Sir Terence O'Fay?"

"I!" said Lady Clonbrony, drawing up her head proudly; "I know he is a
person I cannot endure. He is no friend of mine, I can assure you--nor
any such sort of person."

"I thought it was impossible!" cried Lord Colambre, with exultation.

"I only wish your father, Colambre, could say as much," added Lady
Clonbrony.

Lord Colambre's countenance fell again; and again he was silent for
some time.

"Does my father dine at home, ma'am?"

"I suppose not; he seldom dines at home."

"Perhaps, ma'am, my father may have some cause to be uneasy about--"

"About?" said Lady Clonbrony, in a tone, and with a look of curiosity,
which convinced her son that she knew nothing of his debts or
distresses, if he had any. "About what?" repeated her ladyship.

Here was no receding, and Lord Colambre never had recourse to
artifice.

"About his affairs, I was going to say, madam. But, since you know
nothing of any difficulties or embarrassments, I am persuaded that
none exist."

"Nay, I _cawnt_ tell you that, Colambre. There are difficulties for
ready money, I confess, when I ask for it, which surprise me often. I
know nothing of affairs--ladies of a certain rank seldom do, you know.
But, considering your father's estate, and the fortune I brought him,"
added her ladyship, proudly, "I _cawnt_ conceive it at all. Grace
Nugent, indeed, often talks to me of embarrassments and economy; but
that, poor thing! is very natural for her, because her fortune is not
particularly large, and she has left it all, or almost all, in her
uncle and guardian's hands. I know she's often distressed for odd
money to lend me, and that makes her anxious."

"Is not Miss Nugent very much admired, ma'am, in London?"

"Of course--in the company she is in, you know, she has every
advantage. And she has a natural family air of fashion--Not but what
she would have _got on_ much better, if, when she first appeared
in Lon'on, she had taken my advice, and wrote herself on her cards
Miss de Nogent, which would have taken off the prejudice against the
_Iricism_ of Nugent, you know; and there is a Count de Nogent."

"I did not know there was any such prejudice, ma'am. There may be
among a certain set; but, I should think, not among well-informed,
well-bred people."

"I _big_ your _pawdon_, Colambre; surely I, that was born in England,
an Henglishwoman _bawn_, must be well _infawmed_ on this _pint_, any
way."

Lord Colambre was respectfully silent.

"Mother," resumed he, "I wonder that Miss Nugent is not married."

"That is her own fau't entirely; she has refused very good
offers--establishments that I own I think, as Lady Langdale says,
I was to blame to allow her to let pass: but young _ledies_, till
they are twenty, always think they can do better. Mr. Martingale,
of Martingale, proposed for her, but she objected to him on account
of _he'es_ being on the turf; and Mr. St. Albans' 7000_l._ a-year,
because--I _reelly_ forget what--I believe only because she did
not like him--and something about principles. Now there is Colonel
Heathcock, one of the most fashionable young men you see, always with
the Duchess of Torcaster and that set--Heathcock takes a vast deal of
notice of her, for him; and yet, I'm persuaded, she would not have him
to-morrow if he came to the _pint_, and for no reason, _reelly_ now,
that she can give me, but because she says he's a coxcomb. Grace has
a tincture of Irish pride. But, for my part, I rejoice that she is so
difficult; for I don't know what I should do without her."

"Miss Nugent is indeed--very much attached to you, mother, I am
convinced," said Lord Colambre, beginning his sentence with great
enthusiasm, and ending it with great sobriety.

"Indeed, then, she's a sweet girl, and I am very partial to her,
there's the truth," cried Lady Clonbrony, in an undisguised Irish
accent, and with her natural warm manner. But, a moment afterwards,
her features and whole form resumed their constrained stillness and
stiffness, and in her English accent she continued, "Before you put my
_idears_ out of my head, Colambre, I had something to say to you--Oh!
I know what it was--we were talking of embarrassments--and I wish
to do your father the justice to mention to you, that he has been
_uncommon liberal_ to me about this gala, and has _reelly_ given me
carte blanche; and I've a notion--indeed I know,--that it is you,
Colambre, I am to thank for this."

"Me, ma'am!"

"Yes: did not your father give you any hint?"

"No, ma'am; I have seen my father but for half an hour since I came to
town, and in that time he said nothing to me--of his affairs."

"But what I allude to is more your affair."

"He did not speak to me of any affairs, ma'am--he spoke only of my
horses."

"Then I suppose my lord leaves it to me to open the matter to you. I
have the pleasure to tell you, that we have in view for you--and, I
think I may say, with more than the approbation of all her family--an
alliance--"

"Oh, my dear mother! you cannot be serious," cried Lord Colambre;
"you know I am not of years of discretion yet--I shall not think of
marrying these ten years, at least."

"Why not? Nay, my dear Colambre, don't go, I beg--I am serious, I
assure you--and, to convince you of it, I shall tell you candidly, at
once, all your father told me: that now you've done with Cambridge,
and are come to Lon'on, he agrees with me in wishing that you should
make the figure you ought to make, Colambre, as sole heir apparent to
the Clonbrony estate, and all that sort of thing; but, on the other
hand, living in Lon'on, and making you the handsome allowance you
ought to have, are, both together, more than your father can afford,
without inconvenience, he tells me."

"I assure you, mother, I shall be content--"

"No, no; you must not be content, child, and you must hear me: you
must live in a becoming style, and make a proper appearance. I
could not present you to my friends here, nor be happy, if you did
not, Colambre. Now the way is clear before you: you have birth and
title, here is fortune ready made--you will have a noble estate of
your own when old Quin dies, and you will not be any encumbrance
or inconvenience to your father or any body. Marrying an heiress
accomplishes all this at once--and the young lady is every thing we
could wish besides--you will meet again at the gala. Indeed, between
ourselves, she is the grand object of the gala--all her friends will
come _en masse_, and one should wish that they should see things in
proper style. You have seen the young lady in question, Colambre--Miss
Broadhurst--Don't you recollect the young lady I introduced you to
last night after the opera?"

"The little plain girl, covered with diamonds, who was standing beside
Miss Nugent?"

"In di'monds, yes--But you won't think her plain when you see more of
her--that wears off--I thought her plain, at first--I hope--"

"I hope," said Lord Colambre, "that you will not take it unkindly of
me, my dear mother, if I tell you, at once, that I have no thoughts of
marrying at present--and that I never will marry for money: marrying
an heiress is not even a new way of paying old debts--at all events,
it is one to which no distress could persuade me to have recourse; and
as I must, if I outlive old Mr. Quin, have an independent fortune,
_there is no_ occasion to purchase one by marriage."

"There is no distress that I know of in the case," cried Lady
Clonbrony. "Where is your imagination running, Colambre? But merely
for your establishment, your independence."

"Establishment, I want none--independence I do desire, and will
preserve. Assure my father, my _dear mother_, that I will not be
an expense to him--I will live within the allowance he made me at
Cambridge--I will give up half of it--I will do any thing for his
convenience--but marry for money, that I cannot do."

"Then, Colambre, you are very disobliging," said Lady Clonbrony, with
an expression of disappointment and displeasure; "for your father says
if you don't marry Miss Broadhurst, we can't live in Lon'on another
winter."

This said--which had she been at the moment mistress of herself, she
would not have betrayed--Lady Clonbrony abruptly quitted the room.
Her son stood motionless, saying to himself, "Is this my mother?--How
altered!"

The next morning he seized an opportunity of speaking to his father,
whom he caught with difficulty just when he was going out, as usual,
for the day. Lord Colambre, with all the respect due to his father,
and with that affectionate manner by which he always knew how
to soften the strength of his expressions, made nearly the same
declarations of his resolution, by which his mother had been so much
surprised and offended. Lord Clonbrony seemed more embarrassed, but
not so much displeased. When Lord Colambre adverted, as delicately
as he could, to the selfishness of desiring from him the sacrifice
of liberty for life, to say nothing of his affections, merely to
enable his family to make a splendid figure in London, Lord Clonbrony
exclaimed, "That's all nonsense!--cursed nonsense! That's the way we
are obliged to state the thing to your mother, my dear boy, because I
might talk her deaf before she would understand or listen to any thing
else; but, for my own share, I don't care a rush if London was sunk in
the salt sea. Little Dublin for my money, as Sir Terence O'Fay says."

"Who is Sir Terence O'Fay, may I ask, sir?"

"Why, don't you know Terry?--Ay, you've been so long at Cambridge--I
forgot. And did you never see Terry?"

"I have seen him, sir.--I met him yesterday at Mr. Mordicai's, the
coachmaker's."

"Mordicai's!" exclaimed Lord Clonbrony, with a sudden blush, which he
endeavoured to hide, by taking snuff. "He is a damned rascal, that
Mordicai! I hope you didn't believe a word he said--nobody does that
knows him."

"I am glad, sir, that you seem to know him so well, and to be upon
your guard against him," replied Lord Colambre; "for, from what I
heard of his conversation, when he was not aware who I was, I am
convinced he would do you any injury in his power."

"He shall never have me in his power, I promise him. We shall take
care of that--But what did he say?"

Lord Colambre repeated the substance of what Mordicai had said, and
Lord Clonbrony reiterated, "Damned rascal!--damned rascal!--I'll get
out of his hands--I'll have no more to do with him." But, as he spoke,
he exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness, moving continually, and
shifting from leg to leg, like a foundered horse.

He could not bring himself positively to deny that he had debts and
difficulties; but he would by no means open the state of his affairs
to his son: "No father is called upon to do that," said he to himself;
"none but a fool would do it."

Lord Colambre, perceiving his father's embarrassment, withdrew his
eyes, respectfully refrained from all further inquiries, and simply
repeated the assurance he had made to his mother, that he would put
his family to no additional expense; and that, if it was necessary, he
would willingly give up half his allowance.

"Not at all, not at all, my dear boy," said his father: "I would
rather cramp myself than that you should be cramped, a thousand times
over. But it is all my Lady Clonbrony's nonsense. If people would but,
as they ought, stay in their own country, live on their own estates,
and kill their own mutton, money need never be wanting."

For killing their own mutton, Lord Colambre did not see the
indispensable necessity; but he rejoiced to hear his father assert
that people should reside in their own country.

"Ay," cried Lord Clonbrony, to strengthen his assertion, as he
always thought it necessary to do, by quoting some other person's
opinion--"so Sir Terence O'Fay always says, and that's the reason your
mother can't endure poor Terry--You don't know Terry? No, you have
only seen him; but, indeed, to see him is to know him; for he is the
most off-hand, good fellow in Europe."

"I don't pretend to know him yet," said Lord Colambre. "I am not so
presumptuous as to form my opinion at first sight."

"Oh, curse your modesty!" interrupted Lord Clonbrony; "you mean, you
don't pretend to like him yet; but Terry will make you like him. I
defy you not--I'll introduce you to him--him to you, I mean--most
warm-hearted, generous dog upon earth--convivial--jovial--with wit and
humour enough, in his own way, to split you--split me if he has not.
You need not cast down your eyes, Colambre. What's your objection?"

"I have made none, sir--but, if you urge me, I can only say, that, if
he has all these good qualities, it is to be regretted that he does
not look and speak a little more like a gentleman."

"A gentleman!--he is as much a gentleman as any of your formal
prigs--not the exact Cambridge cut, may be--Curse your English
education! 'twas none of my advice--I suppose you mean to take after
your mother in the notion, that nothing can be good or genteel but
what's English."

"Far from it, sir; I assure you I am as warm a friend to Ireland as
your heart could wish. You will have no reason, in that respect, at
least, nor, I hope, in any other, to curse my English education--and,
if my gratitude and affection can avail, you shall never regret the
kindness and liberality with which you have, I fear, distressed
yourself to afford me the means of becoming all that a British
nobleman ought to be."

"Gad! you distress me now," said Lord Clonbrony, "and I didn't expect
it, or I wouldn't make a fool of myself this way," added he, ashamed
of his emotion, and whiffling it off. "You have an Irish heart, that I
see, which no education can spoil. But you must like Terry--I'll
give you time, as he said to me, when first he taught me to like
usquebaugh--Good morning to you."

Whilst Lady Clonbrony, in consequence of her residence in London, had
become more of a fine lady, Lord Clonbrony, since he left Ireland,
had become less of a gentleman. Lady Clonbrony, born an Englishwoman,
disclaiming and disencumbering herself of all the Irish in town, had,
by giving splendid entertainments, at an enormous expense, made her
way into a certain set of fashionable company. But Lord Clonbrony,
who was somebody in Ireland, who was a great person in Dublin, found
himself nobody in England, a mere cipher in London. Looked down upon
by the fine people with whom his lady associated, and heartily weary
of them, he retreated from them altogether, and sought entertainment
and self-complacency in society beneath him, indeed, both in rank and
education, but in which he had the satisfaction of feeling himself
the first person in company. Of these associates, the first in
talents, and in jovial profligacy, was Sir Terence O'Fay--a man of
low extraction, who had been knighted by an Irish lord-lieutenant
in some convivial frolic. No one could tell a good story, or sing a
good song, better than Sir Terence; he exaggerated his native brogue,
and his natural propensity to blunder, caring little whether the
company laughed at him or with him, provided they laughed--"Live
and laugh--laugh and live," was his motto; and certainly he lived
on laughing, as well as many better men can contrive to live on a
thousand a-year.

Lord Clonbrony brought Sir Terence home with him next day, to
introduce him to Lord Colambre; and it happened that, on this
occasion, Terence appeared to peculiar disadvantage, because, like
many other people, "Il gatoit l'esprit qu'il avoit, en voulant avoir
celui qu'il n'avoit pas."

Having been apprised that Lord Colambre was a fine scholar, fresh from
Cambridge, and being conscious of his own deficiencies of literature,
instead of trusting to his natural talents, he summoned to his aid,
with no small effort, all the scraps of learning he had acquired in
early days, and even brought before the company all the gods and
goddesses with whom he had formed an acquaintance at school. Though
embarrassed by this unusual encumbrance of learning, he endeavoured
to make all subservient to his immediate design, of paying his court
to Lady Clonbrony, by forwarding the object she had most anxiously in
view--the match between her son and Miss Broadhurst.

"And so, Miss Nugent," said he, not daring, with all his assurance, to
address himself directly to Lady Clonbrony, "and so, Miss Nugent, you
are going to have great doings, I'm told, and a wonderful grand gala.
There's nothing in the wide world equal to being in a good handsome
crowd. No later now than the last ball at the Castle, that was before
I left Dublin, Miss Nugent, the apartments, owing to the popularity
of my lady lieutenant, was so throng--so throng--that I remember
very well, in the doorway, a lady--and a very genteel woman she was,
too--though a stranger to me, saying to me, 'Sir, your finger's in my
ear.'--'I know it, madam," says I; 'but I can't take it out till the
crowd give me elbow-room.'

"But it's the gala I'm thinking of now--I hear you are to have the
golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won't you?"

"Sir!"

This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his
course fluently. "The golden Venus!--sure, Miss Nugent, you that are
so quick, can't but know I would apostrophize Miss Broadhurst that
is--but that won't be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen
much yet of that young lady?"

"No, sir."

"Then I hope you won't be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus
of Medici, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus,
and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that's washing of her hair,
and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it
will, my lord, trust a fool--ye may, when he tells you truth--the
golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will
stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court,
gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above."

"Heaven above!--Take care, Terry! Do you know what you are saying?"
interrupted Lord Clonbrony.

"Do I?--Don't I?" replied Terry. "Deny, if you please, my lord, that
it was for a golden pippin that the three goddesses _fit_--and that
the _Hippomenes_ was about golden apples--and did not Hercules rob a
garden for golden apples?--and did not the pious AEneas himself take a
golden branch with him to make himself welcome to his father in hell?"
said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.

"Why, Terry, you know more about books than I should have suspected,"
said Lord Clonbrony.

"Nor you would not have suspected me to have such a great acquaintance
among the goddesses neither, would you, my lord? But, apropos, before
we quit, of what material, think ye, was that same Venus's famous
girdle, now, that made roses and lilies so quickly appear? Why, what
was it but a girdle of sterling gold, I'll engage?--for gold is the
only true thing for a young man to look after in a wife."

Sir Terence paused, but no applause ensued.

"Let them talk of Cupids and darts, and the mother of the Loves and
Graces--Minerva may sing odes and _dythambrics_, or whatsoever her
wisdomship pleases. Let her sing, or let her say, she'll never get a
husband, in this world or the other, without she had a good thumping
_fortin_, and then she'd go off like wildfire."

"No, no, Terry, there you're out: Minerva has too bad a character for
learning to be a favourite with gentlemen," said Lord Clonbrony.

"Tut--Don't tell me!--I'd get her off before you could say Jack
Robinson, and thank you too, if she had 50,000_l._ down, or 1,000_l._
a-year in land. Would you have a man so d----d nice as to balk,
when house and land is agoing--a going--a going!--because of the
incumbrance of a little learning? But, after all, I never heard that
Miss Broadhurst was any thing of a learned lady."

"Miss Broadhurst!" said Miss Nugent: "how did you get round to Miss
Broadhurst?"

"Oh! by the way of Tipperary," said Lord Colambre.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, it was apropos to good fortune, which,
I hope, will not be out of your way, even if you went by Tipperary.
She has, besides 100,000_l._ in the funds, a clear landed property of
10,000_l._ per annum. _Well! some people talk of morality, and some of
religion, bat give me a little snug_ PROPERTY.--But, my lord, I've a
little business to transact this morning, and must not be idling and
indulging myself here." So, bowing to the ladies, he departed.

"Really, I am glad that man is gone," said Lady Clonbrony. "What a
relief to one's ears! I am sure I wonder, my lord, how you can bear
to carry that strange creature always about with you--so vulgar as he
is."

"He diverts me," said Lord Clonbrony; "while many of your
correct-mannered fine ladies or gentlemen put me to sleep. What
signifies what accent people speak in, that have nothing to say, hey,
Colambre?"

Lord Colambre, from respect to his father, did not express his
opinion; but his aversion to Sir Terence O'Fay was stronger even than
his mother's, though Lady Clonbrony's detestation of him was much
increased by perceiving that his coarse hints about Miss Broadhurst
had operated against her favourite scheme.

The next morning, at breakfast, Lord Clonbrony talked of bringing Sir
Terence with him that night to her gala--she absolutely grew pale with
horror.

"Good Heavens!--Lady Langdale, Mrs. Dareville, Lady Pococke, Lady
Chatterton, Lady D----, Lady G----, His Grace of V----; what would
they think of him! And Miss Broadhurst, to see him going about with
my Lord Clonbrony!"--It could not be. No--her ladyship made the most
solemn and desperate protestation, that she would sooner give up her
gala altogether--tie up the knocker--say she was sick--rather be sick,
or be dead, than be obliged to have such a creature as Sir Terence
O'Fay at her gala.

"Have it your own way, my dear, as you have every thing else," cried
Lord Clonbrony, taking up his hat, and preparing to decamp; "but, take
notice, if you won't receive him, you need not expect me. So a good
morning to you, my Lady Clonbrony. You may find a worse friend in need
yet, than that same Sir Terence O'Fay."

"I trust I shall never be in need, my lord," replied her ladyship. "It
would be strange indeed if I were, with the fortune I brought."

"Oh, that fortune of hers!" cried Lord Clonbrony, stopping both his
ears as he ran out of his room: "shall I never hear the end of that
fortune, when I've seen the end of it long ago?"

During this matrimonial dialogue, Miss Nugent and Lord Colambre never
once looked at each other. She was very diligently trying the changes
that could be made in the positions of a china-mouse, a cat, a dog, a
cup, and a brahmin, on the mantel-piece; Lord Colambre as diligently
reading the newspaper.

"Now, my dear Colambre," said Lady Clonbrony, "put down the paper,
and listen to me. Let me entreat you not to neglect Miss Broadhurst
to-night, as I know that the family come here chiefly on your
account."

"My dear mother, I never can neglect any one of your guests; but
I shall be careful not to show any particular attention to Miss
Broadhurst, for I never will pretend what I do not feel."

"But, my dear Colambre, Miss Broadhurst is every thing you could wish,
except being a beauty."

"Perhaps, madam," said Lord Colambre, fixing his eyes on Miss Nugent,
"you think that I can see no farther than a handsome face?"

The unconscious Grace Nugent now made a warm eulogium of Miss
Broadhurst's sense, and wit, and independence of character.

"I did not know that Miss Broadhurst was a friend of yours, Miss
Nugent?"

"She is, I assure you, a friend of mine; and, as a proof, I will not
praise her at this moment. I will go farther still--I will promise
that I never will praise her to you till you begin to praise her to
me."

Lord Colambre smiled, and now listened as if he wished that she should
go on speaking, even of Miss Broadhurst.

"That's my sweet Grace!" cried Lady Clonbrony. "Oh! she knows how to
manage these men--not one of them can resist her!"

Lord Colambre, for his part, did not deny the truth of this assertion.

"Grace," added Lady Clonbrony, "make him promise to do as we would
have him."

"No--promises are dangerous things to ask or to give," said Grace.
"Men and naughty children never make promises, especially promises to
be good, without longing to break them the next minute."

"Well, at least, child, persuade him, I charge you, to make my gala go
off well. That's the first thing we ought to think of now. Ring the
bell!--And all heads and hands I put in requisition for the gala."

CHAPTER III.

The opening of her gala, the display of her splendid reception rooms,
the Turkish tent, the Alhambra, the pagoda, formed a proud moment
to Lady Clonbrony. Much did she enjoy, and much too naturally,
notwithstanding all her efforts to be stiff and stately, much too
naturally did she show her enjoyment of the surprise excited in some
and affected by others on their first entrance.

One young, very young lady expressed her astonishment so audibly as to
attract the notice of all the bystanders. Lady Clonbrony, delighted,
seized both her hands, shook them, and laughed heartily; then, as the
young lady with her party passed on, her ladyship recovered herself,
drew up her head, and said to the company near her, "Poor thing! I
hope I covered her little _naivete_ properly. How NEW she must be!"

Then with well practised dignity, and half subdued self-complacency
of aspect, her ladyship went gliding about--most importantly busy,
introducing my lady _this_ to the sphynx candelabra, and my lady
_that_ to the Trebisond trellice; placing some delightfully for
the perspective of the Alhambra; establishing others quite to her
satisfaction on seraglio ottomans; and honouring others with a seat
under the Statira canopy. Receiving and answering compliments from
successive crowds of select friends, imagining herself the mirror
of fashion, and the admiration of the whole world, Lady Clonbrony
was, for her hour, as happy certainly as ever woman was in similar
circumstances.

Her son looked at her, and wished that this happiness could last.
Naturally inclined to sympathy, Lord Colambre reproached himself for
not feeling as gay at this instant as the occasion required. But the
festive scene, the blazing lights, the "universal hubbub," failed to
raise his spirits. As a dead weight upon them hung the remembrance
of Mordicai's denunciations; and, through the midst of this eastern
magnificence, this unbounded profusion, he thought he saw future
domestic misery and ruin to those he loved best in the world.

The only object present on which his eye rested with pleasure was
Grace Nugent. Beautiful--in elegant and dignified simplicity--
thoughtless of herself--yet with a look of thought, and with an air
of melancholy, which accorded exactly with his own feelings, and
which he believed to arise from the same reflections that had
passed in his own mind.

"Miss Broadhurst, Colambre! all the Broadhursts!" said his mother,
wakening him as she passed by to receive them as they entered.
Miss Broadhurst appeared, plainly dressed--plainly even to
singularity--without any diamonds or ornament.

"Brought Philippa to you, my dear Lady Clonbrony, this figure, rather
than not bring her at all," said puffing Mrs. Broadhurst, "and had
all the difficulty in the world to get her out at all, and now I've
promised she shall stay but half an hour. Sore throat--terrible cold
she took in the morning. I'll swear for her, she'd not have come for
any one but you."

The young lady did not seem inclined to swear, or even to say this
for herself; she stood wonderfully unconcerned and passive, with an
expression of humour lurking in her eyes, and about the corners of
her mouth; whilst Lady Clonbrony was "shocked," and "gratified,"
and "concerned," and "flattered;" and whilst every body was hoping,
and fearing, and busying themselves about her, "Miss Broadhurst,
you'd better sit here!"--"Oh, for heaven's sake! Miss Broadhurst,
not there!" "Miss Broadhurst, if you'll take my opinion," and "Miss
Broadhurst, if I may advise--."

"Grace Nugent!" cried Lady Clonbrony. "Miss Broadhurst always listens
to you. Do, my dear, persuade Miss Broadhurst to take care of herself,
and let us take her to the inner little pagoda, where she can be so
warm and so retired--the very thing for an invalid--Colambre! pioneer
the way for us, for the crowd's immense."

Lady Anne and Lady Catherine H----, Lady Langdale's daughters, were
at this time leaning on Miss Nugent's arm, and moved along with this
party to the inner pagoda. There were to be cards in one room, music
in another, dancing in a third, and in this little room there were
prints and chess-boards, &c.

"Here you will be quite to yourselves," said Lady Clonbrony; "let
me establish you comfortably in this, which I call my sanctuary--my
_snuggery_--Colambre, that little table!--Miss Broadhurst, you play
chess?--Colambre, you'll play with Miss Broadhurst--"

"I thank your ladyship," said Miss Broadhurst, "but I know nothing of
chess but the moves: Lady Catherine, you will play, and I will look
on."

Miss Broadhurst drew her seat to the fire; Lady Catherine sat down to
play with Lord Colambre: Lady Clonbrony withdrew, again recommending
Miss Broadhurst to Grace Nugent's care. After some commonplace
conversation, Lady Anne H----, looking at the company in the adjoining
apartment, asked her sister how old Miss Somebody was who passed
by. This led to reflections upon the comparative age and youthful
appearance of several of their acquaintance, and upon the care with
which mothers concealed the age of their daughters. Glances passed
between Lady Catherine and Lady Anne.

"For my part," said Miss Broadhurst, "my mother would labour that
point of secrecy in vain for me; for I am willing to tell my age, even
if my face did not tell it for me, to all whom it may concern--I am
passed three-and-twenty--shall be four-and-twenty the fifth of next
July."

"Three-and-twenty!--Bless me!--I thought you were not twenty!" cried
Lady Anne.

"Four-and-twenty next July!--impossible!" cried Lady Catherine.

"Very possible," said Miss Broadhurst, quite unconcerned.

"Now, Lord Colambre, would you believe it? Can you believe it?" asked
Lady Catherine.

"Yes, he can," said Miss Broadhurst. "Don't you see that he believes
it as firmly as you and I do? Why should you force his lordship to pay
a compliment contrary to his better judgment, or extort a smile from
him under false pretences? I am sure he sees that you, and I trust he
perceives that I, do not think the worse of him for this."

Lord Colambre smiled now without any false pretence; and, relieved at
once from all apprehension of her joining in his mother's views, or of
her expecting particular attention from him, he became at ease with
Miss Broadhurst, showed a desire to converse with her, and listened
eagerly to what she said. He recollected that Miss Nugent had told
him, that this young lady had no common character; and, neglecting his
move at chess, he looked up at Miss Nugent, as much as to say, "_Draw
her out_, pray."

But Grace was too good a friend to comply with that request; she left
Miss Broadhurst to unfold her own character.

"It is your move, my lord," said Lady Catherine.

"I beg your ladyship's pardon--"

"Are not these rooms beautiful, Miss Broadhurst?" said Lady Catherine,
determined, if possible, to turn the conversation into a commonplace,
safe channel; for she had just felt, what most of Miss Broadhurst's
acquaintance had in their turn felt, that she had an odd way of
startling people, by setting their own secret little motives suddenly
before them.

"Are not these rooms beautiful?"

"Beautiful!--Certainly."

The beauty of the rooms would have answered Lady Catherine's purpose
for some time, had not Lady Anne imprudently brought the conversation
back again to Miss Broadhurst.

"Do you know, Miss Broadhurst," said she, "that if I had fifty sore
throats, I could not have refrained from my diamonds on this GALA
night; and such diamonds as you have! Now, really, I could not believe
you to be the same person we saw blazing at the opera the other
night!"

"Really! could not you, Lady Anne? That is the very thing that
entertains me. I only wish that I could lay aside my fortune
sometimes, as well as my diamonds, and see how few people would know
me then. Might not I, Grace, by the golden rule, which, next to
practice, is the best rule in the world, calculate and answer that
question?"

"I am persuaded," said Lord Colambre, "that Miss Broadhurst has
friends on whom the experiment would make no difference."

"I am convinced of it," said Miss Broadhurst; "and that is what makes
me tolerably happy, though I have the misfortune to be an heiress."

"That is the oddest speech," said Lady Anne. "Now I should so like
to be a great heiress, and to have, like you, such thousands and
thousands at command."

"And what can the thousands upon thousands do for me? Hearts, you
know, Lady Anne, are to be won only by radiant eyes. Bought hearts
your ladyship certainly would not recommend. They're such poor
things--no wear at all. Turn them which way you will, you can make
nothing of them."

"You've tried, then, have you?" said Lady Catherine.

"To my cost.--Very nearly taken in by them half a dozen times; for
they are brought to me by dozens; and they are so made up for sale,
and the people do so swear to you that it's real, real love, and it
looks so like it: and, if you stoop to examine it, you hear it pressed
upon you by such elegant oaths.--By all that's lovely!--By all my
hopes of happiness!--By your own charming self! Why, what can one do
but look like a fool, and believe? for these men, at the time, all
look so like gentlemen, that one cannot bring oneself flatly to tell
them that they are cheats and swindlers, that they are perjuring their
precious souls. Besides, to call a lover a perjured creature is to
encourage him. He would have a right to complain if you went back
after that."

"O dear! what a move was there!" cried Lady Catherine. "Miss
Broadhurst is so entertaining to-night, notwithstanding her sore
throat, that one can positively attend to nothing else. And she talks
of love and lovers too with such _connoissance de fait_--counts her
lovers by dozens, tied up in true lovers' knots!"

"Lovers!--no, no! Did I say lovers?--suitors I should have said.
There's nothing less like a lover, a true lover, than a suitor, as all
the world knows, ever since the days of Penelope. Dozens!--never had a
lover in my life!--And fear, with much reason, I never shall have one
to my mind."

"My lord, you've given up the game," cried Lady Catherine; "but you
make no battle."

"It would be so vain to combat against your ladyship," said Lord
Colambre, rising, and bowing politely to Lady Catherine, but turning
the next instant to converse with Miss Broadhurst.

"But when I talked of liking to be an heiress," said Lady Anne, "I was
not thinking of lovers."

"Certainly.--One is not always thinking of lovers, you know," added
Lady Catherine.

"Not always," replied Miss Broadhurst. "Well, lovers out of the
question on all sides, what would your ladyship buy with the thousands
upon thousands?"

"Oh, every thing, if I were you," said Lady Anne.

"Rank, to begin with," said Lady Catherine.

"Still my old objection--bought rank is but a shabby thing."

"But there is so little difference made between bought and hereditary
rank in these days," said Lady Catherine.

"I see a great deal still," said Miss Broadhurst; "so much, that I
would never buy a title."

"A title, without birth, to be sure," said Lady Anne, "would not be so
well worth buying; and as birth certainly is not to be bought--"

"And even birth, were it to be bought, I would not buy," said
Miss Broadhurst, "unless I could be sure to have it with all the
politeness, all the noble sentiments, all the magnanimity, in short,
all that should grace and dignify high birth."

"Admirable!" said Lord Colambre. Grace Nugent smiled.

"Lord Colambre, will you have the goodness to put my mother in mind, I
must go away?"

"I am bound to obey, but I am very sorry for it," said his lordship.

"Are we to have any dancing to-night, I wonder?" said Lady Anne. "Miss
Nugent, I am afraid we have made Miss Broadhurst talk so much, in
spite of her hoarseness, that Lady Clonbrony will be quite angry with
us. And here she comes, Lady Catherine."

My Lady Clonbrony came to hope, to beg, that Miss Broadhurst would not
think of running away; but Miss Broadhurst could not be prevailed upon
to stay. Lady Clonbrony was delighted to see that her son assisted
Grace Nugent most carefully in _shawling_ the young heiress--his
lordship conducted her to her carriage, and his mother drew many happy
auguries from the gallantry of his manner, and from the young lady's
having stayed three quarters, instead of half an hour--a circumstance
which Lady Catherine did not fail to remark.

The dancing, which, under various pretences, Lady Clonbrony had
delayed till Lord Colambre was at liberty, began immediately after
Miss Broadhurst's departure; and the chalked mosaic pavement of the
Alhambra was, in a few minutes, effaced by the dancers' feet. How
transient are all human joys, especially those of vanity! Even on this
long meditated, this long desired, this gala night, Lady Clonbrony
found her triumph incomplete--inadequate to her expectations. For the
first hour all had been compliment, success, and smiles; presently
came the _buts_, and the hesitated objections, and the "damning
with faint praise"--all _that_ could be borne--every body has his
taste--and one person's taste is as good as another's; and while
she had Mr. Soho to cite, Lady Clonbrony thought she might be well
satisfied. But she could not be satisfied with Colonel Heathcock, who,
dressed in black, had stretched his "fashionable length of limb" under
the Statira canopy, upon the snow-white swandown couch. When, after
having monopolized attention, and been the subject of much bad wit,
about black swans and rare birds, and swans being geese and geese
being swans, the colonel condescended to rise, and, as Mrs. Dareville
said, to vacate his couch--that couch was no longer white--the black
impression of the colonel remained on the sullied snow.

"Eh, now! really didn't recollect I was in black," was all the apology
he made. Lady Clonbrony was particularly vexed that the appearance of
the Statira canopy should be spoiled before the effect had been seen
by Lady Pococke, and Lady Chatterton, and Lady G----, Lady P----, and
the Duke of V----, and a party of superlative fashionables, who had
promised _to look in upon her_, but who, late as it was, had not yet
arrived. They came in at last. But Lady Clonbrony had no reason to
regret for their sake the Statira couch. It would have been lost upon
them, as was every thing else which she had prepared with so much
pains and cost to excite their admiration. They came resolute not to
admire. Skilled in the art of making others unhappy, they just looked
round with an air of apathy.--"Ah! you've had Soho!--Soho has done
wonders for you here!--Vastly well!--Vastly well!--Soho's very clever
in his way!"

Others of great importance came in, full of some slight accident that
had happened to themselves, or their horses, or their carriages; and,
with privileged selfishness, engrossed the attention of all within
their sphere of conversation. Well, Lady Clonbrony got over all this;
and got over the history of a letter about a chimney that was on fire,
a week ago, at the Duke of V----'s old house, in Brecknockshire. In
gratitude for the smiling patience with which she listened to him,
his Grace of V---- fixed his glass to look at the Alhambra, and had
just pronounced it to be "Well!--very well!" when the Dowager Lady
Chatterton made a terrible discovery--a discovery that filled Lady
Clonbrony with astonishment and indignation--Mr. Soho had played her
false! What was her mortification, when the dowager assured her that
these identical Alhambra hangings had not only been shown by Mr. Soho
to the Duchess of Torcaster, but that her grace had had the refusal of
them, and had actually criticised them, in consequence of Sir Horace
Grant, the great traveller's objecting to some of the proportions of
the pillars--Soho had engaged to make a new set, vastly improved, by
Sir Horace's suggestions, for her Grace of Torcaster.

Now Lady Chatterton was the greatest talker extant; and she went
about the rooms telling every body of her acquaintance--and she was
acquainted with every body--how shamefully Soho had imposed upon poor
Lady Clonbrony, protesting she could not forgive the man. "For," said
she, "though the Duchess of Torcaster had been his constant customer
for ages, and his patroness, and all that, yet this does not excuse
him--and Lady Clonbrony's being a stranger, and from Ireland, makes
the thing worse." From Ireland!--that was the unkindest cut of
all--but there was no remedy.

In vain poor Lady Clonbrony followed the dowager about the rooms to
correct this mistake, and to represent, in justice to Mr. Soho, though
he had used her so ill, that he knew she was an Englishwoman. The
dowager was deaf, and no whisper could reach her ear. And when Lady
Clonbrony was obliged to bawl an explanation in her ear, the dowager
only repeated, "In justice to Mr. Soho!--No, no; he has not done
you justice, my dear Lady Clonbrony! and I'll expose him to every
body. Englishwoman!--no, no, no!--Soho could not take you for an
Englishwoman!"

All who secretly envied or ridiculed Lady Clonbrony enjoyed this
scene. The Alhambra hangings, which had been in one short hour before
the admiration of the world, were now regarded by every eye with
contempt, as _cast_ hangings, and every tongue was busy declaiming
against Mr. Soho; every body declared, that from the first, the want
of proportion "struck them, but that they would not mention it till
others found it out."

People usually revenge themselves for having admired too much, by
afterwards despising and depreciating without mercy--in all great
assemblies the perception of ridicule is quickly caught, and quickly
too revealed. Lady Clonbrony, even in her own house, on her gala
night, became an object of ridicule,--decently masked, indeed, under
the appearance of condolence with her ladyship, and of indignation
against "that abominable Mr. Soho!"

Lady Langdale, who was now, for reasons of her own, upon her good
behaviour, did penance, as she said, for her former imprudence,
by abstaining even from whispered sarcasms. She looked on with
penitential gravity, said nothing herself, and endeavoured to keep
Mrs. Dareville in order; but that was no easy task. Mrs. Dareville
had no daughters, had nothing to gain from the acquaintance of my Lady
Clonbrony; and conscious that her ladyship would bear a vast deal
from her presence, rather than forego the honour of her sanction,
Mrs. Dareville, without any motives of interest, or good-nature of
sufficient power to restrain her talent and habit of ridicule, free
from hope or fear, gave full scope to all the malice of mockery, and
all the insolence of fashion. Her slings and arrows, numerous as they
were and outrageous, were directed against such petty objects, and the
mischief was so quick in its aim and its operation, that, felt but not
seen, it is scarcely possible to register the hits, or to describe the
nature of the wounds.

Some hits, sufficiently palpable, however, are recorded for the
advantage of posterity. When Lady Clonbrony led her to look at the
Chinese pagoda, the lady paused, with her foot on the threshold, as
if afraid to enter this porcelain Elysium, as she called it--Fool's
Paradise, she would have said; and, by her hesitation, and by the
half pronounced word, suggested the idea,--"None but belles without
petticoats can enter here," said she, drawing her clothes tight round
her; "fortunately, I have but two, and Lady Langdale has but one."
Prevailed upon to venture in, she walked on with prodigious care and
trepidation, affecting to be alarmed at the crowd of strange forms and
monsters by which she was surrounded.

"Not a creature here that I ever saw before in nature!--Well, now I
may boast I've been in a real Chinese pagoda!"

"Why, yes, every thing is appropriate here, I flatter my self," said
Lady Clonbrony.

"And how good of you, my dear Lady Clonbrony, in defiance of bulls
and blunders, to allow us a comfortable English fire-place and plenty
of Newcastle coal in China!--And a white marble--no! white velvet
hearthrug painted with beautiful flowers--Oh! the delicate, the
_useful_ thing!"

Vexed by the emphasis on the word _useful_, Lady Clonbrony endeavoured
to turn off the attention of the company. "Lady Langdale, your
ladyship's a judge of china--this vase is an unique, I am told."

"I am told," interrupted Mrs. Dareville, "this is the very vase in
which B----, the nabob's father, who was, you know, a China captain,
smuggled his dear little Chinese wife and all her fortune out of
Canton--positively, actually put the lid on, packed her up, and sent
her off on shipboard!--True! true! upon my veracity! I'll tell you my
authority!"

With this story, Mrs. Dareville drew all attention from the jar, to
Lady Clonbrony's infinite mortification.

Lady Langdale at length turned to look at a vast range of china jars.

"Ali Baba and the forty thieves!" exclaimed Mrs. Dareville: "I hope
you have boiling oil ready!"

Lady Clonbrony was obliged to laugh, and to vow that Mrs. Dareville
was uncommon pleasant to-night--"But now," said her ladyship, "let me
take you to the Turkish tent."

Having with great difficulty got the malicious wit out of the pagoda
and into the Turkish tent, Lady Clonbrony began to breathe move
freely; for here she thought she was upon safe ground:--"Every thing,
I flatter myself," said she, "is correct, and appropriate, and quite
picturesque"--The company, dispersed in happy groups, or reposing on
seraglio ottomans, drinking lemonade and sherbet--beautiful Fatimas
admiring, or being admired--"Every thing here quite correct,
appropriate, and picturesque," repeated Mrs. Dareville.

This lady's powers as a mimic were extraordinary, and she found them
irresistible. Hitherto she had imitated Lady Clonbrony's air and
accent only behind her back; but, bolder grown, she now ventured, in
spite of Lady Langdale's warning pinches, to mimic her kind hostess
before her face, and to her face. Now, whenever Lady Clonbrony saw any
thing that struck her fancy in the dress of her fashionable friends,
she had a way of hanging her head aside, and saying, with a peculiarly
sentimental drawl, "How pretty!--How elegant!--Now that quite suits
my _teeste_." this phrase, precisely in the same accent, and with the
head set to the same angle of affectation, Mrs. Dareville had the
assurance to address to her ladyship, apropos to something which she
pretended to admire in Lady Clonbrony's _costume_--a costume, which,
excessively fashionable in each of its parts, was, altogether, so
extraordinarily unbecoming, as to be fit for a print-shop. The
perception of this, added to the effect of Mrs. Dareville's mimicry,
was almost too much for Lady Langdale; she could not possibly have
stood it, but for the appearance of Miss Nugent at this instant behind
Lady Clonbrony. Grace gave one glance of indignation, which seemed
suddenly to strike Mrs. Dareville. Silence for a moment ensued, and
afterwards the tone of the conversation was changed.

"Salisbury!--explain this to me," said a lady, drawing Mr. Salisbury
aside. "If you are in the secret, do explain this to me; for unless I
had seen it, I could not have believed it. Nay, though I have seen it,
I do not believe it. How was that daring spirit laid? By what spell?"

"By the spell which superior minds always cast on inferior spirits."

"Very fine," said the lady, laughing, "but as old as the days of
Leonora de Galigai, quoted a million times. Now tell me something new
and to the purpose, and better suited to modern days."

"Well, then, since you will not allow me to talk of superior minds in
the present day, let me ask you if you have never observed that a wit,
once conquered in company by a wit of higher order, is thenceforward
in complete subjection to the conqueror; whenever and wherever they
meet."

"You would not persuade me that yonder gentle-looking girl could ever
be a match for the veteran Mrs. Dareville? She may have the wit, but
has she the courage?"

"Yes; no one has more courage, more civil courage, where her own
dignity, or the interests of her friends are concerned--I will tell
you an instance or two to-morrow."

"To-morrow!--To-night!--tell it me now."

"Not a safe place."

"The safest in the world, in such a crowd as this--Follow my example.
Take a glass of orgeat--sip from time to time, thus--speak low,
looking innocent all the while straight forward, or now and then up at
the lamps--keep on in an even tone--use no names--and you may tell any
thing."

"Well, then, when Miss Nugent first came to London, Mrs. Dareville--"

"Two names already--did not I warn ye?"

"But how can I make myself intelligible?"

"Initials--can't you use--or genealogy?--What stops you?--It is only
Lord Colambre, a very safe person, I have a notion, when the eulogium
is of Miss Nugent."

Lord Colambre, who had now performed his arduous duties as a dancer,
and had disembarrassed himself of all his partners, came into the
Turkish tent just at this moment to refresh himself, and just in time
to hear Mr. Salisbury's anecdotes.

"Now go on."

"Mrs. Dareville, you remember, some years ago, went to Ireland, with
some lady lieutenant, to whom she was related--there she was most
hospitably received by Lord and Lady Clonbrony--went to their country
house--was as intimate with Lady Clonbrony and with Miss Nugent as
possible--stayed at Clonbrony Castle for a month; and yet, when
Lady Clonbrony came to London, never took the least notice of her.
At last, meeting at the house of a common friend, Mrs. Dareville
could not avoid recognizing her ladyship; but, even then, did it in
the least civil manner and most cursory style possible--'Ho! Lady
Clonbrony!--didn't know you were in England!--When did you come?--How
long shall you stay in town?--Hope, before you leave England, your
ladyship and Miss Nugent will give us a day?'--_A day!_--Lady
Clonbrony was so astonished by this impudence of ingratitude, that she
hesitated how to _take it_; but Miss Nugent, quite coolly, and with a
smile, answered, 'A day!--Certainly--to you, who gave us a month!'"

"Admirable!--Now I comprehend perfectly why Mrs. Dareville declines
insulting Miss Nugent's friends in her presence."

Lord Colambre said nothing, but thought much. "How I wish my mother,"
thought he, "had some of Grace Nugent's proper pride! She would not
then waste her fortune, spirits, health, and life, in courting such
people as these."

He had not seen--he could not have borne to have beheld--the manner
in which his mother had been treated by some of her guests; but he
observed that she now looked harassed and vexed; and he was provoked
and mortified, by hearing her begging and beseeching some of the saucy
leaders of the ton to oblige her, to do her the favour, to do her the
honour, to stay to supper. It was just ready--actually announced. "No,
they would not, they could not; they were obliged to run away: engaged
to the Duchess of Torcaster."

"Lord Colambre, what is the matter?" said Miss Nugent, going up to
him, as he stood aloof and indignant: "Don't look so like a chafed
lion; others may perhaps read your countenance, as well as I do."

"None can read my mind so well," replied he. "Oh, my dear Grace!--"

"Supper!--Supper!" cried she: "your duty to your neighbour, your hand
to your partner."

The supper room, fitted up at great expense, with scenery to imitate
Vauxhall, opened into a superb greenhouse, lighted with coloured
lamps, a band of music at a distance--every delicacy, every luxury
that could gratify the senses, appeared in profusion. The company
ate and drank--enjoyed themselves--went away--and laughed at their
hostess. Some, indeed, who thought they had been neglected, were in
too bad humour to laugh, but abused her in sober earnest; for Lady
Clonbrony had offended half, nay, three quarters of her guests, by
what they termed her exclusive attention to those very leaders of the
ton, from whom she had suffered so much, and who had made it obvious
to all that they thought they did her too much honour in appearing
at her gala. So ended the gala for which she had lavished such sums;
for which she had laboured so indefatigably; and from which she had
expected such triumph.

"Colambre, bid the musicians stop--they are playing to empty benches,"
said Lady Clonbrony. "Grace, my dear, will you see that these lamps
are safely put out? I am so tired, so _worn out_, I must go to bed;
and I am sure I have caught cold, too. What a _nervous business_ it is
to manage these things! I wonder how one gets through it, or _why_ one
does it!"

CHAPTER IV.

Lady Clonbrony was taken ill the day after her gala; she had caught
cold by standing, when much overheated, in a violent draught of wind,
paying her parting compliments to the Duke of V----, who thought her a
_bore_, and wished her in heaven all the time for keeping his horses
standing. Her ladyship's illness was severe and long; she was confined
to her room for some weeks by a rheumatic fever, and an inflammation
in her eyes. Every day, when Lord Colambre went to see his mother,
he found Miss Nugent in her apartment, and every hour he found fresh
reason to admire this charming girl. The affectionate tenderness, the
indefatigable patience, the strong attachment she showed for her aunt,
actually raised Lady Clonbrony in her son's opinion. He was persuaded
she must surely have some good or great qualities, or she could not
have excited such strong affection. A few foibles out of the question,
such as her love of fine people, her affectation of being English, and
other affectations too tedious to mention, Lady Clonbrony was really a
good woman, had good principles, moral and religious, and, selfishness
not immediately interfering, she was good-natured; and, though
her whole soul and attention were so completely absorbed in the
duties of acquaintanceship that she did not know it, she really had
affections--they were concentrated upon a few near relations. She was
extremely fond and extremely proud of her son. Next to her son, she
was fonder of her niece than of any other creature. She had received
Grace Nugent into her family when she was left an orphan, and deserted
by some of her other relations. She had bred her up, and had treated
her with constant kindness. This kindness and these obligations had
raised the warmest gratitude in Miss Nugent's heart; and it was the
strong principle of gratitude which rendered her capable of endurance
and exertions seemingly far above her strength. This young lady was
not of a robust appearance, though she now underwent extraordinary
fatigue. Her aunt could scarcely bear that she should leave her for
a moment: she could not close her eyes, unless Grace sat up with her
many hours every night. Night after night she bore this fatigue; and
yet, with little sleep or rest, she preserved her health, at least,
supported her spirits; and every morning when Lord Colambre came into
his mother's room, he saw Miss Nugent look as blooming as if she had
enjoyed the most refreshing sleep. The bloom was, as he observed, not
permanent; it came and went with every emotion of her feeling heart;
and he soon learned to fancy her almost as handsome when she was pale
as when she had a colour. He had thought her beautiful when he beheld
her in all the radiance of light, and with all the advantages of dress
at the gala, but he found her infinitely more lovely and interesting
now, when he saw her in a sick-room--a half-darkened chamber--where
often he could but just discern her form, or distinguish her, except
by her graceful motion as she passed, or when, but for a moment, a
window-curtain drawn aside let the sun shine upon her face, or on the
ringlets of her hair.

Much must be allowed for an inflammation in the eyes, and something
for a rheumatic fever; yet it may seem strange that Lady Clonbrony
should be so blind and deaf as neither to see nor hear all this
time; that having lived so long in the world, it should never occur
to her that it was rather imprudent to have a young lady, not
eighteen, nursing her--and such a young lady!--when her son, not
one-and-twenty--and such a son!--came to visit her daily. But, so it
was, Lady Clonbrony knew nothing of love--she had read of it, indeed,
in novels, which sometimes for fashion's sake she had looked at, and
over which she had been obliged to dose; but this was only love in
books--love in real life she had never met with--in the life she led,
how should she? She had heard of its making young people, and old
people even, do foolish things; but those were foolish people; and if
they were worse than foolish, why it was shocking, and nobody visited
them. But Lady Clonbrony had not, for her own part, the slightest
notion how people could be brought to this pass, nor how any body
out of Bedlam could prefer, to a good house, a decent equipage, and
a proper establishment, what is called love in a cottage. As to
Colambre, she had too good an opinion of his understanding--to say
nothing of his duty to his family, his pride, his rank, and his being
her son--to let such an idea cross her imagination. As to her niece;
in the first place, she was her niece, and first cousins should never
marry, because they form no new connexions to strengthen the family
interest, or raise its consequence. This doctrine her ladyship had
repeated for years so often and so dogmatically, that she conceived
it to be incontrovertible, and of as full force as any law of the
land, or as any moral or religious obligation. She would as soon have
suspected her niece of an intention of stealing her diamond necklace
as of purloining Colambre's heart, or marrying this heir of the house
of Clonbrony.

Miss Nugent was so well apprized, and so thoroughly convinced of
all this, that she never for one moment allowed herself to think of
Lord Colambre as a lover. Duty, honour, and gratitude--gratitude,
the strong feeling and principle of her mind--forbade it; she had
so prepared and accustomed herself to consider him as a person with
whom she could not possibly be united, that, with perfect ease
and simplicity, she behaved towards him exactly as if he were her
brother--not in the equivocating sentimental romance style in which
ladies talk of treating men as their brothers, whom they are all the
time secretly thinking of and endeavouring to please as lovers--not
using this phrase, as a convenient pretence, a safe mode of securing
herself from suspicion or scandal, and of enjoying the advantages of
confidence and the intimacy of friendship, till the propitious moment,
when it should be time to declare or avow _the secret of the heart_.
No: this young lady was quite above all double dealing; she had no
mental reservation--no metaphysical subtleties--but, with plain,
unsophisticated morality, in good faith and simple truth, acted as she
professed, thought what she said, and was that which she seemed to be.

As soon as Lady Clonbrony was able to see any body, her niece sent to
Mrs. Broadhurst, who was very intimate with the family; she used to
come frequently, almost every evening, to sit with the invalid. Miss
Broadhurst accompanied her mother, for she did not like to go out with
any other chaperon--it was disagreeable to spend her time alone at
home, and most agreeable to spend it with her friend Miss Nugent. In
this she had no design; Miss Broadhurst had too lofty and independent
a spirit to stoop to coquetry: she thought that, in their interview
at the gala, she understood Lord Colambre, and that he understood
her--that he was not inclined to court her for her fortune--that she
would not be content with any suitor who was not a lover. She was two
or three years older than Lord Colambre, perfectly aware of her want
of beauty, yet with a just sense of her own merit, and of what was
becoming and due to the dignity of her sex. This, she trusted, was
visible in her manners, and established in Lord Colambre's mind; so
that she ran no risk of being misunderstood by him; and as to what the
rest of the world thought, she was so well used to hear weekly and
daily reports of her going to be married to fifty different people,
that she cared little for what was said on this subject. Indeed,
conscious of rectitude, and with an utter contempt for mean and
commonplace gossiping, she was, for a woman, and a young woman, rather
too disdainful of the opinion of the world. Mrs. Broadhurst, though
her daughter had fully explained herself respecting Lord Colambre,
before she began this course of visiting, yet rejoiced that even on
this footing there should be constant intercourse between them. It was
Mrs. Broadhurst's warmest wish that her daughter should obtain rank,
and connect herself with an ancient family; she was sensible that the
young lady's being older than the gentleman might be an obstacle; and
very sorry she was to find that her daughter had so imprudently, so
unnecessarily, declared her age: but still this little obstacle might
be overcome, much greater difficulties in the marriage of inferior
heiresses being every day got over, and thought nothing of. Then, as
to the young lady's own sentiments, her mother knew them better than
she did herself: she understood her daughter's pride, that she dreaded
to be made an object of bargain and sale; but Mrs. Broadhurst, who,
with all her coarseness of mind, had rather a better notion of love
matters than Lady Clonbrony, perceived, through her daughter's horror
of being offered to Lord Colambre, through her anxiety that nothing
approaching to an advance on the part of her family should be made,
that if Lord Colambre should himself advance, he would stand a better
chance of being accepted than any other of the numerous persons who
had yet aspired to the favour of this heiress. The very circumstance
of his having paid no court to her at first operated in his favour;
for it proved that he was not mercenary, and that, whatever attention
he might afterwards show, she must be sure would be sincere and
disinterested.

"And now, let them but see one another in this easy, intimate, kind
of way; and you will find, my dear Lady Clonbrony, things will go on
of their own accord, all the better for our--minding our cards--and
never minding any thing else. I remember, when I was young--but let
that pass--let the young people see one another, and manage their
own affairs their own way--let them be together--that's all I say.
Ask half the men you are acquainted with why they married, and
their answer, if they speak truth, will be--'because I met Miss
Such-a-one at such a place, and we were continually together.'
Propinquity!--Propinquity!--as my father used to say--And he was
married five times, and twice to heiresses."

In consequence of this plan of leaving things to themselves, every
evening Lady Clonbrony made out her own little card-table with Mrs.
Broadhurst, and a Mr. and Miss Pratt, a brother and sister, who were
the most obliging, convenient neighbours imaginable. From time to
time, as Lady Clonbrony gathered up her cards, she would direct an
inquiring glance to the group of young people at the other table;
whilst the more prudent Mrs. Broadhurst sat plump with her back to
them, pursing up her lips, and contracting her brows in token of
deep calculation, looking down impenetrable at her cards, never even
noticing Lady Clonbrony's glances, but inquiring from her partner,
"How many they were by honours?"

The young party generally consisted of Miss Broadhurst, Lord Colambre,
Miss Nugent, and her admirer, Mr. Salisbury. Mr. Salisbury was a
middle-aged gentleman, very agreeable, and well informed; he had
travelled; had seen a great deal of the world; had lived in the
best company; had acquired what is called good _tact_; was full of
anecdote, not mere gossiping anecdotes that lead to nothing, but
characteristic of national manners, of human nature in general, or
of those illustrious individuals who excite public curiosity and
interest. Miss Nugent had seen him always in large companies, where he
was admired for his scavoir-vivre, and for his entertaining anecdotes,
but where he had no opportunity of producing any of the higher powers
of his understanding, or showing character. She found that Mr.
Salisbury appeared to her quite a different person when conversing
with Lord Colambre. Lord Colambre, with that ardent thirst for
knowledge which it is always agreeable to gratify, had an air of
openness and generosity, a frankness, a warmth of manner, which,
with good breeding, but with something beyond it and superior to its
established forms, irresistibly won the confidence and attracted the
affection of those with whom he conversed. His manners were peculiarly
agreeable to a person like Mr. Salisbury, tired of the sameness and
egotism of men of the world.

Miss Nugent had seldom till now had the advantage of hearing
much conversation on literary subjects. In the life she had been
compelled to lead she had acquired accomplishments, had exercised
her understanding upon every thing that passed before her, and from
circumstances had formed her judgment and her taste by observations
on real life; but the ample page of knowledge had never been unrolled
to her eyes. She had never had opportunities of acquiring a taste
for literature herself, but she admired it in others, particularly
in her friend Miss Broadhurst. Miss Broadhurst had received all the
advantages of education which money could procure, and had benefited
by them in a manner uncommon among those for whom they are purchased
in such abundance: she not only had had many masters, and read many
books, but had thought of what she read, and had supplied, by the
strength and energy of her own mind, what cannot be acquired by
the assistance of masters. Miss Nugent, perhaps overvaluing the
information that she did not possess, and free from all idea of
envy, looked up to her friend as to a superior being, with a sort of
enthusiastic admiration; and now, with "charmed attention," listened,
by turns, to her, to Mr. Salisbury, and to Lord Colambre, whilst they
conversed on literary subjects--listened, with a countenance so full
of intelligence, of animation, so expressive of every good and kind
affection, that the gentlemen did not always know what they were
saying.

"Pray go on," said she, once, to Mr. Salisbury: "you stop, perhaps,
from politeness to me--from compassion to my ignorance; but though I
am ignorant, you do not tire me, I assure you. Did you ever condescend
to read the Arabian Tales? Like him whose eyes were touched by the
magical application from the dervise, I am enabled at once to see the
riches of a new world--Oh! how unlike, how superior to that in which I
have lived--the GREAT world, as it is called!"

Lord Colambre brought down a beautiful edition of the Arabian Tales,
looked for the story to which Miss Nugent had alluded, and showed it
to Miss Broadhurst, who was also searching for it in another volume.

Lady Clonbrony, from her card-table, saw the young people thus
engaged--

"I profess not to understand these things so well as you say you do,
my dear Mrs. Broadhurst," whispered she; "but look there now; they are
at their books! What do you expect can come of that sort of thing? So
ill bred, and downright rude of Colambre, I must give him a hint."

"No, no, for mercy's sake! my dear Lady Clonbrony, no hints, no hints,
no remarks! What would you have?--she reading, and my lord at the back
of her chair leaning over--and allowed, mind, to lean over to read the
same thing. Can't be better!--Never saw any man yet allowed to come so
near her!--Now, Lady Clonbrony, not a word, not a look, I beseech."

"Well, well!--but if they had a little music."

"My daughter's tired of music. How much do I owe your ladyship
now?--three rubbers, I think. Now, though you would not believe it of
a young girl," continued Mrs. Broadhurst, "I can assure your ladyship,
my daughter would often rather go to a book than a ball."

"Well, now, that's very extraordinary, in the style in which she has
been brought up; yet books and all that are so fashionable now, that
it's very natural," said Lady Clonbrony.

About this time, Mr. Berryl, Lord Colambre's Cambridge friend, for
whom his lordship had fought the battle of the curricle with Mordicai,
came to town. Lord Colambre introduced him to his mother, by whom he
was graciously received; for Mr. Berryl was a young gentleman of good
figure, good address, good family, heir to a good fortune, and in
every respect a fit match for Miss Nugent. Lady Clonbrony thought that
it would be wise to secure him for her niece before he should make
his appearance in the London world, where mothers and daughters would
soon make him feel his own consequence. Mr. Berryl, as Lord Colambre's
intimate friend, was admitted to the private evening parties at Lady
Clonbrony's; and he contributed to render them still more agreeable.
His information, his habits of thinking, and his views, were
all totally different from Mr. Salisbury's; and their collision
continually struck out that sparkling novelty which pleases peculiarly
in conversation. Mr. Berryl's education, disposition, and tastes,
fitted him exactly for the station which he was destined to fill in
society--that of _a country gentleman_; not meaning by that expression
a mere eating, drinking, hunting, shooting, ignorant, country squire
of the old race, which is now nearly extinct; but a cultivated,
enlightened, independent English country gentleman--the happiest,
perhaps, of human beings. On the comparative felicity of the town
and country life; on the dignity, utility, elegance, and interesting
nature of their different occupations, and general scheme of passing
their time, Mr. Berryl and Mr. Salisbury had one evening a playful,
entertaining, and, perhaps, instructive conversation; each party,
at the end, remaining, as frequently happens, of their own opinion.
It was observed, that Miss Broadhurst ably and warmly defended
Mr. Berryl's side of the question; and in their views, plans, and
estimates of life, there appeared a remarkable and, as Lord Colambre
thought, a happy coincidence. When she was at last called upon to give
her decisive judgment between a town and a country life, she declared
that if she were condemned to the extremes of either, she should
prefer a country life, as much as she should prefer Robinson Crusoe's
diary to the journal of the idle man in the Spectator.

"Lord bless me!--Mrs. Broadhurst, do you hear what your daughter is
saying?" cried Lady Clonbrony, who, from the card-table, lent an
attentive ear to all that was going forward. "Is it possible that Miss
Broadhurst, with her fortune, and pretensions, and sense, can really
be serious in saying she would be content to live in the country?"

"What's that you say, child, about living in the country?" said Mrs.
Broadhurst.

Miss Broadhurst repeated what she had said.

"Girls always think so who have lived in town," said Mrs. Broadhurst:
"they are always dreaming of sheep and sheep-hooks; but the first
winter in the country cures them: a shepherdess in winter is a sad and
sorry sort of personage, except at a masquerade."

"Colambre," said Lady Clonbrony, "I am sure Miss Broadhurst's
sentiments about town life, and all that, must delight you--For do you
know, ma'am, he is always trying to persuade me to give up living in
town? Colambre and Miss Broadhurst perfectly agree."

"Mind your cards, my dear Lady Clonbrony," interrupted Mrs.
Broadhurst, "in pity to your partner. Mr. Pratt has certainly the
patience of Job--your ladyship has revoked twice this hand."

Lady Clonbrony begged a thousand pardons, fixed her eyes, and
endeavoured to fix her mind on the cards; but there was something
said at the other end of the room, about an estate in Cambridgeshire,
which soon distracted her attention again. Mr. Pratt certainly had the
patience of Job. She revoked again, and lost the game, though they had
four by honours.

As soon as she rose from the card-table, and could speak to Mrs.
Broadhurst apart, she communicated her apprehensions. "Seriously, my
dear madam," said she, "I believe I have done very wrong to admit
Mr. Berryl just now, though it was on Grace's account I did it. But,
ma'am, I did not know Miss Broadhurst had an estate in Cambridgeshire;
their two estates just close to one another, I heard them say--Lord
bless me, ma'am! there's the danger of propinquity indeed!"

"No danger, no danger," persisted Mrs. Broadhurst. "I know my girl
better than you do, begging your ladyship's pardon. No one thinks less
of estates than she does."

"Well, I only know I heard her talking of them, and earnestly too."

"Yes, very likely; but don't you know that girls never think of what
they are talking about, or rather never talk of what they are thinking
about? And they have always ten times more to say to the man they
don't care for than to him they do."

"Very extraordinary!" said Lady Clonbrony: "I only hope you are
right."

"I am sure of it," said Mrs. Broadhurst. "Only let things go on,
and mind your cards, I beseech you, to-morrow night better than
you did to-night; and you will see that things will turn out just
as I prophesied. Lord Colambre will come to a point-blank proposal
before the end of the week, and will be accepted, or my name's not
Broadhurst. Why, in plain English, I am clear my girl likes him; and
when that's the case, you know, can you doubt how the thing will end?"

Mrs. Broadhurst was perfectly right in every point of her reasoning
but one. From long habit of seeing and considering that such an
heiress as her daughter might marry whom she pleased,--from constantly
seeing that she was the person to decide and to reject,--Mrs.
Broadhurst had literally taken it for granted that every thing was to
depend upon her daughter's inclinations: she was not mistaken, in the
present case, in opining that the young lady would not be averse to
Lord Colambre, if he came to what she called a point-blank proposal.
It really never occurred to Mrs. Broadhurst, that any man whom her
daughter was the least inclined to favour, could think of any body
else. Quick-sighted in these affairs as the matron thought herself,
she saw but one side of the question: blind and dull of comprehension
as she thought Lady Clonbrony on this subject, Mrs. Broadhurst
was herself so completely blinded by her own prejudices, as to be
incapable of discerning the plain thing that was before her eyes;
_videlicet_, that Lord Colambre preferred Grace Nugent. Lord Colambre
made no proposal before the end of the week; but this Mrs. Broadhurst
attributed to an unexpected occurrence, which prevented things from
going on in the train in which they had been proceeding so smoothly.
Sir John Berryl, Mr. Berryl's father, was suddenly seized with a
dangerous illness. The news was brought to Mr. Berryl one evening
whilst he was at Lady Clonbrony's. The circumstances of domestic
distress which afterwards occurred in the family of his friend,
entirely occupied Lord Colambre's time and attention. All thoughts
of love were suspended, and his whole mind was given up to the
active services of friendship. The sudden illness of Sir John Berryl
spread an alarm among his creditors, which brought to light at once
the disorder of his affairs, of which his son had no knowledge or
suspicion. Lady Berryl had been a very expensive woman, especially in
equipages; and Mordicai, the coachmaker, appeared at this time the
foremost and the most inexorable of their creditors. Conscious that
the charges in his account were exorbitant, and that they would not be
allowed if examined by a court of justice; that it was a debt which
only ignorance and extravagance could have in the first instance
incurred, swelled afterwards to an amazing amount by interest, and
interest upon interest; Mordicai was impatient to obtain payment,
whilst Sir John yet lived, or at least to obtain legal security for
the whole sum from the heir. Mr. Berryl offered his bond for the
amount of the reasonable charges in his account; but this Mordicai
absolutely refused, declaring that now he had the power in his own
hands, he would use it to obtain the utmost penny of his debt; that
he would not let the thing slip through his fingers; that a debtor
never yet escaped him, and never should; that a man's lying upon his
deathbed was no excuse to a creditor; that he was not a whiffler to
stand upon ceremony about disturbing a gentleman in his last moments;
that he was not to be cheated out of his due by such niceties; that he
was prepared to go all lengths the law would allow; for that, as to
what people said of him, he did not care a doit--"Cover your face with
your hands, if you like it, Mr. Berryl; you may be ashamed for me, but
I feel no shame for myself--I am not so weak." Mordicai's countenance
said more than his words; livid with malice, and with atrocious
determination in his eyes, he stood. "Yes, sir," said he, "you may
look at me as you please--it is possible--I am in earnest. Consult
what you'll do now behind my back, or before my face, it comes to the
same thing; for nothing will do but my money or your bond, Mr. Berryl.
The arrest is made on the person of your father, luckily made while
the breath is still in the body--Yes--start forward to strike me, if
you dare--Your father, Sir John Berryl, sick or well, is my prisoner."

Lady Berryl and Mr. Berryl's sisters, in an agony of grief, rushed
into the room.

"It's all useless," cried Mordicai, turning his back upon the ladies:
"these tricks upon creditors won't do with me; I'm used to these
scenes; I'm not made of such stuff as you think. Leave a gentleman in
peace in his last moments--No! he ought not, nor sha'n't die in peace,
if he don't pay his debts; and if you are all so mighty sorry, ladies,
there's the gentleman you may kneel to: if tenderness is the order of
the day, it's for the son to show it, not me. Ay, now, Mr. Berryl,"
cried he, as Mr. Berryl took up the bond to sign it, "you're beginning
to know I'm not a fool to be trifled with. Stop your hand, if you
choose it, sir,--it's all the same to me: the person, or the money,
I'll carry with me out of this house."

Mr. Berryl signed the bond, and threw it to him.

"There, monster!--quit the house!"

"_Monster_ is not actionable--I wish you had called me _knave_,"
said Mordicai, grinning a horrible smile; and taking up the bond
deliberately, returned it to Mr. Berryl: "This paper is worth nothing
to me, sir--it is not witnessed."

Mr. Berryl hastily left the room, and returned with Lord Colambre.
Mordicai changed countenance and grew pale, for a moment, at sight of
Lord Colambre.

"Well, my lord, since it so happens, I am not sorry that you should be
witness to this paper," said he; "and indeed not sorry that you should
witness the whole proceedings; for I trust I shall be able to explain
to you my conduct."

"I do not come here, sir," interrupted Lord Colambre, "to listen to
any explanations of your conduct, which I perfectly understand;--I
come to witness a bond for my friend Mr. Berryl, if you think proper
to extort from him such a bond."

"I extort nothing, my lord. Mr. Berryl, it is quite a voluntary act,
take notice, on your part; sign or not, witness or not, as you please,
gentlemen," said Mordicai, sticking his hands in his pockets, and
recovering his look of black and fixed determination.

"Witness it, witness it, my dear lord," said Mr. Berryl, looking at
his mother and weeping sisters; "witness it, quick!"

"Mr. Berryl must just run over his name again in your presence,
my lord, with a dry pen," said Mordicai, putting the pen into Mr.
Berryl's hand.

"No, sir," said Lord Colambre, "my friend shall never sign it."

"As you please, my lord--the bond or the body, before I quit this
house," said Mordicai.

"Neither, sir, shall you have: and you quit this house directly."

"How! how!--my lord, how's this?"

"Sir, the arrest you have made is as illegal as it is inhuman."

"Illegal, my lord!" said Mordicai, startled.

"Illegal, sir. I came into this house at the moment when your bailiff
asked and was refused admittance. Afterwards, in the confusion of the
family above stairs, he forced open the house-door with an iron bar--I
saw him--I am ready to give evidence of the fact. Now proceed at your
peril."

Mordicai, without reply, snatched up his hat, and walked towards the
door; but Lord Colambre held the door open--it was immediately at the
head of the stairs--and Mordicai, seeing his indignant look and proud
form, hesitated to pass; for he had always heard that Irishmen are
"quick in the executive part of justice."

"Pass on, sir," repeated Lord Colambre, with an air of ineffable
contempt: "I am a gentleman--you have nothing to fear!"

Mordicai ran down stairs; Lord Colambre, before he went back into
the room, waited to see him and his bailiff out of the house. When
Mordicai was fairly at the bottom of the stairs, he turned, and, white
with rage, looked up at Lord Colambre.

"Charity begins at home, my lord," said he. "Look at home--you shall
pay for this," added he, standing half-shielded by the house-door, for
Lord Colambre moved forward as he spoke the last words; "and I give
you this warning, because I know it will be of no use to you--Your
most obedient, my lord." The house-door closed after him.

"Thank Heaven," thought Lord Colambre, "that I did not horsewhip that
mean wretch!--This warning shall be of use to me. But it is not time
to think of that yet."

Lord Colambre turned from his own affairs to those of his friend, to
offer all the assistance and consolation in his power. Sir John Berryl
died that night. His daughters, who had lived in the highest style in
London, were left totally unprovided for. His widow had mortgaged her
jointure. Mr. Berryl had an estate now left to him, but without any
income. He could not be so dishonest as to refuse to pay his father's
just debts; he could not let his mother and sisters starve. The scene
of distress to which Lord Colambre was witness in this family made a
still greater impression upon him than had been made by the warning or
the threats of Mordicai. The similarity between the circumstances of
his friend's family and of his own struck him forcibly.

All this evil had arisen from Lady Berryl's passion for living
in London and at watering places. She had made her husband an
ABSENTEE--an absentee from his home, his affairs, his duties, and his
estate. The sea, the Irish Channel, did not, indeed, flow between him
and his estate; but it was of little importance whether the separation
was effected by land or water--the consequences, the negligence, the
extravagance, were the same.

Of the few people of his age who are capable of benefiting by the
experience of others, Lord Colambre was one. "Experience," as an
elegant writer has observed, "is an article that may be borrowed with
safety, and is often dearly bought."

CHAPTER V.

In the mean time, Lady Clonbrony had been occupied with thoughts very
different from those which passed in the mind of her son. Though she
had never completely recovered from her rheumatic pains, she had
become inordinately impatient of confinement to her own house, and
weary of those dull evenings at home, which had, in her son's absence,
become insupportable. She told over her visiting tickets regularly
twice a day, and gave to every card of invitation a heartfelt sigh.
Miss Pratt alarmed her ladyship, by bringing intelligence of some
parties given by persons of consequence, to which she was not invited.
She feared that she should be forgotten in the world, well knowing
how soon the world forgets those they do not see every day and every
where. How miserable is the fine lady's lot, who cannot forget, and
who is forgotten by the world in a moment! How much more miserable
still is the condition of a would-be fine lady, working her way up in
the world with care and pains! By her, every the slightest failure of
attention, from persons of rank and fashion, is marked and felt with a
jealous anxiety, and with a sense of mortification the most acute--an
invitation omitted is a matter of the most serious consequence, not
only as it regards the present but the future; for if she be not
invited by Lady A, it will lower her in the eyes of Lady B, and of
all the ladies in the alphabet. It will form a precedent of the most
dangerous and inevitable application. If she have nine invitations,
and the tenth be wanting, the nine have no power to make her happy.
This was precisely Lady Clonbrony's case--there was to be a party at
Lady St. James's, for which Lady Clonbrony had no card.

"So ungrateful, so monstrous, of Lady St. James!--What! was the gala
so soon forgotten, and all the marked attentions paid that night to
Lady St. James!--attentions, you know, Pratt, which were looked upon
with a jealous eye, and made me enemies enough, I am told, in another
quarter!--Of all people, I did not expect to be slighted by Lady St.
James!"

Miss Pratt, who was ever ready to undertake the defence of any person
who had a title, pleaded, in mitigation of censure that perhaps Lady
St. James might not be aware that her ladyship was yet well enough to
venture out.

"Oh, my dear Miss Pratt, that cannot be the thing; for, in spite of my
rheumatism, which really was bad enough last Sunday, I went on purpose
to the Royal Chapel, to show myself in the closet, and knelt close to
her ladyship.--And, my dear, we curtsied, and she congratulated me,
after church, upon my being abroad again, and was so happy to see me
look so well, and all that--Oh! it is something very extraordinary and
unaccountable!"

"But, I dare say, a card will come yet," said Miss Pratt.

Upon this hint, Lady Clonbrony's hope revived; and, staying her anger,
she began to consider how she could manage to get herself invited.
Refreshing tickets were left next morning at Lady St. James's with
their corners properly turned up; to do the thing better, separate
tickets from herself and Miss Nugent were left for each member of the
family; and her civil messages, left with the footmen, extended to the
utmost possibility of remainder. It had occurred to her ladyship, that
for Miss Somebody, _the companion_, of whom she had never in her life
thought before, she had omitted to leave a card last time, and she
now left a note of explanation; she farther, with her rheumatic head
and arm out of the coach-window, sat, the wind blowing keen upon
her, explaining to the porter and the footman, to discover whether
her former tickets had gone safely up to Lady St. James; and on the
present occasion, to make assurance doubly sure, she slid handsome
expedition money into the servant's hand--"Sir, you will be sure to
remember"--"Oh, certainly, your ladyship."

She well knew what dire offence has frequently been taken, what sad
disasters have occurred in the fashionable world, from the neglect of
a porter in delivering, or of a footman in carrying up, one of those
talismanic cards. But, in spite of all her manoeuvres, no invitation
to the party arrived next day. Pratt was next set to work. Miss Pratt
was a most convenient go-between, who, in consequence of doing a
thousand little services, to which few others of her rank in life
would stoop, had obtained the entree to a number of great houses, and
was behind the scenes in many fashionable families. Pratt could find
out, and Pratt could hint, and Pratt could manage to get things done
cleverly--and hints were given, in all directions, to _work round_
to Lady St. James. But still they did not take effect. At last Pratt
suggested, that perhaps, though every thing else had failed, dried
salmon might be tried with success. Lord Clonbrony had just had some
uncommonly good from Ireland, which Pratt knew Lady St. James would
like to have at her supper, because a certain personage, whom she
would not name, was particularly fond of it--Wheel within wheel in
the fine world, as well as in the political world!--Bribes for all
occasions and for all ranks!--The timely present was sent, accepted
with many thanks, and understood as it was meant. Per favour of this
propitiatory offering, and of a promise of half a dozen pair of
real Limerick gloves to Miss Pratt--a promise which Pratt clearly
comprehended to be a conditional promise--the grand object was at
length accomplished. The very day before the party was to take place
came cards of invitation to Lady Clonbrony and to Miss Nugent, with
Lady St. James's apologies: her ladyship was concerned to find that,
by some negligence of her servants, these cards were not sent in
proper time. "How slight an apology will do from some people!" thought
Miss Nugent; "how eager to forgive, when it is for our interest or
our pleasure! how well people act the being deceived, even when all
parties know that they see the whole truth! and how low pride will
stoop to gain its object!"

Ashamed of the whole transaction, Miss Nugent earnestly wished that a
refusal should be sent, and reminded her aunt of her rheumatism; but
rheumatism and all other objections were overruled--Lady Clonbrony
would go. It was just when this affair was thus, in her opinion,
successfully settled, that Lord Colambre came in, with a countenance
of unusual seriousness, his mind full of the melancholy scenes he had
witnessed in his friend's family.

"What is the matter, Colambre?"

He related what had passed; he described the brutal conduct of
Mordicai; the anguish of the mother and sisters; the distress of
Mr. Berryl. Tears rolled down Miss Nugent's cheeks--Lady Clonbrony
declared it was very _shocking_; listened with attention to all the
particulars; but never failed to correct her son, whenever he said Mr.
Berryl--

"_Sir Arthur_ Berryl, you mean."

She was, however, really touched with compassion when he spoke of Lady
Berryl's destitute condition; and her son was going on to repeat what
Mordicai had said to him, but Lady Clonbrony interrupted, "Oh, my dear
Colambre! don't repeat that detestable man's impertinent speeches to
me. If there is any thing really about business, speak to your father.
At any rate don't tell us of it now, because I've a hundred things
to do," said her ladyship, hurrying out of the room--"Grace, Grace
Nugent! I want you!"

Lord Colambre sighed deeply.

"Don't despair," said Miss Nugent, as she followed to obey her aunt's
summons. "Don't despair; don't attempt to speak to her again till
to-morrow morning. Her head is now full of Lady St. James's party.
When it is emptied of that, you will have a better chance. Never
despair."

"Never, while you encourage me to hope--that any good can be done."

Lady Clonbrony was particularly glad that she had carried her point
about this party at Lady St. James's; because, from the first private
intimation that the Duchess of Torcaster was to be there, her ladyship
flattered herself that the long-desired introduction might then be
accomplished. But of this hope Lady St. James had likewise received
intimation from the double-dealing Miss Pratt; and a warning note was
despatched to the duchess to let her grace know that circumstances
had occurred which had rendered it impossible not to _ask the
Clonbronies_. An excuse, of course, for not going to this party, was
sent by the duchess--her grace did not like large parties--she would
have the pleasure of accepting Lady St. James's invitation for her
select party on Wednesday, the 10th. Into these select parties Lady
Clonbrony had never been admitted. In return for great entertainments
she was invited to great entertainments, to large parties; but further
she could never penetrate.

At Lady St. James's, and with her set, Lady Clonbrony suffered a
different kind of mortification from that which Lady Langdale and Mrs.
Dareville made her endure. She was safe from the witty raillery,
the sly inuendo, the insolent mimicry; but she was kept at a cold,
impassable distance, by ceremony--"So far shalt thou go, and no
further," was expressed in every look, in every word, and in a
thousand different ways.

By the most punctilious respect and nice regard to precedency, even
by words of courtesy--"Your ladyship does me honour," &c.--Lady St.
James contrived to mortify and to mark the difference between those
with whom she was, and with whom she was not, upon terms of intimacy
and equality. Thus the ancient grandees of Spain drew a line of
demarcation between themselves and the newly created nobility.
Whenever or wherever they met, they treated the new nobles with the
utmost respect, never addressed them but with all their titles, with
low bows, and with all the appearance of being, with the most perfect
consideration, anything but their equals; whilst towards one another
the grandees laid aside their state, and omitting their titles, it was
"Alcala--Medina Sidonia--Infantado," and a freedom and familiarity
which marked equality. Entrenched in etiquette in this manner, and
mocked with marks of respect, it was impossible either to intrude or
to complain of being excluded.

At supper at Lady St. James's, Lady Clonbrony's present was pronounced
by some gentlemen to be remarkably high flavoured. This observation
turned the conversation to Irish commodities and Ireland. Lady
Clonbrony, possessed by the idea that it was disadvantageous to appear
as an Irishwoman or as a favourer of Ireland, began to be embarrassed
by Lady St. James's repeated thanks. Had it been in her power to offer
any thing else with propriety, she would not have thought of sending
her ladyship any thing from Ireland. Vexed by the questions that were
asked her about her _country_, Lady Clonbrony, as usual, denied it to
be her country, and went on to depreciate and abuse every thing Irish;
to declare that there was no possibility of living in Ireland; and
that, for her own part, she was resolved never to return thither. Lady
St. James, preserving perfect silence, let her go on. Lady Clonbrony
imagining that this silence arose from coincidence of opinion,
proceeded with all the eloquence she possessed, which was very little,
repeating the same exclamations, and reiterating her vow of perpetual
expatriation; till at last an elderly lady, who was a stranger to
her, and whom she had till this moment scarcely noticed, took up the
defence of Ireland with much warmth and energy: the eloquence with
which she spoke, and the respect with which she was heard, astonished
Lady Clonbrony.

"Who is she?" whispered her ladyship.

"Does not your ladyship know Lady Oranmore--the Irish Lady Oranmore?"

"Lord bless me!--what have I said!--what have I done!--Oh! why did you
not give me a hint, Lady St. James?"

"I was not aware that your ladyship was not acquainted with Lady
Oranmore," replied Lady St. James, unmoved by her distress.

Every body sympathized with Lady Oranmore, and admired the honest zeal
with which she abided by her country, and defended it against unjust
aspersions and affected execrations. Every one present enjoyed Lady
Clonbrony's confusion, except Miss Nugent, who sat with her eyes bowed
down by penetrative shame during the whole of this scene: she was glad
that Lord Colambre was not witness to it; and comforted herself with
the hope that, upon the whole, Lady Clonbrony would be benefited by
the pain she had felt. This instance might convince her that it was
not necessary to deny her country to be received in any company in
England; and that those who have the courage and steadiness to be
themselves, and to support what they feel and believe to be the truth,
must command respect. Miss Nugent hoped that in consequence of this
conviction Lady Clonbrony would lay aside the little affectations by
which her manners were painfully constrained and ridiculous; and,
above all, she hoped that what Lady Oranmore had said of Ireland might
dispose her aunt to listen with patience to all Lord Colambre might
urge in favour of returning to her home. But Miss Nugent hoped in
vain. Lady Clonbrony never in her life generalized any observations,
or drew any but a partial conclusion from the most striking facts.

"Lord! my dear Grace!" said she, as soon as they were seated in
their carriage, "what a scrape I got into to-night at supper, and
what disgrace I came to!--and all this because I did not know Lady
Oranmore. Now you see the inconceivable disadvantage of not knowing
every body--every body of a certain rank, of course, I mean."

Miss Nugent endeavoured to slide in her own moral on the occasion, but
it would not do.

"Yes, my dear, Lady Oranmore may talk in that kind of style of
Ireland, because, on the other hand, she is so highly connected in
England; and, besides, she is an old lady, and may take liberties; in
short, she is Lady Oranmore, and that's enough."

The next morning, when they all met at breakfast, Lady Clonbrony
complained bitterly of her increased rheumatism, of the disagreeable,
stupid party they had had the preceding night, and of the necessity of
going to another formal party to-morrow night, and the next, and the
next night, and, in the true fine lady style, deplored her situation,
and the impossibility of avoiding those things,

"Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel."

Miss Nugent determined to retire as soon as she could from the
breakfast-room, to leave Lord Colambre an opportunity of talking over
his family affairs at full liberty. She knew by the seriousness of
his countenance that his mind was intent upon doing so, and she hoped
that his influence with his father and mother would not be exerted in
vain. But just as she was rising from the breakfast-table, in came Sir
Terence O'Fay, and seating himself quite at his ease, in spite of Lady
Clonbrony's repulsive looks, his awe of Lord Colambre having now worn
off, "I'm tired," said he, "and have a right to be tired; for it's no
small walk I've taken for the good of this noble family this morning.
And, Miss Nugent, before I say more, I'll take a cup of _ta_ from you,
if you please."

Lady Clonbrony rose, with great stateliness, and walked to the
farthest end of the room, where she established herself at her
writing-table, and began to write notes.

Sir Terence wiped his forehead deliberately.--"Then I've had a fine
run--Miss Nugent, I believe you never saw me run; but I can run, I
promise you, when it's to serve a friend--And my lord (turning to
Lord Clonbrony), what do you think I run for this morning--to buy a
bargain--and of what?--a bargain of a bad debt--a debt of yours, which
I bargained for, and up just in time--and Mordicai's ready to hang
himself this minute--For what do you think that rascal was bringing
upon you--but an execution?--he was."

"An execution!" repeated every body present, except Lord Colambre.

"And how has this been prevented, sir?" said Lord Colambre.

"Oh! let me alone for that," said Sir Terence. "I got a hint from
my little friend, Paddy Brady, who would not be paid for it either,
though he's as poor as a rat. Well! as soon as I got the hint, I
dropped the thing I had in my hand, which was the Dublin Evening,
and ran for the bare life--for there wasn't a coach--in my slippers,
as I was, to get into the prior creditor's shoes, who is the little
solicitor that lives in Crutched Friars, which Mordicai never dreamt
of, luckily; so he was very genteel, though he was taken on a sudden,
and from his breakfast, which an Englishman don't like particularly--I
popped him a douceur of a draft, at thirty-one days, on Garraghty,
the agent; of which he must get notice; but I won't descant on the
law before the ladies--he handed me over his debt and execution, and
he made me prior creditor in a trice. Then I took coach in state, the
first I met, and away with me to Long Acre--saw Mordicai. 'Sir,' says
I, 'I hear you're meditating an execution on a friend of mine.'--'Am
I?' said the rascal; 'who told you so?'--'No matter,' said I; 'but
I just called in to let you know there's no use in life of your
execution; for there's a prior creditor with his execution to be
satisfied first.' So he made a great many black faces, and said a
great deal, which I never listened to, but came off here clean to tell
you all the story."

"Not one word of which do I understand," said Lady Clonbrony.

"Then, my dear, you are very ungrateful," said Lord Clonbrony.

Lord Colambre said nothing, for he wished to learn more of Sir Terence
O'Fay's character, of the state of his father's affairs, and of the
family methods of proceeding in matters of business.

"Faith! Terry, I know I'm very thankful to you--But an execution's an
ugly thing,--and I hope there's no danger."

"Never fear!" said Sir Terence: "hav'n't I been at my wits' ends for
myself or my friends ever since I come to man's estate--to years of
discretion, I should say, for the deuce a foot of estate have I! But
use has sharpened my wits pretty well for your service; so never be in
dread, my good lord; for look ye!" cried the reckless knight, sticking
his arms akimbo, "look ye here! in Sir Terence O'Fay stands a host
that desires no better than to encounter, single-witted, all the duns
in the united kingdoms, Mordicai the Jew inclusive."

"Ah! that's the devil, that Mordicai," said Lord Clonbrony; "that's
the only man on earth I dread."

"Why, he is only a coachmaker, is not he?" said Lady Clonbrony: "I
can't think how you can talk, my lord, of dreading such a low man.
Tell him, if he's troublesome, we won't bespeak any more carriages;
and, I'm sure, I wish you would not be so silly, my lord, to employ
him any more, when you know he disappointed me the last birthday about
the landau, which I have not got yet."

"Nonsense, my dear," said Lord Clonbrony; "you don't know what you are
talking of--Terry, I say, even a friendly execution is an ugly thing."

"Phoo! phoo!--an ugly thing!--So is a fit of the gout--but one's all
the better for it after. 'Tis just a renewal of life, my, lord, for
which one must pay a bit of a fine, you know. Take patience, and leave
me to manage all properly--you know I'm used to these things: only you
recollect, if you please, how I managed my friend Lord----it's bad to
be mentioning names--but Lord _Every-body-knows-who_--didn't I bring
him through cleverly, when there was that rascally attempt to seize
the family plate? I had notice, and what did I do, but broke open
a partition between that lord's house and my lodgings, which I had
taken next door; and so, when the sheriffs officers were searching
below on the ground floor, I just shoved the plate easy through to
my bedchamber at a moment's warning, and then bid the gentlemen walk
in, for they couldn't set a foot in my paradise, the devils!--So they
stood looking at it through the wall, and cursing me, and I holding
both my sides with laughter at their fallen faces."

Sir Terence and Lord Clonbrony laughed in concert.

"This is a good story," said Miss Nugent, smiling; "but surely, Sir
Terence, such things are never done in real life?"

"Done! ay, are they; and I could tell you a hundred better strokes, my
dear Miss Nugent."

"Grace!" cried Lady Clonbrony, "do pray have the goodness to seal and
send these notes; for really," whispered she, as her niece came to the
table, "I _cawnt stee_, I _cawnt_ bear that man's _vice_, his accent
grows horrider and horrider!"

Her ladyship rose, and left the room.

"Why, then," continued Sir Terence, following Miss Nugent to the
table, where she was sealing letters--"I must tell you how I _sa_rved
that same man on another occasion, and got the victory, too."

No general officer could talk of his victories, or fight his battles
o'er again, with more complacency than Sir Terence O'Fay recounted his
_civil_ exploits.

"Now I'll tell you, Miss Nugent. There was a footman in the family,
not an Irishman, but one of your powdered English scoundrels that
ladies are so fond of having hanging to the backs of their carriages;
one Fleming he was, that turned spy, and traitor, and informer, went
privately and gave notice to the creditors where the plate was hid
in the thickness of the chimney; but if he did, what happened? Why,
I had my counter-spy, an honest little Irish boy, in the creditor's
shop, that I had secured with a little douceur of usquebaugh; and
he outwitted, as was natural, the English lying valet, and gave us
notice, just in the nick, and I got ready for their reception; and,
Miss Nugent, I only wish you'd seen the excellent sport we had,
letting them follow the scent they got; and when they were sure of
their game, what did they find?--Ha! ha! ha!--dragged out, after a
world of labour, a heavy box of--a load of brick-bats; not an item
of my friend's plate, that was all snug in the coal-hole, where them
dunces never thought of looking for it--Ha! ha! ha!"

"But come, Terry," cried Lord Clonbrony, "I'll pull down your
pride.--How finely, another time, your job of the false ceiling
answered in the hall. I've heard that story, and have been told how
the sheriff's fellow thrust his bayonet up through your false plaster,
and down came tumbling the family plate--hey! Terry?--That hit cost
your friend, Lord Every-body-knows-who, more than your head's worth,
Terry."

"I ask your pardon, my lord, it never cost him a farthing."

"When he paid 7000_l._ for the plate, to redeem it?"

"Well! and did not I make up for that at the races of ----? The
creditors learned that my lord's horse, Naboclish, was to run at ----
races; and, as the sheriff's officer knew he dare not touch him on the
race-ground, what does he do, but he comes down early in the morning
on the mail-coach, and walks straight down to the livery stables.
He had an exact description of the stables, and the stall, and the
horse's body clothes.

"I was there, seeing the horse taken care of; and, knowing the cut
of the fellow's jib, what does I do, but whips the body clothes off
Naboclish, and claps them upon a garrone, that the priest would not
ride.

"In comes the bailiff--'Good morrow to you, sir,' says I, leading out
of the stable my lord's horse, with an _ould_ saddle and bridle on.

"'Tim Neal,' says I to the groom, who was rubbing down the garrone's
heels, 'mind your hits to-day, and _wee'l_ wet the plate to-night."

"'Not so fast, neither,' says the bailiff--'here's my writ for seizing
the horse.'

"'Och,' says I, 'you wouldn't be so cruel.'

"'That's all my eye,' says he, seizing the garrone, while I mounted
Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately."

"Ha! ha! ha!--That _was_ neat, I grant you, Terry," said Lord
Clonbrony. "But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriff's
fellow have been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!"

"But stay, my lord--stay, Miss Nugent--I have more for you," following
her wherever she moved--"I did not let him off so, even. At the cant,
I bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I left
him on their hands for 500 guineas--ha! ha! ha!--was not that famous?"

"But," said Miss Nugent, "I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir
Terence--Surely this would be--"

"What?--out with it, my dear Miss Nugent."

"I am afraid of offending you."

"You can't, my dear, I defy you--say the word that came to the
tongue's end; it's always the best."

"I was going to say, swindling," said the young lady, colouring
deeply.

"Oh, you was going to say wrong, then! It's not called swindling
amongst gentlemen who know the world--it's only jockeying--fine
sport--and very honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Any thing
to help a friend out of a present pressing difficulty."

"And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think
of the future?"

"The future! leave the future to posterity," said Sir Terence; "I'm
counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it's time
enough to think of it. I can't bring the guns of my wits to bear till
the enemy's alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And
besides, there never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that
would tell his little expedients beforehand, or before the very day of
battle."

"It must be a sad thing," said Miss Nugent, sighing deeply, "to be
reduced to live by little expedients--daily expedients."

Lord Colambre struck his forehead, but said nothing.

"But if you are beating your brains about your own affairs, my Lord
Colambre, my dear," said Sir Terence, "there's an easy way of settling
your family affairs at once; and since you don't like little daily
expedients, Miss Nugent, there's one great expedient, and an expedient
for life, that will settle it all to your satisfaction--and ours. I
hinted it delicately to you before; but, between friends, delicacy is
impertinent; so I tell you, in plain English, you've nothing to do but
go and propose yourself, just as you stand, to the heiress Miss B----,
that desires no better--"

"Sir!" cried Lord Colambre, stepping forward, red with sudden anger.

Miss Nugent laid her hand upon his arm. "Oh, my lord!"

"Sir Terence O'Fay," continued Lord Colambre, in a moderated tone,
"you are wrong to mention that young lady's name in such a manner."

"Why then I said only Miss B----, and there are a whole hive of
_bees_. But I'll engage she'd thank me for what I suggested, and think
herself the queen bee if my expedient was adopted by you."

"Sir Terence," said his lordship, smiling, "if my father thinks proper
that you should manage his affairs, and devise expedients for him, I
have nothing to say on that point; but I must beg you will not trouble
yourself to suggest expedients for me, and that you will have the
goodness to leave me to settle my own affairs."

Sir Terence made a low bow, and was silent for five seconds; then
turning to Lord Clonbrony, who looked much more abashed than he
did, "By the wise one, my good lord, I believe there are some
men--noblemen, too--that don't know their friends from their enemies.
It's my firm persuasion, now, that if I had served you as I served my
friend I was talking of, your son there would, ten to one, think I had
done him an injury by saving the family plate."

"I certainly should, sir. The family plate, sir, is not the first
object in my mind," replied Lord Colambre; "family honour--Nay, Miss
Nugent, I must speak," continued his lordship; perceiving, by her
countenance, that she was alarmed.

"Never fear, Miss Nugent, dear," said Sir Terence; "I'm as cool as
a cucumber.--Faith! then, my Lord Colambre, I agree with you, that
family honour's a mighty fine thing, only troublesome to one's self
and one's friends, and expensive to keep up with all the other
expenses and debts a gentleman has now-a-days. So I, that am under no
natural obligations to it by birth or otherwise, have just stood by it
through life, and asked myself, before I would volunteer being bound
to it, what could this same family honour do for a man in this world?
And, first and foremost, I never remember to see family honour stand
a man in much stead in a court of law--never saw family honour stand
against an execution, or a custodiam, or an injunction even.--'Tis
a rare thing, this same family honour, and a very fine thing; but I
never knew it yet, at a pinch, pay for a pair of boots even," added
Sir Terence, drawing up his own with much complacency.

At this moment, Sir Terence was called out of the room by one who
wanted to speak to him on particular business.

"My dear father," cried Lord Colambre, "do not follow him; stay, for
one moment, and hear your son, your true friend."

Miss Nugent left the room.

"Hear your natural friend for one moment," cried Lord Colambre. "Let
me beseech you, father, not to have recourse to any of these paltry
expedients, but trust your son with the state of your affairs, and we
shall find some honourable means--"

"Yes, yes, yes, very true; when you're of age, Colambre, we'll talk of
it; but nothing can be done till then. We shall get on, we shall get
through, very well, till then, with Terry's assistance; and I must beg
you will not say a word more against Terry--I can't bear it--I can't
bear it--I can't do without him. Pray don't detain me--I can say no
more--except," added he, returning to his usual concluding sentence,
"that there need, at all events, be none of this, if people would but
live upon their own estates, and kill their own mutton." He stole
out of the room, glad to escape, however shabbily, from present
explanation and present pain. There are persons without resource, who,
in difficulties, return always to the same point, and usually to the
same words.

While Lord Colambre was walking up and down the room, much vexed
and disappointed at finding that he could make no impression on his
father's mind, nor obtain his confidence, Lady Clonbrony's woman, Mrs.
Petito, knocked at the door, with a message from her lady, to beg, if
Lord Colambre was _by himself_, he would go to her dressing-room, as
she wished to have a conference with him. He obeyed her summons.

"Sit down, my dear Colambre--" And she began precisely with her old
sentence--"With the fortune I brought your father, and with my lord's
estate, I _cawnt_ understand the meaning of all these pecuniary
difficulties; and all that strange creature Sir Terence says is
algebra to me, who speak English. And I am particularly sorry he was
let in this morning--but he's such a brute that he does not think any
thing of forcing one's door, and he tells my footman he does not mind
_not at home_ a pinch of snuff. Now what can you do with a man who
could say that sort of thing, you know?--the world's at an end."

"I wish my father had nothing to do with him, ma'am, as much as you
can wish it," said Lord Colambre; "but I have said all that a son can
say, and without effect."

"What particularly provokes me against him," continued Lady Clonbrony,
"is what I have just heard from Grace, who was really hurt by it, too,
for she is the warmest friend in the world: I allude to the creature's
indelicate way of touching upon a tender _pint_, and mentioning an
amiable young heiress's name. My dear Colambre, I trust you have given
me credit for my inviolable silence all this time, upon the _pint_
nearest my heart. I am rejoiced to hear you _was_ so warm when she
was mentioned inadvertently by that brute, and I trust you now see
the advantages of the projected union in as strong and agreeable a
_pint_ of view as I do, my own Colambre; and I should leave things to
themselves, and let you prolong the _dees_ of courtship as you please,
only for what I now hear incidentally from my lord and the brute,
about pecuniary embarrassments, and the necessity of something being
done before next winter. And, indeed, I think now, in propriety, the
proposal cannot be delayed much longer; for the world begins to talk
of the thing as done; and even Mrs. Broadhurst, I know, had no doubt
that, if this _contretemps_ about the poor Berryls had not occurred,
your proposal would have been made before the end of last week."

Our hero was not a man to make a proposal because Mrs. Broadhurst
expected it, or to marry because the world said he was going to be
married. He steadily said, that, from the first moment the subject had
been mentioned, he had explained himself distinctly; that the young
lady's friends could not, therefore, be under any doubt as to his
intentions; that, if they had voluntarily deceived themselves, or
exposed the lady in situations from which the world was led to make
false conclusions, he was not answerable: he felt his conscience at
ease--entirely so, as he was convinced that the young lady herself,
for whose merit, talents, independence, and generosity of character he
professed high respect, esteem, and admiration, had no doubts either
of the extent or the nature of his regard.

"Regard, respect, esteem, admiration!--Why, my dearest Colambre! this
is saying all I want; satisfies me, and I am sure would satisfy Mrs.
Broadhurst, and Miss Broadhurst too."

"No doubt it will, ma'am: but not if I aspired to the honour of Miss
Broadhurst's hand, or professed myself her lover."

"My dear, you are mistaken: Miss Broadhurst is too sensible a girl,
a vast deal, to look for love, and a dying lover, and all that sort
of stuff: I am persuaded--indeed I have it from good, from the best
authority, that the young lady--you know one must be delicate in these
cases, where a young lady of such fortune, and no despicable family
too, is concerned; therefore I cannot speak quite plainly--but I say
I have it from the best authority, that you would be preferred to any
other suitor, and, in short, that--"

"I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you," cried Lord Colambre,
colouring a good deal; "but you must excuse me if I say, that the only
authority on which I could believe this is one from which I am morally
certain I shall never hear it--from Miss Broadhurst herself."

"Lord, child! if you only ask her the question, she would tell you it
is truth, I dare say."

"But as I have no curiosity on the subject, ma'am--"

"Lord bless me! I thought everybody had curiosity. But still, without
curiosity, I am sure it would gratify you when you did hear it; and
can't you just put the simple question?"

"Impossible!"

"Impossible!--now that is so very provoking when the thing is all but
done. Well, take your own time; all I will ask of you then is, to let
things go on as they are going--smoothly and pleasantly; and I'll
not press you further on the subject at present. Let things go on
smoothly, that's all I ask, and say nothing."

"I wish I could oblige you, mother; but I cannot do this. Since you
tell me that the world and Miss Broadhurst's friends have already
misunderstood my intentions, it becomes necessary, in justice to
the young lady and to myself, that I should make all further doubt
impossible--I shall, therefore, put an end to it at once, by leaving
town to-morrow."

Lady Clonbrony, breathless for a moment with surprise, exclaimed,
"Bless me! leave town to-morrow! Just at the beginning of the season!
Impossible!--I never saw such a precipitate rash young man. But stay
only a few weeks, Colambre; the physicians advise Buxton for my
rheumatism, and you shall take us to Buxton early in the season--you
cannot refuse me that. Why, if Miss Broadhurst was a dragon, you could
not be in a greater hurry to run away from her. What are you afraid
of?"

"Of doing what is wrong--the only thing, I trust, of which I shall
ever be afraid."

Lady Clonbrony tried persuasion and argument--such argument as she
could use--but all in vain--Lord Colambre was firm in his resolution;
at last, she came to tears; and her son, in much agitation, said, "I
cannot bear this, mother!--I would do any thing you ask, that I could
do with honour; but this is impossible."

"Why impossible? I will take all blame upon myself; and you are sure
that Miss Broadhurst does not misunderstand you, and you esteem her,
and admire her, and all that; and all I ask; is, that you'll go on as
you are, and see more of her; and how do you know but you may fall in
love with her, as you call it, to-morrow?"

"Because, madam, since you press me so far, my affections are engaged
to another person. Do not look so dreadfully shocked, my dear
mother--I have told you truly, that I think myself too young, much too
young, yet to marry. In the circumstances in which I know my family
are, it is probable that I shall not for some years be able to marry
as I wish. You may depend upon it that I shall not take any step, I
shall not even declare my attachment to the object of my affection,
without your knowledge; and, far from being inclined headlong to
follow my own passions--strong as they are--be assured that the honour
of my family, your happiness, my mother, my father's, are my first
objects: I shall never think of my own till these are secured."

Of the conclusion of this speech, Lady Clonbrony heard only the
sound of the words; from the moment her son had pronounced that his
affections were engaged, she had been running over in her head every
probable and improbable person she could think of; at last, suddenly
starting up, she opened one of the folding-doors into the next
apartment, and called, "Grace!--Grace Nugent!--put down your pencil,
Grace, this minute, and come here!"

Miss Nugent obeyed with her usual alacrity; and the moment she entered
the room, Lady Clonbrony, fixing her eyes full upon her, said,
"There's your cousin Colambre tells me his affections are engaged."

"Yes, to Miss Broadhurst, no doubt," said Miss Nugent, smiling, with a
simplicity and openness of countenance, which assured Lady Clonbrony
that all was safe in that quarter: a suspicion which had darted into
her mind was dispelled.

"No doubt--Ay, do you hear that _no doubt_, Colambre?--Grace, you see,
has no doubt; nobody has any doubt but yourself, Colambre."

"And are your affections engaged, and not to Miss Broadhurst?" said
Miss Nugent, approaching Lord Colambre.

"There now! you see how you surprise and disappoint every body,
Colambre."

"I am sorry that Miss Nugent should be disappointed," said Lord
Colambre.

"But because I am disappointed, pray do not call me Miss Nugent, or
turn away from me, as if you were displeased."

"It must, then, be some Cambridgeshire lady," said Lady Clonbrony. "I
am sure I am very sorry he ever went to Cambridge--Oxford I advised:
one of the Miss Berryls, I presume, who have nothing. I'll have no
more to do with those Berryls--there was the reason of the son's vast
intimacy. Grace, you may give up all thoughts of Sir Arthur."

"I have no thoughts to give up, ma'am," said Miss Nugent, smiling.
"Miss Broadhurst," continued she, going on eagerly with what she was
saying to Lord Colambre, "Miss Broadhurst is my friend, a friend I
love and admire; but you will allow that I strictly kept my promise,
never to praise her to you, till you should begin to praise her to me.
Now recollect, last night, you did praise her to me, so justly, that
I thought you liked her, I confess; so that it is natural I should
feel a little disappointed. Now you know the whole of my mind; I have
no intention to encroach on your confidence; therefore, there is no
occasion to look so embarrassed. I give you my word, I will never
speak to you again upon the subject," said she, holding out her hand
to him, "provided you will never again call me Miss Nugent. Am I not
your own cousin Grace?--Do not be displeased with her."

"You are my own dear cousin Grace; and nothing can be farther from my
mind than any thought of being displeased with her; especially just at
this moment, when I am going away, probably, for a considerable time."

"Away!--when?--where?"

"To-morrow morning, for Ireland."

"Ireland! of all places," cried Lady Clonbrony. "What upon earth puts
it into your head to go to Ireland? You do very well to go out of the
way of falling in love ridiculously, since that is the reason of your
going; but what put Ireland into your head, child?"

"I will not presume to ask my mother what put Ireland out of her
head," said Lord Colambre, smiling; "but she will recollect that it is
my native country."

"That was your father's fault, not mine," said Lady Clonbrony; "for
I wished to have been confined in England: but he would have it to
say that his son and heir was born at Clonbrony Castle--and there was
a great argument between him and my uncle, and something about the
Prince of Wales and Caernarvon Castle was thrown in, and that turned
the scale, much against my will; for it was my wish that my son should
be an Englishman born--like myself. But, after all, I don't see that
having the misfortune to be born in a country should tie one to it in
any sort of way; and I should have hoped your English _edication_,
Colambre, would have given you too liberal _idears_ for that--so I
_reely_ don't see why you should go to Ireland merely because it's
your native country."

"Not merely because it is my native country--but I wish to go
thither--I desire to become acquainted with it--because it is the
country in which my father's property lies, and from which we draw our
subsistence."

"Subsistence! Lord bless me, what a word! fitter for a pauper than
a nobleman--subsistence! Then, if you are going to look after your
father's property, I hope you will make the agents do their duty, and
send us remittances. And pray how long do you mean to stay?"

"Till I am of age, madam, if you have no objection. I will spend the
ensuing months in travelling in Ireland; and I will return here by the
time I am of age, unless you and my father should, before that time,
be in Ireland."

"Not the least chance of that, if I can prevent it, I promise you,"
said Lady Clonbrony.

Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent sighed.

"And I am sure I shall take it very unkindly of you, Colambre, if you
go and turn out a partisan for Ireland, after all, like Grace Nugent."

"A partisan! no;--I hope not a partisan, but a friend," said Miss
Nugent.

"Nonsense, child!--I hate to hear people, women especially, and young
ladies particularly, talk of being friends to this country or that
country. What can they know about countries? Better think of being
friends to themselves, and friends to their friends."

"I was wrong," said Miss Nugent, "to call myself a friend to Ireland;
I meant to say, that Ireland had been a friend to me: that I found
Irish friends, when I had no others; an Irish home, when I had no
other; that my earliest and happiest years, under your kind care, had
been spent there; and I can never forget _that_, my dear aunt--I hope
you do not wish that I should."

"Heaven forbid, my sweet Grace!" said Lady Clonbrony, touched by her
voice and manner; "Heaven forbid! I don't wish you to do or be any
thing but what you are; for I am convinced there's nothing I could ask
you would not do for me: and, I can tell you, there's few things you
could ask, love, I would not do for you."

A wish was instantly expressed in the eyes of her niece.

Lady Clonbrony, though not usually quick at interpreting the wishes
of others, understood and answered before she ventured to make her
request in words.

"Ask any thing but _that_, Grace--Return to Clonbrony, while I am able
to live in London? That I never can or will do for you or any body!"
looking at her son in all the pride of obstinacy: "so there is an end
of the matter. Go you where you please, Colambre; and I shall stay
where I please:--I suppose, as your mother, I have a right to say this
much?"

Her son, with the utmost respect, assured her that he had no design to
infringe upon her undoubted liberty of judging for herself; that he
had never interfered, except so far as to tell her circumstances of
her affairs with which she seemed to be totally unacquainted, and of
which it might he dangerous to her to continue in ignorance.

"Don't talk to me about affairs," cried she, drawing her hand away
from her son. "Talk to my lord, or my lord's agents, since you are
going to Ireland about business--I know nothing about business; but
this I know, I shall stay in England, and be in London, every season,
as long as I can afford it; and when I cannot afford to live here, I
hope I shall not live any where. That's my notion of life; and that's
my determination, once for all; for, if none of the rest of the
Clonbrony family have any, I thank Heaven I have some spirit." Saying
this, in her most stately manner she walked out of the room. Lord
Colambre instantly followed her: for after the resolution and the
promise he had made, he did not dare to trust himself at this moment
with Miss Nugent.

There was to be a concert this night at Lady Clonbrony's, at which
Mrs. and Miss Broadhurst were of course expected. That they might not
he quite unprepared for the event of her son's going to Ireland, Lady
Clonbrony wrote a note to Mrs. Broadhurst, begging her to come half
an hour earlier than the time mentioned in the cards, "that she might
talk over something _particular_ that had just occurred."

What passed at this cabinet council, as it seems to have had no
immediate influence on affairs, we need not record. Suffice it
to observe, that a great deal was said, and nothing done. Miss
Broadhurst, however, was not a young lady who could easily be
deceived, even where her passions were concerned. The moment her
mother told her of Lord Colambre's intended departure, she saw the
whole truth. She had a strong mind, capable of looking steadily at
truth. Surrounded as she had been from her childhood by every means
of self-indulgence which wealth and flattery could bestow, she had
discovered early what few persons in her situation discover till late
in life, that selfish gratifications may render us incapable of other
happiness, but can never, of themselves, make us happy. Despising
flatterers, she had determined to make herself friends--to make them
in the only possible way--by deserving them. Her father realized
his immense fortune by the power and habit of constant, bold, and
just calculation. The power and habit which she had learned from
him she applied on a far larger scale: with him it was confined to
speculations for the acquisition of money; with her, it extended to
the attainment of happiness. He was calculating and mercenary: she was
estimative and generous.

Miss Nugent was dressing for the concert, or rather was sitting
half-dressed before her glass, reflecting, when Miss Broadhurst came
into her room. Miss Nugent immediately sent her maid out of the room.

"Grace," said Miss Broadhurst, looking at Grace with an air of open
deliberate composure, "you and I are thinking of the same thing--of
the same person."

"Yes, of Lord Colambre," said Miss Nugent, ingenuously and
sorrowfully.

"Then I can put your mind at ease, at once, my dear friend, by
assuring you that I shall think of him no more. That I have thought
of him, I do not deny--I have thought, that if, notwithstanding the
difference in our ages and other differences, he had preferred me, I
should have preferred him to any person who has ever yet addressed
me. On our first acquaintance, I clearly saw that he was not disposed
to pay court to my fortune; and I had also then coolness of judgment
sufficient to perceive that it was not probable he should fall in
love with my person. But I was too proud in my humility, too strong
in my honesty, too brave, too ignorant; in short, I knew nothing of
the matter. We are all of us, more or less, subject to the delusions
of vanity, or hope, or love--I--even I!--who thought myself so
clear-sighted, did not know how, with one flutter of his wings, Cupid
can set the whole atmosphere in motion; change the proportions, size,
colour, value, of every object; lead us into a _mirage_, and leave us
in a dismal desert."

"My dearest friend!" said Miss Nugent in a tone of true sympathy.

"But none but a coward or a fool would sit down in the desert and
weep, instead of trying to make his way back before the storm rises,
obliterates the track, and overwhelms every thing. Poetry apart, my
dear Grace, you may be assured that I shall think no more of Lord
Colambre."

"I believe you are right. But I am sorry, very sorry, it must be so."

"Oh, spare me your sorrow!"

"My sorrow is for Lord Colambre," said Miss Nugent. "Where will he
find such a wife?--Not in Miss Berryl, I am sure, pretty as she is; a
mere fine lady!--Is it possible that Lord Colambre should prefer such
a girl--Lord Colambre!"

Miss Broadhurst looked at her friend as she spoke, and saw truth in
her eyes; saw that she had no suspicion that she was herself the
person beloved.

"Tell me, Grace, are you sorry that Lord Colambre is going away?"

"No, I am glad. I was sorry when I first heard it; but now I am glad,
very glad: it may save him from a marriage unworthy of him, restore
him to himself, and reserve him for--, the only woman I ever saw who
is suited to him, who is equal to him, who would value and love him as
he deserves to be valued and loved."

"Stop, my dear; if you mean me, I am not, and I never can be, that
woman. Therefore, as you are my friend, and wish my happiness, as I
sincerely believe you do, never, I conjure you, present such an idea
before my mind again--it is out of my mind, I hope, for ever. It is
important to me that you should know and believe this. At least I
will preserve my friends. Now let this subject never be mentioned
or alluded to again between us, my dear. We have subjects enough of
conversation; we need not have recourse to pernicious sentimental
gossipings. There is great difference between wanting _a confidante_,
and treating a friend with confidence. My confidence you possess; all
that ought, all that is to be known of my mind, you know, and--Now I
will leave you in peace to dress for the concert."

"Oh, don't go! you don't interrupt me. I shall be dressed in a few
minutes; stay with me, and you may be assured, that neither now,
nor at any other time, shall I ever speak to you on the subject you
desire me to avoid. I entirely agree with you about _confidantes_ and
sentimental gossipings: I love you for not loving them."

A loud knock at the door announced the arrival of company.

"Think no more of love, but as much as you please of admiration--dress
yourself as fast as you can," said Miss Broadhurst. "Dress, dress, is
the order of the day."

"Order of the day and order of the night, and all for people I don't
care for in the least," said Grace. "So life passes!"

"Dear me, Miss Nugent," cried Petito, Lady Clonbrony's woman, coming
in with a face of alarm, "not dressed yet! My lady is gone down, and
Mrs. Broadhurst and my Lady Pococke's come, and the Honourable Mrs.
Trembleham; and signor, the Italian singing gentleman, has been
walking up and down the apartments there by himself, disconsolate,
this half hour. Oh, merciful! Miss Nugent, if you could stand still
for one single particle of a second. So then I thought of stepping in
to Miss Nugent; for the young ladies are talking so fast, says I to
myself, at the door, they will never know how time goes, unless I give
'em a hint. But now my lady is below, there's no need, to be sure,
to be nervous, so we may take the thing quietly, without being in a
flustrum. Dear ladies, is not this now a very sudden motion of our
young lord's for Ireland? Lud a mercy! Miss Nugent, I'm sure your
motions is sudden enough; and your dress behind is all, I'm sure, I
can't tell how."

"Oh, never mind," said the young lady, escaping from her; "it will do
very well, thank you, Petito."

"It will do very well, never mind," repeated Petito, muttering
to herself, as she looked after the ladies, whilst they ran down
stairs. "I can't abide to dress any young lady who says never
mind, and it will do very well. That, and her never talking to one
confi_dan_tially, or trusting one with the least bit of her secrets,
is the thing I can't put up with from Miss Nugent; and Miss Broadhurst
holding the pins to me, as much as to say, do your business, Petito,
and don't talk.--Now, that's so impertinent, as if one wasn't the same
flesh and blood, and had not as good a right to talk of every thing,
and hear of every thing, as themselves. And Mrs. Broadhurst, too,
cabinet-councilling with my lady, and pursing up her city mouth, when
I come in, and turning off the discourse to snuff, forsooth; as if I
was an ignoramus, to think they closeted themselves to talk of snuff.
Now, I think a lady of quality's woman has as good a right to be
trusted with her lady's secrets as with her jewels; and if my Lady
Clonbrony was a real lady of quality, she'd know that, and consider
the one as much my paraphernalia as the other. So I shall tell my lady
to-night, as I always do when she vexes me, that I never lived in an
Irish family before, and don't know the ways of it--then she'll tell
me she was born in Hoxfordshire--then I shall say, with my saucy look,
'Oh, was you, my lady--I always forget that you was an Englishwoman:'
then may be she'll say, 'Forget! you forget yourself strangely,
Petito.' Then I shall say, with a great deal of dignity, 'If your
ladyship thinks so, my lady, I'd better go.' And I'd desire no better
than that she would take me at my word; for my Lady Dashfort's is a
much better place, I'm told, and she's dying to have me, I know."

And having formed this resolution, Petito concluded her apparently
interminable soliloquy, and went with my lord's gentleman into the
antechamber, to hear the concert, and give her judgment on every
thing: as she peeped in through the vista of heads into the Apollo
saloon--for to-night the Alhambra was transformed into the Apollo
saloon--she saw that whilst the company, rank behind rank, in close
semicircles, had crowded round the performers to hear a favourite
singer, Miss Broadhurst and Lord Colambre were standing in the outer
semicircle, talking to one another earnestly. Now would Petito have
given up her reversionary chance of the three nearly new gowns she
expected from Lady Clonbrony, in case she stayed; or, in case she
went, the reversionary chance of any dress of Lady Dashfort's, except
her scarlet velvet, merely to hear what Miss Broadhurst and Lord
Colambre were saying. Alas! she could only see their lips move; and
of what they were talking, whether of music or love, and whether
the match was to be on or off, she could only conjecture. But the
diplomatic style having now descended to waiting-maids, Mrs. Petito
talked to her friends in the antechamber with as mysterious and
consequential an air and tone as a charge d'affaires, or as the
lady of a charge d'affaires, could have assumed. She spoke of her
_private belief_; of _the impression left upon her mind_; and her
_confidential_ reasons for thinking as she did; of her "having had it
from the _fountain's_ head;" and of "her fear of any _committal_ of
her authorities."

Notwithstanding all these authorities, Lord Colambre left London next
day, and pursued his way to Ireland, determined that he would see and
judge of that country for himself, and decide whether his mother's
dislike to residing there was founded on caprice or on reasonable
causes.

In the mean time, it was reported in London that his lordship was
gone to Ireland to make out the title to some estate, which would be
necessary for his marriage settlement with the great heiress, Miss
Broadhurst. Whether Mrs. Petito or Sir Terence O'Fay had the greater
share in raising and spreading this report, it would be difficult to
determine; but it is certain, however or by whomsoever raised, it was
most useful to Lord Clonbrony, by keeping his creditors quiet.

CHAPTER VI.

The tide did not permit the packet to reach the Pigeon-house, and the
impatient Lord Colambre stepped into a boat, and was rowed across the
Bay of Dublin. It was a fine summer morning. The sun shone bright on
the Wicklow mountains. He admired, he exulted in the beauty of the
prospect; and all the early associations of his childhood, and the
patriotic hopes of his riper years, swelled his heart as he approached
the shores of his native land. But scarcely had he touched his mother
earth, when the whole course of his ideas was changed; and if his
heart swelled, it swelled no more with pleasurable sensations, for
instantly he found himself surrounded and attacked by a swarm of
beggars and harpies, with strange figures and stranger tones; some
craving his charity, some snatching away his luggage, and at the same
time bidding him "never trouble himself," and "never fear." A scramble
in the boat and on shore for bags and parcels began, and an amphibious
fight betwixt men, who had one foot on sea and one on land, was seen;
and long and loud the battle of trunks and portmanteaus raged! The
vanquished departed, clinching their empty hands at their opponents,
and swearing inextinguishable hatred; while the smiling victors stood
at ease, each grasping his booty--bag, basket, parcel, or portmanteau:
"And, your honour, where _will_ these go?--Where _will_ we carry 'em
all to for your honour?" was now the question. Without waiting for
an answer, most of the goods were carried at the discretion of the
porters to the custom-house, where, to his lordship's astonishment,
after this scene of confusion, he found that he had lost nothing but
his patience; all his goods were safe, and a few _tinpennies_ made
his officious porters happy men and boys; blessings were showered
upon his honour, and he was left in peace at an excellent hotel, in
---- street, Dublin. He rested, refreshed himself, recovered his
good-humour, and walked into the coffee-house, where he found several
officers, English, Irish, and Scotch. One English officer, a very
gentlemanlike, sensible-looking man, of middle age, was sitting
reading a little pamphlet, when Lord Colambre entered: he looked
up from time to time, and in a few minutes rose and joined the
conversation; it turned upon the beauties and defects of the city of
Dublin. Sir James Brooke (for that was the name of the gentleman)
showed one of his brother officers the book which he had been reading,
observing that, in his opinion, it contained one of the best views
of Dublin which he had ever seen, evidently drawn by the hand of a
master, though in a slight, playful, and ironical style: it was "An
intercepted Letter from China." The conversation extended from Dublin
to various parts of Ireland, with all which Sir James Brooke showed
that he was well acquainted. Observing that this conversation was
particularly interesting to Lord Colambre, and quickly perceiving
that he was speaking to one not ignorant of books, Sir James spoke of
different representations and misrepresentations of Ireland. In answer
to Lord Colambre's inquiries, he named the works which had afforded
him the most satisfaction; and with discriminative, not superficial
celerity, touched on all ancient and modern authors on this subject,
from Spenser and Davies to Young and Beaufort. Lord Colambre became
anxious to cultivate the acquaintance of a gentleman who appeared
so able and willing to afford him information. Sir James Brooke, on
his part, was flattered by this eagerness of attention, and pleased
by our hero's manners and conversation: so that, to their mutual
satisfaction, they spent much of their time together whilst they were
at this hotel; and meeting frequently in society in Dublin, their
acquaintance every day increased and grew into intimacy; an intimacy
which was highly advantageous to Lord Colambre's views of obtaining a
just idea of the state of manners in Ireland. Sir James Brooke had at
different periods been quartered in various parts of the country--had
resided long enough in each to become familiar with the people, and
had varied his residence sufficiently to form comparisons between
different counties, their habits, and characteristics. Hence he had it
in his power to direct the attention of our young observer at once to
the points most worthy of his examination, and to save him from the
common error of travellers--the deducing general conclusions from a
few particular cases, or arguing from exceptions, as if they were
rules. Lord Colambre, from his family connexions, had of course
immediate introduction into the best society in Dublin, or rather into
all the good society of Dublin. In Dublin there is positively good
company, and positively bad; but not, as in London, many degrees of
comparison: not innumerable luminaries of the polite world, moving in
different orbits of fashion; but all the bright planets of note and
name move and revolve in the same narrow limits. Lord Colambre did
not find that either his father's or his mother's representations of
society resembled the reality which he now beheld. Lady Clonbrony had,
in terms of detestation, described Dublin such as it appeared to her
soon after the Union; Lord Clonbrony had painted it with convivial
enthusiasm, such as he saw it long and long before the Union, when
_first_ he drank claret at the fashionable clubs. This picture,
unchanged in his memory, and unchangeable by his imagination, had
remained, and ever would remain, the same. The hospitality of which
the father boasted, the son found in all its warmth, but meliorated
and refined; less convivial, more social; the fashion of hospitality
had improved. To make the stranger eat or drink to excess, to set
before him old wine and old plate, was no longer the sum of good
breeding. The guest now escaped the pomp of grand entertainments;
was allowed to enjoy ease and conversation, and to taste some of
that feast of reason and that flow of soul so often talked of, and
so seldom enjoyed. Lord Colambre found a spirit of improvement, a
desire for knowledge, and a taste for science and literature, in most
companies, particularly among gentlemen belonging to the Irish bar:
nor did he in Dublin society see any of that confusion of ranks or
predominance of vulgarity, of which his mother had complained. Lady
Clonbrony had assured him, that, the last time she had been at the
drawing-room at the Castle, a lady, whom she afterwards found to be a
grocer's wife, had turned angrily when her ladyship had accidentally
trodden on her train, and had exclaimed with a strong brogue, "I'll
thank you, ma'am, for the rest of my tail."

Sir James Brooke, to whom Lord Colambre, without _giving up his
authority_, mentioned the fact, declared that he had no doubt the
thing had happened precisely as it was stated; but that this was one
of the extraordinary cases which ought not to pass into a general
rule,--that it was a slight instance of that influence of temporary
causes, from which no conclusions, as to national manners, should be
drawn.

"I happened," continued Sir James, "to be quartered in Dublin soon
after the Union took place; and I remember the great but transient
change that appeared from the removal of both houses of parliament:
most of the nobility and many of the principal families among the
Irish commoners, either hurried in high hopes to London, or retired
disgusted and in despair to their houses in the country. Immediately,
in Dublin, commerce rose into the vacated seats of rank; wealth rose
into the place of birth. New faces and new equipages appeared: people,
who had never been heard of before, started into notice, pushed
themselves forward, not scrupling to elbow their way even at the
castle; and they were presented to my lord-lieutenant and to my
lady-lieutenant; for their excellencies might have played their
vice-regal parts to empty benches, had they not admitted such
persons for the moment to fill their court. Those of former times,
of hereditary pretensions and high-bred minds and manners, were
scandalized at all this; and they complained with justice, that the
whole _tone_ of society was altered; that the decorum, elegance,
polish, and charm of society was gone. And I, among the rest," said
Sir James, "felt and deplored their change. But, now it's all over, we
may acknowledge, that, perhaps, even those things which we felt most
disagreeable at the time were productive of eventual benefit.

"Formerly, a few families had set the fashion. From time immemorial
every thing had, in Dublin, been submitted to their hereditary
authority; and conversation, though it had been rendered polite by
their example, was, at the same time, limited within narrow bounds.
Young people, educated upon a more enlarged plan, in time grew up;
and, no authority or fashion forbidding it, necessarily rose to their
just place, and enjoyed their due influence in society. The want of
manners, joined to the want of knowledge, in the _nouveaux riches_,
created universal disgust: they were compelled, some by ridicule, some
by bankruptcies, to fall back into their former places, from which
they could never more emerge. In the mean time, some of the Irish
nobility and gentry, who had been living at an unusual expense in
London--an expense beyond their incomes--were glad to return home to
refit; and they brought with them a new stock of ideas, and some taste
for science and literature, which, within these latter years, have
become fashionable, indeed indispensable, in London. That part of the
Irish aristocracy, who, immediately upon the first incursions of the
vulgarians, had fled in despair to their fastnesses in the country,
hearing of the improvements which had gradually taken place in
society, and assured of the final expulsion of the barbarians,
ventured from their retreats, and returned to their posts in town. So
that now," concluded Sir James, "you find a society in Dublin composed
of a most agreeable and salutary mixture of birth and education,
gentility and knowledge, manner and matter; and you see, pervading the
whole, new life and energy, new talent, new ambition, a desire and a
determination to improve and be improved--a perception that higher
distinction can now be obtained in almost all company, by genius and
merit, than by airs and address.... So much for the higher order. Now,
among the class of tradesmen and shopkeepers, you may amuse yourself,
my lord, with marking the difference between them and persons of the
same rank in London."

Lord Colambre had several commissions to execute for his English
friends, and he made it his amusement in every shop to observe the
manners and habits of the people. He remarked that there are in Dublin
two classes of tradespeople: one, who go into business with intent to
make it their occupation for life, and as a slow but sure means of
providing for themselves and their families; another class, who take
up trade merely as a temporary resource, to which they condescend for
a few years; trusting that they shall, in that time, make a fortune,
retire, and commence or re-commence gentlemen. The Irish regular men
of business are like all other men of business--punctual, frugal,
careful, and so forth; with the addition of more intelligence,
invention, and enterprise, than are usually found in Englishmen of
the same rank. But the Dublin tradesmen _pro tempore_ are a class by
themselves: they begin without capital, buy stock upon credit, in
hopes of making large profits, and, in the same hopes, sell upon
credit.

Now, if the credit they can obtain is longer than that which they are
forced to give, they go on and prosper; if not, they break, become
bankrupts, and sometimes, as bankrupts, thrive. By such men, of
course, every _short cut_ to fortune is followed: whilst every habit,
which requires time to prove its advantage, is disregarded; nor, with
such views, can a character for _punctuality_ have its just value.
In the head of a man, who intends to be a tradesman to-day, and a
gentleman to-morrow, the ideas of the honesty and the duties of a
tradesman, and of the honour and the accomplishments of a gentleman,
are oddly jumbled together, and the characteristics of both are lost
in the compound.

He will _oblige_ you, but he will not obey you; he will do you a
favour, but he will not do you _justice_; he will do _anything to
serve you_, but the particular thing you order he neglects; he asks
your pardon, for he would not, for all the goods in his warehouse,
_disoblige_ you; not for the sake of your custom, but he has a
particular regard for your family. Economy, in the eyes of such a
tradesman, is, if not a mean vice, at least a shabby virtue, of which
he is too polite to suspect his customers, and to which he is proud of
proving himself superior. Many London tradesmen, after making their
thousands and their tens of thousands, feel pride in still continuing
to live like plain men of business; but from the moment a Dublin
tradesman of this style has made a few hundreds, he sets up his
gig, and then his head is in his carriage, and not in his business;
and when he has made a few thousands, he buys or builds a country
house--and, then, and thenceforward, his head, heart, and soul, are in
his country-house, and only his body in the shop with his customers.

Whilst he is making money, his wife, or rather his lady, is
spending twice as much out of town as he makes in it. At the word
country-house, let no one figure to himself a snug little box like
that in which a _warm_ London citizen, after long years of toil,
indulges himself, one day out of seven, in repose--enjoying, from his
gazabo, the smell of the dust, and the view of passing coaches on the
London road: no, these Hibernian villas are on a much more magnificent
scale; some of them formerly belonged to Irish members of parliament,
who were at a distance from their country-seats. After the Union these
were bought by citizens and tradesmen, who spoiled, by the mixture of
their own fancies, what had originally been designed by men of good
taste.

Some time after Lord Colambre's arrival in Dublin, he had an
opportunity of seeing one of these villas, which belonged to Mrs.
Raffarty, a grocer's lady, and sister to one of Lord Clonbrony's
agents, Mr. Nicholas Garraghty. Lord Colambre was surprised to find
that his father's agent resided in Dublin: he had been used to see
agents, or stewards, as they are called in England, live in the
country, and usually on the estate of which they have the management.
Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, however, had a handsome house in a fashionable
part of Dublin. Lord Colambre called several times to see him, but he
was out of town, receiving rents for some other gentlemen, as he was
agent for more than one property.

Though our hero had not the honour of seeing Mr. Garraghty, he had the
pleasure of finding Mrs. Raffarty one day at her brother's house. Just
as his lordship came to the door, she was going, on her jaunting-car,
to her villa, called Tusculum, situate near Bray. She spoke much of
the beauties of the vicinity of Dublin; found his lordship was going
with Sir James Brooke, and a party of gentlemen, to see the county
of Wicklow; and his lordship and party were entreated to do her the
honour of taking in their way a little collation at Tusculum.

Our hero was glad to have an opportunity of seeing more of a species
of fine lady with which he was unacquainted.

The invitation was verbally made, and verbally accepted; but the lady
afterwards thought it necessary to send a written invitation in due
form, and the note she sent directed to the _Most Right Honourable_
the Lord Viscount Colambre. On opening it he perceived that it could
not have been intended for him. It ran as follows:

"MY DEAR JULIANA O'LEARY,

"I have got a promise from Colambre, that he will be with us
at Tusculum on Friday, the 20th, in his way from the county of
Wicklow, for the collation I mentioned; and expect a large party
of officers: so pray come early, with your house, or as many as
the jaunting-car can bring. And pray, my dear, be _elegant_. You
need not let it transpire to Mrs. O'G----; but make my apologies
to Miss O'G----, if she says any thing, and tell her I'm quite
concerned I can't ask her for that day; because, tell her, I'm so
crowded, and am to have none that day but _real quality_.

"Yours ever and ever,

"ANASTASIA RAFFARTY.

"P.S. And I hope to make the gentlemen stop the night with me: so
will not have beds. Excuse haste and compliments, &c.

"_Tusculum, Sunday 15._"

After a charming tour in the county of Wicklow, where the beauty of
the natural scenery, and the taste with which those natural beauties
had been cultivated, far surpassed the sanguine expectations Lord
Colambre had formed, his lordship and his companions arrived at
Tusculum, where he found Mrs. Raffarty, and Miss Juliana O'Leary,
very elegant, with a large party of the ladies and gentlemen of Bray,
assembled in a drawing-room, fine with bad pictures and gaudy gilding;
the windows were all shut, and the company were playing cards with all
their might. This was the fashion of the neighbourhood. In compliment
to Lord Colambre and the officers, the ladies left the card-tables;
and Mrs. Raffarty, observing that his lordship seemed _partial_ to
walking, took him out, as she said, "to do the honours of nature and
art."

His lordship was much amused by the mixture, which was now exhibited
to him, of taste and incongruity, ingenuity and absurdity, genius
and blunder; by the contrast between the finery and vulgarity, the
affectation and ignorance, of the lady of the villa. We should be
obliged to _stop_ too long at Tusculum were we to attempt to detail
all the odd circumstances of this visit; but we may record an example
or two, which may give a sufficient idea of the whole.

In the first place, before they left the drawing-room, Miss Juliana
O'Leary pointed out to his lordship's attention a picture over the
drawing-room chimney-piece. "Is not it a fine piece, my lord?" said
she, naming the price Mrs. Raffarty had lately paid for it at an
auction. "It has a right to be a fine piece, indeed; for it cost a
fine price!" Nevertheless this _fine_ piece was a vile daub; and our
hero could only avoid the sin of flattery, or the danger of offending
the lady, by protesting that he had no judgment in pictures.

"Indeed! I don't pretend to be a connoisseur or conoscenti myself; but
I'm told the style is undeniably modern. And was not I lucky, Juliana,
not to let that _Medona_ be knocked down to me? I was just going to
bid, when I heard such smart bidding; but, fortunately, the auctioneer
let out that it was done by a very old master--a hundred years old.
Oh! your most obedient, thinks I!--if that's the case, it's not for my
money: so I bought this, in lieu of the smoke-dried thing, and had it
a bargain."

In architecture, Mrs. Raffarty had as good a taste and as much skill
as in painting. There had been a handsome portico in front of the
house: but this interfering with the lady's desire to have a viranda,
which she said could not he dispensed with, she had raised the whole
portico to the second story, where it stood, or seemed to stand, upon
a tarpaulin roof. But Mrs. Raffarty explained, that the pillars,
though they looked so properly substantial, were really hollow
and as light as feathers, and were supported with cramps, without
_disobliging_ the front wall of the house at all to signify.

Before she showed the company any farther, she said, she must premise
to his lordship, that she had been originally stinted in room for
her improvements, so that she could not follow her genius liberally;
she had been reduced to have some things on a confined scale, and
occasionally to consult her pocket-compass; but she prided herself
upon having put as much into a tight pattern as could well be;
that had been her whole ambition, study, and problem; for she was
determined to have at least the honour of having a little _taste_ of
every thing at Tusculum.

So she led the way to a little conservatory, and a little pinery, and
a little grapery, and a little aviary, and a little pheasantry, and a
little dairy for show, and a little cottage for ditto, with a grotto
full of shells, and a little hermitage full of earwigs, and a little
ruin full of looking-glass, "to enlarge and multiply the effect of the
Gothic."--"But you could only put your head in, because it was just
fresh painted, and though there had been a fire ordered in the ruin
all night, it had only smoked."

In all Mrs. Raffarty's buildings, whether ancient or modern, there was
a studied crookedness.

Yes, she said, she hated every thing straight, it was so formal and
_unpicturesque_. "Uniformity and conformity," she observed, "had their
day; but now, thank the stars of the present day, irregularity and
deformity bear the bell, and have the majority."

As they proceeded and walked through the grounds, from which Mrs.
Raffarty, though she had done her best, could not take that which
nature had given, she pointed out to my lord "a happy moving
termination," consisting of a Chinese bridge, with a fisherman leaning
over the rails. On a sudden, the fisherman was seen to tumble over the
bridge into the water. The gentlemen ran to extricate the poor fellow,
while they heard Mrs. Raffarty bawling to his lordship to beg he would
never mind, and not trouble himself.

When they arrived at the bridge, they saw the man hanging from part
of the bridge, and apparently struggling in the water; but when they
attempted to pull him up, they found it was only a stuffed figure,
which had been pulled into the stream by a real fish, which had seized
hold of the bait.

Mrs. Raffarty, vexed by the fisherman's fall, and by the laughter
it occasioned, did not recover herself sufficiently to be happily
ridiculous during the remainder of the walk, nor till dinner was
announced, when she apologized for having changed the collation, at
first intended, into a dinner, which she hoped would be found no bad
substitute, and which she flattered herself might prevail on my lord
and the gentlemen to sleep, as there was no moon.

The dinner had two great faults--profusion and pretension. There was,
in fact, ten times more on the table than was necessary; and the
entertainment was far above the circumstances of the person by whom it
was given: for instance, the dish of fish at the head of the table had
been brought across the island from Sligo, and had cost five guineas;
as the lady of the house failed not to make known. But, after all,
things were not of a piece; there was a disparity between the
entertainment and the attendants; there was no proportion or fitness
of things; a painful endeavour at what could not be attained, and a
toiling in vain to conceal and repair deficiencies and blunders. Had
the mistress of the house been quiet; had she, as Mrs. Broadhurst
would say, but let things alone, let things take their course, all
would have passed off with well-bred people; but she was incessantly
apologizing, and fussing, and fretting inwardly and outwardly, and
directing and calling to her servants--striving to make a butler who
was deaf, and a boy who was harebrained, do the business of five
accomplished footmen of _parts and figure_. The mistress of the house
called for "plates, clean plates!--plates!"

"But none did come, when she did call."

Mrs. Raffarty called "Lanty! Lanty! My lord's plate, there!--James!
bread to Captain Bowles!--James! port wine to the major!--James! James
Kenny! James!"

"And panting _James_ toiled after her in vain."

At length one course was fairly got through, and after a torturing
half hour, the second course appeared, and James Kenny was intent upon
one thing, and Lanty upon another, so that the wine-sauce for the hare
was spilt by their collision; but, what was worse, there seemed little
chance that the whole of this second course should ever be placed
altogether rightly upon the table. Mrs. Raffarty cleared her throat,
and nodded, and pointed, and sighed, and sent Lanty after Kenny, and
Kenny after Lanty; for what one did, the other undid; and at last the
lady's anger kindled, and she spoke: "Kenny! James Kenny! set the
sea-cale at this corner, and put down the grass cross-corners; and
match your maccaroni yonder with _them_ puddens, set--Ogh! James! the
pyramid in the middle, can't ye?"

The pyramid, in changing places, was overturned. Then it was that the
mistress of the feast, falling back in her seat, and lifting up her
hands and eyes in despair, ejaculated, "Oh, James! James!"

The pyramid was raised by the assistance of the military engineers,
and stood trembling again on its base; but the lady's temper could not
be so easily restored to its equilibrium. She vented her ill humour on
her unfortunate husband, who happening not to hear her order to help
my lord to some hare, she exclaimed loud, that all the world might
hear, "Corny Raffarty! Corny Raffarty! you're no more _gud_ at the
_fut_ of my table than a stick of celery!"

The comedy of errors, which this day's visit exhibited, amused all
the spectators. But Lord Colambre, after he had smiled, sometimes
sighed.--Similar foibles and follies in persons of different rank,
fortune, and manner, appear to common observers so unlike that they
laugh without scruples of conscience in one case, at what in another
ought to touch themselves most nearly. It was the same desire to
appear what they were not, the same vain ambition to vie with superior
rank and fortune, or fashion, which actuated Lady Clonbrony and Mrs.
Raffarty; and whilst this ridiculous grocer's wife made herself the
sport of some of her guests, Lord Colambre sighed, from the reflection
that what she was to them, his mother was to persons in a higher rank
of fashion.--He sighed still more deeply, when he considered, that,
in whatever station or with whatever fortune, extravagance, that is,
the living beyond our income, must lead to distress and meanness, and
end in shame and ruin. In the morning as they were riding away from
Tusculum and talking over their visit, the officers laughed heartily,
and rallying Lord Colambre upon his seriousness, accused him of having
fallen in love with Mrs. Raffarty, or with the _elegant_ Miss Juliana.
Our hero, who wished never to be nice over much, or serious out of
season, laughed with those that laughed, and endeavoured to catch the
spirit of the jest. But Sir James Brooke, who now was well acquainted
with his countenance, and who knew something of the history of his
family, understood his real feelings, and, sympathizing in them,
endeavoured to give the conversation a new turn.

"Look there, Bowles," said he, as they were just riding into the town
of Bray; "look at the barouche standing at that green door, at the
farthest end of the town. Is not that Lady Dashfort's barouche?"

"It looks like what she sported in Dublin last year," said Bowles;
"but you don't think she'd give us the same two seasons. Besides, she
is not in Ireland, is she? I did not hear of her intending to come
over again."

"I beg your pardon," said another officer; "she will come again to
so good a market, to marry her other daughter. I hear she said or
swore that she will marry the young widow, Lady Isabel, to an Irish
nobleman."

"Whatever she says, she swears, and whatever she swears, she'll do,"
replied Bowles.

"Have a care, my Lord Colambre; if she sets her heart upon you for
Lady Isabel, she has you. Nothing can save you. Heart she has none,
so there you're safe, my lord," said the other officer; "but if Lady
Isabel sets her eye upon you, no basilisk's is surer."

"But if Lady Dashfort had landed I am sure we should have heard of it,
for she makes noise enough wherever she goes; especially in Dublin,
where all she said and did was echoed and magnified, till one could
hear of nothing else. I don't think she has landed."

"I hope to Heaven they may never land again in Ireland!" cried
Sir James Brooke: "one worthless woman, especially one worthless
Englishwoman of rank, does incalculable mischief in a country like
this, which looks up to the sister country for fashion. For my own
part, as a warm friend to Ireland, I would rather see all the toads
and serpents, and venomous reptiles, that St. Patrick carried off in
his bag, come back to this island, than these two _dashers_. Why, they
would bite half the women and girls in the kingdom with the rage for
mischief, before half the husbands and fathers could turn their heads
about. And, once bit, there's no cure in nature or art."

"No horses to this barouche!" cried Captain Bowles.--"Pray, sir, whose
carriage is this?" said the captain to a servant, who was standing
beside it.

"My Lady Dashfort, sir, it belongs to," answered the servant, in
rather a surly English tone; and turning to a boy who was lounging at
the door, "Pat, bid them bring out the horses, for my ladies is in a
hurry to get home."

Captain Bowles stopped to make his servant alter the girths of his
horse, and to satisfy his curiosity; and the whole party halted.
Captain Bowles beckoned to the landlord of the inn, who was standing
at his door.

"So, Lady Dashfort is here again?--This is her barouche, is not it?"

"Yes, sir, she is--it is."

"And has she sold her fine horses?"

"Oh, no, sir--this is not her carriage at all--she is not here. That
is, she is here, in Ireland; but down in the county of Wicklow, on
a visit. And this is not her own carriage at all;--that is to say,
not that which she has with herself, driving; but only just the cast
barouche like, as she keeps for the lady's maids."

"For the lady's maids! that is good! that is new, faith! Sir James, do
you hear that?"

"Indeed, then, and it's true, and not a word of a lie!" said the
honest landlord. "And this minute, we've got a directory of five of
them Abigails, sitting within our house; as fine ladies, as great
dashers too, every bit, as their principals; and kicking up as much
dust on the road, every grain!--Think of them, now! The likes of
them, that must have four horses, and would not stir a foot with one
less!--As the gentleman's gentleman there was telling and boasting
to me about now, when the barouche was ordered for them there at the
lady's house, where Lady Dashfort is on a visit--they said they would
not get in till they'd get four horses; and their ladies backed them;
and so the four horses was got; and they just drove out here to see
the points of view for fashion's sake, like their betters; and up with
their glasses, like their ladies; and then out with their watches, and
'Isn't it time to lunch?' So there they have been lunching within on
what they brought with them; for nothing in our house could they touch
of course! They brought themselves a _pick-nick_ lunch, with Madeira
and Champagne to wash it down. Why, gentlemen, what do you think,
but a set of them, as they were bragging to me, turned out of a
boarding-house at Cheltenham, last year, because they had not peach
pies to their lunch!--But, here they come! shawls, and veils, and
all!--streamers flying! But mum is my cue!--Captain, are these girths
to your fancy now?" said the landlord, aloud: then, as he stooped to
alter a buckle, he said in a voice meant to be heard only by Captain
Bowles, "If there's a tongue, male or female, in the three kingdoms,
it's in that foremost woman, Mrs. Petito."

"Mrs. Petito!" repeated Lord Colambre, as the name caught his ear;
and, approaching the barouche, in which the five Abigails were now
seated, he saw the identical Mrs. Petito, who, when he left London,
had been in his mother's service.

She recognized his lordship with very gracious intimacy; and, before
he had time to ask any questions, she answered all she conceived he
was going to ask, and with a volubility which justified the landlord's
eulogium of her tongue.

"Yes, my lord! I left my Lady Clonbrony some time back--the day after
you left town; and both her ladyship and Miss Nugent was charmingly,
and would have sent their loves to your lordship, I'm sure, if they'd
any notion I should have met you, my lord, so soon. And I was very
sorry to part with them; but the fact was, my lord," said Mrs. Petito,
laying a detaining hand upon Lord Colambre's whip, one end of which
he unwittingly trusted within her reach, "I and my lady had a little
difference, which the best friends, you know, sometimes have: so
my Lady Clonbrony was so condescending to give me up to my Lady
Dashfort--and I knew no more than the child unborn that her ladyship
had it in contemplation to cross the seas. But, to oblige my lady,
and as Colonel Heathcock, with his regiment of militia, was coming
for purtection in the packet at the same time, and we to have the
government-yacht, I waived my objections to Ireland. And, indeed,
though I was greatly frighted at first, having heard all we've heard,
you know, my lord, from Lady Clonbrony, of there being no living
in Ireland, and expecting to see no trees, nor accommodation, nor
any thing but bogs all along; yet I declare, I was very agreeably
surprised; for, as far as I've seen at Dublin and in the vicinity,
the accommodations, and every thing of that nature now, is vastly
put-up-able with!"

"My lord," said Sir James Brooke, "we shall be late."

Lord Colambre, withdrawing his whip from Mrs. Petito, turned his
horse away. She, stretching over the back of the barouche as he rode
off, bawled to him, "My lord, we're at Stephen's Green, when we're at
Dublin." But as he did not choose to hear, she raised her voice to its
highest pitch, adding, "And where are you, my lord, to be found?--as I
have a parcel of Miss Nugent's for you."

Lord Colambre instantly turned back, and gave his direction.

"Cleverly done, faith!" said the major.

"I did not hear her say when Lady Dashfort is to be in town," said
Captain Bowles.

"What, Bowles! have you a mind to lose more of your guineas to Lady
Dashfort, and to be jockeyed out of another horse by Lady Isabel?"

"Oh, confound it--no! I'll keep out of the way of that--I have had
enough," said Captain Bowles; "it is my Lord Colambre's turn now; you
hear that Lady Dashfort would be very _proud_ to see him. His lordship
is in for it, and with such an auxiliary as Mrs. Petito, Lady Dashfort
has him far Lady Isabel, as sure as he has a heart or hand."

"My compliments to the ladies, but my heart is engaged," said Lord
Colambre; "and my hand shall go with my heart, or not at all."

"Engaged! engaged to a very amiable, charming woman, no doubt," said
Sir James Brooke. "I have an excellent opinion of your taste; and if
you can return the compliment to my judgment, take my advice: don't
trust to your heart's being engaged, much less plead that engagement;
for it would be Lady Dashfort's sport, and Lady Isabel's joy, to
make you break your engagement, and break your mistress's heart; the
fairer, the more amiable, the more beloved, the greater the triumph,
the greater the delight in giving pain. All the time love would be out
of the question; neither mother nor daughter would care if you were
hanged, or, as Lady Dashfort would herself have expressed it, if you
were d----d."

"With such women I should think a man's heart could be in no great
danger," said Lord Colambre.

"There you might be mistaken, my lord; there's a way to every man's
heart, which no man in his own case is aware of, but which every woman
knows right well, and none better than these ladies--by his vanity."

"True," said Captain Bowles.

"I am not so vain as to think myself without vanity," said Lord
Colambre; "but love, I should imagine, is a stronger passion than
vanity."

"You should imagine! Stay till you are tried, my lord. Excuse me,"
said Captain Bowles, laughing.

Lord Colambre felt the good sense of this, and determined to have
nothing to do with these dangerous ladies: indeed, though he had
talked, he had scarcely yet thought of them; for his imagination was
intent upon that packet from Miss Nugent, which Mrs. Petito said she
had for him. He heard nothing of it, or of her, for some days. He sent
his servant every day to Stephen's Green, to inquire if Lady Dashfort
had returned to town. Her ladyship at last returned; but Mrs. Petito
could not deliver the parcel to any hand but Lord Colambre's own, and
she would not stir out, because her lady was indisposed. No longer
able to restrain his impatience, Lord Colambre went himself--knocked
at Lady Dashfort's door--inquired for Mrs. Petito--was shown into
her parlour. The parcel was delivered to him; but, to his utter
disappointment, it was a parcel _for_, not _from_ Miss Nugent. It
contained merely an odd volume of some book of Miss Nugent's which
Mrs. Petito said she had put up along with her things _in a mistake_,
and she thought it her duty to return it by the first opportunity of a
safe conveyance.

Whilst Lord Colambre, to comfort himself for his disappointment, was
fixing his eyes upon Miss Nugent's name, written by her own hand, in
the first leaf of the book, the door opened, and the figure of an
interesting-looking lady, in deep mourning, appeared--appeared for one
moment, and retired.

"Only my Lord Colambre, about a parcel I was bringing for him from
England, my lady--my Lady Isabel, my lord," said Mrs. Petito.

Whilst Mrs. Petito was saying this, the entrance and retreat had
been made, and made with such dignity, grace, and modesty: with
such innocence, dove-like eyes had been raised upon him, fixed and
withdrawn; with such a gracious bend the Lady Isabel had bowed to
him as she retired; with such a smile, and with so soft a voice, had
repeated "Lord Colambre!" that his lordship, though well aware that
all this was mere acting, could not help saying to himself, as he
left the house, "It is a pity it is only acting. There is certainly
something very engaging in this woman. It is a pity she is an actress.
And so young! A much younger woman than I expected. A widow before
most women are wives. So young, surely she cannot be such a fiend as
they described her to be!"

A few nights afterwards Lord Colambre was with some of his
acquaintance at the theatre, when Lady Isabel and her mother came
into the box, where seats had been reserved for them, and where their
appearance instantly made that _sensation_, which is usually created
by the entrance of persons of the first notoriety in the fashionable
world. Lord Colambre was not a man to be dazzled by fashion, or to
mistake notoriety for deference paid to merit, and for the admiration
commanded by beauty or talents. Lady Dashfort's coarse person, loud
voice, daring manners, and indelicate wit, disgusted him almost
past endurance. He saw Sir James Brooke in the box opposite to him;
and twice determined to go round to him. His lordship had crossed
the benches, and once his hand was upon the lock of the door; but,
attracted as much by the daughter as repelled by the mother, he could
move no farther. The mother's masculine boldness heightened, by
contrast, the charms of the daughter's soft sentimentality. The Lady
Isabel seemed to shrink from the indelicacy of her mother's manners,
and appeared peculiarly distressed by the strange efforts Lady
Dashfort made, from time to time, to drag her forward, and to fix
upon her the attention of gentlemen. Colonel Heathcock, who, as Mrs.
Petito had informed Lord Colambre, had come over with his regiment to
Ireland, was beckoned into their box by Lady Dashfort, by her squeezed
into a seat next to Lady Isabel; but Lady Isabel seemed to feel
sovereign contempt, properly repressed by politeness, for what, in a
low whisper to a female friend on the other side of her, she called,
"the self-sufficient inanity of this sad coxcomb." Other coxcombs, of
a more vivacious style, who stationed themselves round her mother, or
to whom her mother stretched from box to box to talk, seemed to engage
no more of Lady Isabel's attention than just what she was compelled to
give by Lady Dashfort's repeated calls of, "Isabel! Isabel! Colonel
G----, Isabel! Lord D---- bowing to you. Bell! Bell! Sir Harry B----.
Isabel, child, with your eyes on the stage? Did you never see a play
before? Novice! Major P---- waiting to catch your eye this quarter of
an hour; and now her eyes gone down to her play-bill! Sir Harry, do
take it from her.

"'Were eyes so radiant only made to read?'"

Lady Isabel appeared to suffer so exquisitely and so naturally from
this persecution, that Lord Colambre said to himself, "If this be
acting, it is the best acting I ever saw. If this be art, it deserves
to be nature."

And with this sentiment, he did himself the honour of handing Lady
Isabel to her carriage this night, and with this sentiment he awoke
next morning; and by the time he had dressed and breakfasted, he
determined that it was impossible all that he had seen could be
acting. "No woman, no young woman, could have such art." Sir James
Brooke had been unwarrantably severe; he would go and tell him so.

But Sir James Brooke this day received orders for his regiment to
march to quarters in a distant part of Ireland. His head was full of
arms, and ammunition, and knapsacks, and billets, and routes; and
there was no possibility, even in the present chivalrous disposition
of our hero, to enter upon the defence of the Lady Isabel. Indeed, in
the regret he felt for the approaching and unexpected departure of his
friend, Lord Colambre forgot the fair lady. But just when Sir James
had his foot in the stirrup, he stopped.

"By-the-bye, my dear lord, I saw you at the play last night. You
seemed to be much interested. Don't think me impertinent if I remind
you of our conversation when we were riding home from Tusculum;
and if I warn you," said he, mounting his horse, "to beware of
counterfeits--for such are abroad." Reining in his impatient steed,
Sir James turned again, and added "_Deeds, not words_, is my motto.
Remember, we can judge better by the conduct of people towards others
than by their manner towards ourselves."

CHAPTER VII.

Our hero was quite convinced of the good sense of his friend's last
remark, that it is safer to judge of people by their conduct to others
than by their manners towards ourselves; but as yet, he felt scarcely
any interest on the subject of Lady Dashfort's or Lady Isabel's
characters: however, he inquired and listened to all the evidence he
could obtain respecting this mother and daughter.

He heard terrible reports of the mischief they had done in families;
the extravagance into which they had led men; the imprudence, to say
no worse, into which they had betrayed women. Matches broken off,
reputations ruined, husbands alienated from their wives, and wives
made jealous of their husbands. But in some of these stories he
discovered exaggeration so flagrant as to make him doubt the whole; in
others, it could not be positively determined whether the mother or
daughter had been the person most to blame.

Lord Colambre always followed the charitable rule of believing only
half what the world says, and here he thought it fair to believe
which half he pleased. He farther observed, that, though all joined
in abusing these ladies in their absence, when present they seemed
universally admired. Though every body cried "shame!" and "shocking!"
yet every body visited them. No parties so crowded as Lady Dashfort's;
no party deemed pleasant or fashionable where Lady Dashfort or Lady
Isabel was not. The bon-mots of the mother were every where repeated;
the dress and air of the daughter every where imitated. Yet Lord
Colambre could not help being surprised at their popularity in Dublin,
because, independently of all moral objections, there were causes of
a different sort, sufficient, he thought, to prevent Lady Dashfort
from being liked by the Irish, indeed by any society. She in general
affected to be ill-bred, and inattentive to the feelings and opinions
of others; careless whom she offended by her wit or by her decided
tone. There are some persons in so high a region of fashion, that they
imagine themselves above the thunder of vulgar censure. Lady Dashfort
felt herself in this exalted situation, and fancied she might

"Hear the innocuous thunder roll below."

Her rank was so high that none could dare to call her vulgar: what
would have been gross in any one of meaner note, in her was freedom or
originality, or Lady Dashfort's way. It was Lady Dashfort's pleasure
and pride to show her power in perverting the public taste. She often
said to those English companions with whom she was intimate, "Now see
what follies I can lead these fools into. Hear the nonsense I can make
them repeat as wit." Upon some occasion, one of her friends _ventured_
to fear that something she had said was _too strong_. "Too strong,
was it? Well, I like to be strong--woe be to the weak!" On another
occasion she was told that certain visitors had seen her ladyship
yawning. "Yawn, did I?--glad of it--the yawn sent them away, or I
should have snored;--rude, was I? they won't complain. To say I was
rude to them, would be to say, that I did not think it worth my while
to be otherwise. Barbarians! are not we the civilized English, come to
teach them manners and fashions? Whoever does not conform, and swear
allegiance too, we shall keep out of the English pale."

Lady Dashfort forced her way, and she set the fashion: fashion, which
converts the ugliest dress into what is beautiful and charming,
governs the public mode in morals and in manners; and thus, when great
talents and high rank combine, they can debase or elevate the public
taste.

With Lord Colambre she played more artfully: she drew him out in
defence of his beloved country, and gave him opportunities of
appearing to advantage; this he could not help feeling, especially
when the Lady Isabel was present. Lady Dashfort had dealt long enough
with human nature to know, that to make any man pleased with her, she
should begin by making him pleased with himself.

Insensibly the antipathy that Lord Colambre had originally felt to
Lady Dashfort wore off; her faults, he began to think, were assumed;
he pardoned her defiance of good-breeding, when he observed that she
could, when she chose it, be most engagingly polite. It was not that
she did not know what was right, but that she did not think it always
for her interest to practise it.

The party opposed to Lady Dashfort affirmed that her wit depended
merely on unexpectedness; a characteristic which may be applied to any
impropriety of speech, manner, or conduct. In some of her ladyship's
repartees, however, Lord Colambre now acknowledged there was more
than unexpectedness; there was real wit; but it was of a sort utterly
unfit for a woman, and he was sorry that Lady Isabel should hear
it. In short, exceptionable as it was altogether, Lady Dashfort's
conversation had become entertaining to him; and though he could never
esteem, or feel in the least interested about her, he began to allow
that she could be agreeable.

"Ay, I knew how it would be," said she, when some of her friends told
her this. "He began by detesting me, and did I not tell you that,
if I thought it worth my while to make him like me, he must, sooner
or later? I delight in seeing people begin with me as they do with
olives, making all manner of horrid faces, and silly protestations
that they will never touch an olive again as long as they live; but,
after a little time, these very folk grow so desperately fond of
olives, that there is no dessert without them. Isabel, child, you are
in the sweet line--but sweets cloy. You never heard of any body living
on marmalade, did ye?"

Lady Isabel answered by a sweet smile.

"To do you justice, you play Lydia Languish vastly well," pursued the
mother; "but Lydia, by herself, would soon tire; somebody must keep up
the spirit and bustle, and carry on the plot of the piece, and I am
that somebody--as you shall see. Is not that our hero's voice which I
hear on the stairs?"

It was Lord Colambre. His lordship had by this time become a constant
visitor at Lady Dashfort's. Not that he had forgotten, or that he
meant to disregard his friend Sir James Brooke's parting words. He
promised himself faithfully, that if any thing should occur to give
him reason to suspect designs, such as those to which the warning
pointed, he would be on his guard, and would prove his generalship by
an able retreat. But to imagine attacks where none were attempted,
to suspect ambuscades in the open country, would be ridiculous and
cowardly.

"No," thought our hero; "Heaven forefend I should be such a coxcomb
as to fancy every woman who speaks to me has designs upon my precious
heart, or on my more precious estate!" As he walked from his hotel to
Lady Dashfort's house, ingeniously wrong, he came to this conclusion,
just as he ascended the stairs, and just as her ladyship had settled
her future plan of operations.

After talking over the nothings of the day, and after having given
two or three _cuts_ at the society of Dublin, with two or three
compliments to individuals, who she knew were favourites with his
lordship, she suddenly turned to him. "My lord, I think you told me,
or my own sagacity discovered, that you want to see something of
Ireland, and that you don't intend, like most travellers, to turn
round, see nothing, and go home content."

Lord Colambre assured her ladyship that she had judged him rightly,
for that nothing would content him but seeing all that was possible to
be seen of his native country. It was for this special purpose he came
to Ireland.

"Ah!--well--very good purpose--can't be better; but now how to
accomplish it. You know the Portuguese proverb says, 'You go to hell
for the good things you _intend_ to do, and to heaven for those you
do.' Now let us see what you will do. Dublin, I suppose, you've seen
enough of by this time; through and through--round and round--this
makes me first giddy, and then sick. Let me show you the country--not
the face of it, but the body of it--the people.--Not Castle this, or
Newtown that, but their inhabitants. I know them; I have the key, or
the pick-lock to their minds. An Irishman is as different an animal on
his guard and off his guard, as a miss in school from a miss out of
school. A fine country for game, I'll show you; and if you are a good
marksman, you may have plenty of shots 'at folly as it flies.'"

Lord Colambre smiled.

"As to Isabel," pursued her ladyship, "I shall put her in charge of
Heathcock, who is going with us. She won't thank me for that, but you
will. Nay, no fibs, man; you know, I know, as who does not that has
seen the world? that, though a pretty woman is a mighty pretty thing,
yet she is confoundedly in one's way, when any thing else is to be
seen, heard,--or understood."

Every objection anticipated and removed, and so far a prospect held
out of attaining all the information he desired, with more than all
the amusement he could have expected, Lord Colambre seemed much
tempted to accept the invitation; but he hesitated, because, as he
said, her ladyship might be going to pay visits where he was not
acquainted.

"Bless you! don't let that be a stumbling-block in the way of your
tender conscience. I am going to Killpatricks-town, where you'll
be as welcome as light. You know them, they know you; at least you
shall have a proper letter of invitation from my Lord and my Lady
Killpatrick, and all that. And as to the rest, you know a young man is
always welcome every where, a young nobleman kindly welcome--I won't
say such a young man, and such a young nobleman, for that might put
you to your bows or your blushes--but _nobilitas_ by itself, nobility
is virtue enough in all parties, in all families, where there are
girls, and of course balls, as there are always at Killpatricks-town.
Don't be alarmed; you shall not be forced to dance, or asked to marry.
I'll be your security. You shall be at full liberty; and it is a house
where you can do just what you will. Indeed, I go to no others. These
Killpatricks are the best creatures in the world; they think nothing
good or grand enough for me. If I'd let them, they would lay down
cloth of gold over their bogs for me to walk upon. Good-hearted
beings!" added Lady Dashfort, marking a cloud gathering on Lord
Colambre's countenance. "I laugh at them, because I love them. I could
not love any thing I might not laugh at--your lordship excepted. So
you'll come--that's settled."

And so it was settled. Our hero went to Killpatricks-town.

"Every thing here sumptuous and unfinished, you see," said Lady
Dashfort to Lord Colambre, the day after their arrival. "All begun as
if the projectors thought they had the command of the mines of Peru,
and ended as if the possessors had not sixpence. Luxuries enough for
an English prince of the blood: comforts not enough for an English
yeoman. And you may be sure that great repairs and alterations have
gone on to fit this house for our reception, and for our English
eyes!--Poor people!--English visitors, in this point of view, are
horribly expensive to the Irish. Did you ever hear, that in the last
century, or in the century before the last, to put my story far enough
back, so that it shall not touch any body living; when a certain
English nobleman, Lord Blank A----, sent to let his Irish friend, Lord
Blank B----, know that he and all his train were coming over to pay
him a visit; the Irish nobleman, Blank B----, knowing the deplorable
condition of his castle, sat down fairly to calculate whether it would
cost him most to put the building in good and sufficient repair,
fit to receive these English visitors, or to burn it to the ground.
He found the balance to be in favour of burning, which was wisely
accomplished next day.[1] Perhaps Killpatrick would have done well
to follow this example. Resolve me which is worst, to be burnt
out of house and home, or to be eaten out of house and home. In
this house, above and below stairs, including first and second
table, housekeeper's room, lady's maids' room, butler's room, and
gentleman's, one hundred and four people sit down to dinner every
day, as Petito informs me, besides kitchen boys, and what they call
_char_-women, who never sit down, but who do not eat or waste the less
for that; and retainers and friends, friends to the fifth and sixth
generation, who 'must get their bit and their sup;' for 'sure, it's
only Biddy,' they say;" continued Lady Dashfort, imitating their Irish
brogue. "And 'sure, 'tis nothing at all, out of all his honour my lord
has. How could he _feel_ it[2]?--Long life to him!--He's not that way:
not a couple in all Ireland, and that's saying a great dale, looks
less after their own, nor is more off-handeder, or open-hearteder, or
greater openhouse-keeper, _nor_[3] my Lord and my Lady Killpatrick.'
Now there's encouragement for a lord and a lady to ruin themselves."

[Footnote 1: Fact.]
[Footnote 2: _Feel_ it, become sensible of it, know it.]
[Footnote 3: _Nor_, than.]

Lady Dashfort imitated the Irish brogue in perfection; boasted that
"she was mistress of fourteen different brogues, and had brogues for
all occasions." By her mixture of mimicry, sarcasm, exaggeration, and
truth, she succeeded continually in making Lord Colambre laugh at
every thing at which she wished to make him laugh; at every _thing_,
but not at every _body_: whenever she became personal, he became
serious, or at least endeavoured to become serious; and if he could
not instantly resume the command of his risible muscles, he reproached
himself.

"It is shameful to laugh at these people, indeed, Lady Dashfort, in
their own house--these hospitable people, who are entertaining us."

"Entertaining us! true, and if we are _entertained_, how can we help
laughing?"

All expostulation was thus turned off by a jest, as it was her
pride to make Lord Colambre laugh in spite of his better feelings
and principles. This he saw, and this seemed to him to be her sole
object; but there he was mistaken. _Off-handed_ as she pretended to
be, none dealt more in the _impromptu fait a loisir_; and, mentally
short-sighted as she affected to be, none had more _longanimity_ for
their own interest.

It was her settled purpose to make the Irish and Ireland ridiculous
and contemptible to Lord Colambre; to disgust him with his native
country; to make him abandon the wish of residing on his own estate.
To confirm him an absentee was her object, previously to her ultimate
plan of marrying him to her daughter. Her daughter was poor, she would
therefore be glad to _get_ an Irish peer for her; but would be very
sorry, she said, to see Isabel banished to Ireland; and the young
widow declared she could never bring herself to be buried alive in
Clonbrony Castle.

In addition to these considerations, Lady Dashfort received certain
hints from Mrs. Petito, which worked all to the same point.

"Why, yes, my lady; I heard a great deal about all that, when I was
at Lady Clonbrony's," said Petito, one day, as she was attending at
her lady's toilette, and encouraged to begin chattering. "And I own
I was originally under the universal error that my Lord Colambre was
to be married to the great heiress, Miss Broadhurst; but I have been
converted and reformed on that score, and am at present quite in
another way of thinking."

Petito paused, in hopes that her lady would ask what was her present
way of thinking? But Lady Dashfort, certain that she would tell her
without being asked, did not take the trouble to speak, particularly
as she did not choose to appear violently interested on the subject.

"My present way of thinking," resumed Petito, "is in consequence of
my having, with my own eyes and ears, witnessed and overheard his
lordship's behaviour and words, the morning he was coming away from
_Lunnun_ for Ireland; when he was morally certain nobody was up, nor
overhearing nor overseeing him, there did I notice him, my lady,
stopping in the antechamber, ejaculating over one of Miss Nugent's
gloves, which he had picked up. 'Limerick!' said he, quite loud enough
to himself; for it was a Limerick glove, my lady--'Limerick!--dear
Ireland! she loves you as well as I do!'--or words to that effect;
and then a sigh, and down stairs and off. So, thinks I, now the cat's
out of the bag. And I wouldn't give much myself for Miss Broadhurst's
chance of that young lord, with all her Bank stock, scrip, and
_omnum_. Now, I see how the land lies, and I'm sorry for it; for she's
no _fortin_; and she's so proud, she never said a hint to me of the
matter: but my Lord Colambre is a sweet gentleman; and--"

"Petito! don't run on so; you must not meddle with what you don't
understand: the Miss Killpatricks, to be sure, are sweet girls,
particularly the youngest."

Her ladyship's toilette was finished; and she left Petito to go down
to my Lady Killpatrick's woman, to tell, as a very great secret, the
schemes that were in contemplation, among the higher powers, in favour
of the youngest of the Miss Killpatricks.

"So Ireland is at the bottom of his heart, is it?" repeated Lady
Dashfort to herself: "it shall not be long so."

From this time forward, not a day, scarcely an hour passed, but her
ladyship did or said something to depreciate the country, or its
inhabitants, in our hero's estimation. With treacherous ability,
she knew and followed all the arts of misrepresentation; all those
injurious arts which his friend, Sir James Brooke, had, with such
honest indignation, reprobated. She knew how, not only to seize the
ridiculous points, to make the most respectable people ridiculous,
but she knew how to select the worst instances, the worst exceptions;
and to produce them as examples, as precedents, from which to condemn
whole classes, and establish general false conclusions respecting a
nation.

In the neighbourhood of Killpatrick's-town, Lady Dashfort said,
there were several _squireens_, or little squires; a race of men who
have succeeded to the _buckeens_, described by Young and Crumpe.
_Squireens_ are persons who, with good long leases, or valuable farms,
possess incomes from three to eight hundred a year, who keep a pack
of hounds; _take out_ a commission of the peace, sometimes before
they can spell (as her ladyship said), and almost always before they
know any thing of law or justice. Busy and loud about small matters;
_jobbers at assizes_; combining with one another, and trying upon
every occasion, public or private, to push themselves forward, to the
annoyance of their superiors, and the terror of those below them.

In the usual course of things, these men are not often to be found
in the society of gentry except, perhaps, among those gentlemen or
noblemen who like to see hangers-on at their, tables: or who find it
for their convenience to have underling magistrates, to _protect_
their favourites, or to propose and _carry_ jobs for them on grand
juries. At election times, however, these persons rise into sudden
importance with all who have views upon the county. Lady Dashfort
hinted to Lord Killpatrick, that her private letters from England
spoke of an approaching dissolution of parliament: she knew that, upon
this hint, a round of invitations would be sent to the squireens; and
she was morally certain that they would be more disagreeable to Lord
Colambre, and give him a worse idea of the country, than any other
people who could be produced. Day after day some of these personages
made their appearance; and Lady Dashfort took care to draw them out
upon the subjects on which she knew that they would show the most
self-sufficient ignorance, and the most illiberal spirit. They
succeeded beyond her most sanguine expectations.

"Lord Colambre! how I pity you, for being compelled to these permanent
sittings after dinner!" said Lady Isabel to him one night, when he
came late to the ladies from the dining-room.

"Lord Killpatrick insisted upon my staying to help him to push about
that never-ending, still-beginning electioneering bottle," said Lord
Colambre.

"Oh! if that were all; if these gentlemen would only drink:--but their
conversation!" "I don't wonder my mother dreads returning to Clonbrony
Castle, if my father must have such company as this. But, surely, it
cannot be necessary."

"Oh, indispensable! positively indispensable!" cried Lady Dashfort;
"no living in Ireland without it. You know, in every country in the
world, you must live with the people of the country, or be torn to
pieces: for my part, I should prefer being torn to pieces."

Lady Dashfort and Lady Isabel knew how to take advantage of the
contrast between their own conversation, and that of the persons by
whom Lord Colambre was so justly disgusted: they happily relieved his
fatigue with wit, satire, poetry, and sentiment; so that he every day
became more exclusively fond of their company; for Lady Killpatrick
and the Miss Killpatricks were mere commonplace people. In the
mornings, he rode or walked with Lady Dashfort and Lady Isabel: Lady
Dashfort, by way of fulfilling her promise of showing him the people,
used frequently to take him into the cabins, and talk to their
inhabitants. Lord and Lady Killpatrick, who had lived always for the
fashionable world, had taken little pains to improve the condition of
their tenants: the few attempts they had made were injudicious. They
had built ornamented, picturesque cottages, within view of their park;
and favourite followers of the family, people with half a century's
habit of indolence and dirt, were _promoted_ to these fine dwellings.
The consequences were such as Lady Dashfort delighted to point out:
every thing let to go to ruin for the want of a moment's care, or
pulled to pieces for the sake of the most surreptitious profit: the
people most assisted always appearing proportionally wretched and
discontented. No one could, with more ease and more knowledge of her
ground, than Lady Dashfort, do the _dishonours_ of a country. In
every cabin that she entered, by the first glance of her eye at the
head, kerchiefed in no comely guise, or by the drawn-down corners of
the mouth, or by the bit of a broken pipe, which in Ireland never
characterizes _stout labour_, or by the first sound of the voice, the
drawling accent on "your honour," or, "my lady," she could distinguish
the proper objects of her charitable designs, that is to say, those
of the old uneducated race, whom no one can help, because they will
never help themselves. To these she constantly addressed herself,
making them give, in all their despairing tones, a history of their
complaints and grievances; then asking them questions, aptly contrived
to expose their habits of self-contradiction, their servility and
flattery one moment, and their litigious and encroaching spirit the
next: thus giving Lord Colambre the most unfavourable idea of the
disposition and character of the lower class of the Irish people. Lady
Isabel the while standing by, with the most amiable air of pity, with
expressions of the finest moral sensibility, softening all her mother
said, finding ever some excuse for the poor creatures, and following,
with angelic sweetness, to heal the wounds her mother inflicted.

When Lady Dashfort thought she had sufficiently worked upon Lord
Colambre's mind to weaken his enthusiasm for his native country; and
when Lady Isabel had, by the appearance of every virtue, added to
a delicate preference, if not partiality for our hero, ingratiated
herself into his good opinion, and obtained an interest in his mind,
the wily mother ventured an attack of a more decisive nature; and so
contrived it was, that if it failed, it should appear to have been
made without design to injure, and in total ignorance.

One day, Lady Dashfort, who, in fact, was not proud of her family,
though she pretended to be so, was herself prevailed on, though with
much difficulty, by Lady Killpatrick, to do the very thing she wanted
to do, to show her genealogy, which had been beautifully blazoned, and
which was to be produced in evidence in the lawsuit that brought her
to Ireland. Lord Colambre stood politely looking on and listening,
while her ladyship explained the splendid intermarriages of her
family, pointing to each medallion that was filled gloriously with
noble, and even with royal names, till at last she stopped short, and
covering one medallion with her finger, she said, "Pass over that,
dear Lady Killpatrick. You are not to see that, Lord Colambre--that's
a little blot in our scutcheon. You know, Isabel, we never talk of
that prudent match of great uncle John's: what could he expect by
marrying into _that_ family, where, you know, all the men were not
_sans peur_, and none of the women _sans reproche_?"

"Oh, mamma!" cried Lady Isabel, "not one exception!"

"Not one, Isabel," persisted Lady Dashfort: "there was Lady ----, and
the other sister, that married the man with the long nose; and the
daughter again, of whom they contrived to make an honest woman, by
getting her married in time to a _blue riband_, and who contrived to
get herself into Doctors' Commons the very next year."

"Well, dear mamma, that is enough, and too much. Oh! pray don't go
on," cried Lady Isabel, who had appeared very much distressed during
her mother's speech. "You don't know what you are saying: indeed,
ma'am, you don't."

"Very likely, child; but that compliment I can return to you on the
spot, and with interest; for you seem to me, at this instant, not to
know either what you are saying, or what you are doing. Come, come,
explain."

"Oh, no, ma'am--Pray say no more; I will explain myself another time."

"Nay, there you are wrong, Isabel; in point of good-breeding, any
thing is better than hints and mystery. Since I have been so unlucky
as to touch upon the subject, better go through with it, and, with
all the boldness of innocence, I ask the question, Are you, my Lord
Colambre, or are you not, related to or connected with any of the St.
Omars?"

"Not that I know of," said Lord Colambre; "but I really am so bad a
genealogist, that I cannot answer positively."

"Then I must put the substance of my question into a new form. Have
you, or have you not, a cousin of the name of Nugent?"

"Miss Nugent!--Grace Nugent!--Yes," said Lord Colambre, with as much
firmness of voice as he could command, and with as little change
of countenance as possible; but, as the question came upon him so
unexpectedly, it was not in his power to answer with an air of
absolute indifference and composure.

"And her mother was--" said Lady Dashfort.

"My aunt, by marriage; her maiden name was Reynolds, I think. But she
died when I was quite a child. I know very little about her. I never
saw her in my life; but I am certain she was a Reynolds."

"Oh, my dear lord," continued Lady Dashfort; "I am perfectly aware
that she did take and bear the name of Reynolds; but that was not her
maiden name--her maiden name was--; but perhaps it is a family secret
that has been kept, for some good reason, from you, and from the poor
girl herself; the maiden name was St. Omar, depend upon it. Nay, I
would not have told this to you, my lord, if I could have conceived
that it would affect you so violently," pursued Lady Dashfort, in a
tone of raillery; "you see you are no worse off than we are. We have
an intermarriage with the St. Omars. I did not think you would be so
much shocked at a discovery, which proves that our family and yours
have some little connexion."

Lord Colambre endeavoured to answer, and mechanically said something
about "happy to have the honour." Lady Dashfort, truly happy to see
that her blow had hit the mark so well, turned from his lordship
without seeming to observe how seriously he was affected; and Lady
Isabel sighed, and looked with compassion on Lord Colambre, and then
reproachfully at her mother. But Lord Colambre heeded not her looks,
and heard none of her sighs; he heard nothing, saw nothing, though his
eyes were intently fixed on the genealogy, on which Lady Dashfort was
still descanting to Lady Killpatrick. He took the first opportunity he
could of quitting the room, and went out to take a solitary walk.

"There he is, departed, but not in peace, to reflect upon what has
been said," whispered Lady Dashfort to her daughter. "I hope it will
do him a vast deal of good."

"None of the women _sans reproche_! None!--without one exception,"
said Lord Colambre to himself; "and Grace Nugent's mother a St.
Omar!--Is it possible? Lady Dashfort seems certain. She could not
assert a positive falsehood--no motive. She does not know that Miss
Nugent is the person to whom I am attached--she spoke at random. And
I have heard it first from a stranger,--not from my mother. Why was
it kept secret from me? Now I understand the reason why my mother
evidently never wished that I should think of Miss Nugent--why she
always spoke so vehemently against the marriages of relations, of
cousins. Why not tell me the truth? It would have had the strongest
effect, had she known my mind."

Lord Colambre had the greatest dread of marrying any woman whose
mother had conducted herself ill. His reason, his prejudices, his
pride, his delicacy, and even his limited experience were all against
it. All his hopes, his plans of future happiness, were shaken to their
very foundation; he felt as if he had received a blow that stunned his
mind, and from which he could not recover his faculties. The whole
of that day he was like one in a dream. At night the painful idea
continually recurred to him; and whenever he was fallen asleep, the
sound of Lady Dashfort's voice returned upon his ear, saying the
words, "What could he expect when he married one of the St. Omars?
None of the women _sans reproche_."

In the morning he rose early; and the first thing he did was to write
a letter to his mother, requesting (unless there was some important
reason for her declining to answer the question) that she would
immediately relieve his mind from a great _uneasiness_ (he altered the
word four times, but at last left it uneasiness). He stated what he
had heard, and besought his mother to tell him the whole truth without
reserve.

CHAPTER VIII.

One morning Lady Dashfort had formed an ingenious scheme for leaving
Lady Isabel and Lord Colambre _tete-a-tete_; but the sudden entrance
of Heathcock disconcerted her intentions. He came to beg Lady
Dashfort's interest with Count O'Halloran, for permission to hunt
and shoot on his grounds next season.--"Not for myself, 'pon honour,
but for two officers who are quartered at the next _town_ here, who
will indubitably hang or drown themselves if they are debarred from
sporting."

"Who is this Count O'Halloran?" said Lord Colambre.

Miss White, Lady Killpatrick's companion, said, "he was a great
oddity;" Lady Dashfort, "that he was singular;" and the clergyman
of the parish, who was at breakfast, declared "that he was a man of
uncommon knowledge, merit, and politeness."

"All I know of him," said Heathcock, "is, that he is a great
sportsman, with a long queue, a gold-laced hat, and long skirts to a
laced waistcoat."

Lord Colambre expressed a wish to see this extraordinary personage;
and Lady Dashfort, to cover her former design, and, perhaps thinking
absence might be as effectual as too much propinquity, immediately
offered to call upon the officers in their way, and carry them with
Heathcock and Lord Colambre to Halloran Castle.

Lady Isabel retired with much mortification, but with becoming grace;
and Major Benson and Captain Williamson were taken to the count's.
Major Benson, who was a famous _whip_, took his seat on the box of
the barouche; and the rest of the party had the pleasure of her
ladyship's conversation for three or four miles: of her ladyship's
conversation--for Lord Colambre's thoughts were far distant; Captain
Williamson had not any thing to say; and Heathcock nothing but "Eh!
re'lly now!--'pon honour!"

They arrived at Halloran Castle--a fine old building, part of it in
ruins, and part repaired with great judgment and taste. When the
carriage stopped, a respectable-looking man-servant appeared on the
steps, at the open hall-door.

Count O'Halloran was out fishing; but his servant said that he would
he at home immediately, if Lady Dashfort and the gentlemen would be
pleased to walk in.

On one side of the lofty and spacious hall stood the skeleton of an
elk; on the other side, the perfect skeleton of a moose-deer, which,
as the servant said, his master had made out, with great care, from
the different bones of many of this curious species of deer, found
in the lakes in the neighbourhood. The leash of officers witnessed
their wonder with sundry strange oaths and exclamations.--"Eh! 'pon
honour--re'lly now!" said Heathcock; and, too genteel to wonder at
or admire any thing in the creation, dragged out his watch with some
difficulty, saying, "I wonder now whether they are likely to think of
giving us any thing to eat in this place?" And, turning his back upon
the moose-deer, he straight walked out again upon the steps, called to
his groom, and began to make some inquiry about his led horse. Lord
Colambre surveyed the prodigious skeletons with rational curiosity,
and with that sense of awe and admiration, by which a superior mind is
always struck on beholding any of the great works of Providence.

"Come, my dear lord!" said Lady Dashfort; "with our sublime
sensations, we are keeping my old friend, Mr. Ulick Brady, this
venerable person, waiting to show us into the reception-room."

The servant bowed respectfully--more respectfully than servants of
modern date.

"My lady, the reception-room has been lately painted,--the smell of
paint may be disagreeable; with your leave, I will take the liberty of
showing you into my master's study."

He opened the door, went in before her, and stood holding up his
finger, as if making a signal of silence to some one within. Her
ladyship entered, and found herself in the midst of an odd assembly:
an eagle, a goat, a dog, an otter, several gold and silver fish in a
glass globe, and a white mouse in a cage. The eagle, quick of eye but
quiet of demeanour, was perched upon his stand; the otter lay under
the table, perfectly harmless; the Angora goat, a beautiful and
remarkably little creature of its kind, with long, curling, silky
hair, was walking about the room with the air of a beauty and a
favourite; the dog, a tall Irish greyhound--one of the few of that
fine race, which is now almost extinct--had been given to Count
O'Halloran by an Irish nobleman, a relation of Lady Dashfort's. This
dog, who had formerly known her ladyship, looked at her with ears
erect, recognized her, and went to meet her the moment she entered.
The servant answered for the peaceable behaviour of all the rest of
the company of animals, and retired. Lady Dashfort began to feed the
eagle from a silver plate on his stand; Lord Colambre examined the
inscription on his collar; the other men stood in amaze. Heathcock,
who came in last, astonished out of his constant "Eh! re'lly now!"
the moment he put himself in at the door, exclaimed, "Zounds! what's
all this live lumber?" and he stumbled over the goat, who was at that
moment crossing the way. The colonel's spur caught in the goat's curly
beard; the colonel shook his foot, and entangled the spur worse and
worse; the goat struggled and butted; the colonel skated forward on
the polished oak floor, balancing himself with outstretched arms.

The indignant eagle screamed, and, passing by, perched on Heathcock's
shoulders. Too well bred to have recourse to the terrors of his beak,
he scrupled not to scream, and flap his wings about the colonel's
ears. Lady Dashfort, the while, threw herself back in her chair,
laughing, and begging Heathcock's pardon. "Oh, take care of the dog,
my dear colonel!" cried she; "for this kind of dog seizes his enemy by
the back, and shakes him to death." The officers, holding their sides,
laughed and begged--no pardon; while Lord Colambre, the only person
who was not absolutely incapacitated, tried to disentangle the spur,
and to liberate the colonel from the goat, and the goat from the
colonel; an attempt in which he at last succeeded, at the expense of
a considerable portion of the goat's beard. The eagle, however, still
kept his place; and, yet mindful of the wrongs of his insulted friend
the goat, had stretched his wings to give another buffet. Count
O'Halloran entered; and the bird, quitting his prey, flew down to
greet his master. The count was a fine old military-looking gentleman,
fresh from fishing: his fishing accoutrements hanging carelessly
about him, he advanced, unembarrassed, to Lady Dashfort; and received
his other guests with a mixture of military ease and gentlemanlike
dignity.

Without adverting to the awkward and ridiculous situation in which he
had found poor Heathcock, he apologized in general for his troublesome
favourites. "For one of them," said he, patting the head of the dog,
which lay quiet at Lady Dashfort's feet, "I see I have no need to
apologize; he is where he ought to be. Poor fellow! he has never lost
his taste for the good company to which he was early accustomed. As
to the rest," said he, turning to Lady Dashfort, "a mouse, a bird,
and a fish, are, you know, tribute from earth, air, and water, to a
conqueror--"

"But from no barbarous Scythian!" said Lord Colambre, smiling. The
count looked at Lord Colambre, as at a person worthy his attention;
but his first care was to keep the peace between his loving subjects
and his foreign visitors. It was difficult to dislodge the old
settlers, to make room for the new comers: but he adjusted these
things with admirable facility; and, with a master's hand and master's
eye, compelled each favourite to retreat into the back settlements.
With becoming attention, he stroked and kept quiet old Victory, his
eagle, who eyed Colonel Heathcock still, as if he did not like him;
and whom the colonel eyed as if he wished his neck fairly wrung off.
The little goat had nestled himself close up to his liberator, Lord
Colambre, and lay perfectly quiet, with his eyes closed, going very
wisely to sleep, and submitting philosophically to the loss of one
half of his beard. Conversation now commenced, and was carried on by
Count O'Halloran with much ability and spirit, and with such quickness
of discrimination and delicacy of taste, as quite surprised and
delighted our hero. To the lady the count's attention was first
directed: he listened to her as she spoke, bending with an air of
deference and devotion. She made her request for permission for Major
Benson and Captain Williamson to hunt and shoot in his grounds next
season: this was instantly granted.

Her ladyship's requests were to him commands, the count said.--His
gamekeeper should be instructed to give the gentlemen, her friends,
every liberty, and all possible assistance.

Then, turning to the officers, he said, he had just heard that
several regiments of English militia had lately landed in Ireland;
that one regiment was arrived at Killpatrick's-town. He rejoiced in
the advantages Ireland, and he hoped he might be permitted to add,
England, would probably derive from the exchange of the militia
of both countries: habits would be improved, ideas enlarged. The
two countries have the same interest; and, from the inhabitants
discovering more of each other's good qualities, and interchanging
little good offices in common life, their esteem and affection for
each other would increase, and rest upon the firm basis of mutual
utility.

To all this Major Benson answered only, "We are not militia officers."

"The major looks so like a stuffed man of straw," whispered Lady
Dashfort to Lord Colambre, "and the captain so like the king of
spades, putting forth one manly leg."

Count O'Halloran now turned the conversation to field sports, and then
the captain and major opened at once.

"Pray now, sir," said the major, "you fox-hunt in this country, I
suppose; and now do you manage the thing here as we do? Over night,
you know, before the hunt, when the fox is out, stopping up the earths
of the cover we mean to draw, and all the rest for four miles round.
Next morning we assemble at the cover's side, and the huntsman throws
in the hounds. The gossip here is no small part of the entertainment:
but as soon as we hear the hounds give tongue--"

"The favourite hounds," interposed Williamson.

"The favourite hounds, to be sure," continued Benson: "there is a dead
silence till pug is well out of cover, and the whole pack well in:
then cheer the hounds with tally-ho! till your lungs crack. Away he
goes in gallant style, and the whole field is hard up, till pug takes
a stiff country: then they who haven't pluck lag, see no more of him,
and, with a fine blazing scent, there are but few of us in at the
death."

"Well, we are fairly in at the death, I hope," said Lady Dashfort: "I
was thrown out sadly at one time in the chase."

Lord Colambre, with the count's permission, took up a book in which
the count's pencil lay, "Pasley on the Military Policy of Great
Britain;" it was marked with many notes of admiration, and with hands
pointing to remarkable passages.

"That is a book that leaves a strong impression on the mind," said the
count.

Lord Colambre read one of the marked passages, beginning with "All
that distinguishes a soldier in outward appearance from a citizen
is so trifling--" but at this instant our hero's attention was
distracted by seeing in a black-letter book this title of a chapter:
"Burial-place of the Nugents."

"Pray now, sir," said Captain Williamson, "if I don't interrupt you,
as you are a fisherman too; now in Ireland do you, _Mr._--"

A smart pinch on his elbow from his major, who stood behind him,
stopped the captain short, as he pronounced the word _Mr._ Like all
awkward people, he turned directly to ask, by his looks, what was the
matter.

The major took advantage of his discomfiture, and, stepping before
him, determined to have the fishing to himself, and went on with,
"Count O'Halloran, I presume you understand fishing, too, as well as
hunting?"

The count bowed: "I do not presume to say that, sir."

"But pray, count, in this country, do you arm your hook this ways?
Give me leave;" taking the whip from Williamson's reluctant hand,
"this ways, laying the outermost part of your feather this fashion
next to your hook, and the point next to your shank, this wise, and
that wise; and then, sir,--count, you take the hackle of a cock's
neck--"

"A plover's topping's better," said Williamson.

"And work your gold and silver thread," pursued Benson, "up to your
wings, and when your head's made, you fasten all."

"But you never showed how your head's made," interrupted Williamson.

"The gentleman knows how a head's made; any man can make a head, I
suppose: so, sir, you fasten all."

"You'll never get your head fast on that way, while the world stands,"
cried Williamson.

"Fast enough for all purposes; I'll bet you a rump and dozen, captain:
and then, sir,--count, you divide your wings with a needle."

"A pin's point will do," said Williamson.

The count, to reconcile matters, produced from an Indian cabinet,
which he had opened for Lady Dashfort's inspection, a little basket
containing a variety of artificial flies of curious construction,
which, as he spread them on the table, made Williamson and Benson's
eyes almost sparkle with delight. There was the _dun-fly_, for the
month of March; and the _stone-fly_, much in vogue for April; and the
_ruddy-fly_, of red wool, black silk, and red capon's feathers.

Lord Colambre, whose head was in the burial-place of the Nugents,
wished them all at the bottom of the sea.

"And the _green-fly_, and the _moorish-fly_!" cried Benson, snatching
them up with transport; "and, chief, the _sad-yellow-fly_, in which
the fish delight in June; the _sad-yellow-fly_, made with the
buzzard's wings, bound with black braked hemp, and the _shell-fly_,
for the middle of July, made of greenish wool, wrapped about with the
herle of a peacock's tail, famous for creating excellent sport." All
these and more were spread upon the table before the sportsmen's
wondering eyes.

"Capital flies! capital, faith!" cried Williamson.

"Treasures, faith, real treasures, by G--!" cried Benson.

"Eh! 'pon honour! re'lly now," were the first words which Heathcock
had uttered since his battle with the goat.

"My dear Heathcock, are you alive still?" said Lady Dashfort: "I had
really forgotten your existence."

So had Count O'Halloran, but he did not say so.

"Your ladyship has the advantage of me there," said Heathcock,
stretching himself; "I wish I could forget my existence, for, in my
mind, existence is a horrible _bore_."

"I thought you _was_ a sportsman," said Williamson.

"Well, sir?"

"And a fisherman?"

"Well, sir?"

"Why look you there, sir," pointing to the flies, "and tell a body
life's a bore."

"One can't _always_ fish or shoot, I apprehend, sir," said Heathcock.

"Not always--but sometimes," said Williamson, laughing; "for I suspect
shrewdly you've forgot some of your sporting in Bond-street."

"Eh! 'pon honour! re'lly now!" said the colonel, retreating again
to his safe entrenchment of affectation, from which he never could
venture without imminent danger.

"'Pon honour," cried Lady Dashfort, "I can swear for Heathcock, that
I have eaten excellent hares and ducks of his shooting, which, to my
knowledge," added she, in a loud whisper, "he bought in the market."

"_Emptum aprum!_" said Lord Colambre to the count, without danger of
being understood by those whom it concerned.

The count smiled a second time; but politely turning the attention of
the company from the unfortunate colonel, by addressing himself to
the laughing sportsmen, "Gentlemen, you seem to value these," said he,
sweeping the artificial flies from the table into the little basket
from which they had been taken; "would you do me the honour to accept
of them? They are all of my own making, and consequently of Irish
manufacture." Then, ringing the bell, he asked Lady Dashfort's
permission to have the basket put into her carriage.

Benson and Williamson followed the servant, to prevent them from being
tossed into the boot. Heathcock stood still in the middle of the room,
taking snuff.

Count O'Halloran turned from him to Lord Colambre, who had just got
happily to _the burial-place of the Nugents_, when Lady Dashfort,
coming between them, and spying the title of the chapter, exclaimed,
"What have you there?--Antiquities! my delight!--but I never look at
engravings when I can see realities."

Lord Colambre was then compelled to follow, as she led the way, into
the hall, where the count took down golden ornaments, and brass-headed
spears, and jointed horns of curious workmanship, that had been found
on his estate; and he told of spermaceti wrapped in carpets, and he
showed small urns, enclosing ashes; and from among these urns he
selected one, which he put into the hands of Lord Colambre, telling
him, that it had been lately found in an old abbey-ground in his
neighbourhood, which had been the burial-place of some of the Nugent
family.

"I was just looking at the account of it, in the book which you saw
open on my table.--And as you seem to take an interest in that family,
my lord, perhaps," said the count, "you may think this urn worth your
acceptance."

Lord Colambre said, "It would be highly valuable to him--as the
Nugents were his near relations."

Lady Dashfort little expected this blow; she, however, carried him off
to the moose-deer, and from moose-deer to round-towers, to various
architectural antiquities, and to the real and fabulous history of
Ireland, on all which the count spoke with learning and enthusiasm.
But now, to Colonel Heathcock's great joy and relief, a handsome
collation appeared in the dining-room, of which Ulick opened the
folding-doors.

"Count, you have made an excellent house of your castle," said Lady
Dashfort.

"It will be, when it is finished," said the count. "I am afraid,"
added he, smiling, "I live like many other Irish gentlemen, who never
are, but always to be, blessed with a good house. I began on too large
a scale, and can never hope to live to finish it."

"'Pon honour! here's a good thing, which I hope we shall live to
finish," said Heathcock, sitting down before the collation; and
heartily did he eat of eel-pie, and of Irish ortolans [1], which, as
Lady Dashfort observed, "afforded him indemnity for the past, and
security for the future."

[Footnote 1: As it may be satisfactory to a large portion of the
public, and to all men of taste, the editor subjoins the following
account of the Irish ortolan, which will convince the world that this
bird is not in the class of fabulous animals:

"There is a small bird, which is said to be peculiar to the Blasquet
Islands, called by the Irish, Gourder, the English name of which I
am at a loss for, nor do I find it mentioned by naturalists. It is
somewhat larger than a sparrow; the feathers of the back are dark, and
those of the belly are white; the bill is straight, short, and thick;
and it is web-footed: they are almost one lump of fat; when roasted,
of a most delicious taste, and are reckoned to exceed an ortolan; for
which reason the gentry hereabouts call them the _Irish Ortolan_.
These birds are worthy of being transmitted a great way to market;
for ortolans, it is well known, are brought from France to supply the
markets of London."--See Smith's Account of the County of Kerry, p.
186.]

"Eh! re'lly now! your Irish ortolans are famous good eating," said
Heathcock.

"Worth being quartered in Ireland, faith! to taste 'em," said Benson.

The count recommended to Lady Dashfort some of "that delicate
sweetmeat, the Irish plum."

"Bless me, sir,--count!" cried Williamson, "it's by far the best thing
of the kind I ever tasted in all my life: where could you get this?"

"In Dublin, at my dear Mrs. Godey's; where _only_, in his majesty's
dominions, it is to be had," said the count.

The whole vanished in a few seconds.

"'Pon honour! I do believe this is the thing the queen's so fond of,"
said Heathcock.

Then heartily did he drink of the count's excellent Hungarian wines;
and, by the common bond of sympathy between those who have no other
tastes but eating and drinking, the colonel, the major, and the
captain, were now all the best companions possible for one another.

Whilst "they prolonged the rich repast," Lady Dashfort and Lord
Colambre went to the window to admire the prospect: Lady Dashfort
asked the count the name of some distant hill.

"Ah!" said the count, "that hill was once covered with fine wood; but
it was all cut down two years ago."

"Who could have been so cruel?" said her ladyship.

"I forget the present proprietor's name," said the count; "but he
is one of those who, according to _the clause of distress_ in their
leases, _lead, drive, and carry away_, but never _enter_ their lands;
one of those enemies to Ireland--those cruel absentees!"

Lady Dashfort looked through her glass at the mountain:--Lord Colambre
sighed, and, endeavouring to pass it off with a smile, said frankly to
the count, "You are not aware, I am sure, count, that you are speaking
to the son of an Irish absentee family. Nay, do not be shocked, my
dear sir; I tell you only because I thought it fair to do so: but let
me assure you, that nothing you could say on that subject could hurt
me personally, because I feel that I am not, that I never can be, an
enemy to Ireland. An absentee, voluntarily, I never yet have been; and
as to the future, I declare--"

"I declare you know nothing of the future," interrupted Lady Dashfort,
in a half peremptory, half playful tone--"you know nothing: make no
rash vows, and you will break none."

The undaunted assurance of Lady Dashfort's genius for intrigue gave
her an air of frank imprudence, which prevented Lord Colambre from
suspecting that more was meant than met the ear. The count and he took
leave of one another with mutual regard; and Lady Dashfort rejoiced to
have got our hero out of Halloran Castle.

CHAPTER IX.

Lord Colambre had waited with great impatience for an answer to the
letter of inquiry which he had written about Miss Nugent's mother. A
letter from Lady Clonbrony arrived: he opened it with the greatest
eagerness--passed over "Rheumatism--warm weather--warm bath--Buxton
balls--Miss Broadhurst--your _friend_, Sir Arthur Berryl, very
assiduous!" The name of Grace Nugent he found at last, and read as
follows:--

"Her mother's maiden name was _St. Omar_; and there was a _faux
pas_, certainly. She was, I am told, (for it was before my time,)
educated at a convent abroad; and there was an affair with a
Captain Reynolds, a young officer, which her friends were obliged
to hush up. She brought an infant to England with her, and took
the name of Reynolds--but none of that family would acknowledge
her: and she lived in great obscurity, till your Uncle Nugent saw,
fell in love with her, and (knowing her whole history) married
her. He adopted the child, gave her his name, and, after some
years, the whole story was forgotten. Nothing could be more
disadvantageous to Grace than to have it revived: this is the
reason we kept it secret."

Lord Colambre tore the letter to bits.

From the perturbation which Lady Dashfort saw in his countenance, she
guessed the nature of the letter which he had been reading, and for
the arrival of which he had been so impatient.

"It has worked!" said she to herself. "_Pour le coup Philippe je te
tiens_!"

Lord Colambre appeared this day more sensible than he had ever yet
seemed to the charms of the fair Isabel.

"Many a tennis-ball, and many a heart, is caught at the rebound," said
Lady Dashfort. "Isabel! now is your time!"

And so it was--or so, perhaps, it would have been, but for a
circumstance which her ladyship, with all her genius for intrigue,
had never taken into her consideration. Count O'Halloran came to
return the visit which had been paid to him; and, in the course of
conversation, he spoke of the officers who had been introduced to him,
and told Lady Dashfort that he had heard a report which shocked him
much--he hoped it could not be true--that one of these officers had
introduced his mistress as his wife to Lady Oranmore, who lived in the
neighbourhood. This officer, it was said, had let Lady Oranmore send
her carriage for this woman; and that she had dined at Oranmore with
her ladyship and her daughters. "But I cannot believe it! I cannot
believe it to be possible, that any gentleman, that any _officer_
could do such a thing!" said the count.

"And is this all?" exclaimed Lady Dashfort. "Is this all the terrible
affair, my good count, which has brought your face to this prodigious
length?"

The count looked at Lady Dashfort with astonishment.

"Such a look of virtuous indignation," continued she, "did I never
behold on or off the stage. Forgive me for laughing, count; but,
believe me, comedy goes through the world better than tragedy, and,
take it all in all, does rather less mischief. As to the thing in
question, I know nothing about it; I dare say it is not true: but,
now, suppose it were--it is only a silly _quiz_ of a raw young officer
upon a prudish old dowager. I know nothing about it, for my part:
but, after all, what irreparable mischief has been done? Laugh at the
thing, and then it is a jest--a bad one, perhaps, but still only a
jest--and there's an end of it: but take it seriously, and there is
no knowing where it might end--in this poor man's being broke, and in
half a dozen duels, may be."

"Of that, madam," said the count, "Lady Oranmore's prudence and
presence of mind have prevented all danger. Her ladyship _would_ not
understand the insult. She said, or she acted as if she said, '_Je ne
veux rien voir, rien ecouter, rien savoir._' Lady Oranmore is one of
the most respectable--"

"Count, I beg your pardon!" interrupted Lady Dashfort; "but I must
tell you, that your favourite, Lady Oranmore, has behaved very ill
to me; purposely omitted to invite Isabel to her ball; offended and
insulted me:--her praises, therefore, cannot be the most agreeable
subject of conversation you can choose for my amusement; and as to the
rest, you, who have such variety and so much politeness, will, I am
sure, have the goodness to indulge my caprice in this instance."

"I shall obey your ladyship, and be silent, whatever pleasure it might
give me to speak on that subject," said the count; "and I trust Lady
Dashfort will reward me by the assurance, that, however playfully she
may have just now spoken, she seriously disapproves, and is shocked."

"Oh, shocked! shocked to death! if that will satisfy you, my dear
count."

The count, obviously, was not satisfied: he had civil, as well as
military courage, and his sense of right and wrong could stand against
the raillery and ridicule of a fine lady.

The conversation ended: Lady Dashfort thought it would have no farther
consequences; and she did not regret the loss of a man like Count
O'Halloran, who lived retired in his castle, and who could not have
any influence upon the opinion of the fashionable world. However, upon
turning from the count to Lord Colambre, who she thought had been
occupied with Lady Isabel, and to whom she imagined all this dispute
was uninteresting, she perceived, by his countenance, that she had
made a great mistake. Still she trusted that her power over Lord
Colambre was sufficient easily to efface whatever unfavourable
impression this conversation had made upon his mind. He had no
personal interest in the affair; and she had generally found that
people are easily satisfied about any wrong or insult, public or
private, in which they have no immediate concern. But all the charms
of her conversation were now tried in vain to reclaim him from the
reverie into which he had fallen.

His friend Sir James Brooke's parting advice occurred to our hero: his
eyes began to open to Lady Dashfort's character; and he was, from this
moment, freed from her power. Lady Isabel, however, had taken no part
in all this--she was blameless; and, independently of her mother, and
in pretended opposition of sentiment, she might have continued to
retain the influence she had gained over Lord Colambre, but that a
slight accident revealed to him _her_ real disposition.

It happened, on the evening of this day, that Lady Isabel came into
the library with one of the young ladies of the house, talking very
eagerly, without perceiving Lord Colambre, who was sitting in one of
the recesses reading.

"My dear creature, you are quite mistaken," said Lady Isabel, "he was
never a favourite of mine; I always detested him; I only flirted with
him to plague his wife. Oh, that wife! my dear Elizabeth, I do hate,"
cried she, clasping her hands, and expressing hatred with all her
soul, and with all her strength. "I detest that Lady de Cressy to such
a degree, that, to purchase the pleasure of making her feel the pangs
of jealousy for one hour, look, I would this moment lay down this
finger and let it be cut off."

The face, the whole figure of Lady Isabel, at this moment, appeared
to Lord Colambre suddenly metamorphosed; instead of the soft, gentle,
amiable female, all sweet charity and tender sympathy, formed to love
and to be loved, he beheld one possessed and convulsed by an evil
spirit--her beauty, if beauty it could be called, the beauty of a
fiend. Some ejaculation, which he unconsciously uttered, made Lady
Isabel start. She saw him--saw the expression of his countenance, and
knew that all was over.

Lord Colambre, to the utter astonishment and disappointment of Lady
Dashfort, and to the still greater mortification of Lady Isabel,
announced this night that it was necessary he should immediately
pursue his tour in Ireland. We pass over all the castles in the air
which the young ladies of the family had built, and which now fell
to the ground. We pass all the civil speeches of Lord and Lady
Killpatrick; all the vehement remonstrances of Lady Dashfort; and the
vain sighs of Lady Isabel. To the last moment Lady Dashfort said, "He
will not go."

But he went; and, when he was gone, Lady Dashfort exclaimed, "That man
has escaped from me." After a pause, turning to her daughter, she,
in the most taunting and contemptuous terms, reproached her as the
cause of this failure, concluding by a declaration, that she must in
future manage her own affairs, and had best settle her mind to marry
Heathcock, since every one else was too wise to think of her.

Lady Isabel of course retorted. But we leave this amiable mother and
daughter to recriminate in appropriate terms, and we follow our hero,
rejoiced that he has been disentangled from their snares. Those who
have never been in similar peril will wonder much that he did not
escape sooner; those who have ever been in like danger will wonder
more that he escaped at all. They who are best acquainted with the
heart or imagination of man will be most ready to acknowledge that the
combined charms of wit, beauty, and flattery, may, for a time, suspend
the action of right reason in the mind of the greatest philosopher, or
operate against the resolutions of the greatest of heroes.

Lord Colambre pursued his way to Halloran Castle, desirous, before
he quitted this part of the country, to take leave of the count, who
had shown him much civility, and for whose honourable conduct and
generous character he had conceived a high esteem, which no little
peculiarities of antiquated dress or manner could diminish. Indeed,
the old-fashioned politeness of what was formerly called a well-bred
gentleman pleased him better than the indolent or insolent selfishness
of modern men of the ton. Perhaps, notwithstanding our hero's
determination to turn his mind from every thing connected with the
idea of Miss Nugent, some latent curiosity about the burial-place
of the Nugents might have operated to make him call upon the count.
In this hope he was disappointed; for a cross miller, to whom the
abbey-ground was let, on which the burial-place was found, had taken
it into his head to refuse admittance, and none could enter his
ground.

Count O'Halloran was much pleased by Lord Colambre's visit. The
very day of his arrival at Halloran Castle, the count was going to
Oranmore; he was dressed, and his carriage was waiting: therefore Lord
Colambre begged that he might not detain him, and the count requested
his lordship to accompany him.

"Let me have the honour of introducing you, my lord, to a family,
with whom, I am persuaded, you will he pleased; by whom you will be
appreciated; and at whose house you will have an opportunity of seeing
the best manner of living of the Irish nobility."

Lord Colambre accepted the invitation, and was introduced at Oranmore.
The dignified appearance and respectable character of Lady Oranmore;
the charming unaffected manners of her daughters; the air of domestic
happiness and comfort in her family; the becoming magnificence,
free from ostentation, in her whole establishment; the respect and
affection with which she was treated by all who approached her,
delighted and touched Lord Colambre; the more, perhaps, because he had
heard this family so unjustly abused; and because he saw Lady Oranmore
and her daughter in immediate contrast with Lady Dashfort and Lady
Isabel.

A little circumstance which occurred during this visit, increased his
interest for the family. When Lady de Cressy's little boys came in
after dinner, one of them was playing with a seal, which had just been
torn from a letter. The child showed it to Lord Colambre, and asked
him to read the motto. The motto was, "Deeds, not words." His friend
Sir James Brooke's motto, and his arms. Lord Colambre eagerly inquired
if this family was acquainted with Sir James, and he soon perceived
that they were not only acquainted with him, but that they were
particularly interested about him.

Lady Oranmore's second daughter, Lady Harriet, appeared particularly
pleased by the manner in which Lord Colambre spoke of Sir James. And
the child, who had now established himself on his lordship's knee,
turned round, and whispered in his ear, "'Twas aunt Harriet gave me
the seal; Sir James is to be married to aunt Harriet, and then he will
be my uncle."

Some of the principal gentry of this part of the country happened to
dine at Oranmore on one of the days Lord Colambre was there. He
was surprised at the discovery, that there were so many agreeable,
well-informed, and well-bred people, of whom, while he was at
Killpatrick's-town, he had seen nothing. He now discerned how far he
had been deceived by Lady Dashfort.

Both the count, and Lord and Lady Oranmore, who were warmly attached
to their country, exhorted him to make himself amends for the time
he had lost, by seeing with his own eyes, and judging with his
own understanding, of the country and its inhabitants, during the
remainder of the time he was to stay in Ireland. The higher classes,
in most countries, they observed, were generally similar; but, in the
lower class, he would find many characteristic differences.

When he first came to Ireland, he had been very eager to go and see
his father's estate, and to judge of the conduct of his agents, and
the condition of his tenantry; but this eagerness had subsided, and
the design had almost faded from his mind, whilst under the influence
of Lady Dashfort's misrepresentations. A mistake, relative to some
remittance from his banker in Dublin, obliged him to delay his journey
a few days, and during that time, Lord and Lady Oranmore showed him
the neat cottages, and well-attended schools, in their neighbourhood.
They showed him not only what could be done, but what had been done,
by the influence of great proprietors residing on their own estates,
and encouraging the people by judicious kindness.

He saw,--he acknowledged the truth of this; but it did not come home
to his feelings now as it would have done a little while ago. His
views and plans were altered: he had looked forward to the idea of
marrying and settling in Ireland, and then every thing in the country
was interesting to him; but since he had forbidden himself to think of
a union with Miss Nugent, his mind had lost its object and its spring;
he was not sufficiently calm to think of the public good; his thoughts
were absorbed by his private concerns. He knew and repeated to
himself, that he ought to visit his own and his father's estates, and
to see the condition of his tenantry; he desired to fulfil his duties,
but they ceased to appear to him easy and pleasurable, for hope and
love no longer brightened his prospects.

That he might see and hear more than he could as heir-apparent to
the estate, he sent his servant to Dublin to wait for him there. He
travelled _incognito_, wrapped himself in a shabby great-coat, and
took the name of Evans. He arrived at a village, or, as it was called,
a town, which bore the name of Colambre. He was agreeably surprised by
the air of neatness and finish in the houses and in the street, which
had a nicely swept paved footway. He slept at a small but excellent
inn,--excellent, perhaps, because it was small, and proportioned to
the situation and business of the place. Good supper, good bed, good
attendance; nothing out of repair; no things pressed into services
for which they were never intended by nature or art. No chambermaid
slipshod, or waiter smelling of whiskey; but all tight and right, and
every body doing their own business, and doing it as if it were their
every day occupation, not as if it were done by particular desire, for
the first or last time this season. The landlord came in at supper
to inquire whether any thing was wanted. Lord Colambre took this
opportunity of entering into conversation with him, and asked him
to whom the town belonged, and who were the proprietors of the
neighbouring estates.

"The town belongs to an absentee lord--one Lord Clonbrony, who lives
always beyond the seas, in London; and who had never seen the town
since it was a town, to call a town."

"And does the land in the neighbourhood belong to this Lord
Clonbrony?"

"It does, sir; he's a great proprietor, but knows nothing of his
property, nor of us. Never set foot among us, to my knowledge, since
I was as high as the table. He might as well be a West India planter,
and we negroes, for any thing he knows to the contrary--has no more
care, nor thought about us, than if he were in Jamaica, or the
other world. Shame for him! But there's too many to keep him in
countenance."

Lord Colambre asked him what wine he could have; and then inquired who
managed the estate for this absentee.

"Mr. Burke, sir. And I don't know why God was so kind to give so good
an agent to an absentee like Lord Clonbrony, except it was for the
sake of us, who is under him, and knows the blessing, and is thankful
for the same."

"Very good cutlets," said Lord Colambre.

"I am happy to hear it, sir. They have a right to be good, for Mrs.
Burke sent her own cook to teach my wife to dress cutlets."

"So the agent is a good agent, is he?"

"He is, thanks be to Heaven! And that's what few can boast, especially
when the landlord's living over the seas: we have the luck to have got
a good agent over us, in Mr. Burke, who is a right bred gentleman; a
snug little property of his own, honestly made; with the good-will,
and good wishes, and respect of all."

"Does he live in the neighbourhood?"

"Just _convanient_.[1] At the end of the town; in the house on the
hill as you passed, sir; to the left, with the trees about it, all of
his own planting, grown too; for there's a blessing on all he does,
and he has done a deal.--There's salad, sir, if you are _partial_ to
it. Very fine lettuce. Mrs. Burke sent us the plants herself."

[Footnote 1: _Convenient_, near.]

"Excellent salad! So this Mr. Burke has done a great deal, has he? In
what way?"

"In every way, sir,--sure was not it he that had improved, and
fostered, and _made_ the town of Colambre?--no thanks to the
proprietor, nor to the young man whose name it bears, neither!"

"Have you any porter, pray, sir?"

"We have, sir, as good, I hope, as you'd drink in London, for it's the
same you get there, I understand, from Cork. And I have some of my own
brewing, which, they say, you could not tell the difference between it
and Cork quality--if you'd be pleased to try.--Harry, the corkscrew."

The porter of his own brewing was pronounced to be extremely good;
and the landlord observed it was Mr. Burke encouraged him to learn to
brew, and lent him his own brewer for a time to teach him.

"Your Mr. Burke, I find, is _apropos_ to porter, _apropos_ to salad,
_apropos_ to cutlets, _apropos_ to every thing," said Lord Colambre,
smiling: "he seems to be a very uncommon agent I suppose you are a
great favourite of his, and you do what you please with him."

"Oh, no, sir, I could not say that; Mr. Burke does not have favourites
any way; but, according to my deserts, I trust I stand well enough
with him; for, in truth, he is a right good agent."

Lord Colambre still pressed for particulars; he was an Englishman,
and a stranger, he said, and did not exactly know what was meant in
Ireland by a good agent.

"Why, he is the man that will encourage the improving tenant; and show
no favour or affection, but justice, which comes even to all, and does
best for all at the long run; and, residing always in the country,
like Mr. Burke, and understanding country business, and going about
continually among the tenantry, he knows when to press for the rent,
and when to leave the money to lay out upon the land; and, according
as they would want it, can give a tenant a help or a check properly.
Then no duty work called for, no presents, nor _glove money_, nor
_sealing money_ even, taken or offered; no underhand hints about
proposals, when land would be out of lease; but a considerable
preference, if desarved, to the old tenant, and if not, a fair
advertisement, and the best offer and tenant accepted: no screwing of
the land to the highest penny, just to please the head landlord for
the minute, and ruin him at the end, by the tenant's racking the land,
and running off with the year's rent; nor no bargains to his own
relations or friends did Mr. Burke ever give or grant, but all fair
between landlord and tenant; and that's the thing that will last; and
that's what I call the good agent."

Lord Colambre poured out a glass of wine, and begged the innkeeper to
drink the good agent's health, in which he was heartily pledged. "I
thank your honour:--Mr. Burke's health! and long may he live over and
amongst us; he saved me from drink and ruin, when I was once inclined
to it, and made a man of me and all my family."

The particulars we cannot stay to detail; this grateful man, however,
took pleasure in sounding the praises of his benefactor, and in
raising him in the opinion of the traveller.

"As you've time, and are curious about such things, sir, perhaps you'd
walk up to the school that Mrs. Burke has for the poor children; and
look at the market house, and see how clean he takes a pride to keep
the town: and any house in the town, from the priest to the parson's,
that you'd go into, will give you the same character as I do of Mr.
Burke; from the brogue to the boot, all speak the same of him, and can
say no other. God for ever bless and keep him over us!"

Upon making further inquiries, every thing the innkeeper had said
was confirmed by different inhabitants of the village. Lord Colambre
conversed with the shopkeepers, with the cottagers; and, without
making any alarming inquiries, he obtained all the information he
wanted. He went to the village-school--a pretty, cheerful house, with
a neat garden and a play-green; met Mrs. Burke; introduced himself to
her as a traveller. The school was shown to him: it was just what it
ought to be--neither too much nor too little had been attempted; there
was neither too much interference nor too little attention. Nothing
for exhibition; care to teach well, without any vain attempt to teach
in a wonderfully short time. All that experience proves to be useful,
in both Dr. Bell's and Mr. Lancaster's modes of teaching, Mrs. Burke
had adopted; leaving it to "graceless zealots" to fight about the
rest. That no attempts at proselytism had been made, and that no
illiberal distinctions had been made in his school, Lord Colambre was
convinced, in the best manner possible, by seeing the children of
protestants and catholics sitting on the same benches, learning from
the same books, and speaking to one another with the same cordial
familiarity. Mrs. Burke was an unaffected, sensible woman, free from
all party prejudices, and without ostentation, desirous and capable
of doing good. Lord Colambre was much pleased with her, and very glad
that she invited him to tea.

Mr. Burke did not come in till late; for he had been detained
portioning out some meadows, which were of great consequence to the
inhabitants of the town. He brought home to tea with him the clergyman
and the priest of the parish, both of whom he had taken successful
pains to accommodate with the land which suited their respective
convenience. The good terms on which they seemed to be with each
other, and with him, appeared to Lord Colambre to do honour to Mr.
Burke. All the favourable accounts his lordship had received of this
gentleman were confirmed by what he saw and heard. After the clergyman
and priest had taken leave, upon Lord Colambre's expressing some
surprise, mixed with satisfaction, at seeing the harmony which
subsisted between them, Mr. Burke assured him that this was the
same in many parts of Ireland. He observed, that "as the suspicion
of ill-will never fails to produce it," so he had often found,
that taking it for granted that no ill-will exists, has the most
conciliating effect. He said, to please opposite parties, he used
no arts; but he tried to make all his neighbours live comfortably
together, by making them acquainted with each other's good qualities;
by giving them opportunities of meeting sociably, and, from time
to time, of doing each other little services and good offices.
Fortunately, he had so much to do, he said, that he had no time for
controversy. He was a plain man, made it a rule not to meddle with
speculative points, and to avoid all irritating discussions: he was
not to rule the country, but to live in it, and make others live as
happily as he could.

Having nothing to conceal in his character, opinions, or
circumstances, Mr. Burke was perfectly open and unreserved in
his manner and conversation; freely answered all the traveller's
inquiries, and took pains to show him every thing he desired to
see. Lord Colambre said he had thoughts of settling in Ireland; and
declared, with truth, that he had not seen any part of the country he
should like better to live in than this neighbourhood. He went over
most of the estate with Mr. Burke, and had ample opportunities of
convincing himself that this gentleman was indeed, as the innkeeper
had described him, "a right good gentleman, and a right good agent."

He paid Mr. Burke some just compliments on the state of the tenantry,
and the neat and flourishing appearance of the town of Colambre.

"What pleasure it will give the proprietor when he sees all you have
done!" said Lord Colambre.

"Oh, sir, don't speak of it!--that breaks my heart; he never has shown
the least interest in any thing I have done: he is quite dissatisfied
with me, because I have not ruined his tenantry, by forcing them to
pay more than the land is worth; because I have not squeezed money
from them, by fining down rents; and--but all this, as an Englishman,
sir, must be unintelligible to you. The end of the matter is, that,
attached as I am to this place and the people about me, and, as I
hope, the tenantry are to me,--I fear I shall he obliged to give up
the agency.

"Give up the agency! How so? you must not," cried Lord Colambre, and,
for the moment, he forgot himself; but Mr. Burke took this only for an
expression of good-will.

"I must, I am afraid," continued he. "My employer, Lord Clonbrony,
is displeased with me--continual calls for money come upon me from
England, and complaints of my slow remittances."

"Perhaps Lord Clonbrony is in embarrassed circumstances," said Lord
Colambre.

"I never speak of my employer's affairs, sir," replied Mr. Burke; now
for the first time assuming an air of reserve.

"I beg pardon, sir--I seem to have asked an indiscreet question." Mr.
Burke was silent.

"Lest my reserve should give you a false impression, I will add, sir,"
resumed Mr. Burke, "that I really am not acquainted with the state of
his lordship's affairs in general. I know only what belongs to the
estate under my own management. The principal part of his lordship's
property, the Clonbrony estate, is under another agent, Mr.
Garraghty."

"Garraghty!" repeated Lord Colambre; "what sort of a person is he? But
I may take it for granted, that it cannot fall to the lot of one and
the same absentee to have two such agents as Mr. Burke."

Mr. Burke bowed, and seemed pleased with the compliment, which he
knew he deserved--but not a word did he say of Mr. Garraghty; and
Lord Colambre, afraid of betraying himself by some other indiscreet
question, changed the conversation.

The next night the post brought a letter to Mr. Burke, from Lord
Clonbrony, which he gave to his wife as soon as he had read it,
saying, "See the reward of all my services!"

Mrs. Burke glanced her eye over the letter, and being extremely fond
of her husband, and sensible of his deserving far different treatment,
burst into indignant exclamations--"See the reward of all your
services, indeed!--What an unreasonable, ungrateful man!--So, this is
the thanks for all you have done for Lord Clonbrony!"

"He does not know what I have done, my dear. He never has seen what I
have done."

"More shame for him!"

"He never, I suppose, looks over his accounts, or understands them."

"More shame for him!"

"He listens to foolish reports, or misrepresentations, perhaps. He is
at a distance, and cannot find out the truth."

"More shame for him!"

"Take it quietly, my dear; we have the comfort of a good conscience.
The agency may be taken from me by this lord; but the sense of having
done my duty, no lord or man upon earth can give or take away."

"Such a letter!" said Mrs. Burke, taking it up again. "Not even the
civility to write with his own hand!--only his signature to the
scrawl--looks as if it was written by a drunken man, does not it, Mr.
Evans?" said she, showing the letter to Lord Colambre, who immediately
recognized the writing of Sir Terence O'Fay.

"It does not look like the hand of a gentleman, indeed," said Lord
Colambre.

"It has Lord Clonbrony's own signature, let it be what it will," said
Mr. Burke, looking closely at it; "Lord Clonbrony's own writing the
signature is, I am clear of that."

Lord Clonbrony's son was clear of it, also; but he took care not to
give any opinion on that point.

"Oh, pray read it, sir, read it," said Mrs. Burke; "read it, pray; a
gentleman may write a bad hand, but no _gentleman_ could write such
a letter as that to Mr. Burke--pray read it, sir; you who have seen
something of what he has done for the town of Colambre, and what he
has made of the tenantry and the estate of Lord Clonbrony."

Lord Colambre read, and was convinced that his father had never
written or read the letter, but had signed it, trusting to Sir Terence
O'Fay's having expressed his sentiments properly.

"SIR,

"As I have no farther occasion for your services, you will take
notice, that I hereby request you will forthwith hand over, on or
before the 1st of November next, your accounts, with the balance
due of the _hanging-gale_ (which, I understand, is more than ought
to be at this season) to Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., College-green,
Dublin, who, in future, will act as agent, and shall get, by post,
immediately, a power of attorney for the same, entitling him to
receive and manage the Colambre, as well as the Clonbrony estate,
for,

"Sir, your obedient humble servant,

"CLONBRONY.

"_Grosvenor-square_."

Though misrepresentation, caprice, or interest, might have induced
Lord Clonbrony to desire to change his agent, yet Lord Colambre knew
that his father never could have announced his wishes in such a style;
and, as he returned the letter to Mrs. Burke, he repeated, he was
convinced that it was impossible that any nobleman could have written
such a letter; that it must have been written by some inferior person;
and that his lordship had signed it without reading it.

"My dear, I'm sorry you showed that letter to Mr. Evans," said Mr.
Burke; "I don't like to expose Lord Clonbrony; he is a well-meaning
gentleman, misled by ignorant or designing people; at all events, it
is not for us to expose him."

"He has exposed himself," said Mrs. Burke; "and the world should know
it."

"He was very kind to me when I was a young man," said Mr. Burke; "we
must not forget that now, because we are angry, my love."

"Why, no, my love, to be sure we should not; but who could have
recollected it just at this minute but yourself? And now, sir,"
turning to Lord Colambre, "you see what kind of a man this is: now is
it not difficult for me to bear patiently to see him ill-treated?"

"Not only difficult, but impossible, I should think, madam," said Lord
Colambre; "I know even I, who am a stranger, cannot help feeling for
both of you, as you must see I do."

"But half the world, who don't know him," continued Mrs. Burke, "when
they hear that Lord Clonbrony's agency is taken from him, will think
perhaps that he is to blame."

"No, madam," said Lord Colambre, "that you need not fear; Mr. Burke
may safely trust to his character: from what I have within these two
days seen and heard, I am convinced that such is the respect he has
deserved and acquired, that no blame can touch him."

"Sir, I thank you," said Mrs. Burke, the tears coming into her eyes:
"you can judge--you do him justice; but there are so many who don't
know him, and who will decide without knowing any of the facts."

"That, my dear, happens about every thing to every body," said Mr.
Burke; "but we must have patience; time sets all judgments right,
sooner or later."

"But the sooner the better," said Mrs. Burke. "Mr. Evans, I hope you
will be so kind, if ever you hear this business talked of--"

"Mr. Evans lives in Wales, my dear."

"But he is travelling through Ireland, my dear, and he said he should
return to Dublin, and, you know, there he certainly will hear it
talked of; and I hope he will do me the favour to state what he has
seen and knows to be the truth."

"Be assured that I will do Mr. Burke justice--as far as it is in my
power," said Lord Colambre, restraining himself much, that he might
not say more than became his assumed character. He took leave of this
worthy family that night, and, early the next morning, departed.

"Ah!" thought he, as he drove away from this well-regulated and
flourishing place, "how happy I might be, settled here with such a
wife as--her of whom I must think no more."

He pursued his way to Clonbrony, his father's other estate, which was
at a considerable distance from Colambre: he was resolved to know what
kind of agent Mr. Nicholas Garraghty might be, who was to supersede
Mr. Burke, and, by power of attorney, to be immediately entitled to
receive and manage the Colambre as well as the Clonbrony estate.

CHAPTER X.

Towards the evening of the second day's journey, the driver of Lord
Colambre's hackney chaise stopped, and jumping off the wooden bar, on
which he had been seated, exclaimed, "We're come to the bad step, now.
The bad road's beginning upon us, please your honour."

"Bad road! that is very uncommon in this country. I never saw such
fine roads as you have in Ireland."

"That's true; and God bless your honour, that's sensible of that same,
for it's not what all the foreign quality I drive have the manners to
notice. God bless your honour! I heard you're a Welshman, but whether
or no, I am sure you are a jantleman, any way, Welsh or other."

Notwithstanding the shabby great coat, the shrewd postilion perceived,
by our hero's language, that he was a gentleman. After much dragging
at the horses' heads, and pushing and lifting, the carriage was got
over what the postilion said was the worst part of the _bad step_; but
as the road "was not yet to say good," he continued walking beside the
carriage.

"It's only bad just hereabouts, and that by accident," said he, "on
account of there being no jantleman resident in it, nor near; but only
a bit of an under-agent, a great little rogue, who gets his own turn
out of the roads, and every thing else in life. I, Larry Brady, that
am telling your honour, have a good right to know; for myself, and my
father, and my brother, Pat Brady, the wheelwright, had once a farm
under him; but was ruined, horse and foot, all along with him, and
cast out, and my brother forced to fly the country, and is now working
in some coachmaker's yard, in London; banished he is!--and here am I,
forced to be what I am--and now that I'm reduced to drive a hack, the
agent's a curse to me still, with these bad roads, killing my horses
and wheels--and a shame to the country, which I think more of--Bad
luck to him!"

"I know your brother; he lives with Mr. Mordicai, in Long-Acre, in
London."

"Oh, God bless you for that!"

They came at this time within view of a range of about four-and-twenty
men and boys, sitting astride on four-and-twenty heaps of broken
stones, on each side of the road; they were all armed with hammers,
with which they began to pound with great diligence and noise as soon
as they saw the carriage. The chaise passed between these batteries,
the stones flying on all sides.

"How are you, Jem?--How are you Phil?" said Larry. "But hold your
hand, can't ye, while I stop and get the stones out of the horses'
_feet_. So you're making up the rent, are you, for St. Dennis?"

"Whoosh!" said one of the pounders, coming close to the postilion, and
pointing his thumb back towards the chaise. "Who have you in it?"

"Oh, you need not scruple, he's a very honest man;--he's only a man
from North Wales, one Mr. Evans, an innocent jantleman, that's sent
over to travel up and down the country, to find is there any copper
mines in it."

"How do you know, Larry?"

"Because I know very well, from one that was tould, and I _seen_ him
tax the man of the King's Head with a copper half-crown at first
sight, which was only lead to look at, you'd think, to them that was
not skilful in copper. So lend me a knife, till I cut a linchpin out
of the hedge, for this one won't go far."

Whilst Larry was making the linchpin, all scruple being removed, his
question about St. Dennis and the rent was answered.

"Ay, it's the rint, sure enough, we're pounding out for him; for he
sent the driver round last night-was-eight days, to warn us Old Nick
would be down a'-Monday, to take a sweep among us; and there's only
six clear days, Saturday night, before the assizes, sure: so we must
see and get it finished any way, to clear the presentment again' the
swearing day, for he and Paddy Hart is the overseers themselves, and
Paddy is to swear to it."

"St. Dennis, is it? Then you've one great comfort and security--that
he won't be _particular_ about the swearing; for since ever he had his
head on his shoulders, an oath never stuck in St. Dennis's throat,
more than in his own brother, Old Nick's."

"His head upon his shoulders!" repeated Lord Colambre. "Pray, did you
ever hear that St. Dennis's head was off his shoulders?"

"It never was, plase your honour, to my knowledge."

"Did you never, among your saints, hear of St. Dennis carrying his
head in his hand?" said Lord Colambre.

"The _rael_ saint!" said the postilion, suddenly changing his tone,
and looking shocked. "Oh, don't be talking that way of the saints,
plase your honour."

"Then of what St. Dennis were you talking just now?--Whom do you mean
by St. Dennis, and whom do you call Old Nick?"

"Old Nick," answered the postilion, coming close to the side of the
carriage, and whispering,--"Old Nick, plase your honour, is our
nickname for one Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., of College-green, Dublin,
and St. Dennis is his brother Dennis, who is Old Nick's brother in all
things, and would fain be a saint, only he's a sinner. He lives just
by here, in the country, under-agent to Lord Clonbrony, as Old Nick is
upper-agent--it's only a joke among the people, that are not fond of
them at all. Lord Clonbrony himself is a very good jantleman, if he
was not an absentee, resident in London, leaving us and every thing to
the likes of them."

Lord Colambre listened with all possible composure and attention;
but the postilion, having now made his linchpin of wood, and _fixed
himself_, he mounted his bar, and drove on, saying to Lord Colambre,
as he looked at the road-makers, "Poor _cratures_! They couldn't keep
their cattle out of pound, or themselves out of jail, but by making
this road."

"Is road-making, then, a very profitable business!--Have road-makers
higher wages than other men in this part of the country?"

"It is, and it is not--they have, and they have not--plase your
honour."

"I don't understand you."

"No, beca-ase you're an Englishman--that is, a Welshman--beg your
honour's pardon. But I'll tell you how that is, and I'll go slow over
these broken stones--for I can't go fast: it is where there's no
jantleman over these under-agents, as here, they do as they plase;
and when they have set the land they get rasonable from the head
landlords, to poor cratures at a rackrent, that they can't live and
pay the rent, they say--"

"Who says?"

"Them under-agents, that have no conscience at all. Not all--but
_some_, like Dennis, says, says he, 'I'll get you a road to make
up the rent:' that is, plase your honour, the agent gets them a
presentment for so many perches of road from the grand jury, at twice
the price that would make the road. And tenants are, by this means, as
they take the road by contract, at the price given by the county, able
to pay all they get by the job, over and above potatoes and salt, back
again to the agent, for the arrear on the land. Do I make your honour
_sensible_[1]?"

[Footnote 1: Do I make you understand?]

"You make me much more sensible than I ever was before," said Lord
Colambre: "but is not this cheating the county?"

"Well, and suppose," replied Larry, "is not it all for my good, and
yours too, plase your honour?" said Larry, looking very shrewdly.

"My good!" said Lord Colambre, startled. "What have I to do with it?"

"Haven't you to do with the roads as well as me, when you're
travelling upon them, plase your honour? And sure, they'd never be
got made at all, if they wern't made this ways; and it's the best way
in the wide world, and the finest roads we have. And when the _rael_
jantleman's resident in the country, there's no jobbing can be,
because they're then the leading men on the grand jury; and these
journeymen jantlemen are then kept in order, and all's right."

Lord Colambre was much surprised at Larry's knowledge of the manner in
which county business is managed, as well as by his shrewd good sense:
he did not know that this is not uncommon in his rank of life in
Ireland.

Whilst Larry was speaking, Lord Colambre was looking from side to side
at the desolation of the prospect.

"So this is Lord Clonbrony's estate, is it?"

"Ay, all you see, and as far and farther than you can see. My Lord
Clonbrony wrote, and ordered plantations here, time back; and enough
was paid to labourers for ditching and planting. And, what next?--Why,
what did the under-agent do, but let the goats in through gaps, left
o' purpose, to bark the trees, and then the trees was all banished.
And next, the cattle was let in trespassing, and winked at, till the
land was all poached: and then the land was waste, and cried down:
and Saint Dennis wrote up to Dublin to Old Nick, and he over to the
landlord, how none would take it, or bid any thing at all for it: so
then it fell to him a cheap bargain. Oh, the tricks of them! who knows
'em, if I don't?" Presently, Lord Colambre's attention was roused
again, by seeing a man running, as if for his life, across a bog, near
the roadside: he leaped over the ditch, and was upon the road in an
instant. He seemed startled at first, at the sight of the carriage;
but, looking at the postilion, Larry nodded, and he smiled and said,
"All's safe!" "Pray, my good friend, may I ask what that is you have
on your shoulder?" said Lord Colambre. "_Plase_ your honour, it
is only a private still, which I've just caught out yonder in the
bog; and I'm carrying it in with all speed to the gauger, to make a
discovery, that the jantleman may benefit by the reward: I expect
he'll make me a compliment."

"Get up behind, and I'll give you a lift," said the postilion.

"Thank you kindly--but better my legs!" said the man; and, turning
down a lane, off he ran again, as fast as possible.

"Expect he'll make me a compliment," repeated Lord Colambre, "to make
a discovery!"

"Ay, plase your honour; for the law is," said Larry, "that, if an
unlawful still, that is, a still without licence for whiskey, is
found, half the benefit of the fine that's put upon the parish goes to
him that made the discovery: that's what that man is after; for he's
an informer."

"I should not have thought, from what I see of you," said Lord
Colambre, smiling, "that you, Larry, would have offered an informer a
lift."

"Oh, plase your honour!" said Larry, smiling archly, "would not I give
the laws a lift, when in my power?"

Scarcely had he uttered these words, and scarcely was the informer out
of sight, when, across the same bog, and over the ditch, came another
man, a half kind of gentleman, with a red silk handkerchief about his
neck, and a silver-handled whip in his hand.

"Did you see any man pass the road, friend?" said he to the postilion.

"Oh! who would I see? or why would I tell?" replied Larry in a sulky
tone.

"Come, come, be smart!" said the man with the silver whip, offering
to put half-a-crown into the postilion's hand; "point me which way he
took."

"I'll have none o' your silver! don't touch me with it!" said Larry.
"But, if you'll take my advice, you'll strike across back, and follow
the fields, out to Killogenesawce."

The exciseman set out again immediately, in an opposite direction to
that which the man who carried the still had taken. Lord Colambre now
perceived that the pretended informer had been running off to conceal
a still of his own.

"The gauger, plase your honour," said Larry, looking back at Lord
Colambre; "the gauger is a _still-hunting_!"

"And you put him on a wrong scent!" said Lord Colambre.

"Sure, I told him no lie: I only said, 'If you'll take my advice.' And
why was he such a fool as to take my advice, when I wouldn't take his
fee?"

"So this is the way, Larry, you give a lift to the laws!"

"If the laws would give a lift to me, plase your honour, may be I'd do
as much by them. But it's only these revenue laws I mean; for I never,
to my knowledge, broke another commandment: but it's what no honest
poor man among his neighbours would scruple to take--a glass of
_potsheen_."

"A glass of what, in the name of Heaven?" said Lord Colambre.

"_Potsheen_, plase your honour;--beca-ase it's the little whiskey
that's made in the private still or pot; and _sheen_, because it's a
fond word for whatsoever we'd like, and for what we have little of,
and would make much of: after taking the glass of it, no man could go
and inform to ruin the _cratures_; for they all shelter on that estate
under favour of them that go shares, and make rent of 'em--but I'd
never inform again' 'em. And, after all, if the truth was known, and
my Lord Clonbrony should be informed against, and presented, for it's
his neglect is the bottom of the nuisance--"

"I find all the blame is thrown upon this poor Lord Clonbrony," said
Lord Colambre.

"Because he is absent," said Larry: "it would not be so was he
_prisint_. But your honour was talking to me about the laws. Your
honour's a stranger in this country, and astray about them things.
Sure, why would I mind the laws about whiskey, more than the quality,
or the _jidge_ on the bench?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why! was not I _prisint_ in the court-house myself, when the _jidge_
was on the bench judging a still, and across the court came in one
with a sly jug of _potsheen_ for the _jidge_ himself, who _prefarred_
it, when the right thing, to claret; and when I _seen_ that, by the
laws! a man might talk himself dumb to me after again' potsheen, or in
favour of the revenue, or revenue officers. And there they may go on,
with their gaugers, and their surveyors, and their supervisors, and
their watching officers, and their coursing officers, setting 'em
one after another, or one over the head of another, or what way they
will--we can baffle and laugh at 'em. Didn't I know, next door to our
inn, last year, ten _watching officers_ set upon one distiller, and
he was too cunning for them; and it will always be so, while ever
the people think it no sin. No, till then, not all their dockets and
permits signify a rush, or a turf. And the gauging rod, even! who
fears it? They may spare that rod, for it will never mend the child."

How much longer Larry's dissertation on the distillery laws would have
continued, had not his ideas been interrupted, we cannot guess; but he
saw he was coming to a town, and he gathered up the reins, and plied
the whip, ambitious to make a figure in the eyes of its inhabitants.

This _town_ consisted of one row of miserable huts, sunk beneath the
side of the road, the mud walls crooked in every direction; some of
them opening in wide cracks, or zigzag fissures, from top to bottom,
as if there had just been an earthquake--all the roofs sunk in various
places--thatch off, or overgrown with grass--no chimneys, the smoke
making its way through a hole in the roof, or rising in clouds from
the top of the open door--dunghills before the doors, and green
standing puddles--squalid children, with scarcely rags to cover them,
gazing at the carriage.

"Nugent's town," said the postilion, "once a snug place, when my Lady
Clonbrony was at home to white-wash it, and the like."

As they drove by, some men and women put their heads through the smoke
out of the cabins; pale women, with long, black, or yellow locks--men
with countenances and figures bereft of hope and energy.

"Wretched, wretched people!" said Lord Colambre.

"Then it's not their fault, neither," said Larry; "for my uncle's one
of them, and as thriving and hard a working man as could be in all
Ireland, he was, _afore_ he was tramped under foot, and his heart
broke. I was at his funeral, this time last year; and for it, may the
agent's own heart, if he has any, burn in--"

Lord Colambre interrupted this denunciation by touching Larry's
shoulder, and asking some question, which, as Larry did not distinctly
comprehend, he pulled up the reins, and the various noises of the
vehicle stopped suddenly.

"I did not hear well, plase your honour."

"What are those people?" pointing to a man and woman, curious figures,
who had come out of a cabin, the door of which the woman, who came out
last, locked, and carefully hiding the key in the thatch, turned her
back upon the man, and they walked away in different directions: the
woman bending under a huge bundle on her back, covered by a yellow
petticoat turned over her shoulders; from the top of this bundle the
head of an infant appeared; a little boy, almost naked, followed her
with a kettle, and two girls, one of whom could but just walk, held
her hand and clung to her ragged petticoat; forming, all together, a
complete group of beggars. The woman stopped, and looked after the
man.

The man was a Spanish-looking figure, with gray hair; a wallet hung
at the end of a stick over one shoulder, a reaping-hook in the other
hand: he walked off stoutly, without ever casting a look behind him.

"A kind harvest to you, John Dolan," cried the postilion, "and success
to ye, Winny, with the quality. There's a luck-penny for the child
to begin with," added he, throwing the child a penny. "Your honour,
they're only poor _cratures_ going up the country to beg, while the
man goes over to reap the harvest in England. Nor this would not be,
neither, if the lord was in it to give 'em _employ_. That man, now,
was a good and willing _slave_ in his day: I mind him working with
myself in the shrubberies at Clonbrony Castle, when I was a boy--but
I'll not be detaining your honour, now the road's better."

The postilion drove on at a good rate for some time, till he came to
a piece of the road freshly covered with broken stones, where he was
obliged again to go slowly.

They overtook a string of cars, on which were piled up high, beds,
tables, chairs, trunks, boxes, band-boxes.

"How are you, Finnucan? you've fine loading there--from Dublin, are
you?"

"From Bray."

"And what news?"

"_Great_ news and bad for Old Nick, or some belonging to him, thanks
be to Heaven! for myself hates him."

"What's happened him?"

"His sister's husband that's failed, the great grocer that was, the
man that had the wife that _ow'd_[1] the fine house near Bray, that
they got that time the parliament _flitted_, and that I seen in her
carriage flaming--well, it's all out; they're all _done up_."

[Footnote 1: Owned.]

"Tut! is that all? then they'll thrive, and set up again grander than
ever, I'll engage: have not they Old Nick for an attorney at their
back? a good warrant?"

"Oh, trust him for that! he won't go _security_, nor pay a farthing,
for his _shister_, nor wouldn't, was she his father; I heard him
telling her so, which I could not have done in his place, at that
time, and she crying as if her heart would break, and I standing by in
the parlour."

"The _neger_[1]! And did he speak that way, and you by?"

[Footnote 1: _Neger_, quasi negro; meo periculo, _niggard_]

"Ay, did he; and said, 'Mrs. Raffarty,' says he, 'it's all your own
fault; you're an extravagant fool, and ever was, and I wash my hands
of you.' that was the word he spoke; and she answered, and said, 'And
mayn't I send the beds and blankets?' said she, 'and what I can, by
the cars, out of the way of the creditors, to Clonbrony Castle? and
won't you let me hide there, from the shame, till the bustle's over?'
'You may do that,' says he, 'for what I care; but remember,' says he,
'that I've the first claim to them goods;' and that's all he would
grant. So they are coming down all o' Monday--them are the band-boxes,
and all--to settle it; and faith it was a pity of her! to hear her
sobbing, and to see her own brother speak and look so hard! and she a
lady."

"Sure, she's not a lady born, no more than himself," said Larry; "but
that's no excuse for him. His heart's as hard as that stone," said
Larry; "and my own people knew that long ago, and now his own know it:
and what right have we to complain, since he's as bad to his own flesh
and blood as to us?"

With this consolation, and with a "God speed you," given to the
carman, Larry was driving off; but the carman called to him, and
pointed to a house, at the corner of which, on a high pole, was
swinging an iron sign of three horse-shoes, set in a crooked frame,
and at the window hung an empty bottle, proclaiming whiskey within.

"Well, I don't care if I do," said Larry; "for I've no other comfort
left me in life now. I beg your honour's pardon, sir, for a minute,"
added he, throwing the reins into the carriage to Lord Colambre, as he
leaped down. All remonstrance and power of lungs to reclaim him were
vain! He darted into the whiskey-house with the carman--re-appeared
before Lord Colambre could accomplish getting out, remounted his seat,
and, taking the reins, "I thank your honour," said he; "and I'll bring
you into Clonbrony before it's pitch-dark, though it's nightfall, and
that's four good miles, but 'a spur in the head is worth two in the
heel.'"

Larry, to demonstrate the truth of his favourite axiom, drove off at
such a furious rate over great stones left in the middle of the road
by carmen, who had been driving in the gudgeons of their axletrees to
hinder them from lacing[1], that Lord Colambre thought life and limb
in imminent danger; and feeling that, at all events, the jolting and
bumping was past endurance, he had recourse to Larry's shoulder, and
shook and pulled, and called to him to go slower, but in vain: at
last the wheel struck full against a heap of stones at a turn of the
road, the wooden linchpin came off, and the chaise was overset: Lord
Colambre was a little bruised, but glad to escape without fractured
bones.

[Footnote 1: _Opening_; perhaps, from _lacher_, to loosen.]

"I beg your honour's pardon," said Larry, completely sobered; "I'm as
glad as the best pair of boots ever I see, to see your honour nothing
the worse for it. It was the linchpin, and them barrows of loose
stones, that ought to be fined any way, if there was any justice in
the country."

"The pole is broke; how are we to get on?" said Lord Colambre.

"Murder! murder!--and no smith nearer than Clonbrony; nor rope even.
It's a folly to talk, we can't get to Clonbrony, nor stir a step
backward or forward the night."

"What, then, do you mean to leave me all night in the middle of the
road?" cried Lord Colambre, quite exasperated.

"Is it me? plase your honour. I would not use any jantleman so ill,
_barring_ I could do no other," replied the postilion, coolly: then,
leaping across the ditch, or, as he called it, the _gripe_ of the
ditch, he scrambled up, and while he was scrambling, said, "If your
honour will lend me your hand, till I pull you up the back of the
ditch, the horses will stand while we go. I'll find you as pretty
a lodging for the night, with a widow of a brother of my shister's
husband that was, as ever you slept in your life; for Old Nick or St.
Dennis has not found 'em out yet: and your honour will he, no compare,
snugger than at the inn at Clonbrony, which has no roof, the devil a
stick. But where will I get your honour's hand; for it's coming on so
dark, I can't see rightly. There, you're up now safe. Yonder candle's
the house."

"Go and ask whether they can give us a night's lodging."

"Is it _ask_? when I see the light!--Sure they'd be proud to give the
traveller all the beds in the house, let alone one. Take care of the
potatoe furrows, that's all, and follow me straight. I'll go on to
meet the dog, who knows me, and might be strange to your honour."

"Kindly welcome," were the first words Lord Colambre heard when he
approached the cottage; and "kindly welcome" was in the sound of the
voice and in the countenance of the old woman who came out, shading
her rush-candle from the wind, and holding it so as to light the path.
When he entered the cottage, he saw a cheerful fire and a neat pretty
young woman making it blaze; she curtsied, put her spinning-wheel out
of the way, set a stool by the fire for the stranger, and repeating,
in a very low tone of voice, "Kindly welcome, sir," retired.

"Put down some eggs, dear, there's plenty in the bowl," said the old
woman, calling to her; "I'll do the bacon. Was not we lucky to be
up?--The boy's gone to bed, but waken him," said she, turning to the
postilion; "and he'll help you with the chay, and put your horses in
the bier for the night."

No: Larry chose to go on to Clonbrony with the horses, that he might
get the chaise mended betimes for his honour. The table was set; clean
trenchers, hot potatoes, milk, eggs, bacon, and "kindly welcome to
all."

"Set the salt, dear; and the butter, love: where's your head, Grace,
dear."

"Grace!" repeated Lord Colambre, looking up: and, to apologize for
his involuntary exclamation, he added, "Is Grace a common name in
Ireland?"

"I can't say, plase your honour; but it was give her by Lady
Clonbrony, from a niece of her own, God bless her! and a very kind
lady she was to us and to all when she was living in it; but those
times are gone past," said the old woman, with a sigh. The young woman
sighed too; and, sitting down by the fire, began to count the notches
in a little bit of stick, which she held in her hand; and after she
had counted them, sighed again.

"But don't be sighing, Grace, now," said the old woman; "sighs is bad
sauce for the traveller's supper; and we won't be troubling him with
more," added she, turning to Lord Colambre with a smile.

"Is your egg done to your liking?"

"Perfectly, thank you."

"Then I wish it was a chicken, for your sake, which it should have
been, and roast too, had we time. I wish I could see you eat another
egg."

"No more, thank you, my good lady; I never ate a better supper, nor
received a more hospitable welcome."

"Oh, the welcome is all we have to offer."

"May I ask what that is?" said Lord Colambre, looking at the notched
stick, which the young woman held in her hand, and on which her eyes
were still fixed.

"It's a _tally_, plase your honour. Oh, you're a foreigner;--it's
the way the labourers do keep the account of the day's work with the
overseer, the bailiff; a notch for every day the bailiff makes on his
stick, and the labourer the like on his stick, to tally; and when we
come to make up the account, it's by the notches we go. And there's
been a mistake, and is a dispute here between our boy and the
overseer: and she was counting the boy's tally, that's in bed, tired,
for in truth he's overworked."

"Would you want any thing more from me, mother?" said the girl, rising
and turning her head away.

"No, child; get away, for your heart's full."

She went instantly.

"Is the boy her brother?" said Lord Colambre.

"No; he's her bachelor," said the old woman, lowering her voice.

"Her bachelor?"

"That is, her sweetheart: for she is not my daughter, though you heard
her call me mother. The boy's my son; but I am _afeard_ they must give
it up; for they're too poor, and the times is hard, and the agent's
harder than the times: there's two of them, the under and the upper;
and they grind the substance of one between them, and then blow one
away like chaff; but we'll not be talking of that, to spoil your
honour's night's rest. The room's ready, and here's the rushlight."

She showed him into a very small but neat room.

"What a comfortable-looking bed!" said Lord Colambre.

"Ah, these red check curtains," said she, letting them down; "these
have lasted well: they were give me by a good friend, now far away,
over the seas--my Lady Clonbrony; and made by the prettiest hands ever
you see, her niece's, Miss Grace Nugent's, and she a little child that
time; sweet love! all gone!"

The old woman wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord Colambre did what
he could to appear indifferent. She set down the candle, and left the
room; Lord Colambre went to bed, but he lay awake,

"Revolving sweet and bitter thoughts"

CHAPTER XI.

The kettle was on the fire, tea-things set, every thing prepared for
her guest by the hospitable hostess, who thinking the gentleman would
take tea to his breakfast, had sent off a _gossoon_ by the _first
light_ to Clonbrony, for an ounce of tea, a _quarter of sugar_, and
a loaf of white bread; and there was on the little table good cream,
milk, butter, eggs--all the promise of an excellent breakfast. It was
a _fresh_ morning, and there was a pleasant fire on the hearth, neatly
swept up. The old woman was sitting in her chimney corner, behind a
little skreen of whitewashed wall, built out into the room, for the
purpose of keeping those who sat at the fire from the _blast of the
door_. There was a loop-hole in this wall, to let the light in, just
at the height of a person's head, who was sitting near the chimney.
The rays of the morning sun now came through it, shining across the
face of the old woman, as she sat knitting: Lord Colambre thought
he had seldom seen a more agreeable countenance, intelligent eyes,
benevolent smile, a natural expression of cheerfulness, subdued by age
and misfortune.

"A good morrow to you kindly, sir, and I hope you got the night
well?--A fine day for us this holyday morning; my Grace is gone to
early prayers, so your honour will be content with an old woman to
make your tea. Oh, let me put in plenty of tea, for it will never be
good; and if your honour takes stirabout, an old hand will engage to
make that to your liking, any way; for by great happiness, we have
what will just answer for you of the nicest meal the miller made my
Grace a compliment of, last time she went to the mill."

Lord Colambre observed, that this miller had good taste; and his
lordship paid some compliment to Grace's beauty, which the old woman
received with a smile, but turned off the conversation.

"Then," said she, looking out of the window, "is not that there a nice
little garden the boy dug for her and me, at his breakfast and dinner
hours? Ah! he's a good boy, and good warrant to work; and the good son
_desarves_ the good wife, and it's he that will make the good husband;
and with my good-will he, and no other, shall get her, and with her
good-will the same; and I bid 'em keep up their heart, and hope the
best, for there's no use in fearing the worst till it comes."

Lord Colambre wished very much to know the worst. "If you would not
think a stranger impertinent for asking," said he, "and if it would
not be painful to you to explain."

"Oh, impertinent, your honour! it's very kind--and, sure, none's a
stranger to one's heart, that feels for one. And for myself, I can
talk of my troubles without thinking of them. So, I'll tell you
all--if the worst comes to the worst--all that is, is, that we must
quit, and give up this little snug place, and house, and farm, and
all, to the agent--which would be hard on us, and me a widow, when my
husband did all that is done to the land; and if your honour was a
judge, you could see, if you stepped out, there has been a deal done,
and built the house, and all--but it plased Heaven to take him. Well,
he was too good for this world, and I'm satisfied--I'm not saying
a word again' that--I trust we shall meet in heaven, and be happy,
surely. And, meantime, here's my boy, that will make me as happy as
ever widow was on earth--if the agent will let him. And I can't think
the agent, though they that know him best call him Old Nick, would be
so wicked to take from us that which he never gave us. The good lord
himself granted us the _lase_; the life's dropped, and the years is
out; but we had a promise of renewal in writing from the landlord. God
bless him! if he was not away, he'd be a good gentleman, and we'd be
happy and safe."

"But if you have a promise in writing of a renewal, surely you are
safe, whether your landlord is absent or present."

"Ah, no! that makes a great _differ_, when there's no eye or hand over
the agent. I would not wish to speak or think ill of him or any man;
but was he an angel, he could not know to do the tenantry justice, the
way he is living always in Dublin, and coming down to the country only
the receiving days, to make a sweep among us, and gather up the rents
in a hurry, and he in such haste back to town--can just stay to count
over our money, and give the receipts. Happy for us if we get that
same!--but can't expect he should have time to see or hear us, or mind
our improvements, any more than listen to our complaints! Oh, there's
great excuse for the gentleman, if that was any comfort for us," added
she, smiling.

"But, if he does not live amongst you himself, has not he some under
agent, who lives in the country?" said Lord Colambre.

"He has so."

"And he should know your concerns: does he mind them?"

"He should know--he should know better; but as to minding our
concerns, your honour knows," continued she, smiling again, "every one
in this world must mind their own concerns: and it would be a good
world, if it was even so. There's a great deal in all things, that
don't appear at first sight. Mr. Dennis wanted Grace for a wife for
his bailiff, but she would not have him; and Mr. Dennis was very sweet
to her himself--but Grace is rather high with him as proper, and he
has a grudge _again'_ us ever since. Yet, indeed, there," added she,
after another pause, "as you say, I think we are safe; for we have
that memorandum in writing, with a pencil, given under his own hand,
on the back of the _lase_ to me, by the same token when my good lord
had his foot on the step of the coach, going away; and I'll never
forget the smile of her that got that good turn done for me, Miss
Grace. And just when she was going to England and London, and, young
as she was, to have the thought to stop and turn to the likes of me!
Oh, then, if you could see her, and know her, as I did! _That_ was the
comforting angel upon earth--look, and voice, and heart, and all! Oh,
that she was here present, this minute!--But did you scald yourself?"
said the widow to Lord Colambre. "Sure you must have scalded yourself;
for you poured the kettle straight over your hand, and it boiling!--O
_deear_; to think of so young a gentleman's hand shaking so like my
own."

Luckily, to prevent her pursuing her observations from the hand to the
face, which might have betrayed more than Lord Colambre wished she
should know, her own Grace came in at this instant--"There it's for
you, safe, mother dear--the _lase_!" said Grace, throwing a packet
into her lap. The old woman lifted up her hands to heaven, with the
lease between them--"Thanks be to Heaven!" Grace passed on, and
sunk down on the first seat she could reach. Her face flushed, and,
looking much fatigued, she loosened the strings of her bonnet and
cloak--"Then, I'm tired;" but, recollecting herself, she rose, and
curtsied to the gentleman.

"What tired ye, dear?"

"Why, after prayers, we had to go--for the agent was not at prayers,
nor at home for us, when we called--we had to go all the way up to the
castle; and there, by great good luck, we found Mr. Nick Garraghty
himself, come from Dublin, and the _lase_ in his hands; and he sealed
it up that way, and handed it to me very civil. I never saw him so
good--though he offered me a glass of spirits, which was not manners
to a decent young woman, in a morning--as Brian noticed after. Brian
would not take any either, nor never does. We met Mr. Dennis and the
driver coming home; and he says, the rent must be paid to-morrow, or,
instead of renewing, he'll seize, and sell all. Mother dear, I would
have dropped with the walk, but for Brian's arm."

"It's a wonder, dear, what makes you so weak, that used to be so
strong."

"But if we can sell the cow for any thing at all to Mr. Dennis, since
his eye is set upon her, better let him have her mother, dear; and
that and my yarn, which Mrs. Garraghty says she'll allow me for, will
make up the rent--and Brian need not talk of America. But it must be
in golden guineas, the agent will take the rent no other way; and you
won't get a guinea for less than five shillings. Well, even so, it's
easy selling my new gown to one that covets it, and that will give me
in exchange the price of the gold; or, suppose that would not do, add
this cloak--it's handsome, and I know a friend would be glad to take
it, and I'd part it as ready as look at it--Any thing at all, sure,
rather than that he should be forced to talk of emigrating: or, oh,
worse again, listing for the bounty--to save us from the cant or the
jail, by going to the hospital, or his grave, maybe--oh, mother!"

"Oh, child! This is what makes you weak, fretting. Don't be that way.
Sure here's the _lase_, and that's good comfort; and the soldiers will
be gone out of Clonbrony to-morrow, and then that's off your mind.
And as to America, it's only talk--I won't let him, he's dutiful; and
would sooner sell my dresser, and down to my bed, dear, than see you
sell any thing of yours, love. Promise me you won't. Why didn't Brian
come home all the way with you, Grace?"

"He would have seen me home," said Grace, "only that he went up a
piece of the mountain for some stones or ore for the gentleman,--for
he had the manners to think of him this morning, though, shame for me,
I had not, when I come in, or I would not have told you all this, and
he by. See, there _he_ is, mother."

Brian came in very hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones.
"Good morrow to your honour. I was in bed last night; and sorry they
did not call me up to be of _sarvice_. Larry was telling us, this
morning, your honour's from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland,
and I heard talk that there was one on our mountain--may be, you'd be
_curous_ to see, and so I brought the best I could, but I'm no judge."

"Nor I, neither," thought Lord Colambre; but he thanked the young man,
and determined to avail himself of Larry's misconception of false
report; examined the stones very gravely, and said, "This promises
well. Lapis caliminaris, schist, plum-pudding stone, rhomboidal,
crystal, blend, garrawachy," and all the strange names he could think
of, jumbling them together at a venture.

"The _lase_!" cried the young man, with joy sparkling in his eyes, as
his mother held up the packet. "Lend me the papers."

He cracked the seals, and taking off the cover--"Ay, I know it's the
_lase_ sure enough. But stay, where's the memorandum?"

"It's there, sure," said his mother, "where my lord's pencil writ it.
I don't read. Grace, dear, look."

The young man put it into her hands, and stood without power to utter
a syllable.

"It's not here! It's gone!--no sign of it."

"Gracious Heaven! that can't be," said the old woman, putting on her
spectacles; "let me see,'--I remember the very spot."

"It's taken away--it's rubbed clean out!--Oh, wasn't I fool?--But who
could have thought he'd be the villain!"

The young man seemed neither to see nor hear, but to be absorbed
in thought. Grace, with her eyes fixed upon him, grew as pale as
death.--"He'll go--he's gone."

"She's gone!" cried Lord Colambre, and the mother just caught her in
her arms as she was falling.

"The chaise is ready, plase your honour," said Larry, coming into the
room. "Death! what's here?"

"Air!--she's coming to," said the young man--"Take a drop of water, my
own Grace."

"Young man, I promise you," cried Lord Colambre, (speaking in the tone
of a master,) striking the young man's shoulder, who was kneeling at
Grace's feet, but recollecting and restraining himself, he added, in
a quiet voice--"I promise you I shall never forget the hospitality I
have received in this house, and I am sorry to be obliged to leave you
in distress."

These words uttered with difficulty, he hurried out of the house, and
into his carriage. "Go back to them," said he to the postilion: "go
back and ask whether, if I should stay a day or two longer in this
country, they would let me return at night and lodge with them. And
here, man, stay, take this," putting money into his hands, "for the
good woman of the house."

The postilion went in, and returned.

"She won't at all--I knew she would not."

"Well, I am obliged to her for the night's lodging she did give me; I
have no right to expect more."

"What is it?--Sure she bid me tell you,--'and welcome to the lodging;
for,' said she, 'he's a kind-hearted gentleman;' but here's the money;
it's that I was telling you she would not have at all."

"Thank you. Now, my good friend, Larry, drive me to Clonbrony, and do
not say another word, for I'm not in a talking humour."

Larry nodded, mounted, and drove to Clonbrony. Clonbrony was now a
melancholy scene. The houses, which had been built in a better style
of architecture than usual, were in a ruinous condition; the dashing
was off the walls, no glass in the windows, and many of the roofs
without slates. For the stillness of the place Lord Colambre in some
measure accounted, by considering that it was holiday; therefore, of
course, all the shops were shut up, and all the people at prayers. He
alighted at the inn, which completely answered Larry's representation
of it. Nobody to be seen but a drunken waiter, who, as well as he
could articulate, informed Lord Colambre, that "his mistress was in
her bed since Thursday-was-a-week; the hostler at the _wash-woman's_,
and the cook at second prayers."

Lord Colambre walked to the church, but the church gate was locked and
broken--a calf, two pigs, and an ass, in the church-yard; and several
boys (with more of skin apparent than clothes) were playing at pitch
and toss upon a tombstone, which, upon nearer observation, he saw was
the monument of his own family. One of the boys came to the gate,
and told Lord Colambre, "There was no use in going into the church,
because there was no church there; nor had not been this twelvemonth;
beca-ase there was no curate: and the parson was away always, since
the lord was at home--that is, was not at home--he nor the family."

Lord Colambre returned to the inn, where, after waiting a considerable
time, he gave up the point--he could not get any dinner--and in
the evening he walked out again into the town. He found several
public-houses, however, open, which were full of people; all of them
as busy and as noisy as possible. He observed that the interest was
created by an advertisement of several farms on the Clonbrony estate,
to be set by Nicholas Garraghty, Esq. He could not help smiling at
his being witness _incognito_ to various schemes for outwitting the
agents, and defrauding the landlord; but, on a sudden, the scene was
changed; a boy ran in, crying out, that "St. Dennis was riding down
the hill into the town; and, if you would not have the licence," said
the boy, "take care of yourself, Brannagan." "_If you wouldn't have
the licence_," Lord Colambre perceived, by what followed, meant, "_If
you have not a licence_." Brannagan immediately snatched an untasted
glass of whiskey from a customer's lips (who cried, murder!), gave
it and the bottle he held in his hand to his wife, who swallowed the
spirits, and ran away with the bottle and glass into some back hole;
whilst the bystanders laughed, saying, "Well thought of, Peggy!"

"Clear out all of you at the back door, for the love of Heaven, if
you wouldn't be the ruin of me," said the man of the house, setting
a ladder to a corner of the shop. "Phil, hoist me up the keg to the
loft," added he, running up the ladder; "and one of _yees_ step up
street, and give Rose McGivney notice, for she's selling, too."

The keg was hoisted up; the ladder removed; the shop cleared of
all the customers; the shutters shut; the door barred; the counter
cleaned.

"Lift your stones, sir, if you plase," said the wife, as she rubbed
the counter, "and say nothing of what you _seen_ at all; but that
you're a stranger and a traveller seeking a lodging, if you're
questioned, or waiting to see Mr. Dennis. There's no smell of whiskey
in it now, is there, sir?"

Lord Colambre could not flatter her so far as to say this--he could
only hope no one would perceive it.

"Oh, and if he would, the smell of whiskey was nothing," as the wife
affirmed, "for it was every where in nature, and no proof again' any
one, good or bad."

"Now, St. Dennis may come when he will, or Old Nick himself!" So she
tied up a blue handkerchief over her head, and had the toothache "very
bad."

Lord Colambre turned to look for the man of the house.

"He's safe in bed," said the wife.

"In bed! When?"

"Whilst you turned your head, while I was tying the handkerchief over
my face. Within the room, look, he is snug."

And there he was in bed certainly, and his clothes on the chest.

A knock, a loud knock at the door.

"St. Dennis himself!--Stay, till I unbar the door," said the woman;
and, making a great difficulty, she let him in, groaning and saying.
"We was all done up for the night, _plase_ your honour, and myself
with the toothache, very bad--And the lodger, that's going to take an
egg only, before he'd go into his bed. My man's in it, and asleep long
ago."

With a magisterial air, though with a look of blank disappointment,
Mr. Dennis Garraghty walked on, looked into _the room_, saw the good
man of the house asleep, heard him snore, and then, returning, asked
Lord Colambre, "who he was, and what brought him there?"

Our hero said, he was from England, and a traveller; and now, bolder
grown as a geologist, he talked of his specimens, and his hopes of
finding a mine in the neighbouring mountains; then adopting, as well
as he could, the servile tone and abject manner, in which he found Mr.
Dennis was to be addressed, "he hoped he might get encouragement from
the gentlemen at the head of the estate."

"To bore, is it?--Well, don't _bore_ me about it. I can't give you any
answer now, my good friend; I am engaged."

Out he strutted. "Stick to him up the town, if you have a mind to get
your answer," whispered the woman. Lord Colambre followed, for he
wished to see the end of this scene.

"Well, sir, what are you following and sticking to me, like my shadow,
for?" said Mr. Dennis, turning suddenly upon Lord Colambre.

His lordship bowed low. "Waiting for my answer, sir, when you are at
leisure. Or, may I call upon you to-morrow?"

"You seem to be a civil kind of fellow; but, as to boring, I don't
know--if you undertake it at your own expense. I dare say there may be
minerals in the ground. Well, you may call at the castle to-morrow,
and when my brother has done with the tenantry, I'll speak to him
_for_ you, and we'll consult together, and see what we think. It's too
late to-night. In Ireland, nobody speaks to a gentleman about business
after dinner,--your servant, sir; any body can show you the way to the
castle in the morning." And, pushing by his lordship, he called to a
man on the other side of the street, who had obviously been waiting
for him; he went under a gateway with this man, and gave him a bag of
guineas. He then called for his horse, which was brought to him by a
man whom Lord Colambre had heard declaring that he would bid for the
land that was advertised; whilst another, who had the same intentions,
most respectfully held his stirrup, whilst he mounted without thanking
either of these men. St. Dennis clapped spurs to his steed, and rode
away. No thanks, indeed, were deserved; for the moment he was out of
hearing, both cursed him after the manner of their country.

"Bad luck go with you, then!--And may you break your neck before you
get home, if it was not for the _lase_ I'm to get, and that's paid
for."

Lord Colambre followed the crowd into a public-house, where a new
scene presented itself to his view.

The man to whom St. Dennis gave the bag of gold was now selling this
very gold to the tenants, who were to pay their rent next day at the
castle.

The agent would take nothing but gold. The same guineas were bought
and sold several times over, to the great profit of the agent and loss
of the poor tenants; for as the rents were paid, the guineas were
resold to another set: and the remittances made through bankers to the
landlord, who, as the poor man that explained the transaction to Lord
Colambre expressed it, "gained nothing by the business, bad or good,
but the ill-will of the tenantry."

The higgling for the price of the gold; the time lost in disputing
about the goodness of the notes, among some poor tenants, who could
not read or write, and who were at the mercy of the man with the bag
in his hand; the vexation, the useless harassing of all who were
obliged to submit ultimately--Lord Colambre saw: and all this time he
endured the smell of tobacco and whiskey, and the sound of various
brogues, the din of men wrangling, brawling, threatening, whining,
drawling, cajoling, cursing, and every variety of wretchedness.

"And is this my father's town of Clonbrony?" thought Lord Colambre.
"Is this Ireland? No, it is not Ireland. Let me not, like most of
those who forsake their native country, traduce it. Let me not, even
to my own mind, commit the injustice of taking a speck for the whole.
What I have just seen is the picture only of that to which an Irish
estate and Irish tenantry may be degraded in the absence of those
whose duty and interest it is to reside in Ireland, to uphold justice
by example and authority; but who, neglecting this duty, commit power
to bad hands and bad hearts--abandon their tenantry to oppression, and
their property to ruin."

It was now fine moonlight, and Lord Colambre met with a boy, who said
he could show him a short way across the fields to the widow O'Neil's
cottage.

CHAPTER XII.

All were asleep at the cottage, when Lord Colambre arrived, except
the widow, who was sitting up, waiting for him; and who had brought
her dog into the house, that he might not fly at him, or bark at his
return. She had a roast chicken ready for her guest, and it was--but
this she never told him--the only chicken she had left; all the others
had been sent with the _duty fowl_, as a present to the under-agent's
lady. While he was eating his supper, which he ate with the better
appetite, as he had had no dinner, the good woman took down from the
shelf a pocket-book, which she gave him: "Is not that your book?" said
she. "My boy Brian found it after you in the potatoe furrow, where you
dropped it."

"Thank you," said Lord Colambre; "there are bank notes in it, which I
could not afford to lose."

"Are there?" said she: "he never opened it--nor I."

Then, in answer to his inquiries about Grace and the young man, the
widow answered, "They are all in heart now, I thank ye kindly, sir,
for asking; they'll sleep easy to-night, any way, and I'm in great
spirits for them and myself--for all's smooth now. After we parted
you, Brian saw Mr. Dennis himself about the _lase_ and memorandum,
which he never denied, but knew nothing about. 'But, be that as it
may,' says he, 'you're improving tenants, and I'm confident my brother
will consider ye; so what you'll do is, you'll give up the possession
to-morrow to myself, that will call for it by cock-crow, just for
form's sake; and then go up to the castle with the new _lase_ ready
drawn, in your hand, and if all's paid off clear of the rent, and all
that's due, you'll get the new _lase_ signed: I'll promise you this
upon the word and honour of a gentleman.' And there's no going beyond
that, you know, sir. So my boy came home as light as a feather, and as
gay as a lark, to bring us the good news; only he was afraid we might
not make up the rent, guineas and all; and because he could not get
paid for the work he done, on account of the mistake in the overseer's
tally, I sold the cow to a neighbour, dog-cheap; but needs must, as
they say, when Old Nick _drives_," said the widow, smiling. "Well,
still it was but paper we got for the cow; then that must be gold
before the agent would take or touch it--so I was laying out to sell
the dresser, and had taken the plates and cups, and little things
off it, and my boy was lifting it out with Andy the carpenter,
that was agreeing for it, when in comes Grace, all rosy and out of
breath--it's a wonder I never minded her run out, nor ever missed her.
'Mother,' says she, 'here's the gold for you; don't be stirring your
dresser.'--'And where's your gown and cloak, Grace?' says I. But, I
beg your pardon, sir; may be, I'm tiring you?"

Lord Colambre encouraged her to go on.

"'Where's your gown and cloak, Grace?' says I. 'Gone,' says she. 'The
cloak was too warm and heavy, and I don' doubt, mother, but it was
that helped to make me faint this morning. And as to the gown, sure
I've a very nice one here, that you spun for me yourself, mother; and
that I prize above all the gowns ever came out of a loom; and that
Brian said become me to his fancy above any gown ever he see me wear;
and what could I wish for more?' Now I'd a mind to scold her for going
to sell the gown unknown'st to me, but I don't know how it was, I
couldn't scold her just then, so kissed her, and Brian the same, and
that was what no man ever did before. And she had a mind to be angry
with him, but could not, nor ought not, says I, 'for he's as good
as your husband now, Grace; and no man can part yees now,' says I,
putting their hands together. Well, I never saw her look so pretty;
nor there was not a happier boy that minute on God's earth than my
son, nor a happier mother than myself; and I thanked God, that had
given them to me; and down they both fell on their knees for my
blessing, little worth as it was; and my heart's blessing they had,
and I laid my hands upon them. 'It's the priest you must get to do
this for you to-morrow,' says I. And Brian just held up the ring, to
show me all was ready on his part, but could not speak. 'Then there's
no America between us any more!' said Grace, low to me, and her heart
was on her lips; but the colour came and went, and I was _afeard_
she'd have swooned again, but not for sorrow, so I carried her off.
Well, if she was not my own--but she is not my own born, so I may
say it--there never was a better girl, not a more kind-hearted, nor
generous; never thinking any thing she could do, or give, too much
for them she loved, and any thing at all would do for herself; the
sweetest natured and tempered both, and always was, from this high;
the bond that held all together, and joy of the house."

"Just like her namesake," cried Lord Colambre.

"Plase your honour!"

"Is not it late?" said Lord Colambre, stretching himself and gaping;
"I've walked a great way to-day."

The old woman lighted his rushlight, showed him to his red check bed,
and wished him a very good night; not without some slight sentiment
of displeasure at his gaping thus at the panegyric on her darling
Grace. Before she left the room, however, her short-lived resentment
vanished, upon his saying, that he hoped, with her permission, to be
present at the wedding of the young couple.

Early in the morning Brian went to the priest, to ask his reverence
when it would be convenient to marry him; and whilst he was gone,
Mr. Dennis Garraghty came to the cottage, to receive the rent and
possession. The rent was ready, in gold, and counted into his hand.

"No occasion for a receipt; for a new _lase_ is a receipt in full for
every thing."

"Very well, sir," said the widow; "I know nothing of law. You know
best--whatever you direct--for you are acting as a friend to us now.
My son got the attorney to draw the pair of new _lases_ yesterday, and
here they are ready, all to signing."

Mr. Dennis said, his brother must settle that part of the business,
and that they must carry them up to the castle; "but first give me the
possession."

Then, as he instructed her, she gave up the key of the door to him,
and a bit of the thatch of the house; and he raked out the fire, and
said every living creature must go out. "It's only form of law," said
he.

"And must my lodger get up, and turn out, sir?" said she.

"He must turn out, to be sure--not a living soul must he left in it,
or it's no legal possession, properly. Who is your lodger?"

On Lord Colambre's appearing, Mr. Dennis showed some surprise, and
said, "I thought you were lodging at Brannagan's; are not you the man
who spoke to me at his house about the gold mines?"

"No, sir, he never lodged at Brannagan's," said the widow.

"Yes, sir, I am the person who spoke to you about the gold mines at
Brannagan's; but I did not like to lodge--"

"Well, no matter where you liked to lodge; you must walk out of this
lodging now, if you please, my good friend."

So Mr. Dennis pushed his lordship out by the shoulders, repeating, as
the widow turned back, and looked with some surprise and alarm, "only
for form sake, only for form sake!" then locking the door, took the
key, and put it into his pocket. The widow held out her hand for it:
"The form's gone through now, sir; is not it? Be plased to let us in
again."

"When the new lease is signed, I'll give you possession again; but not
till then--for that's the law. So make away with you to the castle;
and mind," added he, winking slily, "mind you take sealing-money with
you, and something to buy gloves."

"Oh, where will I find all that?" said the widow.

"I have it, mother; don't fret," said Grace. "I have it--the price
of--what I can want[1]. So let us go off to the castle without delay.
Brian will meet us on the road, you know."

[Footnote 1: What I can do without.]

They set off for Clonbrony Castle, Lord Colambre accompanying them.
Brian met them on the road. "Father Tom is ready, dear mother; bring
her in, and he'll marry us. I'm not my own man till she's mine. Who
knows what may happen?"

"Who knows? that's true," said the widow.

"Better go to the castle first," said Grace.

"And keep the priest waiting! You can't use his reverence so," said
Brian.

So she let him lead her into the priest's house, and she did not make
any of the awkward draggings back, or ridiculous scenes of grimace
sometimes exhibited on these occasions; but blushing rosy red, yet
with more self-possession than could have been expected from her timid
nature, she gave her hand to the man she loved, and listened with
attentive devotion to the holy ceremony.

"Ah!" thought Lord Colambre, whilst he congratulated the bride, "shall
I ever be as happy as these poor people are at this moment?" He longed
to make them some little present, but all he could venture at this
moment was to pay the priest's dues.

The priest positively refused to take any thing.

"They are the best couple in my parish," said he; "and I'll take
nothing, sir, from you, a stranger and my guest."

"Now, come what will, I'm a match for it. No trouble can touch me,"
said Brian.

"Oh, don't be bragging," said the widow.

"Whatever trouble God sends, he has given one now will help to bear
it, and sure I may be thankful," said Grace.

"Such good hearts must be happy,--shall be happy!" said Lord Colambre.

"Oh, you're very kind," said the widow, smiling; "and I wouldn't doubt
you, if you had the power. I hope, then, the agent will give you
encouragement about them mines, that we may keep you among us."

"I am determined to settle among you, warm-hearted, generous people!"
cried Lord Colambre; "whether the agent gives me encouragement or
not," added he.

It was a long walk to Clonbrony Castle; the old woman, as she said
herself, would not have been able for it, but for a _lift_ given to
her by a friendly carman, whom she overtook on the road with an empty
car. This carman was Finnucan, who dissipated Lord Colambre's fears of
meeting and being recognized by Mrs. Raffarty; for he, in answer to
the question of "Who is at the castle?" replied, "Mrs. Raffarty will
be in it afore night; but she's on the road still. There's none
but Old Nick in it yet; and he's more of a _neger_ than ever; for
think, that he would not pay me a farthing for the carriage of his
_shister's_ boxes and band-boxes down. If you're going to have any
dealings with him, God grant ye a safe deliverance!"

"Amen!" said the widow, and her son and daughter.

Lord Colambre's attention was now engaged by the view of the castle
and park of Clonbrony. He had not seen it since he was six years old.
Some faint reminiscence from his childhood made him feel or fancy
that he knew the place. It was a fine castle, spacious park; but all
about it, from the broken piers at the great entrance, to the mossy
gravel and loose steps at the hall-door, had an air of desertion and
melancholy. Walks overgrown, shrubberies wild, plantations run up into
bare poles; fine trees cut down, and lying on the ground in lots to
be sold. A hill that had been covered with an oak wood, where in his
childhood our hero used to play, and which he called the black forest,
was gone; nothing to be seen but the white stumps of the trees, for
it had been freshly cut down, to make up the last remittances.--"And
how it went, when sold!--but no matter," said Finnucan; "it's all
alike.--It's the back way into the yard, I'll take you, I suppose."

"And such a yard! but it's no matter," repeated Lord Colambre to
himself; "it's all alike."

In the kitchen, a great dinner was dressing for Mr. Garraghty's
friends, who were to make merry with him when the business of the day
was over.

"Where's the keys of the cellar, till I get out the claret for after
dinner," says one; "and the wine for the cook--sure there's venison,"
cries another.--"Venison!--That's the way my lord's deer goes," says
a third, laughing.--"Ay, sure! and very proper, when he's not here
to eat 'em."--"Keep your nose out of the kitchen, young man, if you
_plase_," said the agent's cook, shutting the door in Lord Colambre's
face. "There's the way to the office, if you've money to pay, up the
back stairs."

"No; up the grand staircase they must,--Mr. Garraghty ordered," said
the footman; "because the office is damp for him, and it's not there
he'll see any body to-day; but in my lady's dressing-room."

So up the grand staircase they went, and through the magnificent
apartments, hung with pictures of great value, spoiling with damp.

"Then, isn't it a pity to see them? There's my lady, and all
spoiling," said the widow.

Lord Colambre stopped before a portrait of Miss Nugent--"Shamefully
damaged!" cried he.

"Pass on, or let me pass, if you _plase_," said one of the tenants;
"and don't be stopping the door-way."

"I have business more nor you with the agent," said the surveyor;
"where is he?"

"In the _presence-chamber_," replied another: "Where should the
viceroy be but in the _presence-chamber_?"

There was a full levee, and fine smell of great coats.--"Oh! would you
put your hats on the silk cushions?" said the widow to some men in the
doorway, who were throwing off their greasy hats on a damask sofa.

"Why not? where else?"

"If the lady was in it, you wouldn't," said she, sighing.

"No, to be sure, I wouldn't: great news! would I make no _differ_ in
the presence of Old Nick and my lady?" said he, in Irish. "Have I no
sense or manners, good woman, think ye?" added he, as he shook the ink
out of the pen on the Wilton carpet, when he had finished signing his
name to a paper on his knee.

"You may wait long before you get to the speech of the great man,"
said another, who was working his way through numbers.

They continued pushing forward, till they came within sight of Mr.
Nicholas Garraghty, seated in state; and a worse countenance, or a
more perfect picture of an insolent, petty tyrant in office, Lord
Colambre had never beheld.

We forbear all further detail of this levee. "It's all the same!" as
Lord Colambre repeated to himself, on every fresh instance of roguery
or oppression to which he was witness; and having completely made
up his mind on the subject, he sat down quietly in the back-ground,
waiting till it should come to the widow's turn to be dealt with, for
he was now interested only to see how she would be treated. The room
gradually thinned I Mr. Dennis Garraghty came in, and sat down at the
table, to help his brother to count the heaps of gold.

"Oh, Mr. Dennis, I'm glad to see you as kind as your promise, meeting
me here," said the widow O'Neil, walking up to him;

"I'm sure you'll speak a good word for me: here's the _lases_--who
will I offer this to?" said she, holding the _glove-money_ and
_sealing-money_, "for I'm strange and ashamed."

"Oh, don't be ashamed--there's no strangeness in bringing money or
taking it," said Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, holding out his hand. "Is
this the proper compliment?"

"I hope so, sir: your honour knows best."

"Very well," slipping it into his private purse. "Now what's your
business?"

"The _lases_ to sign--the rent's all paid up."

"Leases! Why, woman, is the possession given up?"

"It was, _plase_ your honour; and Mr. Dennis has the key of our little
place in his pocket."

"Then I hope he'll keep it there. _Your_ little place--it's no longer
yours; I've promised it to the surveyor. You don't think I'm such a
fool as to renew to you at this rent."

"Mr. Dennis named the rent. But any thing your honour _plases_--any
thing at all that we can pay."

"Oh, it's out of the question--put it out of your head. No rent you
can offer would do, for I have promised it to the surveyor."

"Sir, Mr. Dennis knows my lord gave us his promise in writing of a
renewal, on the back of the _ould lase_."

"Produce it."

"Here's the _lase_, but the promise is rubbed out."

"Nonsense! coming to me with a promise that's rubbed out. Who'll
listen to that in a court of justice, do you think?"

"I don't know, plase your honour; but this I'm sure of, my lord and
Miss Nugent, though but a child at the time, God bless her! who was by
when my lord wrote it with his pencil, will remember it."

"Miss Nugent! what can she know of business?--What has she to do with
the management of my Lord Clonbrony's estate, pray?"

"Management!--no, sir."

"Do you wish to get Miss Nugent turned out of the house?"

"Oh, God forbid!--how could that be?"

"Very easily; if you set about to make her meddle and witness in what
my lord does not choose."

"Well, then, I'll never mention Miss Nugent's name in it at all, if it
was ever so with me. But be _plased_, sir, to write over to my lord,
and ask him; I'm sure he'll remember it."

"Write to my lord about such a trifle--trouble him about such
nonsense!"

"I'd be sorry to trouble him. Then take it on my word, and believe
me, sir; for I would not tell a lie, nor cheat rich or poor, if in my
power, for the whole estate, nor the whole world: for there's an eye
above."

"Cant! nonsense!--Take those leases off the table; I never will sign
them. Walk off, ye canting hag; it's an imposition--I will never sign
them."

"You _will_, then, sir," cried Brian, growing red with indignation;
"for the law shall make you, so it shall; and you'd as good have been
civil to my mother, whatever you did--for I'll stand by her while
I've life; and I know she has right, and shall have law. I saw the
memorandum written before ever it went into your hands, sir, whatever
became of it after; and will swear to it too."

"Swear away, my good friend; much your swearing will avail in your own
case in a court of justice," continued Old Nick.

"And against a gentleman of my brother's established character and
property," said St. Dennis. "What's your mother's character against a
gentleman's like his?"

"Character! take care how you go to that, any way, sir," cried Brian.

Grace put her hand before his mouth, to stop him.

"Grace, dear, I must speak, if I die for it; sure it's for my mother,"
said the young man, struggling forward, while his mother held him
back; "I must speak."

"Oh, he's ruined, I see it," said Grace, putting her hand before her
eyes, "and he won't mind me."

"Go on, let him go on, pray, young woman," said Mr. Garraghty, pale
with anger and fear, his lips quivering; "I shall be happy to take
down his words."

"Write them; and may all the world read it, and welcome!"

His mother and wife stopped his mouth by force.

"Write you, Dennis," said Mr. Garraghty, giving the pen to his
brother; for his hand shook so he could not form a letter. "Write the
very words, and at the top" (pointing) "after warning, _with malice
prepense_."

"Write, then--mother, Grace--let me," cried Brian, speaking in a
smothered voice, as their hands were over his mouth. "Write then,
that, if you'd either of you a character like my mother, you might
defy the world; and your word would be as good as your oath."

"_Oath!_ mind that, Dennis," said Mr. Garraghty.

"Oh, sir! sir! won't you stop him?" cried Grace, turning suddenly to
Lord Colambre.

"Oh, dear, dear, if you haven't lost your feeling for us," cried the
widow.

"Let him speak," said Lord Colambre, in a tone of authority; "let the
voice of truth be heard."

"_Truth!_" cried St. Dennis, and dropped the pen.

"And who the devil are you, sir?" said Old Nick.

"Lord Colambre, I protest!" exclaimed a female voice; and Mrs.
Raffarty at this instant appeared at the open door.

"Lord Colambre!" repeated all present, in different tones.

"My lord, I beg pardon," continued Mrs. Raffarty, advancing as if
her legs were tied; "had I known you was down here, I would not have
presumed. I'd better retire; for I see you're busy."

"You'd best; for you're mad, sister," said St. Dennis, pushing her
back; "and we _are_ busy; go to your room, and keep quiet, if you
can."

"First, madam," said Lord Colambre, going between her and the door,
"let me beg that you will consider yourself as at home in this house,
whilst any circumstances make it desirable to you. The hospitality you
showed me you cannot think I now forget."

"Oh, my lord, you're too good--how few--too kind--kinder than my own;"
and, bursting into tears, she escaped out of the room.

Lord Colambre returned to the party round the table, who were in
various attitudes of astonishment, and with faces of fear, horror,
hope, joy, doubt.

"Distress," continued his lordship, "however incurred, if not by vice,
will always find a refuge in this house. I speak in my father's name,
for I know I speak his sentiments. But never more shall vice," said
he, darting such a look at the brother agents as they felt to the
back-bone--"never more shall vice, shall fraud enter here."

He paused, and there was a momentary silence.

"There spoke the true thing! and the _rael_ gentleman; my own heart's
satisfied," said Brian, folding his arms, and standing erect.

"Then so is mine," said Grace, taking breath, with a deep sigh.

The widow advancing, put on her spectacles, and, looking up close at
Lord Colambre's face--"Then it's a wonder I didn't know the family
likeness."

Lord Colambre, now recollecting that he still wore the old great coat,
threw it off.

"Oh, bless him! Then now I'd know him any where. I'm willing to die
now, for we'll all be happy."

"My lord, since it is so--my lord, may I ask you," said Mr. Garraghty,
now sufficiently recovered to be able to articulate, but scarcely to
express his ideas; "if what your lordship hinted just now--"

"I hinted nothing, sir; I spoke plainly."

"I beg pardon, my lord," said Old Nick; "respecting vice, was levelled
at me; because, if it was, my lord," trying to stand erect; "let me
tell your lordship, if I could think it was--"

"If it did not hit you, sir, no matter at whom it was levelled."

"And let me ask, my lord, if I may presume, whether, in what you
suggested by the word fraud, your lordship had any particular
meaning?" said St. Dennis.

"A very particular meaning, sir--feel in your pocket for the key of
this widow's house, and deliver it to her."

"Oh, if that's all the meaning, with all the pleasure in life. I never
meant to detain it longer than till the leases were signed," said St.
Dennis.

"And I'm ready to sign the leases this minute," said the brother.

"Do it, sir, this minute; I have read them; I will be answerable to my
father."

"Oh, as to that, my lord, I have power to sign for your father."

He signed the leases; they were duly witnessed by Lord Colambre.

"I deliver this as my act and deed," said Mr. Garraghty:

"My lord," continued he, "you see, at the first word from you; and had
I known sooner the interest you took in the family, there would have
been no difficulty; for I'd make it a principle to oblige you, my
lord."

"Oblige me!" said Lord Colambre, with disdain.

"But when gentlemen and noblemen travel _incognito_, and lodge in
cabins," added St. Dennis, with a satanic smile, glancing his eye on
Grace, "they have good reasons, no doubt."

"Do not judge my heart by your own, sir," said Lord Colambre, coolly;
"no two things in nature can, I trust, be more different. My purpose
in travelling _incognito_ has been fully answered: I was determined to
see and judge how my father's estates were managed; and I have seen,
compared, and judged. I have seen the difference between the Clonbrony
and the Colambre property; and I shall represent what I have seen to
my father."

"As to that, my lord, if we are to come to that--but I trust your
lordship will suffer me to explain these matters. Go about your
business, my good friends; you have all you want; and, my lord, after
dinner, when you are cool, I hope I shall be able to make you sensible
that things have been represented to your lordship in a mistaken
light; and, I flatter myself, I shall convince you, I have not only
always acted the part of a friend to the family, but am particularly
willing to conciliate your lordship's good-will," said he, sweeping
the rouleaus of gold into a bag; "any accommodation in my power, at
any time."

"I want no accommodation, sir--were I starving, I would accept of none
from you. Never can you conciliate my good-will; for you can never
deserve it."

"If that be the case, my lord, I must conduct myself accordingly: but
it's fair to warn you, before you make any representation to my Lord
Clonbrony, that, if he should think of changing his agent, there are
accounts to be settled between us--that may be a consideration."

"No, sir; no consideration--my father never shall be the slave of such
a paltry consideration."

"Oh, very well, my lord; you know best. If you choose to make an
assumpsit, I'm sure I shall not object to the security. Your lordship
will be of age soon, I know--I'm sure I'm satisfied--but," added he,
with a malicious smile, "I rather apprehend you don't know what you
undertake: I only premise that the balance of accounts between us is
not what can properly be called a paltry consideration."

"On that point, perhaps, sir, you and I may differ."

"Very well, my lord, you will follow your own principles, if it suits
your convenience."

"Whether it does or not, sir, I shall abide by my principles."

"Dennis! the letters to the post--When do you go to England, my lord?"

"Immediately, sir," said Lord Colambre: his lordship saw new leases
from his father to Mr. Dennis Garraghty, lying on the table, unsigned.

"Immediately!" repeated Messrs. Nicholas and Dennis, with an air of
dismay. Nicholas got up, looked out of the window, and whispered
something to his brother, who instantly left the room.

Lord Colambre saw the postchaise at the door, which had brought Mrs.
Raffarty to the castle, and Larry standing beside it: his lordship
instantly threw up the sash, and holding between his finger and thumb
a six shilling piece, cried, "Larry, my friend, let me have the
horses."

"You shall have 'em--your honour," said Larry.

Mr. Dennis Garraghty appeared below, speaking in a magisterial tone.
"Larry, my brother must have the horses."

"He can't, _plase_ your honour--they're engaged."

"Half a crown!--a crown!--half a guinea!" said Mr. Dennis Garraghty,
raising his voice, as he increased his proffered bribe. To each offer
Larry replied, "You can't, _plase_ your honour, they're engaged;" and,
looking up to the window at Lord Colambre, he said, "As soon as they
have ate their oats, you shall have 'em."

No other horses were to be had. The agent was in consternation. Lord
Colambre ordered that Larry should have some dinner, and whilst the
postilion was eating, and the horses finished their oats, his lordship
wrote the following letter to his father, which, to prevent all
possibility of accident, he determined to put, with his own hand, into
the post-office at Clonbrony, as he passed through the town.

"MY DEAR FATHER,

"I hope to be with you in a few days. Lest any thing should detain
me on the road, I write this, to make an earnest request, that you
will not sign any papers, or transact any farther business with
Messrs. Nicholas or Dennis Garraghty before you see

"Your affectionate son,

"COLAMBRE."

The horses came out. Larry sent word he was ready, and Lord Colambre,
having first eaten a slice of his own venison, ran down to the
carriage, followed by the thanks and blessings of the widow, her
son, and daughter, who could hardly make their way after him to the
chaise-door, so great was the crowd which had gathered on the report
of his lordship's arrival.

"Long life to your honour! Long life to your lordship!" echoed on all
sides. "Just come, and going, are you?"

"Good bye to you all, good people!"

"Then _good bye_ is the only word we wouldn't wish to hear from your
honour."

"For the sake both of landlord and tenant, I must leave you now, my
good friends; but I hope to return to you at some future time."

"God bless you! and speed ye! and a safe journey to your honour!--and
a happy return to us, and soon!" cried a multitude of voices.

Lord Colambre stopped at the chaise-door, and beckoned to the widow
O'Neil, before whom others had pressed. An opening was made for her
instantly.

"There! that was the very way his father stood, with his foot on the
step. And Miss Nugent was _in it_."

Lord Colambre forgot what he was going to say,--with some difficulty
recollected. "This pocket-book," said he, "which your son restored to
me--I intend it for your daughter--don't keep it as your son kept it
for me, without opening it. Let what is withinside," added he, as he
got into the carriage, "replace the cloak and gown, and let all things
necessary for a bride be bought; 'for the bride that has all things to
borrow has surely mickle to do.' Shut the door, and drive on."

"Blessings be _wid_ you," cried the widow, "and God give you grace!"

CHAPTER XIII.

Larry drove off at full gallop, and kept on at a good rate, till he
got out of the great gate, and beyond the sight of the crowd: then,
pulling up, he turned to Lord Colambre--"_Plase_ your honour, I did
not know nor guess ye was my lord, when I let you have the horses: did
not know who you was from Adam, I'll take my affidavit."

"There's no occasion," said Lord Colambre; "I hope you don't repent
letting me have the horses, now you do know who I am?"

"Oh! not at all, sure: I'm as glad as the best horse ever I crossed,
that your honour is my lord--but I was only telling your honour, that
you might not be looking upon me as a _timesarver_."

"I do not look upon you as a _timesarver_, Larry; but keep on, that
time may serve me."

In two words, he explained his cause of haste; and no sooner explained
than understood. Larry thundered away through the town of Clonbrony,
bending over his horses, plying the whip, and lending his very soul at
every lash. With much difficulty, Lord Colambre stopped him at the end
of the town, at the post-office. The post was gone out--gone a quarter
of an hour.

"May be, we'll overtake the mail," said Larry: and, as he spoke,
he slid down from his seat, and darted into the public-house,
re-appearing, in a few moments, with a _copper_ of ale and a horn in
his hand: he and another man held open the horses' mouths, and poured
the ale through the horn down their throats.

"Now, they'll go with spirit!"

And, with the hope of overtaking the mail, Larry made them go "for
life or death," as he said: but in vain! At the next stage, at his own
inn-door, Larry roared for fresh horses till he, got them, harnessed
them with his own hands, holding the six shilling piece, which Lord
Colambre had given him, in his mouth, all the while: for he could not
take time to put it into his pocket.

"Speed ye! I wish I was driving you all the way, then," said he.
The other postilion was not yet ready. "Then your honour sees,"
said he, putting his head into the carriage, "_consarning_ of them
Garraghties--Old Nick and St. Dennis--the best part, that is, the
worst part, of what I told you, proved true; and I'm glad of it, that
is, I'm sorry for it--but glad your honour knows it in time. So Heaven
prosper you! And may all the saints (_barring_ St. Dennis) have charge
of you, and all belonging to you, till we see you here again!--And
when will it be?"

"I cannot say when I shall return to you myself, but I will do my best
to send your landlord to you soon. In the mean time, my good fellow,
keep away from the sign of the Horseshoe--a man of your sense to drink
and make an idiot and a brute of yourself!"

"True!--And it was only when I had lost hope I took to it--but now!
Bring me the book one of _yees_, out of the landlady's parlour. By
the virtue of this book, and by all the books that ever was shut and
opened, I won't touch a drop of spirits, good or bad, till I see your
honour again, or some of the family, this time twelvemonth--that long
I live on hope,--but mind, if you disappoint me, I don't swear but
I'll take to the whiskey for comfort, all the rest of my days. But
don't be staying here, wasting your time, advising me. Bartley! take
the reins, can't ye?" cried he, giving them to the fresh postilion;
"and keep on, for your life, for there's thousands of pounds depending
on the race--so off, off, Bartley, with speed of light!"

Bartley did his best; and such was the excellence of the roads, that,
notwithstanding the rate at which our hero travelled, he arrived
safely in Dublin, just in time to put his letter into the post-office,
and to sail in that night's packet. The wind was fair when Lord
Colambre went on board, but before they got out of the Bay it changed;
they made no way all night: in the course of the next day, they had
the mortification to see another packet from Dublin sail past them,
and when they landed at Holyhead, were told the packet, which had left
Ireland twelve hours after them, had been in an hour before them.
The passengers had taken their places in the coach, and engaged what
horses could be had. Lord Colambre was afraid that Mr. Garraghty was
one of them; a person exactly answering his description had taken four
horses, and set out half an hour before in great haste for London.
Luckily, just as those who had taken their places in the mail were
getting into the coach, Lord Colambre saw among them a gentleman, with
whom he had been acquainted in Dublin, a barrister, who was come over
during the long vacation, to make a tour of pleasure in England. When
Lord Colambre explained the reason he had for being in haste to reach
London, he had the good-nature to give up to him his place in the
coach. Lord Colambre travelled all night, and delayed not one moment,
till he reached his father's house, in London.

"My father at home?"

"Yes, my lord, in his own room--the agent from Ireland with him, on
particular business--desired not to be interrupted--but I'll go and
tell him, my lord, you are come."

Lord Colambre ran past the servant, as he spoke--made his way into the
room--found his father, Sir Terence O'Fay, and Mr. Garraghty--leases
open on the table before them; a candle lighted; Sir Terence sealing;
Garraghty emptying a bag of guineas on the table, and Lord Clonbrony
actually with a pen in his hand, ready to sign.

As the door opened, Garraghty started back, so that half the contents
of his bag rolled upon the floor.

"Stop, my dear father, I conjure you," cried Lord Colambre, springing
forward, and snatching the pen from his father's hand.

"Colambre! God bless you, my dear boy! at all events. But how came you
here?--And what do you mean?" said his father.

"Burn it!" cried Sir Terence, pinching the sealing-wax; "for I burnt
myself with the pleasure of the surprise."

Garraghty, without saying a word, was picking up the guineas that were
scattered upon the floor.

"How fortunate I am," cried Lord Colambre, "to have arrived just in
time to tell you, my dear father, before you put your signature to
these papers, before you conclude this bargain, all I know, all I have
seen of that man!"

"Nick Garraghty, honest old Nick; do you know him, my lord?" said Sir
Terence.

"Too well, sir."

"Mr. Garraghty, what have you done to offend my son? I did not expect
this," said Lord Clonbrony.

"Upon my conscience, my lord, nothing to my knowledge," said Mr.
Garraghty, picking up the guineas; "but showed him every civility,
even so far as offering to accommodate him with cash without security;
and where will you find the other agent, in Ireland, or any where
else, will do that? To my knowledge, I never did any thing, by word
or deed, to offend my Lord Colambre; nor could not, for I never
saw him but for ten minutes, in my days; and then he was in such
a foaming passion, begging his lordship's pardon, owing to the
misrepresentations he met with of me, I presume, from a parcel of
blackguards that he went amongst, _incognito_, he would not let me or
my brother Dennis say a word to set him right; but exposed me before
all the tenantry, and then threw himself into a hack, and drove off
here, to stop the signing of these leases, I perceive. But I trust,"
concluded he, putting the replenished money-bag down, with a heavy
sound on the table, opposite to Lord Clonbrony, "I trust my Lord
Clonbrony will do me justice; that's all I have to say."

"I comprehend the force of your last argument fully, sir," said Lord
Colambre. "May I ask, how many guineas there are in the bag?--I don't
ask whether they are my father's or not."

"They are to be your lordship's father's, sir, if he thinks proper,"
replied Garraghty. "How many, I don't know that I can justly,
positively say--five hundred, suppose."

"And they would be my father's, if he signed those leases--I
understand that perfectly, and understand that my father will lose
three times that sum by the bargain. My dear father, you start--but it
is true--is not this the rent, sir, at which you are going to let Mr.
Garraghty have the land?" placing a paper before Lord Clonbrony.

"It is--the very thing."

"And here, sir, written with my own hand, are copies of the proposals
I saw from responsible, respectable tenants, offered and refused. Is
it so, or is it not, Mr. Garraghty?--deny it, if you can."

Mr. Garraghty grew pale; his lips quivered; he stammered; and, after
a shocking convulsion of face, could at last articulate--only, "That
there was a great difference between tenant and tenant, his lordship
must be sensible--especially for so large a rent."

"As great a difference as between agent and agent, I am
sensible--especially for so large a property!" said Lord Colambre,
with cool contempt. "You find, sir, I am well informed with regard to
this transaction; you will find, also, that I am equally well informed
with respect to every part of your conduct towards my father and his
tenantry. If, in relating to him what I have seen and heard, I should
make any mistakes, you are here; and I am glad you are, to set me
right, and to do yourself justice."

"Oh! as to that, I should not presume to contradict any thing your
lordship asserts from your own authority: where would be the use?
I leave it all to your lordship. But, as it is not particularly
agreeable to stay to hear one's self abused--Sir Terence! I'll thank
you to hand me my hat!--And if you'll have the goodness, my Lord
Clonbrony, to look over finally the accounts before morning, I'll
call at your leisure to settle the balance, as you find convenient:
as to the leases, I'm quite indifferent." So saying, he took up his
money-bag.

"Well, you'll call again in the morning, Mr. Garraghty?" said
Sir Terence; "and, by that time, I hope we shall understand this
misunderstanding better."

Sir Terence pulled Lord Clonbrony's sleeve: "Don't let him go with the
money--it's much wanted."

"Let him go," said Lord Colambre: "money can be had by honourable
means."

"Wheugh!--He talks as if he had the bank of England at his command, as
every young man does," said Sir Terence.

Lord Colambre deigned no reply. Lord Clonbrony walked undecidedly
between his agent and his son--looked at Sir Terence, and said
nothing.

Mr. Garraghty departed: Lord Clonbrony called after him from the head
of the stairs, "I shall be at home and at leisure in the morning."

Sir Terence ran down stairs after him: Lord Colambre waited quietly
for their return.

"Fifteen hundred guineas at a stroke of a goose-quill!--That was a
neat hit, narrowly missed, of honest Nick's!" said Lord Clonbrony.
"Too bad! too bad, faith!--I am much, very much obliged to you,
Colambre, for that hint: by to-morrow morning we shall have him in
another tune."

"And he must double the bag, or quit," said Sir Terence.

"Treble it, if you please, Terry. Sure, three times five's
fifteen:--fifteen hundred down, or he does not get my signature to
those leases for his brother, nor get the agency of the Colambre
estate.--Colambre, what more have you to tell of him? for, since he
is making out his accounts against me, it is no harm to have a _per
contra_ against him, that may ease my balance."

"Very fair! very fair!" said Sir Terence. "My lord, trust me for
remembering all the charges against him--every item: and when he can't
clear himself, if I don't make him buy a good character dear enough,
why, say I am a fool, and don't know the value of character, good or
bad!"

"If you know the value of character, Sir Terence," said Lord Colambre,
"you know that it is not to be bought or sold." Then turning from Sir
Terence to his father, he gave a full and true account of all he had
seen in his progress through his Irish estates; and drew a faithful
picture both of the bad and good agent. Lord Clonbrony, who had
benevolent feelings, and was fond of his tenantry, was touched; and
when his son ceased speaking, repeated several times, "Rascal! rascal!
How dare he use my tenants so--the O'Neills in particular!--Rascal!
bad heart!--I'll have no more to do with him." But, suddenly
recollecting himself, he turned to Sir Terence, and added, "That's
sooner said than done--I'll tell you honestly, Colambre, your friend
Mr. Burke may he the best man in the world--but he is the worst man to
apply to for a remittance or a loan, in a HURRY! He always tells me,
'he can't distress the tenants.'"

"And he never, at coming into the agency even," said Sir Terence,
"_advanced_ a good round sum to the landlord, by way of security for
his good behaviour. Now honest Nick did that much for us at coming
in."

"And at going out is he not to be repaid?" said Lord Colambre.

"That's the devil!" said Lord Clonbrony: "that's the very reason I
can't conveniently turn him out."

"I will make it convenient to you, sir, if you will permit me," said
Lord Colambre. "In a few days I shall be of age, and will join with
you in raising whatever sum you want, to free you from this man. Allow
me to look over his account; and whatever the honest balance may be,
let him have it."

"My dear boy!" said Lord Clonbrony, "you're a generous fellow. Fine
Irish heart!--glad you're my son! But there's more, much more, that
you don't know," added he, looking at Sir Terence, who cleared his
throat; and Lord Clonbrony, who was on the point of opening all his
affairs to his son, stopped short.

"Colambre," said he, "we will not say any thing more of this at
present; for nothing effectual can be done till you are of age, and
then we shall see all about it."

Lord Colambre perfectly understood what his father meant, and what was
meant by the clearing of Sir Terence's throat. Lord Clonbrony wanted
his son to join him in opening the estate to pay his debts; and Sir
Terence feared that if Lord Colambre were abruptly told the whole sum
total of the debts, he would never be persuaded to join in selling or
mortgaging so much of his patrimony as would be necessary for their
payment. Sir Terence thought that the young man, ignorant probably of
business, and unsuspicious of the state of his father's affairs, might
be brought, by proper management, to any measures they desired. Lord
Clonbrony wavered between the temptation to throw himself upon the
generosity of his son, and the immediate convenience of borrowing a
sum of money from his agent, to relieve his present embarrassments.

"Nothing can be settled," repeated he, "till Colambre is of age; so it
does not signify talking of it."

"Why so, sir?" said Lord Colambre. "Though my act, in law, may not be
valid till I am of age, my promise, as a man of honour, is binding
now; and, I trust, would be as satisfactory to my father as any legal
deed whatever."

"Undoubtedly, my dear boy; but--"

"But what?" said Lord Colambre, following his father's eye, which
turned to Sir Terence O'Fay, as if asking his permission to explain.
"As my father's friend, sir, you ought, permit me to say, at this
moment to use your influence to prevail upon him to throw aside all
reserve with a son, whose warmest wish is to serve him, and to see him
at ease and happy."

"Generous, dear boy," cried Lord Clonbrony. "Terence, I can't stand
it; but how shall I bring myself to name the amount of the debts?"

"At some time or other, I must know it," said Lord Colambre: "I cannot
be better prepared at any moment than the present; never more disposed
to give my assistance to relieve all difficulties. Blindfold, I cannot
be led to any purpose, sir," said he, looking at Sir Terence: "the
attempt would be degrading and futile. Blindfolded I will not be--but,
with my eyes open, I will see, and go straight and prompt as heart can
go, to my father's interest, without a look or thought to my own."

"By St. Patrick! the spirit of a prince, and an Irish prince, spoke
there," cried Sir Terence: "and if I'd fifty hearts, you'd have all in
your hand this minute, at your service, and warm. Blindfold you! After
that, the man that would attempt it _desarves_ to be shot; and I'd
have no sincerer pleasure in life than shooting him this moment, was
he my best friend. But it's not Clonbrony, or your father, my lord,
would act that way, no more than Sir Terence O'Fay--there's the
schedule of the debts," drawing a paper from his bosom; "and I'll
swear to the lot, and not a man on earth could do that but myself."

Lord Colambre opened the paper. His father turned aside, covering his
face with both his hands.

"Tut, man," said Sir Terence: "I know him now better than you; he will
stand, you'll find, the shock of that regiment of figures--he is steel
to the backbone, and proof spirit."

"I thank you, my dear father," said Lord Colambre, "for trusting
me thus at once with a view of the truth. At first sight it is, I
acknowledge, worse than I expected; but I make no doubt that, when
you allow me to examine Mr. Garraghty's accounts and Mr. Mordicai's
claims, we shall be able to reduce this alarming total considerably."

"The devil a pound, nor a penny," said Sir Terence; "for you have to
deal with a Jew and Old Nick; and, since I'm not a match for them, I
don't know who is; and I have no hope of getting any abatement. I've
looked over the accounts till I'm sick."

"Nevertheless, you will observe that fifteen hundred guineas have been
saved to my father at one stroke, by his not signing those leases."

"Saved to you, my lord; not your father, if you please," said Sir
Terence. "For now I'm upon the square with you, I must be straight
as an arrow, and deal with you as the son and friend of my friend:
before, I was considering you only as the son and heir, which is quite
another thing, you know; accordingly, acting for your father here,
I was making the best bargain against you I could: honestly, now, I
tell you. I knew the value of the lands well enough: I was as sharp
as Garraghty, and he knew it; I was to have had for your father
_the difference_ from him, partly in cash and partly in balance of
accounts--you comprehend--and you only would have been the loser, and
never would have known it, may be, till after we all were dead and
buried; and then you might have set aside Garraghty's lease easy, and
no harm done to any but a rogue that _desarved_ it; and, in the mean
time, an accommodation to my honest friend, my lord, your father here.
But, as fate would have it, you upset all by your progress incognito
through them estates. Well, it's best as it is, and I am better
pleased to be as we are, trusting all to a generous son's own heart.
Now put the poor father out of pain, and tell us what you'll do, my
dear."

"In one word, then," said Lord Colambre, "I will, upon two conditions,
either join my father in levying fines to enable him to sell or
mortgage whatever portion of his estate is necessary for the payment
of these debts; or I will, in whatever mode he can point out, as more
agreeable or more advantageous to him, join in giving security to his
creditors."

"Dear, noble fellow!" cried Sir Terence: "none but an Irishman could
do it."

Lord Clonbrony, melted to tears, could not articulate, but held his
arms open to embrace his son.

"But you have not heard my conditions yet," said Lord Colambre.

"Oh, confound the conditions!" cried Sir Terence.

"What conditions could he ask, that I could refuse at this minute?"
said Lord Clonbrony.

"Nor I--was it my heart's blood, and were I to be hanged for it,"
cried Sir Terence. "And what are the conditions?"

"That Mr. Garraghty shall be dismissed from the agency."

"And welcome, and glad to get rid of him--the rogue, the tyrant," said
Lord Clonbrony; "and, to be beforehand with you in your next wish, put
Mr. Burke into his place."

"I'll write the letter for you to sign, my lord, this minute," cried
Terry, "with all the pleasure in life. No; it's my Lord Colambre
should do that in all justice."

"But what's your next condition? I hope it's no worse," said Lord
Clonbrony.

"That you and my mother should cease to be absentees."

"Oh, murder!" said Sir Terence; "may be that's not so easy; for there
are two words to that bargain."

Lord Clonbrony declared that, for his own part, he was ready to return
to Ireland next morning, and to promise to reside on his estate all
the rest of his days; that there was nothing he desired more, provided
Lady Clonbrony would consent to it; but that he could not promise for
her; that she was as obstinate as a mule on that point; that he had
often tried, but that there was no moving her; and that, in short, he
could not promise on her part.

But it was on this condition, Lord Colambre said, he must insist.
Unless this condition were granted, he would not engage to do any
thing.

"Well, we must only see how it will be when she comes to town; she
will come up from Buxton the day you're of age to sign some papers,"
said Lord Clonbrony; "but," added he with a very dejected look and
voice, "if all's to depend on my Lady Clonbrony's consenting to return
to Ireland, I'm as far from all hope of being at ease as ever."

"Upon my conscience, we're all at sea again," said Sir Terence.

Lord Colambre was silent; but in his silence there was such an air
of firmness, that both Lord Clonbrony and Sir Terence were convinced
entreaties would, on this point, be fruitless. Lord Clonbrony sighed
deeply.

"But when it's ruin or safety! and her husband and all belonging to
her at stake, the woman can't persist in being a mule," said Sir
Terence.

"Of whom are you talking, sir?" said Lord Colambre.

"Of whom? Oh, I beg your lordship's pardon--I thought I was talking to
my lord; but, in other words, as you are her son, I'm persuaded her
ladyship, your mother, will prove herself a reasonable woman--when she
sees she can't help it. So, my Lord Clonbrony, cheer up; a great deal
may be done by the fear of Mordicai, and an execution, especially now
there's no prior creditor. Since there's no reserve between you and
I now, my Lord Colambre," said Sir Terence, "I must tell you all,
and how we shambled on those months while you were in Ireland. First,
Mordicai went to law, to prove I was in a conspiracy with your father,
pretending to be prior creditor, to keep him off and out of his own;
which, after a world of swearing and law--law always takes time to do
justice, that's one comfort--the villain proved at last to be true
enough, and so cast us; and I was forced to be paid off last week. So
there's no prior creditor, or any shield of pretence that way. Then
his execution was coming down upon us, and nothing to stay it till I
thought of a monthly annuity to Mordicai, in the shape of a wager.
So the morning after he cast us, I went to him: 'Mr. Mordicai,' says
I, 'you must be _plased_ to see a man you've beaten so handsomely;
and though I'm sore, both for myself and my friend, yet you see I
can laugh still, though an execution is no laughing matter, and
I'm sensible you've one in petto in your sleeve for my friend Lord
Clonbrony. But I'll lay you a wager of a hundred guineas on paper,
that a marriage of his son with an heiress, before next Lady-day, will
set all to rights, and pay you with a compliment too."

"Good heavens, Sir Terence! surely you said no such thing?"

"I did--but what was it but a wager? which is nothing but a dream;
and, when lost, as I am as sensible as you are that it must be, why
what is it, after all, but a bonus, in a gentlemanlike form, to
Mordicai? which, I grant you, is more than he deserves--for staying
the execution till you be of age; and even for my Lady Clonbrony's
sake, though I know she hates me like poison, rather than have her
disturbed by an execution, I'd pay the hundred guineas this minute out
of my own pocket, if I had 'em in it."

A thundering knock at the door was heard at this moment.

"Never heed it; let 'em thunder," said Sir Terence: "whoever it is,
they won't get in; for my lord bid them let none in for their life.
It's necessary for us to be very particular about the street-door
now; and I advise a double chain for it, and to have the footmen well
tutored to look before they run to a double rap; for a double rap
might be a double trap."

"My lady and Miss Nugent, my lord," said a footman, throwing open the
door.

"My mother! Miss Nugent!" cried Lord Colambre, springing eagerly
forward.

"Colambre! Here!" said his mother: "but it's all too late now, and no
matter where you are."

Lady Clonbrony coldly suffered her son to embrace her; and he, without
considering the coldness of her manner, scarcely hearing, and not at
all understanding, the words she said, fixed his eyes on his cousin,
who, with a countenance all radiant with affectionate joy, held out
her hand to him.

"Dear cousin Colambre, what an unexpected pleasure!"

He seized the hand; but, as he was going to kiss it, the recollection
of _St. Omar_ crossed his mind: he checked himself, and said something
about joy and pleasure, but his countenance expressed neither; and
Miss Nugent, much surprised by the coldness of his manner, withdrew
her hand, and, turning away, left the room.

"Grace! darling!" called Lord Clonbrony, "whither so fast, before
you've given me a word or a kiss?"

She came back, and hastily kissed her uncle, who folded her in his
arms. "Why must I let you go? And what makes you so pale, my dear
child?"

"I am a little, a little tired--I will be with you again soon."

Her uncle let her go.

"Your famous Buxton baths don't seem to have agreed with her, by all I
can see," said Lord Clonbrony.

"My lord, the Buxton baths are no way to blame; but I know what is
to blame and who is to blame," said Lady Clonbrony, in a tone of
displeasure, fixing her eyes upon her son. "Yes, you may well look
confounded, Colambre; but it is too late now--you should have known
your own mind in time. I see you have heard it, then--but I am sure
I don't know how; for it was only decided the day I left Buxton. The
news could hardly travel faster than I did. Pray how did you hear it?"

"Hear what, ma'am?" said Colambre.

"Why, that Miss Broadhurst is going to be married."

"All! Now, Lord Colambre, you _reelly_ are too much for my patience.
But I flatter myself you will feel, when I tell you that it is your
friend, Sir Arthur Berryl, as I always prophesied, who has carried off
the prize from you."

"But for the fear of displeasing my dear mother, I should say, that
I do feel sincere pleasure in this marriage--I always wished it: my
friend, Sir Arthur, from the first moment, trusted me with the secret
of his attachment; he knew that he had my warm good wishes for his
success; he knew that I thought most highly of the young lady; but
that I never thought of her as a wife for myself."

"And why did not you? that is the very thing I complain of," said Lady
Clonbrony. "But it is all over now. You may set your heart at ease,
for they are to be married on Thursday; and poor Mrs. Broadhurst is
ready to break her heart, for she was set upon a coronet for her
daughter; and you, ungrateful as you are, you don't know how she
wished you to be the happy man. But only conceive, after all that
has passed, Miss Broadhurst had the assurance to expect I would let
my niece be her bride's-maid. Oh, I flatly refused; that is, I told
Grace it could not be; and, that there might be no affront to Mrs.
Broadhurst, who did not deserve it, I pretended Grace had never
mentioned it; but ordered my carriage, and left Buxton directly. Grace
was hurt, for she is very warm in her friendships. I am sorry to hurt
Grace. But _reelly_ I could not let her be bride's-maid:--and that, if
you must know, is what vexed her, and made the tears come in her eyes,
I suppose--and I'm sorry for it; but one must keep up one's dignity a
little. After all, Miss Broadhurst was only a citizen--and _reelly_
now, a very odd girl; never did any thing like any body else; settled
her marriage at last in the oddest way. Grace can tell you the
particulars. I own, I am tired of the subject, and tired of my
journey. My lord, I shall take leave to dine in my own room to-day,"
continued her ladyship, as she quitted the room.

"I hope her ladyship did not notice me," said Sir Terence O'Fay,
coming from behind a window-curtain.

"Why, Terry, what did you hide for?" said Lord Clonbrony.

"Hide! I didn't hide, nor wouldn't from any man living, _let alone_
any woman.[1] Hide! no; but I just stood looking out of the window,
behind this curtain, that my poor Lady Clonbrony might not be
discomfited and shocked by the sight of one whom she can't abide, the
very minute she come home. Oh, I've some consideration--it would have
put her out of humour worse with both of you too; and for that there's
no need, as far as I see. So I'll take myself off to my coffee-house
to dine, and may be you may get her down and into spirits again. But,
for your lives, don't touch upon Ireland this night, nor till she has
fairly got the better of the marriage. _Apropos_--there's my wager
to Mordicai gone at a slap. It's I that ought to be scolding you, my
Lord Colambre; but I trust you will do as well yet, not in point of
purse, may be. But I'm not one of those that think that money's every
thing--though, I grant you, in this world there's nothing to be had
without it--love excepted,--which most people don't believe in--but
not I--in particular cases. So I leave you, with my blessing, and I've
a notion, at this time, that is better than my company--your most
devoted."

[Footnote 1: Leaving any woman out of the question.]

The good-natured Sir Terence would not be persuaded by Lord Clonbrony
to stay. Nodding at Lord Colambre as he went out of the room, he
said, "I've an eye, in going, to your heart's ease too. When I played
myself, I never liked standers-by."

Sir Terence was not deficient in penetration, but he never could help
boasting of his discoveries.

Lord Colambre was grateful for his judicious departure; and followed
his equally judicious advice, not to touch upon Ireland this night.

Lady Clonbrony was full of Buxton, and he was glad to be relieved from
the necessity of talking; and he indulged himself in considering what
might be passing in Miss Nugent's mind. She now appeared in remarkably
good spirits; for her aunt had given her a hint that she thought
her out of humour because she had not been permitted to be Miss
Broadhurst's bride's-maid, and she was determined to exert herself
to dispel this notion. This it was now easy for her to do, because
she had, by this time, in her own imagination, found a plausible
excuse for that coldness in Lord Colambre's reception of her, by
which she had at first been hurt: she had settled it, that he had
taken it for granted she was of his mother's sentiments respecting
Miss Broadhurst's marriage, and that this idea, and perhaps the
apprehension of her reproaches, had caused this embarrassment--she
knew that she could easily set this misunderstanding right.
Accordingly, when Lady Clonbrony had talked herself to sleep about
Buxton, and was taking her afternoon's nap, as it was her custom to do
when she had neither cards nor company to keep her awake, Miss Nugent
began to explain her own sentiments, and to give Lord Colambre, as her
aunt had desired, an account of the manner in which Miss Broadhurst's
marriage had been settled.

"In the first place," said she, "let me assure you, that I rejoice in
this marriage: I think your friend, Sir Arthur Berryl, is every way
deserving of my friend Miss Broadhurst; and this from me," said she,
smiling, "is no slight eulogium. I have marked the rise and progress
of their attachment; and it has been founded on the perception of
such excellent qualities on each side, that I have no fear for its
permanence. Sir Arthur Berryl's honourable conduct in paying his
father's debts, and his generosity to his mother and sisters, whose
fortunes were left entirely dependent upon him, first pleased my
friend. It was like what she would have done herself, and like--in
short, it is what few young men, as she said, of the present day
would do. Then his refraining from all personal expenses, his going
without equipage and without horses, that he might do what he felt
to be right, whilst it exposed him continually to the ridicule of
fashionable young men, or to the charge of avarice, made a very
different impression on Miss Broadhurst's mind; her esteem and
admiration were excited by these proofs of strength of character, and
of just and good principles."

"If you go on you will make me envious and jealous of my friend," said
Lord Colambre.

"You jealous!--Oh, it is too late now--besides, you cannot be jealous,
for you never loved."

"I never loved Miss Broadhurst, I acknowledge."

"There was the advantage Sir Arthur Berryl had over you--he loved, and
my friend saw it."

"She was clear-sighted," said Lord Colambre.

"She was clear-sighted," repeated Miss Nugent; "but if you mean that
she was vain, and apt to fancy people in love with her, I can assure
you that you are mistaken. Never was woman, young or old, more
clear-sighted to the views of those by whom she was addressed. No
flattery, no fashion, could blind her judgment."

"She knew how to choose a friend well, I am sure," said Lord Colambre.

"And a friend for life, too, I am sure you will allow--and she had
such numbers, such strange variety of admirers, as might have puzzled
the choice and turned the brain of any inferior person. Such a
succession of lovers as she has had this summer, ever since you
went to Ireland--they appeared and vanished like figures in a magic
lantern. She had three noble admirers--rank in three different forms
offered themselves First came in, hobbling, rank and gout; next, rank
and gaming; then rank, very high rank, over head and ears in debt.
All of these were rejected; and, as they moved off, I thought Mrs.
Broadhurst would have broken her heart. Next came fashion, with his
head, heart, and soul in his cravat--he quickly made his bow, or
rather his nod, and walked off, taking a pinch of snuff. Then came a
man of wit--but it was wit without worth; and presently came 'worth
without wit.' She preferred 'wit and worth united,' which she
fortunately at last found, Lord Colambre, in your friend, Sir Arthur
Berryl."

"Grace, my girl!" said her uncle, "I'm glad to see you've got up your
spirits again, though you were not to be bride's-maid. Well, I hope
you'll be bride soon--I'm sure you ought to be--and you should think
of rewarding that poor Mr. Salisbury, who plagues me to death,
whenever he can catch hold of me, about you. He must have our
definitive at last, you know, Grace."

A silence ensued, which neither Miss Nugent nor Lord Colambre seemed
able or willing to break.

"Very good company, faith, you three!--One of ye asleep, and the other
two saying nothing, to keep one awake. Colambre, have you no Dublin
news? Grace, have you no Buxton scandal? What was it Lady Clonbrony
told us you'd tell us, about the oddness of Miss Broadhurst's settling
her marriage? Tell me that, for I love to hear odd things."

"Perhaps you will not think it odd," said she. "One evening--but I
should begin by telling you that three of her admirers, besides Sir
Arthur Berryl, had followed her to Buxton, and had been paying their
court to her all the time we were there; and at last grew impatient
for her decision."

"Ay, for her definitive!" said Lord Clonbrony. Miss Nugent was put out
again, but resumed.

"So one evening, just before the dancing began, the gentlemen were
all standing round Miss Broadhurst; one of them said, 'I wish Miss
Broadhurst would decide--that whoever she dances with to-night should
be her partner for life: what a happy man he would be!'

"'But how can I decide?' said Miss Broadhurst.

"'I wish I had a friend to plead for me!' said one of the suitors,
looking at me.

"'Have you no friend of your own?' said Miss Broadhurst.

"'Plenty of friends,' said the gentleman.

"'Plenty!--then you must be a very happy man,' replied Miss
Broadhurst. 'Come,' said she, laughing, 'I will dance with that man
who can convince me that he has, near relations excepted, one true
friend in the world! That man who has made the best friend, I dare
say, will make the best husband!'

"At that moment," continued Miss Nugent, "I was certain who would
be her choice. The gentlemen all declared at first that they had
abundance of excellent friends--the best friends in the world! but
when Miss Broadhurst cross-examined them, as to what their friends
had done for them, or what they were willing to do, modern friendship
dwindled into a ridiculously small compass. I cannot give you the
particulars of the cross-examination, though it was conducted with
great spirit and humour by Miss Broadhurst; but I can tell you the
result--that Sir Arthur Berryl, by incontrovertible facts, and
eloquence warm from the heart, convinced every body present that he
had the best friend in the world; and Miss Broadhurst, as he finished
speaking, gave him her hand, and he led her off in triumph--So
you see, Lord Colambre, you were at last the cause of my friend's
marriage!"

She turned to Lord Colambre as she spoke these words, with such
an affectionate smile, and such an expression of open, innocent
tenderness in her whole countenance, that our hero could hardly resist
the impulse of his passion--could hardly restrain himself from falling
at her feet that instant, and declaring his love. "But St. Omar! St.
Omar!--It must not be!"

"I must be gone!" said Lord Clonbrony, pulling out his watch. "It is
time to go to my club; and poor Terry will wonder what has become of
me."

Lord Colambre instantly offered to accompany his father; much to Lord
Clonbrony's, and more to Miss Nugent's surprise.

"What!" said she to herself, "after so long an absence, leave
me!--Leave his mother, with whom he always used to stay--on purpose to
avoid me! What can I have done to displease him? It is clear it was
not about Miss Broadhurst's marriage he was offended; for he looked
pleased, and like himself, whilst I was talking of that: but the
moment afterwards, what a constrained, unintelligible expression of
countenance--and leaves me to go to a club which he detests!"

As the gentlemen shut the door on leaving the room, Lady Clonbrony
awakened, and, starting up, exclaimed, "What's the matter? Are they
gone? Is Colambre gone?"

"Yes, ma'am, with my uncle."

"Very odd! very odd of him to go and leave me! he always used to stay
with me--what did he say about me?"

"Nothing, ma'am."

"Well, then, I have nothing to say about him, or about any thing,
indeed, for I'm excessively tired and stupid--alone in Lon'on's as bad
as any where else. Ring the bell, and we'll go to bed directly--if you
have no objection, Grace."

Grace made no objection: Lady Clonbrony went to bed and to sleep in
ten minutes. Miss Nugent went to bed; but she lay awake, considering
what could be the cause of her cousin Colambre's hard unkindness, and
of "his altered eye." She was openness itself; and she determined
that, the first moment she could speak to him alone, she would at once
ask for an explanation. With this resolution, she rose in the morning,
and went down to the breakfast-room, in hopes of meeting him, as it
had formerly been his custom to be early; and she expected to find him
reading in his usual place.

CHAPTER XIV.

No--Lord Colambre was not in his accustomed place, reading in the
breakfast-room; nor did he make his appearance till both his father
and mother had been some time at breakfast.

"Good morning to you, my Lord Colambre," said his mother, in a
reproachful tone, the moment he entered; "I am much obliged to you for
your company last night."

"Good morning to you, Colambre," said his father, in a more jocose
tone of reproach; "I am obliged to you for your good company last
night."

"Good morning to you, Lord Colambre," said Miss Nugent; and though she
endeavoured to throw all reproach from her looks, and to let none be
heard in her voice, yet there was a slight tremulous motion in that
voice, which struck our hero to the heart.

"I thank you, ma'am, for missing me," said he, addressing himself to
his mother: "I stayed away but half an hour; I accompanied my father
to St. James's-street, and when I returned I found that every one had
retired to rest."

"Oh, was that the case?" said Lady Clonbrony: "I own I thought it very
unlike you to leave me in that sort of way."

"And, lest you should be jealous of that half hour when he was
accompanying me," said Lord Clonbrony, "I must remark, that, though
I had his body with me, I had none of his mind; that he left at home
with you ladies, or with some fair one across the water, for the
deuce of two words did he bestow upon me, with all his pretence of
accompanying me."

"Lord Colambre seems to have a fair chance of a pleasant breakfast,"
said Miss Nugent, smiling; "reproaches on all sides."

"I have heard none on your side, Grace," said Lord Clonbrony; "and
that's the reason, I suppose, he wisely takes his seat beside you. But
come, we will not badger you any more, my dear boy. We have given him
as fine a complexion amongst us as if he had been out hunting these
three hours: have not we, Grace?"

"When Colambre has been a season or two more in Lon'on, he'll not be
so easily put out of countenance," said Lady Clonbrony; "you don't see
young men of fashion here blushing about nothing."

"No, nor about any thing, my dear," said Lord Clonbrony; "but that's
no proof they do nothing they ought to blush for."

"What they do, there's no occasion for ladies to inquire," said Lady
Clonbrony; "but this I know, that it's a great disadvantage to a young
man of a certain rank to blush; for no people, who live in a certain
set, ever do: and it is the most opposite thing possible to a certain
air, which, I own, I think Colambre wants; and now that he has done
travelling in Ireland, which is no use in _pint_ of giving a gentleman
a travelled air, or any thing of that sort, I hope he will put himself
under my conduct for next winter's campaign in town."

Lord Clonbrony looked as if he did not know how to look; and, after
drumming on the table for some seconds, said, "Colambre, I told you
how it would be: that's a fatal hard condition of yours."

"Not a hard condition, I hope, my dear father," said Lord Colambre.

"Hard it must be, since it can't be fulfilled, or won't be fulfilled,
which comes to the same thing," replied Lord Clonbrony, sighing.

"I am persuaded, sir, that it will be fulfilled," said Lord Colambre;
"I am persuaded that, when my mother hears the truth, and the whole
truth--when she finds that your happiness, and the happiness of her
whole family, depend upon her yielding her taste on one subject--"

"Oh, I see now what you are about," cried Lady Clonbrony; "you are
coming round with your persuasions and prefaces to ask me to give
up Lon'on, and go back with you to Ireland, my lord. You may save
yourselves the trouble, all of you; for no earthly persuasions shall
make me do it. I will never give up my taste on that _pint_. My
happiness has a right to be as much considered as your father's,
Colambre, or anybody's; and, in one word, I won't do it," cried she,
rising angrily from the breakfast table.

"There! did not I tell you how it would be?" cried Lord Clonbrony.

"My mother has not heard me yet," said Lord Colambre, laying his hand
upon his mother's arm, as she attempted to pass: "hear me, madam, for
your own sake. You do not know what will happen, this very day--this
very hour, perhaps--if you do not listen to me."

"And what will happen?" said Lady Clonbrony, stopping short.

"Ay, indeed; she little knows," said Lord Clonbrony, "what's hanging
over her head."

"Hanging over my head?" said Lady Clonbrony, looking up;
"nonsense!--what?"

"An execution, madam!" said Lord Colambre.

"Gracious me! an execution!" said Lady Clonbrony, sitting down again;
"but I heard you talk of an execution months ago, my lord, before my
son went to Ireland, and it blew over--I heard no more of it."

"It won't blow over now," said Lord Clonbrony; "you'll hear more of
it now. Sir Terence O'Fay it was, you may remember, that settled it
then."

"Well, and can't he settle it now? Send for him, since he understands
these cases; and I will ask him to dinner myself, for your sake, and
be very civil to him, my lord."

"All your civility, either for my sake or your own, will not signify a
straw, my dear, in this case--any thing that poor Terry could do, he'd
do, and welcome, without it; but he can do nothing."

"Nothing!--that's very extraordinary. But I'm clear no one dare to
bring a real execution against us in earnest; and you are only trying
to frighten me to your purpose, like a child; but it shan't do."

"Very well, my dear; you'll see--too late."

A knock at the house door.

"Who is it?--What is it?" cried Lord Clonbrony, growing very pale.

Lord Colambre changed colour too, and ran down stairs. "Don't let 'em
let any body in, for your life, Colambre; under any pretence," cried
Lord Clonbrony, calling from the head of the stairs: then running to
the window, "By all that's good, it's Mordicai himself! and the people
with him."

"Lean your head on me, my dear aunt," said Miss Nugent: Lady Clonbrony
leant back, trembling, and ready to faint.

"But he's walking off now; the rascal could not get in--safe for the
present!" cried Lord Clonbrony, rubbing his hands, and repeating,
"safe for the present!"

"Safe for the present!" repeated Lord Colambre, coming again into the
room. "Safe for the present hour."

"He could not get in, I suppose.--Oh, I warned all the servants
well," said Lord Clonbrony; "and so did Terry. Ay, there's the rascal
Mordicai walking off, at the end of the street; I know his walk a mile
off. Gad! I can breathe again. I am glad he's gone. But he will come
back and always lie in wait, and some time or other, when we're off
our guard (unawares), he'll slide in."

"Slide in! Oh, horrid!" cried Lady Clonbrony, sitting up, and wiping
away the water which Miss Nugent had sprinkled on her face.

"Were you much alarmed?" said Lord Colambre, with a voice of
tenderness, looking at his mother first, but his eyes fixing on Miss
Nugent.

"Shockingly!" said Lady Clonbrony; "I never thought it would _reelly_
come to this."

"It will really come to much more, my dear," said Lord Clonbrony,
"that you may depend upon, unless you prevent it."

"Lord! What can I do?--I know nothing of business: how should I, Lord
Clonbrony? But I know there's Colambre--I was always told that when he
was of age, every thing should be settled; and why can't he settle it
when he's upon the spot?"

"And upon one condition, I will," cried Lord Colambre; "at what loss
to myself, my dear mother, I need not mention."

"Then I will mention it," cried Lord Clonbrony: "at the loss it will
be of nearly half the estate he would have had, if we had not spent
it."

"Loss! Oh, I am excessively sorry my son's to be at such a loss--it
must not be."

"It cannot be otherwise," said Lord Clonbrony; "nor it can't be this
way either, my Lady Clonbrony, unless you comply with his condition,
and consent to return to Ireland."

"I cannot--I will not," replied Lady Clonbrony. "Is this your
condition, Colambre?--I take it exceedingly ill of you. I think it
very unkind, and unhandsome, and ungenerous, and undutiful of you,
Colambre; you my son!" She poured forth a torrent of reproaches;
then came to entreaties and tears. But our hero, prepared for this,
had steeled his mind; and he stood resolved not to indulge his own
feelings, or to yield to caprice or persuasion, but to do that which
he knew was best for the happiness of hundreds of tenants, who
depended upon them--best for both his father and his mother's ultimate
happiness and respectability.

"It's all in vain," cried Lord Clonbrony; "I have no resource but one,
and I must condescend now to go to him this minute, for Mordicai will
be back and seize all--I must sign and leave all to Garraghty."

"Well, sign, sign, my lord, and settle with Garraghty. Colambre, I've
heard all the complaints you brought over against that man. My lord
spent half the night telling them to me: but all agents are bad, I
suppose; at any rate I can't help it--sign, sign, my lord; he has
money--yes, do; go and settle with him, my lord."

Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent, at one and the same moment, stopped
Lord Clonbrony as he was quitting the room, and then approached Lady
Clonbrony with supplicating looks; but she turned her head to the
other side, and, as if putting away their entreaties, made a repelling
motion with both her hands, and exclaimed, "No, Grace Nugent!--no,
Colambre--no--no, Colambre! I'll never hear of leaving Lon'on--there's
no living out of Lon'on--I can't, I won't live out of Lon'on, I say."

Her son saw that the _Londonomania_ was now stronger than ever
upon her, but resolved to make one desperate appeal to her natural
feelings, which, though smothered, he could not believe were wholly
extinguished: he caught her repelling hands, and pressing them with
respectful tenderness to his lips, "Oh, my dear mother, you once loved
your son," said he; "loved him better than any thing in this world: if
one spark of affection for him remains, hear him now, and forgive him,
if he pass the bounds--bounds he never passed before--of filial duty.
Mother, in compliance with your wishes my father left Ireland--left
his home, his duties, his friends, his natural connexions, and for
many years he has lived in England, and you have spent many seasons in
London."

"Yes, in the very best company--in the very first circles," said Lady
Clonbrony; "cold as the high-bred English are said to be in general to
strangers."

"Yes," replied Lord Colambre, "the very best company (if you mean the
most fashionable) have accepted of our entertainments. We have forced
our way into their frozen circles; we have been permitted to breathe
in these elevated regions of fashion; we have it to say, that the
Duke of _This_, and my Lady _That_, are of our acquaintance.--We may
say more: we may boast that we have vied with those whom we could
never equal. And at what expense have we done all this? For a single
season, the last winter (I will go no farther), at the expense of
a great part of your timber, the growth of a century--swallowed in
the entertainments of one winter in London! Our hills to be bare for
another half century to come! But let the trees go: I think more of
your tenants--of those left under the tyranny of a bad agent, at the
expense of every comfort, every hope they enjoyed!--tenants, who were
thriving and prosperous; who used to smile upon you, and to bless you
both! In one cottage, I have seen--"

Here Lord Clonbrony, unable to restrain his emotion, hurried out of
the room.

"Then I am sure it is not my fault," said Lady Clonbrony; "for I
brought my lord a large fortune: and I am confident I have not, after
all, spent more any season, in the best company, than he has among a
set of low people, in his muddling, discreditable way."

"And how has he been reduced to this?" said Lord Colambre. "Did he
not formerly live with gentlemen, his equals, in his own country;
his contemporaries? Men of the first station and character, whom I
met in Dublin, spoke of him in a manner that gratified the heart of
his son: he was respectable and respected, at his own home; but when
he was forced away from that home, deprived of his objects and his
occupations, compelled to live in London, or at watering-places, where
he could find no employments that were suitable to him--set down, late
in life, in the midst of strangers, to him cold and reserved--himself
too proud to bend to those who disdained him as an Irishman--is he
not more to be pitied than blamed for--yes, I, his son, must say the
word--the degradation which has ensued? And do not the feelings, which
have this moment forced him to leave the room, show of what he is
capable? Oh, mother!" cried Lord Colambre, throwing himself at Lady
Clonbrony's feet, "restore my father to himself! Should such feelings
be wasted?--No; give them again to expand in benevolent, in kind,
useful actions; give him again to his tenantry, his duties, his
country, his home; return to that home yourself, dear mother! leave
all the nonsense of high life--scorn the impertinence of these
dictators of fashion, who, in return for all the pains we take to
imitate, to court them--in return for the sacrifice of health,
fortune, peace of mind--bestow sarcasm, contempt, ridicule, and
mimicry!"

"Oh, Colambre! Colambre! mimicry--I'll never believe it."

"Believe me--believe me, mother; for I speak of what I know. Scorn
them--quit them! Return to an unsophisticated people--to poor, but
grateful hearts, still warm with the remembrance of your kindness,
still blessing you for favours long since conferred, ever praying to
see you once more. Believe me, for I speak of what I know--your son
has heard these prayers, has felt these blessings. Here! at my heart
felt, and still feel them, when I was not known to be your son, in the
cottage of the widow O'Neil."

"Oh, did you see the widow O'Neil! and does she remember me?" said
Lady Clonbrony.

"Remember you! and you, Miss Nugent! I have slept in the bed--I would
tell you more, but I cannot."

"Well! I never should have thought they would have remembered me so
long! poor people!" said Lady Clonbrony.

"I thought all in Ireland must have forgotten me, it is now so long
since I was at home."

"You are not forgotten in Ireland by any rank, I can answer for that.
Return home, my dearest mother--let me see you once more among your
natural friends, beloved, respected, happy!"

"Oh, return! let us return home!" cried Miss Nugent, with a voice of
great emotion. "Return, let us return home! My beloved aunt, speak to
us! say that you grant our request!" She kneeled beside Lord Colambre,
as she spoke.

"Is it possible to resist that voice, that look?" thought Lord
Colambre.

"If any body knew," said Lady Clonbrony, "if any body could conceive,
how I detest the sight, the thoughts of that old yellow damask
furniture, in the drawing-room at Clonbrony Castle--"

"Good Heavens!" cried Lord Colambre, starting up, and looking at his
mother in stupified astonishment; "is _that_ what you are thinking of,
ma'am?"

"The yellow damask furniture!" said her niece, smiling. "Oh, if that's
all, that shall never offend your eyes again. Aunt, my painted velvet
chairs are finished; and trust the furnishing that room to me. The
legacy lately left me cannot be better applied--you shall see how
beautifully it will be furnished."

"Oh, if I had money, I should like to do it myself; but it would take
an immensity to new furnish Clonbrony Castle properly."

"The furniture in this house," said Miss Nugent, looking round--

"Would do a great deal towards it, I declare," cried Lady Clonbrony;
"that never struck me before, Grace, I protest--and what would
not suit one might sell or exchange here--and it would be a great
amusement to me--and I should like to set the fashion of something
better in that country. And I declare now, I should like to see those
poor people, and that widow O'Neil. I do assure you, I think I was
happier at home; only that one gets, I don't know how, a notion,
one's nobody out of Lon'on. But, after all, there's many drawbacks
in Lon'on--and many people are very impertinent, I'll allow--and if
there's a woman in the world I hate, it is Mrs. Dareville--and, if I
was leaving Lon'on, I should not regret Lady Langdale neither--and
Lady St. James is as cold as a stone. Colambre may well say
_frozen circles_--these sort of people are really very cold, and
have, I do believe, no hearts. I don't verily think there is
one of them would regret me more--Hey! let me see, Dublin--the
winter--Merrion-square--new furnished--and the summer--Clonbrony
Castle!"

Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent waited in silence till her mind should
have worked itself clear. One great obstacle had been removed; and now
that the yellow damask had been taken out of her imagination, they no
longer despaired.

Lord Clonbrony put his head into the room. "What hopes?--any? if
not, let me go." He saw the doubting expression of Lady Clonbrony's
countenance--hope in the face of his son and niece. "My dear, dear
Lady Clonbrony, make us all happy by one word," said he, kissing her.

"You never kissed me so since we left Ireland before," said Lady
Clonbrony. "Well, since it must be so, let us go," said she.

"Did I ever see such joy!" said Lord Clonbrony, clasping his hands: "I
never expected such joy in my life!--I must go and tell poor Terry!"
and off he ran.

"And now, since we are to go," said Lady Clonbrony, "pray let us
go immediately, before the thing gets wind, else I shall have Mrs.
Dareville, and Lady Langdale, and Lady St. James, and all the world,
coming to condole with me, just to satisfy their own curiosity: and
then, Miss Pratt, who hears every thing that every body says, and more
than they say, will come and tell me how it is reported every where
that we are ruined. Oh! I never could bear to stay and hear all this.
I'll tell you what I'll do--you are to be of age soon, Colambre,--very
well, there are some papers for me to sign,--I must stay to put my
name to them, and, that done, that minute I'll leave you and Lord
Clonbrony to settle all the rest; and I'll get into my carriage, with
Grace, and go down to Buxton again; where you can come for me, and
take me up, when you're all ready to go to Ireland--and we shall be so
far on our way. Colambre, what do you say to this?"

"That, if you like it, madam," said he, giving one hasty glance at
Miss Nugent, and withdrawing his eyes, "it is the best possible
arrangement."

"So," thought Grace, "that is the best possible arrangement which
takes us away."

"If I like it!" said Lady Clonbrony; "to be sure I do, or I should
not propose it. What is Colambre thinking of? I know, Grace, at all
events, what you and I must think of--of having the furniture packed
up, and settling what's to go, and what's to be exchanged, and all
that. Now, my dear, go and write a note directly to Mr. Soho, and bid
him come himself, immediately: and we'll go and make out a catalogue
this instant of what furniture I will have packed."

So with her head full of furniture, Lady Clonbrony retired. "I go to
my business, Colambre: and I leaven you to settle yours in peace."

In peace!--Never was our hero's mind less at peace than at this
moment. The more his heart felt that it was painful, the more his
reason told him it was necessary that he should part from Grace
Nugent. To his union with her there was an obstacle which his prudence
told him ought to be insurmountable; yet he felt that, during the few
days he had been with her, the few hours he had been near her, he
had, with his utmost power over himself, scarcely been master of his
passion, or capable of concealing its object. It could not have been
done but for her perfect simplicity and innocence. But how could this
be supported on his part? How could he venture to live with this
charming girl? How could he settle at home? What resource?

His mind turned towards the army: he thought that abroad, and in
active life, he should lose all the painful recollections, and drive
from his heart all the sentiments, which could now be only a source of
unavailing regret. But his mother--his mother, who had now yielded her
own taste to his entreaties, for the good of her family--she expected
him to return and live with her in Ireland. Though not actually
promised or specified, he knew that she took it for granted; that it
was upon this hope, this faith, she consented: he knew that she would
be shocked at the bare idea of his going into the army. There was one
chance--our hero tried, at this moment, to think it the best possible
chance--that Miss Nugent might marry Mr. Salisbury, and settle in
England. On this idea he relied, as the only means of extricating him
from difficulties.

It was necessary to turn his thoughts immediately to business, to
execute his promises to his father. Two great objects were now to be
accomplished--the payment of his father's debts, and the settlement
of the Irish agent's accounts; and, in transacting this complicated
business, he derived considerable assistance from Sir Terence O'Fay,
and from Sir Arthur Berryl's solicitor, Mr. Edwards. Whilst acting for
Sir Arthur, on a former occasion, Lord Colambre had gained the entire
confidence of this solicitor, who was a man of the first eminence. Mr.
Edwards took the papers and Lord Clonbrony's title-deeds home with
him, saying that he would give an answer the next morning. He then
waited upon Lord Colambre, and informed him that he had just received
a letter from Sir Arthur Berryl, who, with the consent and desire of
his lady, requested that whatever money might be required by Lord
Clonbrony should be immediately supplied on their account, without
waiting till Lord Colambre should be of age, as the ready money might
be of some convenience to him in accelerating the journey to Ireland,
which Sir Arthur and Lady Berryl knew was his lordship's object. Sir
Terence O'Fay now supplied Mr. Edwards with accurate information as to
the demands that were made upon Lord Clonbrony, and of the respective
characters of the creditors. Mr. Edwards undertook to settle with
the fair claimants; Sir Terence with the rogues: so that by the
advancement of ready money from _the Berryls_, and by the detection
of false and exaggerated charges which Sir Terence made among the
inferior class, the debts were reduced nearly to one-half of their
former amount. Mordicai, who had been foiled in his vile attempt
to become sole creditor, had, however, a demand of more than seven
thousand pounds upon Lord Clonbrony, which he had raised to this
enormous sum in six or seven years, by means well known to himself. He
stood the foremost in the list: not from the greatness of the sum; but
from the danger of his adding to it the expenses of law. Sir Terence
undertook to pay the whole with five thousand pounds. Lord Clonbrony
thought it impossible: the solicitor thought it improvident, because
he knew that upon a trial a much greater abatement would be allowed;
but Lord Colambre was determined, from the present embarrassments of
his own situation, to leave nothing undone that could be accomplished
immediately.

Sir Terence, pleased with his commission, immediately went to
Mordicai.

"Well, Sir Terence," said Mordicai, "I hope you are come to pay me my
hundred guineas; for Miss Broadhurst is married!"

"Well, Mister Mordicai, what then? The ides of March are come, but
not gone! Stay, if you plase, Mister Mordicai, till Lady-day, when it
becomes due: in the mean time, I have a handful, or rather an armful,
of bank-notes for you, from my Lord Colambre."

"Humph." said Mordicai: "how's that? he'll not be of age these three
days."

"Don't matter for that: he has sent me to look over your accounts, and
to hope that you will make some small ABATEMENT in the total."

"Harkee, Sir Terence--you think yourself very clever in things of this
sort, but you've mistaken your man: I have an execution for the whole,
and I'll be d----d if all your cunning shall MAKE me take up with
part!"

"Be _aisy_, Mister Mordicai!--you sha'n't make me break your bones,
nor make me drop one actionable word against your high character; for
I know your clerk there, with that long goose-quill behind his ear,
would be ready evidence again' me. But I beg to know, in one word,
whether you will take five thousand down, and GIVE Lord Clonbrony a
discharge?"

"No, Mr. Terence! nor six thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine
pounds. My demand is seven thousand one hundred and thirty pounds,
odd shillings: if you have that money, pay it; if not, I know how to
get it, and along with it complete revenge for all the insults I have
received from that greenhorn, his son."

"Paddy Brady!" cried Sir Terence, "do you hear that? Remember that
word _revenge_!--Mind I call you to witness!"

"What, sir, will you raise a rebellion among my workmen?"

"No, Mr. Mordicai, no rebellion; and I hope you won't cut the boy's
ears off for listening to a little of the brogue--so listen, my good
lad. Now, Mr. Mordicai, I offer you here, before little goosequill,
5000_l._ ready penny--take it, or leave it: take your money, and leave
your revenge; or take your revenge, and lose your money."

"Sir Terence, I value neither your threats nor your cunning. Good
morning to you."

"Good morning to you, Mr. Mordicai--but not kindly! Mr. Edwards, the
solicitor, has been at the office to take off the execution: so now
you may have law to your heart's content! And it was only to plase the
young lord that the _ould_ one consented to my carrying this bundle to
you," showing the bank-notes.

"Mr. Edwards employed!" cried Mordicai. "Why, how the devil did Lord
Clonbrony get into such hands as his? The execution taken off! Well,
sir, go to law--I am ready for you. Jack Latitat IS A MATCH for your
sober solicitor."

"Good morning again to you, Mr. Mordicai: we're fairly out of your
clutches, and we have enough to do with our money."

"Well, Sir Terence, I must allow you have a very wheedling way--Here,
Mr. Thompson, make out a receipt for Lord Clonbrony: I never go to law
with an old customer, if I can help it."

This business settled, Mr. Soho was next to be dealt with.

He came at Lady Clonbrony's summons; and was taking directions with
the utmost _sang froid_, for packing up and sending off the very
furniture for which he was not paid.

Lord Colambre called him into his father's study; and, producing his
bill, he began to point out various articles which were charged at
prices that were obviously extravagant.

"Why, really, my lord, they are _abundantly_ extravagant: if I charged
vulgar prices, I should be only a vulgar tradesman. I, however, am not
a broker, nor a Jew. Of the article superintendence, which is only
500_l._, I cannot abate a doit: on the rest of the bill, if you mean
to offer _ready_, I mean, without any negotiation, to abate thirty per
cent., and I hope that is a fair and gentlemanly offer."

"Mr. Soho, there is your money!"

"My Lord Colambre! I would give the contents of three such bills to be
sure of such noblemanly conduct as yours. Lady Clonbrony's furniture
shall be safely packed, without costing her a farthing."

With the help of Mr. Edwards, the solicitor, every other claim was
soon settled; and Lord Clonbrony, for the first time since he left
Ireland, found himself out of debt, and out of danger.

Old Nick's account could not be settled in London. Lord Colambre had
detected numerous false charges, and sundry impositions: the land,
which had been purposely let to run wild, so far from yielding any
rent, was made a source of constant expense, as remaining still unset:
this was a large tract, for which St. Dennis had at length offered a
small rent.

Upon a fair calculation of the profits of the ground, and from other
items in the account, Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., appeared at last
to be, not the creditor, but the debtor to Lord Clonbrony. He was
dismissed with disgrace; which perhaps he might not have felt, if
it had not been accompanied by pecuniary loss, and followed by the
fear of losing his other agencies, and by the dread of immediate
bankruptcy.

Mr. Burke was appointed agent in his stead to the Clonbrony as well
as the Colambre estate. His appointment was announced to him by the
following letter:--

"TO MRS. BURKE, AT COLAMBRE.

"DEAR MADAM,<