The Absentee
by Maria Edgeworth
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

NOTES ON 'THE ABSENTEE'

In August 1811, we are told, she wrote a little play about
landlords and tenants for the children of her sister, Mrs.
Beddoes. Mr. Edgeworth tried to get the play produced on the
London boards. Writing to her aunt, Mrs. Ruxton, Maria says,
'Sheridan has answered as I foresaw he must, that in the present
state of this country the Lord Chamberlain would not license THE
ABSENTEE; besides there would be a difficulty in finding actors
for so many Irish characters.'  The little drama was then turned
into a story, by Mr. Edgeworth's advice. Patronage was laid
aside for the moment, and THE ABSENTEE appeared in its place in
the second part of TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE. We all know Lord
Macaulay's verdict upon this favourite story of his, the last
scene of which he specially admired and compared to the ODYSSEY.
[Lord Macaulay was not the only notable admirer of THE ABSENTEE.
The present writer remembers hearing Professor Ruskin on one
occasion break out in praise and admiration of the book. 'You
can learn more by reading it of Irish politics,' he said, 'than
from a thousand columns out of blue-books.']  Mrs. Edgeworth
tells us that much of it was written while Maria was suffering a
misery of toothache.

Miss Edgeworth's own letters all about this time are much more
concerned with sociabilities than with literature. We read of a
pleasant dance at Mrs. Burke's; of philosophers at sport in
Connemara; of cribbage, and company, and country houses, and Lord
Longford's merry anecdotes during her visit to him. Miss
Edgeworth, who scarcely mentions her own works, seems much
interested at this time in a book called MARY AND HER CAT, which
she is reading with some of the children.

Little scraps of news (I cannot resist quoting one or two of
them) come in oddly mixed with these personal records of work and
family talk. 'There is news of the Empress (Marie Louise), who
is liked not at all by the Parisians; she is too haughty, and
sits back in her carriage when she goes through the streets. 'Of
Josephine, who is living very happily, amusing herself with her
gardens and her shrubberies.'  This ci-devant Empress and Kennedy
and Co., the seedsmen, are in partnership, says Miss Edgeworth.
And then among the lists of all the grand people Maria meets in
London in 1813 (Madame de Stael is mentioned as expected), she
gives an interesting account of an actual visitor, Peggy Langan,
who was grand-daughter to Thady in CASTLE RACKRENT. Peggy went
to England with Mrs. Beddoes, and was for thirty years in the
service of Mrs. Haldimand we are told, and was own sister to
Simple Susan.

The story of THE ABSENTEE is a very simple one, and concerns
Irish landlords living in England, who ignore their natural
duties and station in life, and whose chief ambition is to take
their place in the English fashionable world. The grand English
ladies are talking of Lady Clonbrony.

'"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.'

Lord Colambre, the son of the lady in question, here walks across
the room, not wishing to listen to any more strictures upon his
mother. He is the very most charming of walking gentlemen, and
when stung by conscience he goes off to Ireland, disguised in a
big cloak, to visit his father's tenantry and to judge for
himself of the state of affairs, all our sympathies go with him.
On his way he stops at Tusculum, scarcely less well known than
its classical namesake. He is entertained by Mrs. Raffarty, that
esthetical lady who is determined to have a little 'taste' of
everything at Tusculum. She leads the way into 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.

'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.'

The dinner-party is too long to quote, but it is written in Miss
Edgeworth's most racy and delightful vein of fun.

One more little fact should not be omitted in any mention of THE
ABSENTEE. One of the heroines is Miss Broadhurst, the heiress.
The Edgeworth family were much interested, soon after the book
appeared, to hear that a real living Miss Broadhurst, an heiress,
had appeared upon the scenes, and was, moreover, engaged to be
married to Sneyd Edgeworth, one of the eldest sons of the family.
In the story, says Mrs. Edgeworth, Miss Broadhurst selects from
her lovers one who 'unites worth and wit,' and then she goes on
to quote an old epigram of Mr. Edgeworth's on himself, which
concluded with,'There's an Edge to his wit and there's worth in
his heart.'

Mr. Edgeworth, who was as usual busy building church spires for
himself and other people, abandoned his engineering for a time to
criticise his daughter's story, and he advised that the
conclusion of THE ABSENTEE should be a letter from Larry the
postilion. 'He wrote one, she wrote another,' says Mrs.
Edgeworth. 'He much preferred hers, which is the admirable
finale of THE ABSENTEE.'  And just about this time Lord Ross is
applied to, to frank the Edgeworth manuscripts.

'I cannot by any form of words express how delighted I am that
you are none of you angry with me,' writes modest Maria to her
cousin, Miss Ruxton, 'and that my uncle and aunt are pleased with
what they have read of THE ABSENTEE. I long to hear whether
their favour continues to the end, and extends to the
catastrophe, that dangerous rock upon which poor authors are
wrecked.'

*

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! everybody'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 anything,'

'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, everybody 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. 'Make it a rule,
you know, to believe only half the world says.'

'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 anybody-- 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 why does Lady Clonbrony want to pass for English?'  said the
duchess.

'Oh! 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 Grace 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.

'Grace 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 certainly should
know,' pursued Lady Langdale, 'though I don't recollect seeing
him anywhere 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 everybody 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 on Wednesday.'  While Lady
Langdale spoke, she never seemed to see or think of anybody 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 mimickry, 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 renegade
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 dependant of the family, everybody
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 schoolboy, 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 meantime, 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, BARRING ACCIDENTS,
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 Mr. 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, all together,
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--

'Maybe 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 coach-maker, 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, 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?'

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 further 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 further; 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 both were at that work, he trusted he was their
match.

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

'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 anything
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 LOT 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 everybody 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 RASON 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
ding 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 further
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
everything!

  The upholsterer's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
  Glances from ceiling to floor, from floor to ceiling;
  And, as imagination bodies forth
  The form of things unknown, th' upholsterer's pencil
  Turns 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 ECOINIERES
--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 heads 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 unroll 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 VALANCE 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 everywhere--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 demisaison 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 anything, 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
Grace Nugent said everything 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 his mother
--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
anything preposterously absurd, or exorbitantly extravagant.

Lord Colambre was actually sorry when the business was ended
--when Mr. Soho departed--for Grace 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
anything but--Grace Nugent.

When Grace Nugent left the room, after some minutes' silence, and
some effort, Lord Colambre said to his mother, 'Pray, madam, do
you know anything 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 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 Henglish-woman BAWN! must be well INFAWMED on this PINT,
anyway.'

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's being on the turf; and Mr. St. Albans'
L7ooo 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 IDEES 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 wished 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 anybody.
Marrying an heiress accomplishes all this at once; and the young
lady is everything 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 anything 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 let out--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 anything 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 warn-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, maybe. 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 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 apostrophise 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 Medicis, 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're
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 Eneas
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 fifty thousand down, or a
thousand a year in land. Would you have a man so d-d nice as to
balk when house and land is a-going--a-going--a-going!--because
of the encumbrance of a little learning? I never heard that Miss
Broadhurst was anything of a learned lady.'

'Miss Broadhurst!'  said Grace 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 a good fortune,
which, I hope, will not be out of your way, even if you went by
Tipperary. She has, besides L100,000 in the funds, a clear
landed property of L10,000 per annum. WELL! SOME PEOPLE TALK OF
MORALITY, AND SOME OF RELIGION, BUT 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 everything 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 the room; 'shall I never hear the end
of that fortune, when I've seen the end of it long ago?'

During this matrimonial dialogue, Grace Nugent and Lord Colambre
never once looked at each other. Grace 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
mantelpiece; 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 deserving young lady,
and particularly one of your guests; but I shall be careful not
to do more than not to neglect, for I never will pretend what I
do not feel.'

'But, my dear Colambre, Miss Broadhurst is everything you could
wish, except being a beauty.'

'Perhaps, madam,' said Lord Colambre, fixing his eyes on Grace
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
Grace 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 everybody
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 Catharine 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 was to be cards in one
room, music in another, dancing in a third, and, in this little
room, there were prints and chess-boards, etc.

'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 Catharine, you will play,
and I will look on.'

Miss Broadhurst drew her seat to the fire; Lady Catharine 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 Catharine
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 past three-and-twenty--shall be four-and-twenty
the 5th 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 Catharine.

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

'Now, Lord Colambre, would you believe it? Can you believe it?'
asked Lady Catharine.

'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
to extort a smile from him under false pretences? I am sure he
sees that you, ladies, 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, shelved a desire to
converse with her, and listened eagerly to what she said. He
recollected that Grace Nugent had told him that this young lady
had no common character; and, neglecting his move at chess, he
looked up at Grace 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 Catharine.

'I beg your ladyship's pardon--'

'Are not these rooms beautiful, Miss Broadhurst?'  said Lady
Catharine, 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 Catharine'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 Catharine.

'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.'

'Oh dear! what a move was there!'  cried Lady Catharine. '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 CONNAISSANCE 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 Catharine; 'but
you make no battle.'

'It would be so vain to combat against your ladyship,' said Lord
Colambre, rising, and bowing politely to Lady Catharine, 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 Catharine.

'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, everything, if I were you,' said Lady Anne.

'Rank, to begin with,' said Lady Catharine.

'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 Catharine.

'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 with it 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
Catharine. '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!'

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 Miss
Broadhurst; 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 Catharine 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. Everybody 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 swan-down couch. When,
after having monopolised 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
everything 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 rejected 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
shout the rooms telling everybody of her acquaintance--and she
was acquainted with everybody--how shamefully Soho had imposed
upon poor Lady Clonbrony, protesting she could not forgive the
man. 'For,' said she,'though the Duchess of Torcaster has 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 car, 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 everybody.
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; everybody declared that, from the
first, the want of proportion had '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, were 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, everything is appropriate here, I flatter myself,' said
Lady Clonbrony.

'And how good of you, my dear Lady Clonbrony, in defiance of
bulls and blunders, to allow us a comfortable English fireplace
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 on 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
more freely; for here she thought she was upon safe ground:
'Everything, 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--
'Everything 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 anything that struck her fancy in the dress of
her fashionable friends, she had a way of hanging her head aside,
and saying, with a peculiar 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, all together,
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 days, let me ask you if you have never
observed that a wit, once conquered in company by a wit of a
higher order, is thenceforward in complete subjection to the
conqueror, whenever and wherever they meet.'

'You would not persuade me that yonder gentle-looking 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 anything.'

'Well, then, when Miss Nugent first came to London, Lady
Langdale--'

'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 Grace 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.'

'Lady Langdale, you know, sets an inordinate value upon her
curtsies in public, and she used to treat Miss Nugent, as her
ladyship treats many other people, sometimes noticing, and
sometimes pretending not to know her, according to the company
she happened to be with. One day they met in some fine company
--Lady Langdale looked as if she was afraid of committing herself
by a curtsy. Miss Nugent waited for a good opportunity; and,
when all the world was silent, leant forward, and called to Lady
Langdale, as if she had something to communicate of the greatest
consequence, skreening her whisper with her hand, as in an aside
on the stage,--'Lady Langdale, you may curtsy to me now--nobody
is looking.'

'The retort courteous!'  said Lord Colambre--'the only retort for
a woman.'

'And her ladyship deserved it so well. But Mrs. Dareville, what
happened about her?'

'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 recognising 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 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 these 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.'

Lady Catharine, as they went downstairs to supper, observed that
Miss Nugent had not been dancing, that she had kept quite in the
background all night-quite in the shade.

'Those,' said Lord Colambre, 'who are contented in the 'shade are
the best able to bear the light; and I am not surprised that one
so interesting in the background should not desire to be the
foremost figure in a piece.'

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 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 unadorned 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 doze; 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 anybody
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 apprised, 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 habituated 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 was 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 anybody, 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, no coquetry;
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 were 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 anything 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 anecdotes 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 everything 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 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 profited 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 sheephooks;
but the first winter 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, 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 everything 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 anybody 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, she 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
shan'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. Beryl signed the bond, and threw it to him.

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

'Monster is not actionable--I wish you had called me rascal,'
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 proceeding; 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--the door 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 downstairs; Lord Colambre, before he went back into
the room, waited to see Mordicai 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 Mordicai.

'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 profiting 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 meantime, 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 everywhere.
How miserable is the fine lady's lot who cannot forget the world,
and who is forgot 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 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 of
the alphabet. It will form a precedent of the most dangerous and
inevitable application. If she has 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 daresay, 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 for herself and for Miss Nugent were
left for each member of the family; and her civil messages, left
with the footman, extended to the utmost possibility of
remainder. It had occurred to her lady-ship 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 further, 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 everything 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 anything 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 her great
entertainments she was invited to great entertainments, to large
parties; but farther 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 innuendo, the insolent mimicry; but she was
kept at a cold, impassable distance, by ceremony--'So far shalt
thou go, and no farther' 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,' etc.
--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 gentleman 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 anything else with
propriety, she would not have thought of sending her ladyship
anything 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 everything
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 not you 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.

Everybody sympathised 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
generalised 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 everybody--everybody 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 that night, the
next, and the next, 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 but that rascal was bringing upon
you--but an execution?--he was.'

'An execution!'  repeated everybody 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
draught, 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: 'Haven'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 an 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
EVERYBODY-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 sheriff's 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 STEA, 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 up Miss Nugent to
the table, where she was sealing letters, 'I must tell you how I
sarved 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 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 brickbats; 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 sheriffs fellow thrust his bayonet up through your false
plaster, and down came tumbling the family plate hey, Terry?
That hit cost your friend, Lord everybody-knows-who, more than
your head's worth, Terry.'

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

'When he paid L7000 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 to --'

'Ha! ha! ha!--That was neat, I grant you, Terry,' said Lord
Clonbrony. 'But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that
sheriffs 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. Anything to get 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 nowadays. So I,
that am under no natural obligations to it by birth or otherwise,
have just stood by 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 went out of the room, that she might leave the father
and son at liberty.

'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 hear 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 as to his family
affairs, 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 anything 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 with propriety 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 would only ask her the question, she would
tell you it is truth, I daresay.'

'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 farther 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 anything 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 to follow headlong 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 everybody,
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 nothing 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 REELLY 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 other; an Irish home,
when I had no other; that my earliest and happiest years, under
your kind care, had been spent there; and that 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 anything 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 anything but THAT, Grace. Return to Clonbrony, while I am
able to live in London? That I never can or will do for you or
anybody!'  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 be 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 anywhere.
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, with 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 be 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 be easily
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--was capable of drawing
aside, at once, the curtain of self-delusion, and looking
steadily at the skeleton of truth--she had a generous, perhaps
because a strong mind; for, 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 made 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 everything. 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!
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 a 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 thundering knock at the door announced the arrival of company.

'Think no more of love, but as much as you please of friendship
--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, and I wondering all the
time nobody rang for me--but my lady dressed, Lord knows how!
without anybody. 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
downstairs. '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 confiDANtially, 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 everything, and hear of
everything, 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 maybe 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 everything; 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 CONFIDANTIAL 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 reasonable causes.

In the meantime, 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 gentleman-like, 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 most satisfaction; and with
discriminative, not superficial celerity, touched on all ancient
and modern authors, 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 in Dublin
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, for the time being, 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 scandalised 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 is 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 everything 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 new set, 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 meantime, 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 dress. . . . 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
recommence 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,
turn 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, which he is too polite to suspect his customers of, and
particularly proud to prove himself superior to. 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 are 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 his 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 anything, 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, etc.
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. Rafferty 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 veranda, which she said could not be 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 light
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 everything 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 everything 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 difformity 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 apologised 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 apologising,
and fussing, and fretting inwardly and outwardly, and directing
and calling to her servants--striving to make a butler who was
deaf, a boy who was hare-brained, do the business of five
accomplished footmen of PARTS and FIGURE. The mistress of the
house called for 'plates, clean plates!-hot plates!'

'But none did come, when she did call for them.'

Mrs. Raffarty called 'Larry! Larry! 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 Larry 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 set Larry after Kenny, and Kenny after
Larry; 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 macaroni 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.

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 overmuch, 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, sympathising 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 in 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 PICKNICK
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 recognised 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 anything 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 everything of that
nature, now is vastly put-up-able with!'--'My lord,' said Sir
James Brooke, 'we shall be late.'  Lord Colambre, shortly
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 jockied 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 for 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 next
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 woman, 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 seemed
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,
Belie! Belie! 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 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 further observed, that, though
all joined in abusing these ladies in their absence, when present
they seemed universally admired. Though everybody cried 'Shame!'
and 'shocking!'  yet everybody 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 everywhere repeated; the dress and air of
the daughter everywhere 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 civilised 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 anybody 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 anything
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 forfend 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 picklock 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 lady-ship, '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 anything 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 Killpatrickstown, 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 pour bows or your blushes--
but NOBILITAS by itself, nobility is enough in all parties, in
all families, where there are girls, and of course balls, as
there are always at Killpatrickstown. 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 anything I might not laugh
at--your lordship excepted. So you'll come--that's settled.'

And so it was settled. Our hero went to Killpatrickstown.

'Everything 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;
DES ARRANGEMENS PROVISATOIRES, temporary expedients; in plain
English, MAKE-SHIFTS. Luxuries, enough for an English prince of
the blood; comforts, not enough for an English woman. 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 anybody 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.
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, beside 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. 'find, "sure, 'tis nothing at all, out of
all his honour, my lord, has. How could he FEEL it! [Feel it:
become sensible of it, know it.]  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 open-house-keepers, NOR [than] my
Lord and my Lady Killpatrick." Now there's encouragement for a
lord and a lady to ruin themselves.'

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 mimickry, sarcasm,
exaggeration, and truth, she succeeded continually in making Lord
Colambre laugh at everything at which she wished to make him
laugh; at every THING, but not 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 and style
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 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 downstairs 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 Killpatrickstown, 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 anything 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.
This 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 demesne ;
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; everything let to go to ruin for the want
of a moment's care, or pulled to pieces for the sake of the most
trifling 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 DISHONOUR 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 characterises
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, had 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 as evidence in
the lawsuit that brought her to Ireland. Lord Colambre stood
politely looking on and listening, while her ladyship explained
the splendid inter-marriages 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-RIBBAND, 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 so no more; I will explain myself another
time.'

'Nay, there you are wrong, Isabel; in point of good-breeding,
anything 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 ask the question, Are
you, my Lord Colambre, or are you not, related 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 not 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 falling 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.--'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 Captain Benson and Captain Williamson were taken to
the count's. Captain 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 anything 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 a-hunting; but his servant said 'that he
would be 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 brace 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 anything in the creation,
dragged out his watch with some difficulty, saying, 'I wonder now
whether they are likely to think of giving us anything 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. Alick 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, recognised 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 the chace: his
hunting accoutrements hanging carelessly about him, he advanced,
unembarrassed, to the lady; and received his other guests with a
mixture of military ease and gentleman-like dignity.

Without adverting to the awkward and ridiculous situation in
which he had found poor Heathcock, he apologised 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 apologise; 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, for my 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 newcomers; 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; 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 Killpatrickstown. 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 and Captain Williamson made no reply.

'The major looks so like a stuffed man of straw,' whispered Lady
Dashfort to Lord Colambre; 'and the captain so like the knave of
clubs, 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 chace.'

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 such a famous fox-hunter, maybe, you may be a
fisherman too; and 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 the lady'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, blest 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 grouse pie, and of Irish ortolans, which,
as Lady Dashfort observed, 'afforded him indemnity for the past,
and security for the future.'

'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 dish
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--these 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 bad 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. [Fact.] "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 was--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 half a dozen duels, maybe.'

'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
further 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 Cresey 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.'  And 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. Those 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 Castle Halloran, 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 everything 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
set, 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 Lord Colambre's 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 be 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 to Lady Dashfort and Lady
Isabel.'

A little circumstance which occurred during this visit increased
his interest for the family, When Lady de Cresey'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 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 Killpatrickstown, 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 own
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, the 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 looked forward to the
idea of marrying and settling in Ireland, and then everything 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
concern. 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 greatcoat,
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 neat--ness 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 what
they were never intended by nature or art; none of what are
vulgarly called MAKE-SHIFTS. No chambermaid slipshod, or waiter
smelling of whisky; but all tight and right, and everybody doing
their own business, and doing it as if it was their everyday
occupation, not as if it was done by particular desire, for first
or last time this season. The landlord came in at supper to
inquire whether anything 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 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 anything 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  [CONVENIENT: near.]  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 planting, finely 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.'

'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 everything,' said Lord Colambre,
smiling; 'he seems to be a NON-PAREIL of an 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 anyway; 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, everything 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 this 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 dinner.

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 dine 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 everything 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 anything 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 he 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 be 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.'
Mrs. 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 by 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.

That very night the post brought a letter to Mr. Burke, from Lord
Clonbrony, which Mr. Burke 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 recognised 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, pleased by
his tone of indignation; '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
Mr. Burke 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 further 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 O'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.'

'And 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 everything to everybody,' 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 gentleman,
anyway, Welsh or other.'

Notwithstanding the shabby greatcoat, the shrewd postillion
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 postillion 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 of everything 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
postillion, 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
linch-pin out of the hedge, for this one won't go far.'

Whilst Larry was making the linch-pin, 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 anyway, 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 Colambre.

'The RAEL saint!'  said the postillion, 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 postillion, 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 is 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 everything to the
likes of them.'

Lord Colambre listened with all possible composure and attention;
but the postillion having now made his linch-pin 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, becaase you're an Englishman--that is, a Welshman--I 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 rack-rent, 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?'  [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 weren't made this ways; and it's the
best way in the wide world, and the finest roads we have. And
when the RAEL jantlemen'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 St. Dennis wrote up
to Dublin to old Nick, and he over to the landlord, how none
would take it, or bid anything 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 postillion, 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 postillion.

'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 license for whisky, 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
postillion.

'Oh! who would I see? or why would I tell?'  replied Larry, in
a sulky tone.

'Came, come, be smart!'  said the man with the silver whip,
offering to put half a crown into the postillion's hand; 'point
me which way he took.'

'I'll have none a' 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 Killogenesawee.'

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, maybe
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;--becaase it's the little whisky
that's made in the private still or pot; and SHEEN, becaase 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.

'Becaase 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 whisky, more than
the quality, or the judge on the bench?'

'What do you mean?'

'Why! was not I PRISINT in the court-house myself, when the
JIDGE 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 postillion, 'once a snug place, when my
Lady Clonbrony was at home to whitewash 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 own
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--'

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, altogether, a complete
group of beggars. The woman stopped, and looked back 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 postillion, '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 a 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 postillion 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, bandboxes.

'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 [Owned] 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.

'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! [NEGER, quasi negro; meo periculo, NIGGARD]  And did
he speak that way, and you by?'

'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 her bandboxes 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 whisky
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 vain! He darted into the whisky-house with
the carman--reappeared 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 yet, 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
axle-trees to hinder them from lacing, [Opening; perhaps from
LACHER, to loosen.] 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 linch-pin came off, and the chaise
was overset: Lord Colambre was a little bruised, but glad to
escape without fractured bones.

'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 linch-pin, and them
barrows of loose stones, that ought to be fined anyway, 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! please your honour? I would not use any jantleman so
ill, BARRING I could do no other,' replied the postillion,
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 be, no compare, snugger than 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 potato 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, 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 postillion; '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 apologise
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 that was her foster-sister,
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 troth he's overworked.'

'Would you want anything 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, everything 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 loophole 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 Sunday morning; my Grace is gone to
early prayers, so your honour will be content with an old woman
to make your breakfast. Oh, let me put in plenty, or it will
never be good; and if your honour takes stir-about, an old hand
will engage to make that to your liking, anyway; 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 a 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 goodwill he, and no
other, shall get her, and with her goodwill 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 I 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 anything 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 anything 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 himself 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--maybe, 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 or
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.