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diff --git a/old/35143-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/35143-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b7c524 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/35143-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,18765 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Martins of Cro' Martin, Vol. 1 (of 2) by Charles James Lever. + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II), by +Charles James Lever + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II) + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: Phiz. + +Release Date: February 2, 2011 [EBook #35143] +Last Updated: February 27, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontispiece (235K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h1> +THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN +</h1> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +With Illustrations By Phiz. +</h3> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h4> +In Two Volumes +</h4> +<h4> +Vol. I. +</h4> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +Boston: <br /> Little, Brown, And Company. <br /> 1906. +</h3> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontis2 (134K)" src="images/frontis2.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="titlepage (29K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1872. </a><br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> CRO' MARTIN <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> KILKIERAN BAY <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> AN AUTUMN MORNING +IN THE WEST <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> MAURICE +SCANLAN, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. +</a> A STUDIO AND AN ARTIST <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> +CHAPTER VI. </a> A DASH OF POLITICS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> A COLLEGE COMPETITOR +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> SOME +KNOTTY POINTS THAT PUZZLED JOE NELLIGAN <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE MARTIN ARMS <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> A DINNER-PARTY <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> YOUNG NELLIGAN, AS +INTERPRETED IN TWO WAYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. +</a> A VERY “CROSS EXAMINATION” <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> "A HOUSEKEEPER'S +ROOM” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> A +FINE OLD IRISH BARRISTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. +</a> "A RUINED FORTUNE” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> +CHAPTER XVI. </a> "A CHALLENGE” <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> A COUNTRY-HOUSE +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> STATECRAFT +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> A +STUDIO <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> AN +ELECTION ADDRESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> AN +AWKWARD VISITOR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> A +DAY “AFTER” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> A +CHARACTERISTIC LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. +</a> THREE COACHES AND THEIR COMPANY <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> COUNTRY AUCTION <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> "REVERSES” <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> DARKENING +FORTUNES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> HOW +MR. SCANLAN GIVES SCOPE TO A GENEROUS IMPULSE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> A SUNDAY MORNING AT +CRO' MARTIN <br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h3> +TO THE REVEREND MORTIMER O'SULLIVAN, D.D. +</h3> +<p> +If I have not asked your permission to dedicate this volume to you, it is +because I would not involve you in the responsibility of any opinions even +so light a production may contain, nor seek to cover by a great name the +sentiment and views of a very humble one. +</p> +<p> +I cannot, however, deny myself the pleasure of inscribing to you a book to +which I have given much thought and labor,—a testimony of the deep +and sincere affection of one who has no higher pride than in the honor of +your friendship. +</p> +<p> +Ever sincerely yours, +</p> +<p> +CHARLES LEVER +</p> +<p> +Casa Cappoli, Florence, May, 1856 +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1872. +</h2> +<p> +When I had made my arrangement with my publishers for this new story, I +was not sorry for many reasons to place the scene of it in Ireland. One of +my late critics, in noticing “Roland Cashel” and “The Daltons,” mildly +rebuked me for having fallen into doubtful company, and half censured—in +Bohemian—several of the characters in these novels. I was not then, +still less am I now, disposed to argue the point with my censor, and show +that there is a very wide difference between the persons who move in the +polite world, with a very questionable morality, and those patented +adventurers whose daily existence is the product of daily address. The +more one sees of life, the more is he struck by the fact that the mass of +mankind is rarely very good or very bad, that the business of life is +carried on with mixed motives; the best people being those who are least +selfish, and the worst being little other than those who seek their own +objects with slight regard for the consequences to others, and even less +scruple as to the means. +</p> +<p> +Any uniformity in good or evil would be the deathblow to that genteel +comedy which goes on around us, and whose highest interest very often +centres in the surprises we give ourselves by unexpected lines of action +and unlooked-for impulses. As this strange drama unfolded itself before +me, it had become a passion with me to watch the actors, and speculate on +what they might do. For this Florence offered an admirable stage. It was +eminently cosmopolitan; and, in consequence, less under the influence of +any distinct code of public opinion than any section of the several +nationalities I might have found at home. +</p> +<p> +There was a universal toleration abroad; and the Spaniard conceded to the +German, and the Russian to the Englishman, much on the score of +nationality; and did not question too closely a morality which, after all, +might have been little other than a conventional habit. Exactly in the +same way, however, that one hurries away from the life of a city and its +dissipations, to breathe the fresh air and taste the delicious quiet of +the country, did I turn from these scenes of splendor, from the crush of +wealth, and the conflict of emotion, to that Green Island, where so many +of my sympathies were intertwined, and where the great problem of human +happiness was on its trial on issues that differed wonderfully little from +those that were being tried in gilded salons, and by people whose names +were blazoned in history. +</p> +<p> +Ireland, at the time I speak of, was beginning to feel that sense of +distrust and jealousy between the owner and the tiller of the soil which, +later on, was to develop itself into open feud. The old ties that have +bound the humble to the rich man, and which were hallowed by reciprocal +acts of good-will and benevolence, were being loosened. Benefits were +canvassed with suspicion, ungracious or unholy acts were treasured up as +cruel wrongs. The political agitator had so far gained the ear of the +people, that he could persuade them that there was not a hardship or a +grievance of their lot that could not be laid at the door of the landlord. +He was taught to regard the old relation of love and affection to the +owner of the soil, as the remnants of a barbarism that had had its day, +and he was led to believe that whether the tyranny that crushed him was +the Established Church or the landlord, there was a great Liberal party +ready to aid him in resisting either or both, when he could summon courage +for the effort. By what promptings the poor man was brought to imagine +that a reign of terror would suffice to establish him in an undisputed +possession of the soil, and that the best lease was a loaded musket, it is +not either my wish nor my duty here to narrate; I only desire to call my +reader's attention to the time itself, as a transition period when the +peasant had begun to resent some of the ties that had bound him to his +landlord, and had not yet conceived the idea of that formidable conspiracy +which issues its death-warrants and never is at a loss for the agents to +enforce them. There were at the time some who, seeing the precarious +condition of the period, had their grave forebodings of what was to come, +when further estrangement between the two classes was accomplished, and +the poor man should come to see in the rich only an oppressor and a +tyrant. There was not at that time the armed resistance to rents, nor the +threatening letter system to which we were afterwards to become +accustomed, still less was there the thought that the Legislature would +interfere to legalize the demands by which the tenant was able to coerce +his landlord; and for a brief interval there did seem a possibility of +reuniting once again, by the ties of benefit and gratitude, the two +classes whose real welfare depends on concord and harmony. I have not the +shadow of a pretext to be thought didactic, but I did believe that if I +recalled in fiction some of the traits which once had bound up the +relations of rich and poor, and given to our social system many of the +characteristics of the family, I should be reviving pleasant memories if +not doing something more. +</p> +<p> +To this end I sketched the character of Mary Martin. By making the opening +of my story date from the time of the Relief Bill, I intended to picture +the state of the country at one of the most memorable eras in its history, +and when an act of the Legislature assumed to redress inequalities, +compose differences, and allay jealousies of centuries' growth, and make +of two widely differing races one contented people. +</p> +<p> +I had not, I own, any implicit faith in Acts of Parliament, and I had a +fervent belief in what kindness—when combined with knowledge of +Ireland—could do with Irishmen. I have never heard of a people with +whom sympathy could do so much, nor the want of it be so fatal. I have +never heard of any other people to whom the actual amount of a benefit was +of less moment than the mode it was bestowed. I have never read of a race +who, in great poverty and many privations, attach a higher value to the +consideration that is bestowed on them than to the actual material boons, +and feel such a seemingly disproportioned gratitude for kind words and +generous actions. +</p> +<p> +What might not be anticipated from a revulsion of sentiment in a people +like this, to what violence might not this passion for vengeance be +carried, if the notion possessed them that they, whom she called her +betters, only traded on the weakness of their poverty and the imbecility +of their good faith? It was in a fruitful soil of this kind that the +agitation now sowed the seeds of distrust and disorder; and with what +fatal rapidity the poison reproduced itself and spread, the history of +late years is the testimony. +</p> +<p> +If such traits as I have endeavored to picture in Mary Martin were engaged +in the work of benevolence tomorrow, they would be met on every side by +discouragement and defeat. The priest would denounce them as a propaganda +artfully intended to sap the ancient faith of the people; the agitators +would denounce them as the cunning flatteries of political solicitation; +the people themselves would distrust them as covering some secret object; +and the National Press would be certain to utter its warnings against +whatever promised to establish peace or contentment to the land. +</p> +<p> +I have said already, and I repeat it here, that this character of Mary +Martin is purely fictitious; and there is the more need I should say it, +since there was once a young lady of this very name,—many traits of +whose affection for the people and efforts for their well being might be +supposed to have been my original. To my great regret I never had the +happiness to have met her; however, I have heard much of her devotion and +her goodness. +</p> +<p> +I am not sure that some of my subordinate characters were not drawn from +life. Mrs. Nelligan, I remember, had her type in a little Galway town I +once stopped at, and Dan Nelligan had much in common with one who has +since held a distinguished place on the Bench. +</p> +<p> +Of the terrible epidemic which devastated Ireland, there was much for +which I drew on my own experience. Of its fearful ravages in the west, in +the wilds of Clare, and that lonely promontory that stretches at the mouth +of the Shannon into the Atlantic, I had been the daily witness; and even +to recall some of the incidents passingly was an effort of great pain. +</p> +<p> +Of one feature of the people at this disastrous time, I could not say +enough; nor could any words of mine do justice to the splendid heroism +with which they bore up, and the noble generosity they showed each other +in misfortune. It is but too often remarked how selfish men are made by +misery, and how fatal is a common affliction to that charity that cares +for others. There was none of this here; I never in any condition or class +recognized more traits of thoughtful kindness and self-denial than I did +amongst these poor, famished, and forgotten people. I never witnessed in +the same perfection, how a widespread affliction could call up a humanity +great as itself, and make very commonplace natures something actually +heroic and glorious. +</p> +<p> +Nothing short of the fatal tendency I have to digression, and the watchful +care I am bound to bestow against this fault, prevented me from narrating +several incidents with which my own experience had made me acquainted. +Foreign as these were to the burden of my tale, it was only by an effort I +overcame the temptation to recall them. +</p> +<p> +If a nation is to be judged by her bearing under calamity, Ireland—and +she has had some experiences—comes well through the ordeal. That we +may yet see how she will sustain her part in happier circumstances is my +hope and my prayer, and that the time be not too far off. +</p> +<p> +CHARLES LEVER. +</p> +<p> +Trieste, 1872. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h1> +THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. CRO' MARTIN +</h2> +<p> +I am about to speak of Ireland as it was some four-and-twenty years ago, +and feel as if I were referring to a long-past period of history, such +have been the changes, political and social, effected in that interval! +Tempting, as in some respects might be an investigation into the causes of +these great changes, and even speculation as to how they might have been +modified and whither they tend, I prefer rather to let the reader form his +own unaided judgment on such matters, and will therefore, without more of +preface, proceed to my story. +</p> +<p> +If the traveller leaves the old town of Oughterard, and proceeds westward, +he enters a wild and dreary region, with few traces of cultivation, and +with scarcely an inhabitant. Bare, bleak mountains, fissured by many a +torrent, bound plains of stony surface,—here and there the miserable +hut of some “cottier,” with its poor effort at tillage, in the shape of +some roods of wet potato land, or the sorry picture of a stunted oat crop, +green even in the late autumn. Gradually, however, the scene becomes less +dreary. Little patches of grass land come into view, generally skirting +some small lake; and here are to be met with droves of those wild +Connemara ponies for which the district is so celebrated; a stunted hardy +race, with all the endurance and courage that beseem a mountain origin. +Further on, the grateful sight of young timber meets the eye, and large +enclosures of larch and spruce fir are seen on every favorable spot of +ground. And at length, on winding round the base of a steep mountain, the +deep woods of a rich demesne appear, and soon afterwards a handsome +entrance-gate of massive stone, with armorial bearings above it, announces +the approach to Cro' Martin Castle, the ancient seat of the Martins. +</p> +<p> +An avenue of several miles in length, winding through scenery of the most +varied character, at one time traversing rich lawns of waving meadow, at +another tracking its course along some rocky glen, or skirting the bank of +a clear and rapid river, at length arrives at the castle. With few +pretensions to architectural correctness, Cro' Martin was, indeed, an +imposing structure. Originally the stronghold of some bold Borderer, it +had been added to by successive proprietors, till at last it had assumed +the proportions of a vast and spacious edifice, different eras +contributing the different styles of building, and presenting in the mass +traces of every architecture, from the stern old watch-tower of the +fourteenth century to the commodious dwelling-house of our own. +</p> +<p> +If correct taste might take exception to many of the external details of +this building, the arrangements within doors, where all that elegance and +comfort could combine were to be found, might safely challenge criticism. +Costly furniture abounded, not for show in state apartments, shrouded in +canvas, or screened from sunlight, but for daily use in rooms that showed +continual habitation. +</p> +<p> +Some of the apartments displayed massive specimens of that richly carved +old oak furniture for which the châteaux of the Low Countries were famed; +others abounded with inlaid consoles and costly tables of “marqueterie,” + and others again exhibited that chaste white and gold which characterized +the splendid era of the Regency in France. Great jars of Sèvres, those +splendid mockeries of high art, stood in the windows, whose curtains were +of the heaviest brocade. Carpets of soft Persian wool covered the floors, +and rich tapestries were thrown over sofas and chairs with a careless +grace, the very triumph of picturesque effect. +</p> +<p> +In the scrupulous neatness of all these arrangements, in the orderly air, +the demure and respectful bearing of the servants as they showed the +castle to strangers, one might read the traces of a strict and rigid +discipline,—features, it must be owned, that seemed little in +accordance with the wild region that stretched on every side. The spotless +windows of plate-glass, the polished floor that mirrored every chair that +stood on it, the massive, and well-fitting doors, the richly gilded dogs +that shone within the marble hearth, had little brotherhood with the +dreary dwellings of the cottiers beyond the walls of the park; and +certainly even Irish misery never was more conspicuous than in that lonely +region. +</p> +<p> +It was early on a calm morning of the late autumn that the silent +courtyard of the castle resounded with the sharp quick tramp of a horse, +suddenly followed by a loud shrill whistle, as a young girl, mounted upon +a small but highly bred horse, galloped up to one of the back entrances. +Let us employ the few seconds in which she thus awaited, to introduce her +to the reader. Somewhat above the middle size, and with a figure admirably +proportioned, her face seemed to blend the joyous character of happy +girlhood with a temperament of resolute action. The large and liquid hazel +eyes, with their long dark fringes, were almost at variance with the +expression of the mouth, which, though finely and beautifully fashioned, +conveyed the working of a spirit that usually followed its own dictates, +and as rarely brooked much interference. +</p> +<p> +Shaded by a broad-leaved black hat, and with a braid of her dark auburn +hair accidentally fallen on her shoulder, Mary Martin sat patting the head +of the wire-haired greyhound who had reared himself to her side,—a +study for Landseer himself. Scarcely above a minute had elapsed, when +several servants were seen running towards her, whose hurried air betrayed +that they had only just risen from bed. +</p> +<p> +“You're all very late to-day,” cried the young lady. “You should have been +in the stables an hour ago. Where 's Brand?” + </p> +<p> +“He 's gone into the fair, miss, with a lot of hoggets,” said a little old +fellow with a rabbit-skin cap, and a most unmistakable groom formation +about the knees and ankles. +</p> +<p> +“Look to the mare, Barny,” said she, jumping off; “and remind me, if I +forget it, to fine you all, for not having fed and watered before six +o'clock. Yes, I 'll do it; I said so once before, and you 'll see I 'll +keep my word. Is it because my uncle goes a few weeks to the seaside, that +you are to neglect your duty? Hackett, I shall want to see the colts +presently; go round to the straw-yard and wait till I come; and, Graft, +let us have a look at the garden, for my aunt is quite provoked at the +flowers you have been sending her lately.” + </p> +<p> +All this was said rapidly, and in a tone that evidently was not meant to +admit of reply; and the gardener led the way, key in hand, very much with +the air of a felon going to conviction. He was a Northern Irishman, +however, and possessed the Scotch-like habits of prudent reserve that +never wasted a word in a bad cause. And thus he suffered himself to be +soundly rated upon various short-comings in his department,—celery +that wanted landing; asparagus grown to the consistence of a walking-cane; +branches of fruit-trees breaking under their weight of produce; and even +weed-grown walks,—all were there, and upon all was he arraigned. +</p> +<p> +“The old story, of course, Graft,” said she, slapping her foot impatiently +with her riding-whip,—“you have too few people in the garden; but my +remedy will be to lessen their number. Now mark me. My uncle is coming +home on Wednesday next,—just so—a full month earlier than you +expected,—and if the garden be not in perfect order,—if I find +one of these things I have complained of to-day—” + </p> +<p> +“But, my leddy, this is the season when, what wi' sellin' the fruit, and +what wi' the new shoots—” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll have it done, that 's all, Mr. Graft; and you 'll have one man less +to do it with. I 'll go over the hothouse after breakfast,” said she, +smiling to herself at the satisfaction with which he evidently heard this +short reprieve. Nor was he himself more anxious to escape censure than was +she to throw off the ungracious office of inflicting it. +</p> +<p> +“And now for old Catty Broon, and a good breakfast to put me in better +temper,” said she to herself, as she entered the castle and wended her way +to the housekeeper's room. +</p> +<p> +“May I never; but I thought it was a dream when I heard your voice +outside,” said old Catty, as she welcomed her young mistress with +heartfelt delight; “but when I saw them runnin' here and runnin' there, I +said, sure enough, she's come in earnest.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true, Catty,” said Mary, laughing. “I surprised the garrison, and +found them, I must say, in most sorry discipline; but never mind, they 'll +have everything to rights by Wednesday, when we are all coming back +again.” + </p> +<p> +“Was the bathing any use to my Lady, miss?” asked Catty, but in a tone +that combined a kind of half drollery with earnest. +</p> +<p> +“She's better and worse, Catty; better in health, and scarcely as +good-humored; but, there 's a good old soul, let me have breakfast, for I +have a great deal to do before I ride back.” + </p> +<p> +“But sure you are not goin' to ride back to Kilkieran to-day?” + </p> +<p> +“That am I, Catty, and up to Kyle's Wood and the new plantations before I +go. Why, it's only fifteen miles, old lady!” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, you 're your father's daughter all over,” said Catty, with a look +first at <i>her</i>, and then at a water-colored sketch which occupied a +place over the chimney, and represented a fair-haired, handsome boy of +about ten years of age. +</p> +<p> +“Was that ever like papa?” asked the girl. +</p> +<p> +“'Tis his born image, it is,” said Catty; and her eyes swam with tears as +she turned away. +</p> +<p> +“Well, to <i>my</i> thinking he is far better-looking in that picture!” + said Mary, pointing with her whip to a colored drawing of a showily +dressed dragoon officer, reining in his charger, and seeming to eye with +considerable disdain the open mouth of a cannon in front of him. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, then, the other was more himself!” sighed Catty; “and more nat'ral +too, with the long hair on his neck and that roguish laugh in his eye.” + </p> +<p> +“And neither are very like that!” said Mary, pointing to a third portrait, +which represented a swarthy horseman with a wide sombrero and a jacket all +braided and buttoned in Mexican fashion, a rifle at his back, and a long +lance in his hand, with the heavy coil of a lasso at his saddle-peak. +</p> +<p> +“Arrah, that ain't a bit like him,” said the old woman, querulously, “for +all that he said that it was.” + </p> +<p> +Mary arose at the words, and perused aloud some lines which were written +at the foot of the picture, and which many and many a time before she had +conned over and repeated. They ran thus: “Aye, Catty, though you won't +believe it, that rough-looking old rider, all bearded and sunburned, is +your own wild Barry of former days; and for all that the world has done, +wonderfully little altered in the core, though the crust is not very like +that cherry-cheeked boy that used to, and mayhap still may, hang over your +fireplace.—Guastalla, May, 1808.” + </p> +<p> +“And has he not written since that?” sighed the girl, over whom the dark +shadow of orphanhood passed as she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Twice only: the first of the two spoke of his coming home again; but +somehow he seemed to be put off it, and the next letter was all about you, +as if he did n't mean to come back! My Lady and Master Barry never was +fond of each other,” muttered the old woman, after a pause, and as though +giving an explanation to some problem that she was working within her own +head. +</p> +<p> +“But my uncle loved him,” broke in Mary. +</p> +<p> +“And why wouldn't he? War n't they twins? There was only a few minutes +between them,—long enough to make one a rich man, and leave the +other only his own wits and the wide world for a fortune! Ayeh, ayeh!” + grumbled out the old crone, “if they were both born poor, they 'd be +livin' together like brothers now, under the one roof,—happy and +comfortable; and you and your cousin, Master Dick, would be playfellows +and companions, instead of his being away in Ingia, or America, or +wherever it is!” + </p> +<p> +The young girl leaned her head on her hand, and appeared to have fallen +into a deep train of thought; for she never noticed old Catty's remarks, +nor, indeed, seemed conscious of her presence for some time. “Catty,” said +she, at length, and in a voice of unusually calm earnestness, “never talk +to me of these things; they only fret me; they set me a thinking of Heaven +knows what longings,—for a home that should be more like a real home +than this, though God knows my uncle is all that I could wish in kindness +and affection; but—but—” + </p> +<p> +She stopped, and her lip quivered, and her eyes grew heavy-looking; and +then, with a kind of struggle against her emotions, she added gayly, “Come +and show me the dairy, Catty. I want to see all those fine things in +Wedgewood-ware that you got while we were away, and then we 'll have a +peep at the calves, and by that time it will be the hour for my levee.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, miss,” said the old woman, “they 're all here already. The news +soon spread that you came over this morning, and you 'll have a great +assembly.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll not keep them waiting, then,” said Mary; and, so saying, she left +the room, and proceeding by many passages and corridors, at length reached +a remote part of the building which once had formed part of the ancient +edifice. A suite of low-ceiled rooms here opened upon a small grassy +enclosure, all of which had been appropriated by Mary to her own use. One +was a little library or study, neatly but very modestly furnished; +adjoining it was her office, where she transacted all business matters; +and beyond that again was a large chamber, whose sole furniture consisted +in a row of deal presses against the walls, and a long table or counter +which occupied the middle of the room. Two large windows opening to the +floor lighted the apartment; and no sooner had Mary thrown these wide, +than a burst of salutations and greetings arose from a dense and motley +crowd assembled on the grass outside, and who stood, sat, or lay in every +possible attitude and grouping, their faces all turned towards the window +where she was standing. +</p> +<p> +With true native volubility they poured out not only their welcomings, but +a number of interjectional flatteries, supposed not to be audible by her +on whom they commented; and thus her hair, her eyes, her teeth, her +complexion, even her foot, were praised with an enthusiasm of admiration +that might have shamed more polished worshippers. +</p> +<p> +These muttered eulogies continued as the young girl was occupied unlocking +drawers and presses, and placing upon the table several books and papers, +as well as a small scale and weights,—preparations all equally the +source of fruitful observation. +</p> +<p> +The company was entirely of the softer sex,—an epithet not perhaps +in the strictest accordance with an array of faces that really might have +shamed witchcraft. Bronzed, blear-eyed, and weather-beaten, seamed with +age and scarred with sickness, shrewd-looking, suspicious, and crafty in +every lineament, there was yet one characteristic predominant over all,—an +intense and abject submission, an almost slavish deference to every +observation addressed to them. Their dress bespoke the very greatest +poverty; not only were they clothed in rags of every hue and shape, but +all were barefooted, and some of the very oldest wore no other covering to +their heads than their own blanched and grizzled locks. +</p> +<p> +Nor would a follower of Lavater have argued too favorably of the +prosperity of Irish regeneration, in beholding that array of faces,—low-browed, +treacherous-looking, and almost savagely cruel, as many of them were in +expression. There was not, indeed, as often is to be remarked amongst the +peasant class of many countries, a look of stupid, stolid indifference; on +the contrary, their faces were intensely, powerfully significant, and +there was stamped upon them that strange mixture of malignant drollery and +sycophancy that no amount of either good or adverse fortune ever entirely +subdues in their complex natures. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontis2 (134K)" src="images/frontis2.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +The expediency of misery had begotten the expediency of morals, and in all +the turnings and windings of their shifty natures you could see the +suggestions of that abject destitution which had eaten into their very +hearts. It would have puzzled a moralist to analyze these “gnarled +natures,” wherein some of the best and some of the worst features of +humanity warred and struggled together. Who could dare to call them +kind-hearted or malevolent, grateful or ungrateful, free-giving or +covetous, faithful or capricious, as a people? Why, they were all these, +and fifty other things just as opposite besides, every twenty-four hours +of their lives! Their moods of mind ranged from one extreme to the other; +nothing had any permanency amongst them but their wretchedness. Of all +their qualities, however, that which most obstructed their improvement, +ate deepest into their natures, and suggested the worst fears for the +future, was suspicion. They trusted nothing,—none,—so that +every benefit bestowed on them came alloyed with its own share of doubt; +and all the ingenuity of their crafty minds found congenial occupation in +ascribing this or that motive to every attempt to better their condition. +</p> +<p> +Mary Martin knew them—understood them—as well as most people; +few, indeed, out of their own actual station of life had seen so much of +their domesticity. From her very childhood she had been conversant with +their habits and their ways. She had seen them patient under the most +trying afflictions, manfully braving every ill of life, and submitting +with a noble self-devotion to inevitable calamity; and she had also beheld +them, with ignorant impatience, resenting the slightest interference when +they deemed it uncalled for, and rejecting kindness when it came coupled +with the suggestion of a duty. +</p> +<p> +By considerable skill, and no little patience, she had insinuated a +certain small amount of discipline into this disorderly mass. She could +not succeed in persuading them to approach her one by one, or wait with +any semblance of order while she was yet occupied; but she enforced +conformity with at least one rule, which was, that none should speak save +in answer to some question put by herself. This may seem a very small +matter, and yet to any one who knows the Irish peasant it will appear +little short of miraculous. The passion for discursiveness, the tendency +to make an effective theme of their misery, whatever particular shape it +may assume, is essentially national; and to curb this vent to native +eloquence was to oppose at once the strongest impulse of their natures. +</p> +<p> +Nothing short of actual, tangible benefits could compensate them for what +they scrupled not to think was downright cruelty; nor was it till after +months of steady perseverance on her part that her system could be said to +have attained any success. Many of the most wretched declined to seek +relief on the conditions thus imposed. Some went as actual rebels, to show +their friends and neighbors how they would resist such intolerance; +others, again, professed that they only went out of curiosity. Strange and +incomprehensible people, who can brave every ill of poverty, endure famine +and fever and want, and yet will not bow the head to a mere matter of +form, nor subject themselves to the very least restriction when a passion +or a caprice stands opposed to it! After about eighteen months of hard +persistence the system began at length to work; the refractory spirits had +either refrained from coming or had abandoned the opposition; and now a +semblance of order pervaded the motley assemblage. Whenever the slightest +deviation from the ritual occurred, a smart tap of a small ivory ruler on +the table imposed silence; and they who disregarded the warning were +ordered to move by, unattended to. Had a stranger been permitted, +therefore, to take a peep at these proceedings, he would have been +astonished at the rapidity with which complaints were heard, and wants +redressed; for, with an instinct thoroughly native, Mary Martin +appreciated the cases which came before her, and rarely or never +confounded the appeal of real suffering with the demands of fictitious +sorrow. Most of those who came were desirous of tickets for Dispensary +aid; for sickness has its permanent home in the Irish cabin, and fever +lurks amidst the damp straw and the smoky atmosphere of the poor peasant's +home. Some, however, came for articles of clothing, or for aid to make and +repair them; others for some little assistance in diet, barley for a sick +man's drink, a lemon or an orange to moisten the parched lips of fever; +others, again, wanted leave to send a grandchild or a niece to the school; +and, lastly, a few privileged individuals appeared to claim their weekly +rations of snuff or tobacco,—little luxuries accorded to old age,—comforts +that solaced many a dreary hour of a joyless existence. Amongst all the +crowded mass there was not one whom Mary had not known and visited in +their humble homes. Thoroughly conversant with their condition and their +necessities, she knew well their real wants; and if one less hopeful than +herself might have despaired to render any actual relief to such +widespread misery, she was sanguine enough to be encouraged by the results +before her, small and few as they were, to think that possibly the good +time was yet to come when such efforts would be unneeded, and when +Ireland's industry, employed and rewarded, would more than suffice for all +the requirements of her humble poor. +</p> +<p> +“Jane Maloney,” said Mary, placing a small packet on the table, “give this +to Sally Kieran as you pass her door; and here 's the order for your own +cloak.” + </p> +<p> +“May the heavens be your bed. May the holy—” + </p> +<p> +“Catty Honan,” cried Mary, with a gesture to enforce silence. “Catty, your +granddaughter never comes to the school now that she has got leave. What's +the reason of that?” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, your reverance, miss, 'tis ashamed she is by ray-son of her +clothes. She says Luke Cassidy's daughters have check aprons.” + </p> +<p> +“No more of this, Catty. Tell Eliza to come on Monday, and if I 'm +satisfied with her she shall have one too.” + </p> +<p> +“Two ounces of tea for the Widow Jones.” + </p> +<p> +“Ayeh,” muttered an old hag. “But it's weak it makes it without a little +green in it!” + </p> +<p> +“How are the pains, Sarah?” asked Mary, turning to a very feeble-looking +old creature with crutches. +</p> +<p> +“Worse and worse, my Lady. With every change of the weather they come on +afresh.” + </p> +<p> +“The doctor will attend you, Sally, and if he thinks wine good for you, +you shall have it.” + </p> +<p> +“'T is that same would be the savin' of me, Miss Mary,” said a +cunning-eyed little woman, with a tattered straw bonnet on her head, and a +ragged shawl over her. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so, Nancy. Come up to the house on Monday morning and help +Mrs. Taafe with the bleaching.” + </p> +<p> +“So this is the duplicate, Polly?” said she, taking a scrap of paper from +an old woman whose countenance indicated a blending of dissipation with +actual want. +</p> +<p> +“One-and-fourpence was all I got on it, and trouble enough it gave me.” + These words she uttered with a heavy sigh, and in a tone at once resentful +and complaining. +</p> +<p> +“Were my uncle to know that you had pawned your cloak, Polly, he 'd never +permit you to cross his threshold.” + </p> +<p> +“Ayeh, it's a great sin, to be sure,” whined out the hag, half insolently. +</p> +<p> +“A great shame and a great disgrace it certainly is; and I shall stop all +relief to you till the money be paid back.” + </p> +<p> +“And why not!” “To be sure!” “Miss Mary is right!” “What else could she +do?” broke in full twenty sycophant voices, who hoped to prefer their own +claims by the cheap expedient of condemning another. +</p> +<p> +“The Widow Hannigan.” + </p> +<p> +“Here, miss,” simpered out a smiling little old creature, with a courtesy, +as she held up a scroll of paper in her hand. +</p> +<p> +“What 's this, Widow Hannigan?” + </p> +<p> +“'T is a picture Mickey made of you, miss, when you was out riding that +day with the hounds; he saw you jumping a stone wall.” + </p> +<p> +Mary smiled at the performance, which certainly did not promise future +excellence, and went on,— +</p> +<p> +“Tell Mickey to mend his writing; his was the worst copy in the class; and +here's a card for your daughter's admission into the Infirmary. By the +way, widow, which of the boys was it I saw dragging the river on +Wednesday?” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, miss, I don't know. Sure it was none of ours would dare to—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, they would, any one of them; but I 'll not permit it; and what's +more, widow, if it occur again, I 'll withdraw the leave I gave to fish +with a rod. +</p> +<p> +“Teresa Johnson, your niece is a very good child, and promises to be very +handy with her needle. Let her hem these handkerchiefs, and there's a +frock for herself. My uncle says Tom shall have half his wages paid him +till he's able to come to work again.” + </p> +<p> +But why attempt to follow out what would be but the long, unending +catalogue of native misery,—that dreary series of wants and +privations to which extreme destitution subjects a long-neglected and +helpless people? There was nothing from the cradle to the coffin, from the +first wailing wants of infancy to the last requirement of doting old age, +that they did not stand in need of. +</p> +<p> +A melancholy spectacle, indeed, was it to behold an entire population so +steeped in misery, so utterly inured to wretchedness, that they felt no +shame at its exposure, but rather a sort of self-exultation at any +opportunity of displaying a more than ordinary amount of human suffering +and sorrow;—to hear them how they caressed their afflictions, how +they seemed to fondle their misfortunes, vying with each other in +calamity, and bidding higher and higher for a little human sympathy. +</p> +<p> +Mary Martin set herself stoutly to combat this practice, including, as it +does, one of the most hopeless features of the national character. To +inculcate habits of self-reliance she was often driven, in violation of +her own feelings, to favor those who least needed assistance, but whose +efforts to improve their condition might serve as an example. With a +people who are such consummate actors she was driven into simulation +herself, and paraded sentiments of displeasure and condemnation when her +very heart was bursting with pity and compassion. No wonder was it, then, +that she rejoiced when this painful task was completed, and she found +herself in the more congenial duty of looking over the “young stock,” and +listening to old Barny's predictions about yearlings and two-year-olds. +</p> +<p> +This young girl, taught to read by a lady's maid, and to sew by a +housekeeper, possessed scarcely any of the resources so usual to those in +her own condition, and was of sheer necessity thrown upon herself for +occupation and employment. Her intense sympathy with the people, her +fondness for them even in their prejudices, had suggested the whole story +of her life. Her uncle took little or no interest in the details of his +property. The indolence in which he first indulged from liking, became at +last a part of his very nature, and he was only too well pleased to see +the duty undertaken by another which had no attraction for himself. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Mary will look to it”—“Tell my niece of it”—“Miss Martin +will give her orders,” were the invariable replies by which he escaped all +trouble, and suffered the whole weight of labor and responsibility to +devolve upon a young girl scarcely out of her teens, until gradually, from +the casual care of a flower-garden, or a childish pleasure in giving +directions, she had succeeded to the almost unlimited rule of her uncle's +house and his great estate. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Martin was often alarmed at some of his niece's measures of reform. +The large sums drawn out of bank, the great expenses incurred in weekly +wages, the vast plans of building, draining, road-making, and even +bridging, terrified him; while the steward, Mr. Henderson, slyly +insinuated, that though Miss Mary was a wonderful manager, and the “best +head he ever knew, except my Lady's,” she was dreadfully imposed on by the +people—but, to be sure, “how could a young lady be up to them?” But +she was up to them, aye, and more still, she was up to Mr. Henderson +himself, notwithstanding his mild, douce manner, his cautious reserve, and +his unbroken self-possession. +</p> +<p> +It is very far from my intention to say that Mary Martin was not over and +over again the dupe of some artifice or other of the crafty and subtle +natures that surrounded her. Mock misery, mock industry, mock +enlightenment, mock conviction, even mock submission and resignation, had +all their partial successes; and she was entrapped by many a pretence that +would have had no chance of imposing on Mr. Henderson. Still there was a +credit side to this account, wherein his name would not have figured. +There were traits of the people, which he neither could have understood or +valued. There were instincts—hard struggling efforts, fighting their +way through all the adverse circumstances of their poverty—that he +never could have estimated, much less could he have speculated on the +future to which they might one day attain. +</p> +<p> +If Mary was heart and soul devoted to her object,—if she thought of +nothing else,—if all her dreams by night and all her daily efforts +were in the cause, she was by no means insensible to the flattery which +constantly beset her. She accepted it readily and freely, laughing at what +she persuaded herself to believe was the mere exuberance of that national +taste for praise. Like most warm and impulsive natures, she was greedy of +approbation; even failure itself was consoled by a word of encomium on the +effort. She liked to be thought active, clever, and energetic. She loved +to hear the muttered voices which at any moment of difficulty said, “Faix, +Miss Mary will find the way to it;” or, “Sure it won't baffle <i>her</i>, +anyhow.” This confidence in her powers stimulated and encouraged her, +often engendering the very resources it imputed. +</p> +<p> +She might have made many a mistake in the characters of those for whom she +was interested,—conceived many a false hope,—nurtured many a +delusive expectation; but in the scheme of life she had planned out for +herself, the exalting sense of a duty more than recompensed her for every +failure: and if any existence could be called happy, it was hers,—the +glorious excitement of an open-air life, with all its movements and +animation. There was that amount of adventure and enterprise which gave a +character of romantic interest to her undertakings, and thus elevated her +to a degree of heroism to herself, and then, knowing no fatigue, she was +again in the saddle, and, straight as the crow flies, over the county to +Kyle's Wood. +</p> +<p> +A solitary cabin or two stood in the midst of the wild, bleak plain, and +by these she paused for a few minutes. The watchful eyes that followed her +as she went, and the muttered blessings that were wafted after her, +proclaimed what her mission had been, and showed how she had for a brief +space thrown a gleam of sunshine over the darksome gloom of some sad +existence. +</p> +<p> +“God bless her! she's always cheerful and light-hearted,” said the poor +peasant, as he leaned on his spade to look after her; “and one feels +better the whole day after the sight of her!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. KILKIERAN BAY +</h2> +<p> +In one of the many indentures of Kilkieran Bay,—favored by a +southerly aspect and a fine sandy beach, sheltered by two projecting +headlands,—stood a little row of cabins, originally the dwellings of +poor fishermen, but now, in summer-time, the resort of the neighboring +gentry, who frequented the coast for sea-bathing. There was little attempt +made by the humble owners to accommodate the habits of the wealthy +visitors. Some slight effort at neatness, or some modest endeavor at +internal decoration, by a little window-curtain or a rickety chest of +drawers, were the very extent of these pretensions. Year by year the +progress of civilization went thus lazily forward; and, far from finding +fault with this backwardness, it was said that the visitors were just as +well satisfied. Many hoped to see the place as they remembered it in their +own childhood, many were not sorry to avail themselves of its inexpensive +life and simple habits, and some were more pleased that its humble +attractions could draw no strangers to sojourn there to mock by their more +costly requirements the quiet ways of the old residents. +</p> +<p> +Under the shelter of a massive rock, which formed the northern boundary of +the little bay, stood one building of more pretension. It was a handsome +bathing-lodge, with a long veranda towards the sea, and an effort, not +very successful, however, at a little flower-garden in front. The spacious +bay-windows, which opened in French fashion, were of plate-glass; the deep +projecting eave was ornamented with a handsome cornice; and the entire +front had been richly decorated by entablatures in stucco and common +cement. Still, somehow, there seemed to be a spiteful resistance in the +climate to such efforts at embellishment. The wild hurricanes that swept +over the broad Atlantic were not to be withstood by the frail timbers of +the Gothic veranda. The sweeping gusts that sent foaming spray high over +the rocky cliffs shattered the costly panes, and smashed even the mullions +that held them; while fragments of carving, or pieces of stuccoed tracery, +together with broken vases and uprooted shrubs, littered the garden and +the terrace. The house was but a few years built, and yet was already +dilapidated and ruinous-looking. A stout stone wall had replaced the +trellised woodwork of one side of the porch; some of the windows were +firmly barricaded with boards on the outside; and iron cramps and other +appliances equally unsightly on the roof, showed by what means the slates +were enabled to resist the storms. +</p> +<p> +The aspect of consistent poverty never inspires ridicule. It is shabby +gentility alone that provokes the smile of sarcastic meaning; and thus the +simple dwellings of the fishermen, in all their humility, offered nothing +to the eye of critical remark. There seemed abundant absurdity in this +attempt to defy climate and aspect, place and circumstance; and every +effort to repair an accident but brought out the pretension into more +glaring contrast. The “Osprey's Nest,” as Lady Dorothea Martin had styled +her bathing-lodge, bore, indeed, but a sorry resemblance to its +water-colored emblem in the plan of the architect; for Mr. Kirk had not +only improvised a beautiful villa, with fuchsias and clematis and +moss-roses clustering on it, but he had invented an Italian sky, and given +a Lago Maggiore tint to the very Atlantic. Your fashionable architect is +indeed a finished romancer, and revels in the license of his art with a +most voluptuous abandonment. +</p> +<p> +It was now, however, late in the autumn; some warnings of the approaching +equinox had already been felt, and the leaden sky above, and the +dark-green, sullen sea beneath, above which a cold northwester swept +gustily, recalled but little of the artistic resemblance. +</p> +<p> +The short September day was drawing to a close, and it was just that +dreary interval between day and dusk, so glorious in fine weather, but so +terribly depressing in the cold ungenial season, as all the frequenters of +the little bay were hastening homeward for the night. Already a twinkling +candle or two showed that some had retired to their humble shealings to +grumble over the discomforts about them, and speculate on a speedy +departure. They who visited Kilkieran during the “season” were usually the +gentry families of the neighborhood; but as the summer wore over, their +places were occupied by a kind of “half-price company,”—shopkeepers +and smart residents of Oughterard, who waited for their pleasure till it +could be obtained economically. Of this class were now those on the +evening I have mentioned, and to a small select party of whom I now desire +to introduce my reader. +</p> +<p> +It was “Mrs. Cronan's Evening”—for the duty of host was taken in +rotation—and Mrs. Cronan was one of the leaders of fashion in +Oughterard, for she lived on her own private means, at the top of Carraway +Street, entertained Father Maher every Sunday at dinner, and took in the +“Galway Intelligence,” which, it is but fair to say, was, from inverted +letters and press blunders, about as difficult reading as any elderly lady +ever confronted. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Cronan was eminently genteel,—that is to say, she spent her +life in unceasing lamentations over the absence of certain comforts “she +was always used to,” and passed her days in continual reference to some +former state of existence, which, to hear her, seemed almost borrowed +bodily out of the “Arabian Nights.” Then there was Captain Bodkin, of the +Galway Fencibles,—a very fat, asthmatic old gentleman, who came down +to the “salt water” every summer for thirty years, fully determined to +bathe, but never able to summon courage to go in. He was a kind-hearted, +jolly old fellow, who loved strong punch and long whist, and cared very +little how the world went on, if these enjoyments were available. +</p> +<p> +Then there was Miss Busk, a very tall, thin, ghostly personage, with a +pinkish nose and a pinched lip, but whose manners were deemed the very +type of high breeding, for she courtesied or bowed at almost minute +intervals during an “Evening,” and had a variety of personal reminiscences +of the Peerage. She was of “an excellent family,” Mrs. Cronan always said; +and though reduced by circumstances, she was the Swan and Edgar of +Oughterard,—“was company for the Queen herself.” + </p> +<p> +The fourth hand in the whist-table was usually taken by Mrs. Nelligan, +wife of “Pat Nelligan,” the great shopkeeper of Oughterard, and who, +though by no means entitled on heraldic grounds to take her place in any +such exalted company, was, by the happy accident of fortune, elevated to +this proud position. Mrs. Nelligan being unwell, her place was, on the +present occasion, supplied by her son; and of him I would fain say a few +words, since the reader is destined to bear company with him when the +other personages here referred to have been long forgotten. +</p> +<p> +Joseph Nelligan was a tall, pale young fellow who, though only just passed +twenty-two, looked several years older; the serious, thoughtful expression +of his face giving the semblance of age. His head was large and massively +shaped, and the temples were strong and square, deeply indented at the +sides, and throwing the broad, high forehead into greater prominence; dark +eyes, shaded by heavy, black eyebrows, lent an almost scowling character +to a face which, regular in feature, was singularly calm and +impassive-looking. His voice was deep, low, and sonorous, and though +strongly impressed with the intonation of his native province, was +peculiarly soft, and, to Irish ears, even musical. He was, however, +remarkably silent; rarely or never conversed, as his acquaintances +understood conversation, and only when roused by some theme that he cared +for, or stimulated by some assertion that he dissented from, was he heard +to burst forth into a rapid flow of words, uttered as though under the +impulse of passion, and of which, when ended, he seemed actually to feel +ashamed himself. +</p> +<p> +He was no favorite with the society of Kilkieran; some thought him +downright stupid; others regarded him as a kind of spy upon his neighbors,—an +imputation most lavishly thrown out in every circle where there is nothing +to detect, and where all the absurdity lies palpable on the surface; and +many were heard to remark that he seemed to forget who he was, and that +“though he was a college student, he ought to remember he was only Pat +Nelligan's son.” + </p> +<p> +If he never courted their companionship, he as little resented their +estrangement from him. He spent his days and no small share of his nights +in study; books supplied to him the place of men, and in their converse he +forgot the world. His father's vanity had entered him as a Fellow-Commoner +in the University, and even this served to widen the interval between him +and those of his own age; his class-fellows regarded his presence amongst +them as an intolerable piece of low-bred presumption. Nor was this +unkindly feeling diminished when they saw him, term after term, carry away +the prizes of each examination; for equally in science as in classics was +he distinguished, till at length it became a current excuse for failure +when a man said, “I was in Nelligan's division.” + </p> +<p> +It is not impossible that his social isolation contributed much to his +success. For him there were none of the amusements which occupy those of +his own age. The very fact of his fellow-commoner's gown separated him as +widely from one set of his fellow-students as from the other, and thus was +he left alone with his ambition. As time wore on, and his successes +obtained wider notoriety, some of those in authority in the University +appeared to be disposed to make advances to him; but he retreated modestly +from these marks of notice, shrouding himself in his obscurity, and +pleading the necessity for study. At length came the crowning act of his +college career, in the examination for the gold medal; and although no +competitor was bold enough to dispute the prize with him, he was obliged +to submit to the ordeal. It is rarely that the public vouchsafes any +interest in the details of University honors; but this case proved an +exception, and almost every journal of the capital alluded in terms of +high paneygric to the splendid display he made on that occasion. +</p> +<p> +In the very midst of these triumphs, young Nelligan arrived at his +father's house in Oughterard, to enjoy the gratification his success had +diffused at home, and rest himself after his severe labors. Little as old +Pat Nelligan of his neighbors knew of University honors, or the toil which +won them, there was enough in the very publicity of his son's career to +make him a proud man. He at least knew that Joe had beaten them all; that +none could hold a candle to him; “that for nigh a century such answering +had not been heard on the bench.” This was the expression of a Dublin +journal, coupled with the partisan regret that, by the bigoted statutes of +the college, genius of such order should be denied the privilege of +obtaining a fellowship. +</p> +<p> +If young Nelligan retired, half in pride, half in bashful-ness, from the +notice of society in Dublin, he was assuredly little disposed to enter +into the gayeties and dissipations of a small country-town existence. The +fulsome adulation of some, the stupid astonishment of others, but, worse +than either, the vulgar assumption that his success was a kind of party +triumph,—a blow dealt by the plebeian against the patrician, the +Papist against the Protestant,—shocked and disgusted him, and he was +glad to leave Oughterard and accompany his mother to the seaside. She was +an invalid of some years' standing,—a poor, frail, simple-hearted +creature, who, after a long, struggling life of hardship and toil, saw +herself in affluence and comfort, and yet could not bring her mind to +believe it true. As little could she comprehend the strange fact of Joe's +celebrity; of his name figuring in newspapers, and his health being drunk +at a public dinner in his native town. To her he was invaluable; the very +tenderest of nurses, and the best of all companions. She did n't care for +books, even those of the most amusing kind; but she loved to hear the +little gossip of the place where the neighbors passed the evening; what +topics they discussed; who had left and who had arrived, and every other +little incident of their uneventful lives. Simple and easy of execution as +such an office might have been to a kindred spirit, to Joseph Nelligan it +proved no common labor. And certain it is that the mistakes he committed +in names, and the blunders he fell into as regarded events, rather +astonished his mother, and led that good lady to believe that Trinity +College must not have been fertile in genius when poor Joe was regarded as +one of the great luminaries of his time. “Ah,” would she say, “if he had +his father's head it would be telling him! but, poor boy, he remembers +nothing!” + </p> +<p> +This digression—far longer than I cared to make it, but which has +grown to its present extent under my hands—will explain young +Nelligan's presence at Mrs. Cronan's “Tea,” where already a number of +other notables had now assembled, and were gracefully dispersed through +the small rooms which formed her apartment. Play of various kinds formed +the chief amusement of the company; and while the whist-table, in decorous +gravity, held the chief place in the sitting-room, a laughing round game +occupied the kitchen, and a hardly contested “hit” of backgammon was being +fought out on the bed, where, for lack of furniture, the combatants had +established themselves. +</p> +<p> +The success of an evening party is not always proportionate to the means +employed to secure it. Very splendid <i>salons</i>, costly furniture, and +what newspapers call “all the delicacies of the season,” are occasionally +to be found in conjunction with very dull company; while a great deal of +enjoyment and much social pleasure are often to be met with where the +material resources have been of the fewest and most simple kind. On the +present occasion there was a great deal of laughing, and a fair share of +love-making; some scolding at whist, and an abundance of scandal, at least +of that cut-and-thrust-at character which amuses the speakers themselves, +and is never supposed to damage those who are the object of it. All the +company who had frequented the port—as Kilkieran was called—during +the season were passed in review, and a number of racy anecdotes +interchanged about their rank, morals, fortune, and pretensions. A very +general impression seemed to prevail that in the several points of +climate, scenery, social advantages, and amusements, Kilkieran might stand +a favorable comparison with the first watering-places, not alone of +England, but the Continent; and after various discursive reasons why its +fame had not equalled its deserts, there was an almost unanimous +declaration of opinion that the whole fault lay with the Martins; not, +indeed, that the speakers were very logical in their arguments, since some +were heard to deplore the change from the good old times, when everybody +was satisfied to live anywhere and anyhow, when there was no road to the +place but a bridle-path, not a loaf of bread to be had within twelve +miles, no post-office; while others eloquently expatiated on all that +might have been, and yet was not done. +</p> +<p> +“We tried to get up a little news-room,” said Captain Bodkin, “and I went +to Martin myself about it, but he hum'd and ha'd, and said, until people +subscribed for the Dispensary he thought they needn't mind newspapers.” + </p> +<p> +“Just like him,” said Mrs. Cronan; “but, indeed, I think it's my Lady does +it all.” + </p> +<p> +“I differ from you, ma'am,” said Miss Busk, with a bland smile; “I +attribute the inauspicious influence to another.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean Miss Martin?” said Mrs. Cronan. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, ma'am; indeed, I have reason to know I am correct. This time two +years it was I went over to Cro' Martin House to propose opening 'my +Emporium' for the season at the port. I thought it was due to the owners +of the estate, and due to myself also,” added Miss Busk, majestically, “to +state my views about a measure so intimately associated with the—the—in +fact, what I may call the interests of civilization. I had just received +my plates of the last fashions from Dublin,—you may remember them, +ma'am; I showed them to you at Mrs. Cullenane's—well, when I was in +the very middle of my explanation, who should come into the room but Miss +Martin—” + </p> +<p> +“Dressed in the old brown riding-habit?” interposed a fat old lady with +one eye. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mrs. Few, in the old brown riding-habit. She came up to the table, +with a saucy laugh in her face, and said, 'Why, uncle, are you going to +give a fancy ball?' +</p> +<p> +“'It is the last arrival from Paris, miss,' said I; 'the Orleans mantle, +which, though not a “costume de Chasse,” is accounted very becoming.' +</p> +<p> +“'Ah, you 're laughing at my old habit, Miss Busk,' said she, seeing how I +eyed her; 'and it really is very shabby, but I intend to give Dan Leary a +commission to replace it one of these days.'” + </p> +<p> +“Dan Leary, of the Cross-roads!” exclaimed Captain Bodkin, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I pledge you my word of honor, sir, she said it. 'And as to all this +finery, Miss Busk,' said she, turning over the plates with her whip, 'it +would be quite unsuitable to our country, our climate, and our habits; not +to say, that the Orleans mantle would be worn with an ill grace when our +people are going half naked!'” + </p> +<p> +“Positively indecent! downright indelicate!” shuddered Mrs. Cronan. +</p> +<p> +“And did Martin agree with her?” asked the Captain. +</p> +<p> +“I should like to know when he dared to do otherwise. Why, between my lady +and the niece he can scarcely call his life his own.” + </p> +<p> +“They say he has a cruel time of it,” sighed Mr. Clinch, the +revenue-officer, who had some personal experience of domestic slavery. +</p> +<p> +“Tush,—nonsense!” broke in his wife. “I never knew one of those +hen-pecked creatures that was n't a tyrant in his family. I 'll engage, if +the truth were known, Lady Dorothy has the worst of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith, and he's much altered from what he was when a boy, if any one +rules him,” said the captain. “I was at school with him and his +twin-brother Barry. I remember the time when one of them had to wear a bit +of red ribbon in his button-hole to distinguish him from the other. They +were the born images of each other,—that is, in looks; for in real +character they were n't a bit like. Godfrey was a cautious, quiet, careful +chap that looked after his pocket-money, and never got into scrapes; and +Barry was a wasteful devil that made the coin fly, and could be led by any +one. I think he 'd have given his life for his brother any day. I remember +once when Godfrey would n't fight a boy,—I forget what it was about; +Barry stole the bit of ribbon out of his coat, and went up and fought in +his place; and a mighty good thrashing he got, too.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard my father speak of that,” said a thin, pale, careworn little +man in green spectacles; “for the two boys were taken away at once, and it +was the ruin of the school.” + </p> +<p> +“So it was, doctor; you're right there,” broke in the Captain; “and they +say that Martin bears a grudge against you to this day.” + </p> +<p> +“That would be hard,” sighed the meek doctor; “for I had nothing to do +with it, or my father, either. But it cost him dearly!” added he, +mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“You know best, doctor, whether it is true or not; but he certainly was +n't your friend when you tried for the Fever Hospital.” + </p> +<p> +“That was because Pat Nelligan was on my committee,” said the doctor. +</p> +<p> +“And was that sufficient to lose you Mr. Martin's support, sir?” asked +young Nelligan, with a degree of astonishment in his face, that, joined to +the innocence of the question, caused a general burst of hearty laughter. +</p> +<p> +“The young gentleman knows more about <i>cubic</i> sections, it appears, +than of what goes on in his own town,” said the Captain. “Why, sir, your +father is the most independent man in all Oughterard; and if I know +Godfrey Martin, he 'd give a thousand guineas this night to have him out +of it.” + </p> +<p> +A somewhat animated “rally” followed this speech, in which different +speakers gave their various reasons why Martin ought or ought not to make +any sacrifice to put down the spirit of which Pat Nelligan was the chief +champion. These arguments were neither cogent nor lucid enough to require +repeating; nor did they convey to Joseph himself, with all his anxiety for +information, the slightest knowledge on the subject discussed. Attention +was, however, drawn off the theme by the clattering sound of a horse +passing along the shingly shore at a smart gallop; and with eager +curiosity two or three rushed to the door to see what it meant. A swooping +gust of wind and rain, overturning chairs and extinguishing candles, drove +them suddenly back again; and, half laughing at the confusion, half +cursing the weather, the party barricaded the door, and returned to their +places. +</p> +<p> +“Of course it was Miss Martin; who else would be out at this time of the +night?” said Mrs. Clinch. +</p> +<p> +“And without a servant!” exclaimed Miss Busk. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, you may well make the remark, ma'am,” said Mrs. Cronan. “The +young lady was brought up in a fashion that was n't practised in my time!” + </p> +<p> +“Where could she have been down that end of the port, I wonder?” said Mrs. +Clinch. “She came up from Garra Cliff.” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe she came round by the strand,” said the doctor; “if she did, I +don't think there 's one here would like to have followed her.” + </p> +<p> +“I would n't be her horse!” said one; “nor her groom!” muttered another; +and thus, gradually lashing themselves into a wild indignation, they +opened, at last, a steady fire upon the young lady,—her habits, her +manners, and her appearance all coming in for a share of criticism; and +although a few modest amendments were put in favor of her horsemanship and +her good looks, the motion was carried that no young lady ever took such +liberties before, and that the meeting desired to record their strongest +censure on the example thus extended to their own young people. +</p> +<p> +If young Nelligan ventured upon a timid question of what it was she had +done, he was met by an eloquent chorus of half a dozen voices, recounting +mountain excursions which no young lady had ever made before; distant +spots visited, dangers incurred, storms encountered, perils braved, +totally unbecoming to her in her rank of life, and showing that she had no +personal respect, nor—as Miss Busk styled it—“a proper sense +of the dignity of woman!” + </p> +<p> +“'T was down at Mrs. Nelligan's, ma'am, Miss Mary was,” said Mrs. Cronan's +maid, who had been despatched special to make inquiry on the subject. +</p> +<p> +“At my mother's!” exclaimed Joseph, reddening, without knowing in the +least why. And now a new diversion occurred, while all discussed every +possible and impossible reason for this singular fact, since the family at +the “Nest” maintained no intercourse whatever with their neighbors, not +even seeming, by any act of their lives, to acknowledge their very +existence. +</p> +<p> +Young Nelligan took the opportunity to make his escape during the debate; +and as the society offers nothing very attractive to detain us, it will be +as well if we follow him, while he hastened homeward along the dark and +storm-lashed beach. He had about a mile to go, and, short as was this +distance, it enabled him to think over what he had just heard, strange and +odd as it seemed to his ears. Wholly given up, as he had been for years +past, to the ambition of a college life, with but one goal before his +eyes, one class of topics engrossing his thoughts, he had never even +passingly reflected on the condition of parties, the feuds of opposing +factions, and, stronger than either, the animosities that separated social +ranks in Ireland. Confounding the occasional slights he had experienced by +virtue of his class, with the jealousy caused by his successes, he had +totally overlooked the disparagement men exhibited towards the son of the +little country shopkeeper, and never knew of his disqualification for a +society whose precincts he had not tried to pass. The littleness, the +unpurpose-like vacuity, the intense vulgarity of his Oughterard friends +had disgusted him, it is true; but he had yet to learn that the foolish +jealousy of their wealthy neighbor was a trait still less amiable, and +ruminating over these problems,—knottier far to him than many a +complex formula or many a disputed reading of a Greek play,—he at +last reached the solitary little cabin where his mother lived. +</p> +<p> +It is astonishing how difficult men of highly cultivated and actively +practised minds find it to comprehend the little turnings and windings of +commonplace life, the jealousies and the rivalries of small people. They +search for motives where there are merely impulses, and look for reasons +when there are simple passions. +</p> +<p> +It was only as he lifted the latch that he remembered how deficient he was +in all the information his mother would expect from him. Of the fortunes +of the whist-table he actually knew nothing; and had he been interrogated +as to the “toilette” of the party, his answers would have betrayed a +lamentable degree of ignorance. Fortunately for him, his mother did not +display her habitual anxiety on these interesting themes. She neither +asked after the Captain's winnings,—he was the terror of the party,—nor +whether Miss Busk astonished the company by another new gown. Poor Mrs. +Nelligan was too brimful of another subject to admit of one particle of +extraneous matter to occupy her. With a proud consciousness, however, of +her own resources, she affected to have thoughts for other things, and +asked Joe if he passed a pleasant day? +</p> +<p> +“Yes, very—middling—quite so—rather stupid, I thought,” + replied he, in his usual half-connected manner, when unable to attach his +mind to the question before him. +</p> +<p> +“Of, course, my dear, it's very unlike what you 're used to up in Dublin, +though I believe that Captain Bodkin, when he goes there, always dines +with the Lord-Lieutenant; and Miss Busk, I know, is second cousin to Ram +of Swainestown, and there is nothing better than that in Ireland. I say +this between ourselves, for your father can't bear me to talk of family or +connections, though I am sure I was always brought up to think a great +deal about good blood; and if my father was a Finnerty, my mother was a +Moore of Crockbawn, and her family never looked at her for marrying my +father.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said Joe, in a dreamy semi-consciousness. +</p> +<p> +“It's true what I 'm telling you. She often said it to me herself, and +told me what a blessing it was, through all her troubles and trials in +life; and she had her share of them, for my father was often in drink, and +very cruel at times. 'It supports me,' she used to say, 'to remember who I +am, and the stock I came from, and to know that there 's not one belonging +to me would speak to me, nor look at the same side of the road with me, +after what I done; and, Matty,' said she to me, 'if ever it happens to you +to marry a man beneath you in life, always bear in mind that, no matter +how he treats you, you 're better than him.' And, indeed, it's a great +support and comfort to one's feelings, after all,” said she, with a deep +sigh. +</p> +<p> +“I'm certain of it,” muttered Joe, who had not followed one word of the +harangue. +</p> +<p> +“But mind that you never tell your father so. Indeed, I would n't let on +to him what happened this evening.” + </p> +<p> +“What was that?” asked the young man, roused by the increased anxiety of +her manner. +</p> +<p> +“It was a visit I had, my dear,” replied the old lady, with a simpering +consciousness that she had something to reveal,—“it was a visit I +had paid me, and by an elegant young lady, too.” + </p> +<p> +“A young lady? Not Miss Cassidy, mother. I think she left yesterday +morning.” + </p> +<p> +“No, indeed, my dear. Somebody very different from Miss Cassidy; and you +might guess till you were tired before you 'd think of Miss Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Martin!” echoed Joe. +</p> +<p> +“Exactly so. Miss Martin of Cro' Martin; and the way it happened was this. +I was sitting here alone in the room after my tea,—for I sent Biddy +out to borrow the 'Intelligence' for me; and then comes a sharp knock to +the door, and I called out, 'Come in;' but instead of doing so there was +another rapping, louder than before, and I said, 'Bother you, can't you +lift the latch?' and then I heard something like a laugh, and so I went +out; and you may guess the shame I felt as I saw a young lady fastening +the bridle of her horse to the bar of the window. 'Mrs. Nelli-gan, I +believe,' said she, with a smile and a look that warmed my heart to her at +once; and as I courtesied very low, she went on. I forget, indeed, the +words,—whether she said she was Miss Martin, or it was I that asked +the question; but I know she came in with me to the room, and sat down +where you are sitting now. 'Coming back from Kyle's Wood this morning,' +said she, 'I overtook poor Billy with the post. He was obliged to go two +miles out of his way to ford the river; and what with waiting for the +mail, which was late in coming, and what with being wet through, he was +completely knocked up; so I offered to take the bag for him, and send it +over to-morrow by one of our people. But the poor fellow would n't +consent, because he was charged with something of consequence for you,—a +small bottle of medicine. Of course I was only too happy to take this +also, Mrs. Nelligan, and here it is.' And with that she put it on the +table, where you see it. I 'm sure I never knew how to thank her enough +for her good nature, but I said all that I could think of, and told her +that my son was just come back from college, after getting the gold +medal.” + </p> +<p> +“You did n't speak of that, mother,” said he, blushing till his very +forehead was crimson. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, then, I did, Joe; and I 'd like to know why I would n't. Is it a +shame or a disgrace to us! At any rate, <i>she</i> didn't think so, for +she said, 'You must be very proud of him;' and I told her so I was, and +that he was as good as he was clever; and, moreover, that the newspapers +said the time was coming when men like young Nelligan would soar their way +up to honors and distinctions in spite of the oppressive aristocracy that +so long had combined to degrade them.” + </p> +<p> +“Good Heavens! mother, you could n't have made such a speech as that?” + cried he, in a voice of downright misery. +</p> +<p> +“Did n't I, then? And did n't she say, if there were any such oppression +as could throw obstacles in the way of deserving merit, she heartily hoped +it might prove powerless; and then she got up to wish me good-evening. I +thought, at first, a little stiffly,—that is, more haughty in her +manner than at first; but when I arose to see her out, and she saw I was +lame, she pressed me down into my chair, and said, in such a kind voice, +'You must n't stir, my dear Mrs. Nelligan. I, who can find my road over +half of the county, can surely discover my way to the door.' 'Am I ever +like to have the happiness of seeing you again, miss?' said I, as I held +her hand in mine. 'Certainly, if it would give you the very slightest +pleasure,' said she, pressing my hand most cordially; and with that we +parted. Indeed, I scarce knew she was gone, when I heard the clattering of +the horse over the shingle; for she was away in a gallop, dark as the +night was. Maybe,” added the old lady, with a sigh,—“maybe, I 'd +have thought it was all a dream if it was n't that I found that glove of +hers on the floor; she dropped it, I suppose, going out.” + </p> +<p> +Young Nelligan took up the glove with a strange feeling of bashful +reverence. It was as though he was touching a sacred relic; and he stood +gazing on it steadfastly for some seconds. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll send it over to the house by Biddy, with my compliments, and to +know how the family is, in the morning,” said Mrs. Nelligan, with the air +of one who knew the value of conventional usages. +</p> +<p> +“And she 'll make some stupid blunder or other,” replied Joe, impatiently, +“that will cover us all with shame. No, mother, I 'd rather go with it +myself than that.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure, and why not?” said Mrs. Nelligan. “There 's no reason why <i>you</i> +should be taking up old quarrels against the Martins; for <i>my</i> part, +I never knew the country so pleasant as it used to be long ago, when we +used to get leave to go picnicking on the grounds of Cro' Martin, up to +the Hermitage, as they called it; and now the gates are locked and barred +like a jail, and nobody allowed in without a ticket.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I'll go myself with it,” said Joe, who heard nothing of his mother's +remark, but was following out the tract of his own speculations. As little +did he attend to the various suggestions she threw out for his guidance +and direction, the several topics to which he might, and those to which he +must not, on any account, allude. +</p> +<p> +“Not a word, for your life, Joe, about the right of pathway to Clune +Abbey, and take care you say nothing about the mill-race at Glandaff, nor +the shooting in Kyle's Wood. And if by any chance there should be a talk +about the tolls at Oughterard, say you never heard of them before. Make +out, in fact,” said she, summing up, “as if you never heard of a county +where there was so much good-will and kindness between the people; and +sure it is n't your fault if it's not true!” And with this philosophic +reflection Mrs. Nelligan wished her son good-night, and retired. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. AN AUTUMN MORNING IN THE WEST +</h2> +<p> +The Osprey's Nest was, I have said, like a direct challenge hurled at the +face of western gales and Atlantic storms. With what success, its aspect +of dilapidation and decay but too plainly betrayed. The tangled seaweed +that hung in dripping festoons over the porch, the sea-shells that rattled +against the window-panes, seemed like an angry denunciation of the attempt +to brave the elements by the mere appliances of ease and luxury. +</p> +<p> +It was better, however, in the inside, where, in a roomy apartment, most +comfortably furnished, a lady and gentleman sat at breakfast. The table +stood in a little projection of the room, admitting of a wide sea-view +over the bay and the distant islands of Lettermullen, but as carefully +excluded all prospect of the port,—a locality which held no high +place in the esteem of the lady of the house, and which, by ignoring, she +half fancied she had annihilated. Wild promontories of rocks, jutting out +here and there, broke the coast line, and marked the shore with a foaming +stream of white water, as the ever-restless sea dashed over them. The long +booming swell of the great ocean bounded into many a rocky cavern, with a +loud report like thunder, and issued forth again with a whole cataract of +falling stones, that rattled like the crash of small-arms. It was +unceasing, deafening clamor in the midst of death-like desolation. +</p> +<p> +Let me, however, turn once more to the scene within, and present the +living elements to my reader. They were both past the prime of life. The +lady might still be called handsome; her features were perfectly regular, +and finely cut, bearing the impress of a proud and haughty spirit that +never quailed beneath the conflict of a long life, and even yet showed a +firm front to fortune. Her hair was white as snow; and as she wore it +drawn back, after the fashion of a bygone time, it gave her the air of a +fine lady of the old French Court, in all the pomp of powder and pomatum. +Nor did her dress correct the impression, since the deep falls of lace +that covered her hands, the lengthy stomacher, and trailing folds of her +heavy brocade gown, all showed a lurking fondness for the distinctive +toilette of that era. Lady Dorothea Martin had been a beauty and an earl's +daughter; two facts that not even the seclusion of the wild west could +erase from her memory. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Martin himself was no unworthy “pendant” to this portrait. He was tall +and stately, with a lofty forehead, and temples finely and well fashioned; +while full, deep-set blue eyes of the very sternest determination, and a +mouth, every line of which betrayed firmness, gave the character to a face +that also could expand into the most genial good-fellowship, and become at +times the symbol of a pleasant and convivial Irish gentleman. In his youth +he had been a beau of the Court of Versailles. Scandal had even coupled +his name with that of Marie Antoinette; and more truthful narratives +connected him with some of the most extravagant adventures of that +profligate and brilliant period. After a career of the wildest dissipation +and excess, he had married, late in life, the daughter of the Earl of +Exmere, one of the proudest and poorest names in the British Peerage. Two +or three attempts to shine in the world of London,—not as successful +as they were expected to have proved,—an effort at ascendancy in +Irish political life, also a failure, coupled with disappointment on the +score of an only brother, who had married beneath him, and was reputed to +have “lost himself,” seemed to have disgusted Godfrey Martin with the +world, and he had retired to his lonely mansion in the west, which now for +eighteen years he had scarcely quitted for a single day. +</p> +<p> +His only son had joined a cavalry regiment in India a few years before the +period our story opens, and which, I may now state, dates for about four +or five and twenty years back; but his family included a niece, the only +child of his brother, and whose mother had died in giving her birth. +</p> +<p> +Between Mr. Martin and Lady Dorothea, as they sat at breakfast, little +conversation passed. He occupied himself with the newly arrived +newspapers, and she perused a mass of letters which had just come by that +morning's post; certain scraps of the intelligence gleaned from either of +these sources forming the only subjects of conversation between them. +</p> +<p> +“So they have resolved to have a new Parliament. I knew it would come to +that; I always said so; and, as usual, the dissolution finds us +unprepared.” + </p> +<p> +“Plantagenet's regiment is ordered to Currachee, wherever that may be,” + said Lady Dorothea, languidly. +</p> +<p> +“Call him Harry, and we shall save ourselves some trouble in discussing +him,” replied he, pettishly. “At all events, he cannot possibly be here in +time for the contest; and we must, I suppose, give our support to +Kilmorris again.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you mean, after his conduct about the harbor, and the shameful way he +sneaked out of the Port Martin project?” + </p> +<p> +“Find anything better, madam; there is the difficulty. Kilmorris is a +gentleman, and no Radical; and, as times go, these are rather rare +qualities.” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Sarah Upton's match is off,” said Lady Dorothea, reading from a note +beside her. “Sir Joseph insisted upon the uncontrolled possession of all +her Staffordshire property.” + </p> +<p> +“And perfectly right.” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly wrong to give it to him.” + </p> +<p> +“A fool if he married without it.” + </p> +<p> +“A mean creature she, to accept him on such terms.” + </p> +<p> +“The woman is eight-and-thirty,—if not more. I remember her at +Tunbridge. Let me see, what year was it?” + </p> +<p> +“I detest dates, and abhor chronologies. Reach me the marmalade,” said +Lady Dorothea, superciliously. +</p> +<p> +“What's this balderdash here from the 'Galway Indicator'? 'The haughty and +insolent, aye, and ignorant aristocracy will have to swallow a bitter +draught erelong; and such petty despots as Martin of Cro' Martin will +learn that the day is gone by for their ascendancy in this county.' +</p> +<p> +“They tell me we have a law of libel in the land; and yet see how this +scoundrel can dare to drag me by name before the world; and I 'll wager a +thousand pounds I 'd fail to get a verdict against him if I prosecuted him +to-morrow,” said Martin, as he dashed the newspaper to the ground, and +stamped his foot upon it. “We are constantly reading diatribes about +absentee landlords, and the evils of neglected property; but I ask, what +inducements are there held out to any gentleman to reside on his estate, +if every petty scribbler of the press can thus attack and assail him with +impunity?” + </p> +<p> +“Is that Mary I see yonder?” asked Lady Dorothea, languidly, as she lifted +her double eye-glass, and then suffered it to fall from her fingers. +</p> +<p> +“So it is, by Jove!” cried Martin, springing up, and approaching the +window. “I wish she 'd not venture out in that small boat in this +treacherous season. What a swell there is, too! The wind is from the sea.” + </p> +<p> +“She's coming in, I fancy,” drawled out Lady Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“How is she to do it, though?” exclaimed he, hurriedly; “the sea is +breaking clear over the piers of the harbor. I can only see one man in the +boat. What rashness! what folly! There, look, they're standing out to sea +again!” And now, throwing open the window, Martin stepped out on the +rocks, over which the white foam flashed by like snow. “What are they at, +Peter? What are they trying to do?” cried he to an old fisherman, who, +with the coil of a net he was just mending on his arm, had now come down +to the shore to watch the boat. +</p> +<p> +“They 're doing right, your honor,” said he, touching his cap +respectfully. “'Tis Loony my Lady has in the boat, and there's no better +man in trouble! He's just going to beat out a bit, and then he 'll run in +under the shelter of the blue rocks. Faix, she 's a fine boat, then, for +her size,—look at her now!” + </p> +<p> +But Martin had covered his eyes with his hand, while his lips murmured and +moved rapidly. +</p> +<p> +“May I never, but they 're letting out the reef!” screamed the old man in +terror. +</p> +<p> +“More sail, and in such a sea!” cried Martin, in a voice of horror. +</p> +<p> +“Aye, and right, too,” said the fisherman, after a pause; “she 's rising +lighter over the sea, and steers better, besides. It's Miss Mary has the +tiller,” added the old fellow, with a smile. “I 'll lay a shilling she 's +singing this minute.” + </p> +<p> +“You think so,” said Martin, glad to catch at this gleam of confidence. +</p> +<p> +“I know it well, your honor. I remember one day, off Lettermullen, it was +worse than this. Hurrah!” screamed he out suddenly; “she took in a great +sea that time!” + </p> +<p> +“Get out a boat, Peter, at once; what are we standing here for?” cried +Martin, angrily. “Man a boat this instant.” + </p> +<p> +“Sure no boat could get out to sea with this wind, sir,” remonstrated the +old man, mildly; “she'd never leave the surf if she had forty men at her!” + </p> +<p> +“Then what's to be done?” + </p> +<p> +“Just let them alone; themselves two know as well what to do as any pair +in Ireland, and are as cool besides. There, now, she 's putting her about, +as I said, and she 'll run for the creek.” The frail boat, a mere speck +upon the dark green ocean, seemed now to fly, as with a slackened sheet +she darted over the water. Her course was bent for a little cove concealed +from view by a rugged promontory of rock, up which the old fisherman now +clambered with the alacrity of a younger man. Martin tried to follow; but +overcome by emotion, he was unable, and sat down upon a ledge of rock, +burying his face within his hands. +</p> +<p> +By this time the whole fishing population of the little village had +gathered on the beach around the cove, to watch the boat as she came in; +numbers had gone out to meet her, and stood up to their waists in the +white and boiling surf, ready to seize upon the skiff and run her high and +dry upon the sand. Even they were obliged to be lashed together by a rope, +lest the receding waves should carry them out to sea, or the “under tow” + suck them beneath the surface. As the boat came within speaking distance, +a wild shout arose from the shore to “down sail” and suffer her to come in +on her way alone; but with all the canvas spread, they came flying along, +scarce seeming more than to tip the waves as they skipped over them, while +a shower of spray appeared to cover them as the sea broke upon the stern. +Instead of rendering aid, the utmost the fishermen could do was to clear a +path amongst them for the skiff to pass, as with lightning speed she +flitted by and drove her bow high up on the hard beach. +</p> +<p> +A wild, glad cheer of joy and welcome burst from the hearty fishermen as +they crowded about the young girl, who stepped out of the boat with a +heavy bundle in her arms. Her hair hung in great masses over her neck and +shoulders, her cheeks were flushed, and her dark eyes gleamed with all the +excitement of peril and triumph. +</p> +<p> +“Here, Margaret,” said she to a young woman, who, pale with terror and +with face streaming in tears, rushed towards her,—“here 's your +little fellow, all safe and sound; I 'd not have put back but for his +sake.” And with this she placed in his mother's arms a little boy of about +three years of age, sound asleep. “He must wait for better weather if he +wants to see his grandmother. And,” added she, laughing, “I scarcely think +you 'll catch me going to sea again with so precious a cargo. Poor little +man!” and she patted his ruddy cheeks; “he behaved so well, like a stout +fisherman's son as he is,—never showed fear for a moment.” + </p> +<p> +A murmur of delighted hearts ran through the crowd; some thinking of the +child, but many more in warm admiration of the brave and beautiful young +girl before them. “Loony,” said she to her boatman, “when you 've got the +tackle to rights, come up to the house for your breakfast.” And with that, +and a few words of grateful recognition as she passed, she clambered up +the rock and hastened homeward. +</p> +<p> +As for her uncle, no sooner had he heard of her safe arrival on shore than +he hurried back, anxious to reach the house before her. For a considerable +time back Martin had schooled himself into an apparent indifference about +his niece's perils. Lady Dorothea had probably given the initiative to +this feeling by constantly asserting that the young lady would incur few +risks when they ceased to create alarm. +</p> +<p> +It was a somewhat ungracious theory, and excited in Martin's mind, when he +first heard it, a sensation the very reverse of agreeable. Without +accepting its truth, however, it made a deep impression upon him, and at +last, by way of policy, he resolved to feign a degree of callous +indifference very foreign to his nature; and, by dint of mere habit, he at +length acquired a semblance of calm under circumstances that sorely tested +his powers of self-control. +</p> +<p> +“Has the heroine arrived safe on shore?” asked Lady Dorothea in her own +languid drawl. And Martin almost started at the question, and seemed for a +moment as if the indignation it excited could not be repressed; then +smiling superciliously at the impassive air of her features, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and by rare good luck, too! The sea is a terrific one this morning!” + </p> +<p> +“Is it ever anything else in this heavenly climate?” said she, sighing. “I +have counted two fine days since the 8th of June; and, indeed, it rained a +little on one of them.” + </p> +<p> +Martin winced impatiently under the remark, but never lifted his eyes from +the newspaper. +</p> +<p> +“I had hoped your niece was making arrangements for our return to Cro' +Martin,” said she, querulously, “instead of planning marine excursions. I +told her yesterday, or the day before,—I forget which; but who could +remember time in such a place?—that I was bored to death here. The +observation seems to amuse you, Mr. Martin; but it is a simple fact.” + </p> +<p> +“And you are bored to death at Cro' Martin, too, if I mistake not?” said +he, with a very significant dryness. +</p> +<p> +“I should think I was, sir; and nothing very astonishing in the +confession, besides.” + </p> +<p> +“And Dublin, madam?” + </p> +<p> +“Don't speak of it. If one must endure prison discipline, at least let us +have a cell to ourselves. Good-morning, Miss Martin. I hope you enjoyed +your party on the water?” + </p> +<p> +This speech was addressed to Mary, who now entered the room dressed in a +plain morning costume, and in her quiet, almost demure look resembling in +nothing the dripping and dishevelled figure that sprung from the boat. +</p> +<p> +“Good-morning, aunt,” said she, gayly. “Good-morning, uncle,” kissing, as +she spoke, his cheek, and patting him fondly on the shoulder. “I saw you +out on the rocks as we were coming in.” + </p> +<p> +“Pooh, pooh!” said he, in affected indifference. “I knew there was no +danger—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, but there was, though,” said she, quickly. “If we had n't set all +sail on her, she 'd have been pooped to a certainty; and I can tell you I +was in a rare fright, too.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, indeed; you confess to such an ignoble emotion?” said Lady Dorothea, +with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“That I do, aunt, for I had poor Madge Lennan's little boy on my lap all +the time; and if it came to a swim, I don't see how he was to be saved.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'd not have left him to his fate, I suppose?” said Lady Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely know what I should have done. I sincerely hope it would have +been my best; but in a moment like that, within sight of home, too—” + Her eyes met her uncle's as she said this; he had raised them from his +newspaper, and bent them fully on her. There was that in their expression +which appealed so strongly to her heart that instead of finishing her +speech she sprung towards him and threw her arms around his neck. +</p> +<p> +“Quite a scene; and I detest scenes,” said Lady Dorothen, as she arose and +swept out of the room contemptuously; but they neither heard the remark +nor noticed her departure. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. MAURICE SCANLAN, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. +</h2> +<p> +About an hour after the occurrence mentioned in our last chapter, the +quiet little village of Kilkieran was startled by the sharp clattering +sounds of horses' feet, as Mr. Scanlan's tandem came slinging along; and +after various little dexterities amid stranded boats, disabled anchors, +and broken capstans, drew up at the gate of the Osprey's Nest. When men +devise their own equipage, they invariably impart to it a strong infusion +of their own idiosyncrasy. The quiet souls who drag through life in +chocolate-colored barouches, with horses indifferently matched, give no +clew to their special characteristics; but your men of tax-carts and +tandems, your Jehus of four-in-hand teams, write their own biographies in +every detail of the “turn-out.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/068.jpg" width="100%" alt="068 " /> +</div> +<p> +Maurice Scanlan was a sporting attorney, and from the group of game cocks +neatly painted on the hind panel, to the wiry, well-bred, and well-looking +screws before him, all was indicative of the man. The conveyance was high +and red-wheeled; the nags were a chestnut and a gray; he drove them +without winkers or bearing-reins, wearing his white hat a very little on +ope side, and gracefully tilting his elbow as he admonished the wheeler +with the “crop” of his whip. He was a good-looking, showy, vulgar, +self-sufficient kind of fellow, with consummate shrewdness in all business +transactions, only marred by one solitary weak point,—an intense +desire to be received intimately by persons of a station above his own, +and to seem, at least, to be the admitted guest of very fashionable +society. It was not a very easy matter to know if this Lord-worship of his +was real, or merely affected, since, certainly, the profit he derived from +the assumption was very considerable, and Maurice was intrusted with a +variety of secret-service transactions, and private affairs for the +nobility, which they would never have dreamed of committing to the hands +of their more recognized advisers. +</p> +<p> +If men would have been slow to engage his services in any grave or +important suit, he was invaluable in all the ordinary and constantly +occurring events of this changeful world. He knew every one's difficulties +and embarrassments. There was not a hitch in a settlement, nor a spavin in +your stables, could escape him. He seemed to possess a kind of intuitive +appreciation of a flaw; and he pounced upon a defect with a rapidity that +counterfeited genius. To these gifts he added a consummate knowledge of +his countrymen. He had emerged from the very humblest class of the people, +and he knew them thoroughly; with all their moods of habitual distrust and +momentary enthusiasm,—with all their phases of sanguine hopefulness +he was familiar; and he could mould and fashion and weld them to his will, +as passive subjects as the heated bar under the hammer of the smith. +</p> +<p> +As an electioneering agent he was unequalled. It was precisely the sphere +in which his varied abilities were best exercised; and it was, besides, an +arena in which he was proud of figuring. +</p> +<p> +For a while he seemed—at least in his own eyes—to stand on a +higher eminence than the candidate he represented, and to be a more +prominent and far grander personage than his principal. In fact, it was +only under some tacit acknowledgment of this temporary supremacy that his +services were obtainable; his invariable stipulation being that he was to +have the entire and uncontrolled direction of the election. +</p> +<p> +Envious tongues and ungenerous talkers did, indeed, say that Maurice +insisted upon this condition with very different objects in view, and that +his unlimited powers found their pleasantest exercise in the inexplorable +realms of secret bribery; however, it is but fair to say that he was +eminently successful, and that one failure alone in his whole career +occurred to show the proverbial capriciousness of fortune. +</p> +<p> +With the little borough of Oughterard he had become so identified that his +engagement was regarded as one of the first elements of success. Hitherto, +indeed, the battle had been always an easy one. The Liberal party—as +they pleasantly assumed to style themselves—had gone no further in +opposition than an occasional burst of intemperate language, and an effort—usually +a failure—at a street row during the election. So little of either +energy or organization had marked their endeavors, that the great leader +of the day had stigmatized their town with terms of heavy censure, and +even pronounced them unworthy of the cause. An emissary, deputed to report +upon the political state of the borough, had described the voters as mere +dependants on the haughty purse-proud proprietor of Cro' Martin, who +seemed, even without an effort, to nominate the sitting member. +</p> +<p> +The great measure of the year '29—the Catholic Relief Bill—had +now, however, suggested to even more apathetic constituencies the prospect +of a successful struggle. The thought of being represented by “one of +their own sort” was no mean stimulant to exertion; and the leading spirits +of the place had frequently conferred together as to what steps should be +taken to rescue the borough from the degrading thraldom of an aristocratic +domination. Lord Kilmorris, it is true, was rather popular with them than +the reverse. The eldest son of an Earl, who only cared to sit in +Parliament on easy terms, till the course of time and events should call +him to the Upper House, he never took any very decided political line, but +sat on Tory benches and gave an occasional vote to Liberal measures, as +though foreshadowing that new school who were to take the field under the +middle designation of Conservatives. Some very remote relationship to Lady +Dorothea's family had first introduced him to the Martins' notice; and +partly from this connection, and partly because young Harry Martin was too +young to sit in Parliament, they had continued to support him to the +present time. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Martin himself cared very little for politics; had he even cared more, +he would not have sacrificed to them one jot of that indolent, lazy, +apathetic existence which alone he seemed to prize. He was rather grateful +than otherwise to Lord Kilmorris for taking upon him the trouble of a +contest, if there should be such a thing. His greatest excuse through +life, at least to himself, had ever been that he was “unprepared.” He had +been in that unhappy state about everything since he was born, and so, +apparently, was he destined to continue to the very last. With large +resources, he was never prepared for any sudden demand for money. When +called on for any exertion of mind or body, when asked to assist a friend +or rescue a relation from difficulty, he was quite unprepared; and so +convinced was he that this was a fatality under which he labored, that no +sooner had he uttered the expression than he totally absolved himself from +every shadow of reproach that might attach to his luke-warmness. +</p> +<p> +The uncontrolled position he occupied, joined to the solitary isolation in +which he lived, had doubtless engendered this cold and heartless theory. +There was no one to dispute his will,—none to gainsay his opinions. +There was not for him any occasion for the healthful exertion which is +evoked by opposition, and he sunk gradually down into a moping, listless, +well-meaning, but utterly good-for-nothing gentleman, who would have been +marvellously amazed had any one arraigned him for neglect of his station +and its great requirements. +</p> +<p> +That such an insolent possibility could be, was only demonstrated to him +in that morning's newspaper. To be called a despot was bad enough, but a +petty despot,—and to be told that such despotism was already doomed—aroused +in him a degree of indignation all the more painful that the sensation was +one he had not experienced for many a year back. Whose fault was it that +such an impertinence had ever been uttered? Doubtless, Kilmorris's. Some +stupid speech, some absurd vote, some ridiculous party move had brought +down this attack upon him; or perhaps it was Mary, with her new-fangled +ideas about managing the estate, her school-houses, and her model-farms. +The ignorant people had possibly revolted against her interference; or it +might be Lady Dorothea herself, whose haughty manner had given offence; at +all events, <i>he</i> was blameless, and strange to say, either he was not +perfectly assured of the fact, or that the assumption was not pleasant, +but he seemed very far from being satisfied with the explanation. In the +agitated mood these feelings produced, a servant came to inform him that +Mr. Scanlan had just arrived. +</p> +<p> +“Say I 'm out—I 'm unwell—I don't feel quite myself to-day. +Call Miss Mary to him.” And with an impatient gesture he motioned the +servant away. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Mary will be down in a few minutes, sir,” said the man, entering the +room where Mr. Scanlan stood arranging his whiskers before the +chimney-glass, and contemplating with satisfaction his general appearance. +</p> +<p> +“It was Mr. Martin himself, Thomas, that I wanted to see.” + </p> +<p> +“I know that, sir, but the Master is n't well this morning; he told me to +send Miss Mary to you.” + </p> +<p> +“All right,” said Scanlan, giving a finishing touch to the tie of his +cravat, and then gracefully bestowing his person into an easy-chair. To +common observation he looked perfectly unconcerned in every gesture, and +yet no man felt less at his ease at that moment than Mr. Maurice Scanlan; +and though the cause involves something like a secret, the reader shall +know it. Mr. Scanlan had seen a good deal of the world—that is, of +<i>his</i> world. He had mixed with barristers and solicitors, “Silk +Gowns,” masters in Chancery, and even puisne judges had he come into +contact with; he had mingled in turf experiences with certain sporting +lords and baronets, swapped horses, and betted and handicapped with men of +fortune; he had driven trotting-matches, and ridden hurdle-races against +young heirs to good estates, and somehow always found himself not inferior +in worldly craft and address to those he came in contact with,—nay, +he even fancied that he was occasionally rather a little more wide awake +than his opponents; and what with a little blustering here, a little +blarney there, a dash of mock frankness to this man, or an air of +impulsive generosity to the other,—an accommodating elasticity, in +fact, that extended to morals, manners, and principles,—he found +that he was, as he himself styled it, “a fair match with equal weights for +anything going.” There was but one individual alone in presence of whom he +in reality felt his own inferiority deeply and painfully; strange to say, +that was Miss Martin! At first sight this would seem almost +unintelligible. She was not either a haughty beauty, presuming on the +homage bestowed upon her by high and distinguished admirers, nor was she +any greatly gifted and cultivated genius dominating over lesser +intelligences by the very menace of her acquirements. She was simply a +high-spirited, frank, unaffected girl, whose good breeding and good sense +seemed alike instinctive, and who read with almost intuition the shallow +artifices by which such natures as Scanlan's impose upon the world. She +had seen him easily indolent with her uncle, obsequiously deferential to +my Lady, all in the same breath, while the side-look of tyranny he could +throw a refractory tenant appeared just as congenial to his nature. +</p> +<p> +It was some strange consciousness which told him he could not deceive <i>her</i>, +that made Scanlan ever abashed in her presence, and by the self-same +impulse was it that she was the only one in the world for whose good +esteem he would have sacrificed all he possessed. +</p> +<p> +While he waited for her coming, he took a leisurely survey of the room. +The furniture, less costly and rich than at Cro' Martin, was all marked by +that air of propriety and comfort so observable in rich men's houses. +There were the hundred appliances of ease and luxury that show how +carefully the most trifling inconveniences are warded off, and the course +of daily life rendered as untroubled as mere material enjoyments can +secure. Scanlan sighed deeply, for the thought crossed his mind how was a +girl brought up in this way ever to stoop to ally her fortune to a man +like him? Was it, then, possible that he nourished such a presumption? +Even so. Maurice was of an aspiring turn; he had succeeded in twenty +things that a dozen years past he had never dared to dream of. He had +dined at tables and driven with men whose butlers and valets he once +deemed very choice company; he had been the guest at houses where once his +highest ambition had been to see the interior as a matter of curiosity. +“Who could say where he might be at last?” Besides this, he knew from his +own knowledge of family matters that she had no fortune, that her father +was infinitely more likely to leave debts than an inheritance behind him, +and that her uncle was the last man in the world ever to think of a +marriage-portion for one he could not afford to part with. There was, +then, no saying what turn of fortune might present him in an admissible +form as a suitor. At all events, there was no rival in the field, and +Maurice had seen many a prize won by a “walk over” purely for want of a +competitor in the race. +</p> +<p> +Notwithstanding all these very excellent and reassuring considerations, +Maurice Scanlan could not overcome a most uncomfortable sense of +awkwardness as Mary Martin entered the room, and saluting him with easy +familiarity, said, “I'm quite ashamed of having made you wait, Mr. +Scanlan; but I was in the village when I got my uncle's message. I find +that he is not well enough to receive you, and if I can—” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure it's only too much honor you do me, Miss Mary; I never expected +to have the pleasure of this interview; indeed, it will be very hard for +me to think of business, at all, at all.” + </p> +<p> +“That would be most unfortunate after your coming so far on account of +it,” said she, half archly, while she seated herself on a sofa at some +distance from him. +</p> +<p> +“If it were a question about the estate, Miss Mary,” said he, in his most +obsequious manner, “there's nobody equal to yourself; or if it were +anything at all but what it is, I know well that you'd see your way out of +it; but the present is a matter of politics,—it 's about the +borough.” + </p> +<p> +“That weary borough,” said she, sighing; “and are we about to have another +election?” + </p> +<p> +“That 's it, Miss Mary; and Lord Kilmorris writes me to say that he 'll be +over next week, and hopes he 'll find all his friends here as well +disposed towards him as ever.” + </p> +<p> +“Has he written to my uncle?” asked Mary, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“No; and that's exactly what I came about. There was a kind of coldness,—more +my Lady's, I think, than on Mr. Martin's part,—and Lord Kilmorris +feels a kind of delicacy; in fact, he doesn't rightly know how he stands +at Cro' Martin.” Here he paused, in hopes that she would help him by even +a word; but she was perfectly silent and attentive, and he went on. “So +that, feeling himself embarrassed, and at the same time knowing how much +he owes to the Martin interest—” + </p> +<p> +“Well, go on,” said she, calmly, as he came a second time to a dead stop. +</p> +<p> +“It isn't so easy, then, Miss Mary,” said he, with a long sigh, “for there +are so many things enter into it,—so much of politics and party and +what not,—that I quite despair of making myself intelligible, +though, perhaps, if I was to see your uncle, he 'd make out my meaning.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I try and induce him to receive you, then?” said she, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, I don't like asking it,” said he, doubtfully; “for, after +all, there's nobody can break it to him as well as yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“Break it to him, Mr. Scanlan?” said she, in astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, it 's the very word, then,” said he; “for do what one will, say +what they may, it will be sure to surprise him, if it does no worse.” + </p> +<p> +“You alarm me, sir; and yet I feel that if you would speak boldly out your +meaning, there is probably no cause for fear.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll just do so, then, Miss Mary; but at the same time I 'd have you to +understand that I 'm taking a responsibility on myself that his Lordship +never gave me any warrant for, and that there is not another—” Mr. +Scanlan stopped, but only in time; for, whether it was the fervor in which +he uttered these words, or that Miss Martin anticipated what was about to +follow, her cheek became scarlet, and a most unmistakable expression of +her eyes recalled the worthy practitioner to all his wonted caution. “The +matter is this, Miss Martin,” said he, with a degree of deference more +marked than before, “Lord Kilmorris is dissatisfied with the way your +uncle supported him at the last election. He complains of the hard +conditions imposed upon him as to his line of conduct in the House; and, +above all, he feels insulted by a letter Lady Dorothea wrote him, full of +very harsh expressions and hard insinuations. I never saw it myself, but +that's his account of it,—in fact, he's very angry.” + </p> +<p> +“And means to throw up the borough, in short,” broke in Mary. +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid not, Miss Mary,” said the other, in a half whisper. +</p> +<p> +“What then?—what can he purpose doing?” + </p> +<p> +“He means to try and come in on his own interest,” said Scanlan, who +uttered the words with an effort, and seemed to feel relief when they were +out. +</p> +<p> +“Am I to understand that he would contest the borough with us?” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan nodded an affirmative. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Mr. Scanlan, this is some mistake,—some misapprehension on +your part. His Lordship may very possibly feel aggrieved,—he may +have some cause, for aught I know,—about something in the last +election, but this mode of resenting it is quite out of the question,—downright +impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“The best way is to read his own words. Miss Martin. There's his letter,” + said he, handing one towards her, which, however, she made no motion to +take. +</p> +<p> +“If you won't read it, then, perhaps you will permit me to do so. It's +very short, too, for he says at the end he will write more fully +to-morrow.” Mr. Scanlan here muttered over several lines of the epistle, +until he came to the following: “I am relieved from any embarrassment I +should have felt at breaking with the Martins by reflecting over the +altered conditions of party, and the new aspect politics must assume by +the operations of the Emancipation Act. The old ways and traditions of the +Tories must be abandoned at once and forever; and though Martin in his +life of seclusion and solitude will not perceive this necessity, we here +all see and admit it. I could, therefore, no longer represent his +opinions, since they would find no echo in the House. To stand for the +borough I must stand on my own views, which, I feel bold to say, include +justice to both of the contending factions.” + </p> +<p> +“Admirably argued,” broke in Mary. “He absolves himself from all ties of +gratitude to my uncle by adopting principles the reverse of all he ever +professed.” + </p> +<p> +“It's very like that, indeed, Miss Mary,” said Scanlan, timidly. +</p> +<p> +“Very like it, sir? it is exactly so. Really the thing would be too gross +if it were not actually laughable;” and as she spoke she arose and paced +the room in a manner that showed how very little of the ludicrous side of +the matter occupied her thoughts. “He will stand for the borough—he +means to stand in opposition to us?” + </p> +<p> +“That's his intention—at least, if Mr. Martin should not come to the +conclusion that it is better to support his Lordship than risk throwing +the seat into the hands of the Roman Catholics.” + </p> +<p> +“I can't follow all these intrigues, Mr. Scanlan. I confess to you, +frankly, that you have puzzled me enough already, and that I have found it +no small strain on my poor faculties to conceive a gentleman being able to +argue himself into any semblance of self-approval by such sentiments as +those which you have just read; but I am a poor country girl, very +ignorant of great topics and great people. The best thing I can do is to +represent this affair to my uncle, and as early as may be.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope he'll not take the thing to heart, miss; and I trust he 'll acquit +<i>me</i>—” + </p> +<p> +“Be assured he'll despise the whole business most thoroughly, sir. I never +knew him take any deep interest in these themes; and if this be a fair +specimen of the way they are discussed, he was all the wiser for his +indifference. Do you make any stay in the village? Will it be inconvenient +for you to remain an hour or so?” + </p> +<p> +“I'll wait your convenience, miss, to any hour,” said Scanlan, with an air +of gallantry which, had she been less occupied with her thoughts, might +have pushed her hard to avoid smiling at. +</p> +<p> +“I'll be down at Mrs. Cronan's till I hear from you, Miss Mary.” And with +a look of as much deferential admiration as he dared to bestow, Scanlan +took his leave, and mounting to his box, assumed the ribbons with a +graceful elegance and a certain lackadaisical languor that, to himself at +least, appeared demonstrative of an advanced stage of the tender passion. +</p> +<p> +“Begad, she's a fine girl; devil a lie in it, but she has n't her equal! +and as sharp as a needle, too,” muttered he, as he jogged along the +shingly beach, probably for the first time in his whole life forgetting +the effect he was producing on the bystanders. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. A STUDIO AND AN ARTIST +</h2> +<p> +“Is my uncle in the library, Terence?” asked Mary of a very corpulent old +man, in a red-brown wig. +</p> +<p> +“No, miss, he's in the—bother it, then, if I ever can think of the +name of it.” + </p> +<p> +“The studio, you mean,” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, Miss Mary,” replied he, with a sigh; for he remembered certain +penitential hours passed by himself in the same locality. +</p> +<p> +“Do you think you could manage to let him know I want him—that is, +that I have something important to say to him?” + </p> +<p> +“It's clean impossible, miss, to get near him when he's there. Sure, is +n't he up on a throne, dressed out in goold and dimonds, and as cross as a +badger besides, at the way they're tormenting him?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that tiresome picture, is it never to be completed?” muttered she, +half unconsciously. +</p> +<p> +“The saints above know whether it is or no,” rejoined Terence, “for one of +the servants told me yesterday that they rubbed every bit of the master +out, and began him all again; for my Lady said he was n't half haggard +enough, or worn-looking; but, by my conscience, if he goes on as he 's +doing, he ought to satisfy them.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, I thought it was Henderson was sitting,” said Mary, somewhat amused +at the old man's commentaries. +</p> +<p> +“So he was; but they rubbed him out, too; for it seems now he ought to be +bald, and they 've sent him into Oughter-ard to get his head shaved.” + </p> +<p> +“And what were <i>you</i>, Terry?” + </p> +<p> +“Arrah, who knows?” said he, querulously. “At first I was to be somebody's +mother that was always cryin'; but they weren't pleased with the way I +done it; and then they made me a monk, and after that they put two +hundredweight of armor on me, and made me lean my head on my arm as if I +was overcome; and faith, so I was; for I dropped off asleep, and fell into +a pot of varnish, and I 'm in disgrace now, glory be to God! and I only +hope it may last.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I shared your fortune, Terry, with all my heart,” said Mary, with +some difficulty preserving her gravity. +</p> +<p> +“Couldn't it catch fire—by accident, I mean, miss—some evening +after dark?” whispered Terry, confidentially. “Them 's materials that +would burn easy! for, upon my conscience, if it goes on much longer there +won't be a sarvant will stay in the sarvice. They had little Tom Regan +holding a dish of charcoal so long that he tuk to his bed on Friday last, +and was never up since; and Jinny Moore says she 'd rather lave the place +than wear that undacent dress; and whist, there's murder goin' on now +inside!” And with that the old fellow waddled off with a speed that seemed +quite disproportionate to his years. +</p> +<p> +While Mary was still hesitating as to what she should do, the door +suddenly opened, and a man in a mediaeval costume rushed out, tugging +after him a large bloodhound, whose glaring eyeballs and frothy mouth +betokened intense passion. Passing hurriedly forward, Mary beheld Lady +Dorothea bending over the fainting figure of a short little man, who lay +on the floor; while her uncle, tottering under a costume he could barely +carry, was trying to sprinkle water over him from an urn three feet in +height. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Crow has fainted,—mere fright, nothing more!” said Lady +Dorothea. “In stepping backward from the canvas he unluckily trod upon +Fang's paw, and the savage creature at once sprung on him. That stupid +wretch, Regan, one of your favorites, Miss Martin, never pulled him off +till he had torn poor Mr. Crow's coat, clean in two.”. +</p> +<p> +“Egad, if I had n't smashed my sceptre over the dog's head the mischief +wouldn't have stopped there; but he 's coming to. Are you better, Crow? +How do you feel, man?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you are better, sir?” said Lady Dorothea, in an admirable blending +of grand benevolence and condescension. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/080.jpg" width="100%" alt="080 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Infinitely better; supremely happy, besides, to have become the object of +your Ladyship's kind inquiries,” said the little man, sitting up, and +looking around with a very ghastly effort at urbanity and ease. +</p> +<p> +“I never knew Fang to bite any one,” said Mary. +</p> +<p> +“Does n't she, by jingo!” exclaimed the artist, who with difficulty caught +himself in time before he placed his hand on the supposed seat of his +injuries. +</p> +<p> +“She shall be muzzled in future,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily, +repressing the familiar tone of the discussion. +</p> +<p> +“I think—indeed, I feel sure—I could get her in from memory, +my Lady; she 's a very remarkable creature, and makes an impression on +one.” As he uttered these words ruefully, he lifted from the floor the +fragment of his coat-skirt, and gazed mournfully at it. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose we must suspend proceedings,” said Lady Dorothea; “though +really it is a pity to lose the opportunity of Miss Martin's presence,—an +honor she so very rarely accords us.” + </p> +<p> +“I think after a few minutes or so, my Lady, I might feel equal,” said Mr. +Crow, rising and retreating to a wall with a degree of caution that showed +he entertained grave fears as to the state of his habiliments,—“I +might feel equal, if not exactly to delineate Miss Martin's Classic +features, at least to throw in—” + </p> +<p> +“I could n't think of such a thing; I should be wretched at the idea of +engaging your attention at such a moment,” said Mary, with a carelessness +that contrasted strongly with her words; while she added, with +earnestness, “Besides, I 'm not sure I could spare the time.” + </p> +<p> +“You see, sir,” said her Ladyship to the artist, “you have to deal with a +young lady whose occupations are like those of a Premier. The Duke of +Wellington can vouchsafe a sitting for his portrait, but Miss Martin +cannot spare the time for it.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, Aunt Dorothy, if I were the Duke of Wellington I should do as he +does. It is being Mary Martin, whose picture can have no interest for any +one, enables me to follow the bent of my own wishes.” + </p> +<p> +“Humility is another of her perfections,” said Lady Dorothea, with a look +that but too palpably expressed her feeling towards her niece. +</p> +<p> +As Mary was assisting her uncle to get rid of some of his superfluous +draperies, neither of them overheard this remark; while Mr. Crow was too +deeply impressed with his own calamities to pay any attention to it. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Scanlan has been very anxious to see you, uncle,” whispered Mary in +his ear. “He has something of importance to communicate about the +borough.” + </p> +<p> +“Can't you manage it yourself, Molly? Can't you contrive somehow to spare +me this annoyance?” + </p> +<p> +“But you really ought to hear what he has to say.” + </p> +<p> +“I perceive that Miss Martin has a secret of moment to Impart to you; pray +let me not trouble the interview by my presence,” said Lady Dorothea. And +she swept haughtily out of the room, throwing a most disdainful glance at +her husband as she went. +</p> +<p> +“There, by George! you've secured me a pleasant afternoon, at all events!” + said Martin, angrily, to his niece, as throwing off the last remnant of +his regal costume, he rushed out, banging the door passionately behind +him. +</p> +<p> +Mary sat down to compose her thoughts in quiet, for Mr. Crow had +previously made his escape unobserved; and truly there was need of some +repose for her agitated and wearied faculties. Her uncle's dependence upon +her for everything, and her aunt's jealousy of the influence she had over +him, placed her in a position of no common difficulty, and one of which +every day seemed to increase the embarrassment. For a moment she thought +she would have preferred a life of utter insignificance and obscurity; but +as suddenly it occurred to her, “What had I been without these duties and +these cares? For me there are few, if any, of the ties that bind other +girls to their homes. I have neither mother nor sister; I have none of the +resources which education suggests to others. My mind cannot soar above +the realities that surround me, and seek for its enjoyments in the realms +of fancy; but, perhaps, I can do better,” said she, proudly, “and make of +these same every-day materials the poetry of an actual existence.” As she +spoke, she threw open the window, and walked out upon the terrace over the +sea. The fishermen's boats were all standing out from shore,—a tiny +fleet, whose hardy crews had done no discredit to the proudest +three-decker. Though the heavy gale of the morning had gone down, it still +blew fresh, and a long rolling swell thundered along in-shore, and sent a +deep booming noise through many a rocky cavern. High above this deafening +clamor, however, rose the hearty cheers of the fishermen as they detected +Mary's figure where she stood; and many a tattered rag of showy bunting +was hoisted to do her honor. Never insensible to such demonstrations, Mary +felt at the moment almost overpowered with emotion. But a moment back and +she bewailed her isolation and friendlessness; and see, here were hundreds +who would have resigned life in her behalf. Still, as the boats receded, +the wind bore to her ears the welcome sounds; and as she heard them, her +heart seemed to expand and swell with generous thoughts and good wishes, +while along her cheeks heavy tears were rolling. +</p> +<p> +“What need have I of other friends than such as these?” cried she, +passionately. “<i>They</i> understand me, and I them; and as for the great +world, we are not made for each other!” + </p> +<p> +“My own sentiments to a 'T,' miss,” said a soft, mincing voice behind her; +and Mary turned and beheld Mr. Crow. He had arrayed himself in a small +velvet skull-cap and a blouse, and stood mixing the colors on his palette +in perfect composure. “I 'm afraid, Miss Martin, there 's an end of the +great 'Historical.' Your uncle will scarcely be persuaded to put on the +robes again, and it's a downright pity. I was getting a look of weariness—imbecility +I might call it—into his features that would have crowned the work.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I ever knew what your subject was!” said she, half +indolently. +</p> +<p> +“The Abdication of Charles V., Miss Martin,” said he, proudly. “This is +the fourteenth time I have depicted it; and never, I am bound to say, with +more favorable 'studies.' Your uncle is fine; my Lady gorgeous; I don't +say what I 'd like of another lovely and gifted individual; but even down +to that old rogue of a butler that would insist on taking snuff through +the bars of his helmet, they were all grand, miss,—positively +grand!” Seeing that she appeared to bestow some attention to him, Mr. Crow +went on: “You see, miss, in the beginning of a great effort of this kind +there is no progress made at all. The sitters keep staring at one another, +each amused at some apparent absurdity in costume or attitude; and then, +if you ask them to call up a look of love, hate, jealousy, or the like, +it's a grin you get,—a grin that would shame a hyena. By degrees, +however, they grow used to the situation; they 'tone down,' as one might +say, and learn to think less of themselves, and be more natural. It was +sheer fatigue, downright exhaustion, and nothing else, was making your +uncle so fine; and if he could have been kept on low diet,—I did n't +like to mention it, though I often wished it,—I 'd have got a look +of cadaverous madness into his face that would have astonished you.” + </p> +<p> +By this time Mr. Crow had approached his canvas, and was working away +vigorously, the action of his brush appearing to stimulate his loquacity. +Mary drew near to observe him, and insensibly felt attracted by that +fascination which the progress of a picture invariably possesses. +</p> +<p> +“This is the Queen,” continued he; “she's crying,—as well she might; +she doesn't rightly know whether the old fellow's out of his mind or not; +she has her misgivings, and she does n't half like that old thief of a +Jesuit that's whispering in the King's ear. This was to be you, Miss +Martin; you were betrothed to one of the young princes; but somehow you +weren't quite right in your head, and you are looking on rather more +amused, you perceive, than in any way moved; you were holding up your +beautiful petticoat, all covered with gold and precious stones, as much as +to say, 'Ain't I fine this morning?' when you heard the herald's trumpet +announce the Prince of Orange; and there he is,—or there he ought to +be,—coming in at the door. There's a chap pulling the curtain aside; +but I suppose, now,” added he, with a sigh, “we 'll never see the Prince +there!” + </p> +<p> +“But where could you have found a study for your Prince, Mr. Crow?” + </p> +<p> +“I have him here, miss,” said Crow, laying down his brush to take a small +sketch-book from the pocket of his blouse. “I have him here; and there +wouldn't have been a finer head in the canvas,—pale, stern-looking, +but gentle withal; a fellow that would say, 'Lead them to the scaffold,' +as easy as winking, and that would tremble and falter under the eye of a +woman he loved. There he is, now,—the hair, you know, I put in +myself, and the bit of beard, just for a little Titian effect; but the +eyes are his own, and the mouth not as good as his own.” + </p> +<p> +“It's a striking head, indeed,” said Mary, still contemplating it +attentively. +</p> +<p> +“That's exactly what it is; none of your common brain-boxes, but a grand +specimen of the classic head, civilized down to a mediaeval period; the +forty-first descendant of an Emperor or a Proconsul, living at the Pincian +Hall, or at his villa on the Tiber, sitting for his likeness to Giordano.” + </p> +<p> +“There's a painful expression in the features, too,” added she, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“So there is; and I believe he 's in bad health.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said Mary, starting. “I quite forgot there was an original all +this time.” + </p> +<p> +“He's alive; and what's more, he's not a mile from where we 're standing.” + Mr. Crow looked cautiously about him as he spoke, ac if fearful of being +overheard; and then approaching close to Miss Martin, and dropping his +voice to a whisper, said, “I can venture to tell you what I dare n't tell +my Lady; for I know well if she suspected who it was would be the Prince +of Orange, begad, I might abdicate too, as well as the King. That young +man there is-the son of a grocer in Oughterard,—true, every word of +it,—Dan Nelligan's son! and you may fancy now what chance he 'd have +of seeing himself on that canvas if her Ladyship knew it.” + </p> +<p> +“Is this the youth who has so distinguished himself at college?” asked +Mary. +</p> +<p> +“The very one. I made that sketch of him when he was reading for the +medal; he did n't know it, for I was in a window opposite, where he +couldn't see me; and when I finished he leaned his chin in his hand and +looked up at the sky, as if thinking; and the expression of his up-turned +face, with the lips a little apart, was so fine that I took it down at +once, and there it is,” said he, turning over the page and presenting a +few pencil lines lightly and spiritedly drawn. +</p> +<p> +“A young gentleman left this packet, Miss Mary, and said it was for you,” + said a servant, presenting a small sealed enclosure. Mary Martin blushed +deeply, and she opened the parcel, out of which fell her own glove, with a +card. +</p> +<p> +“The very man we were talking of,” said Mr. Crow, lifting it up and +handing it to her,—“Joseph Nelligan. That's like the old proverb; +talk of the—” But she was gone ere he could finish his quotation. +</p> +<p> +“There she goes,” said Crow, sorrowfully; “and if she 'd have stayed ten +minutes more I 'd have had her all complete!” and he contemplated with +glowing satisfaction a hasty sketch he had just made in his book. “It's +like her,—far more than anything I have done yet; but after all—” + And he shook his head mournfully as he felt the poor pretension of his +efforts. “Small blame to me to fail, anyhow,” added he, after a pause. “It +would take Titian himself to paint her; and even he couldn't give all the +softness and delicacy of the expression,—that would take Raffaelle; +and Vandyke for her eyes, when they flash out at times; and Giordano for +the hair. Oh, if he could have seen it just as I did a minute ago, when +the wind blew it back, and the sunlight fell over it! “Arrah!” cried he, +impatiently, as with a passionate gesture he tore the leaf from his book +and crushed it in his hand,—“arrah! What right have I even to +attempt it?” And he sat down, covering his face with his hands, to muse +and mourn in silence. +</p> +<p> +Simpson—or as he was more generally known, Simmy Crow—was +neither a Michael Angelo nor a Raffaelle; but he was a simple-minded, +honest-hearted creature, whose life had been a long hand-to-hand fight +with fortune. Originally a drawing-master in some country academy, the +caprice—for it was little else—of a whimsical old lady had +sent him abroad to study; that is, sent him to contemplate the very +highest triumphs of genius with a mind totally unprepared and +uncultivated, to gaze on the grandest conceptions without the shadow of a +clew to them, and to try and pick up the secrets of art when he stood in +utter ignorance of its first principles. The consequence was, he went wild +in the enthusiasm of his admiration; he became a passionate worshipper at +the shrine, but never essayed to be priest at the altar. Disgusted and +dispirited by his own miserable attempts, he scarcely ever touched a +pencil, but roved from city to city, and from gallery to gallery, +entranced,—enchanted by a fascination that gradually insinuated +itself into his very being, and made up the whole aim and object of his +thoughts. This idolatry imparted an ecstasy to his existence that lifted +him above every accident of fortune. Poor, hungry, and ill-clad, he still +could enter a gallery or a church, sit down before a Guido or a Rembrandt, +and forget all, save the glorious creation before him. By the sudden death +of his patroness, he was left, without a shilling, hundreds of miles from +home. Humble as his requirements were, he could not supply them; he +offered to teach, but it was in a land where all have access to the best +models; he essayed to copy, but his efforts were unsalable. To return home +to his country was now his great endeavor; and after innumerable +calamities and reverses, he did arrive in England, whence he made his way +to Ireland, poorer than he had quitted it. +</p> +<p> +Had he returned in better plight, had he come back with some of the +appearance of success, the chances are that he might have thriven on the +accidents of fame; but he was famishing and in beggary. Some alleged that +he was a worthless fellow who had passed a life of idleness and debauch; +others, that he was not without ability, but that his habits of +dissipation rendered him hopeless; and a few—a very few—pitied +him as a weak-brained enthusiast, who had no bad about him, but was born +to failure! +</p> +<p> +In his utter destitution he obtained work as a house-painter,—an +employment which he followed for three or four yeare, and in which +capacity he had been sent by his master to paint some ornamental +stucco-work at Cro' Martin. The ability he displayed attracted Lady +Dorothea's notice, and she engaged him to decorate a small garden villa +with copies from her own designs. He was entirely successful, and so much +pleased was her Ladyship that she withdrew him from his ignoble servitude +and attached him to her own household, where now he had been living two +years, the latter half of which period had been passed in the great work +of which we have already made some mention. It so chanced that poor Simmy +had never sold but two copies in his life: one was The Abdication of +Charles V., the other, The Finding of Moses; and so, out of gratitude to +these successes, he went on multiplying new versions of these subjects <i>ad +infinitum</i>, eternally writing fresh variations on the old themes, till +the King and the Lawgiver filled every avenue of his poor brain, and he +ceased to have a belief that any other story than these could be the +subject of high art. +</p> +<p> +Happy as he now was, he never ceased to feel that his position exposed him +to many an ungenerous suspicion. +</p> +<p> +“They 'll say I 'm humbugging this old lady,” was the constant +self-reproach he kept repeating. “I know well what they 'll think of me; I +think I hear the sneering remarks as I pass.” And so powerfully had this +impression caught hold of him, that he vowed, come what would of it, he 'd +set out on his travels again, and face the cold stern world, rather than +live on what seemed to be the life of a flatterer and a sycophant. He +could not, however, endure the thought of leaving his “Abdication” + unfinished, and he now only remained to complete this great work. “Then I +'m off,” said he; “and then they 'll see if poor Simmy Crow was the fellow +they took him for.” Better thoughts on this theme were now passing through +his mind, from which at last he aroused himself to proceed with his +picture. Once at work, his spirits rose; hopes flitted across his brain, +and he was happy. His own creations seemed to smile benignly on him, too, +and he felt towards them like a friend, and even talked with them, and +confided his secret thoughts to them. In this pleasant mood we shall leave +him, then; nor shall we linger to listen to the avowals he is making of +his upright intentions, nor his willingness to bear the hardest rubs of +fortune, so that none can reproach him for a mean subserviency. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. A DASH OF POLITICS +</h2> +<p> +“Well, what is it, Molly,—what is it all about?” said Martin, as +Mary entered the library, where he was sitting with an unread newspaper +stretched across his knee. +</p> +<p> +“It is a piece of news Scanlan has brought, uncle, and not of the most +agreeable kind either.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I'll not hear more of it,” broke he in, pettishly. +</p> +<p> +“But you must, uncle, since without your own counsel and advice nothing +can be done.” + </p> +<p> +“Do nothing, then,” added he, sulkily. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, I 'll not let you off thus easily,” said she, passing an arm +over his shoulder. “You know well I 'd not tease you if it could be +avoided, but here is a case where I can be no guide. It is a question of +the borough, Lord Kilmorris thinks himself strong enough to stand on his +own merits, and repudiates your aid and his own principles together.” + Martin's attention being now secured, she went on: “He says—at least +as well as I can follow his meaning—that with this new measure must +come a total change of policy,—abrogating all old traditions and old +notions; that <i>you</i>, of course, are little likely to adopt this +opinion, at least at once, and so he releases you from all obligations to +support him, and himself from all tie to represent <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“This is Lady Dorothy's doing,” broke in Martin, passionately; “her +confounded letter-writing has brought this upon us. I told her that those +fellows were trimming; I warned her that they were only waiting for this +Bill to pass, to turn round upon us as a barbarous old remnant of feudal +oppression; but he dare n't do it, Molly,—Kilmorris has n't a leg to +stand upon in the borough. He could n't count upon twenty—no, not +ten votes, without me. It's a scurvy trick, too, and it sha'n't succeed, +if I stand for the borough myself.” And he blurted out the last words as +though they were the expression of an enmity driven to its last resources. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, uncle,” said she, caressingly; “after all you have yourself told +me of a parliamentary life, that must never be. Its unending intrigues and +petty plotting, its fatiguing days and harassing nights, its jealousies +and disappointments, and defeats, all hard enough to be borne by those who +must make a trade of their politics, but utterly insupportable to one who, +like you, can enjoy his independence. Do not think of that, I beseech +you.” + </p> +<p> +“Then am I to see this man carry my own town in my very teeth?” cried he, +angrily. “Is that your advice to me?” + </p> +<p> +“You often spoke of Harry. Why not put him forward now he is coming home?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, and the very first thing he'll do will be to resign the seat because +he had not been consulted about the matter before the election. You know +him well, Molly; and you know that he exchanged into a regiment in India +simply because I had obtained his appointment to the Blues. His amiable +mother's disposition is strong in him!” muttered he, half to himself, but +loud enough to be heard by his niece. +</p> +<p> +“At all events, see Scanlan,” said she; “learn how the matter really +stands; don't rely on my version of it, but see what Lord Kilmorris +intends, and take your own measures calmly and dispassionately +afterwards.” + </p> +<p> +“Is Scanlan engaged for him?” + </p> +<p> +“I think not. I suspect that negotiations are merely in progress.” + </p> +<p> +“But if he even was,” broke in Martin, violently, “I have made the fellow +what he is, and he should do as I ordered him. Let him come in, Molly.” + </p> +<p> +“He is not in the house, uncle; he went down to the village.” + </p> +<p> +“Not here? Why didn't he wait? What impertinence is this?” + </p> +<p> +“He wished to bait his horses, and probably to get some breakfast for +himself, which I had not the politeness to offer him here.” + </p> +<p> +“His horses? His tandem, I'll be sworn,” said Martin, with a sneer. “I 'll +ask for no better evidence of what we are coming to than that Maurice +Scanlan drives about the county with a tandem.” + </p> +<p> +“And handles them very neatly, too,” said Mary, with a malicious sparkle +of her eye, for she could n't refrain from the spiteful pleasure of seeing +her uncle in a regular fury for a mere nothing. All the more salutary, as +it withdrew his thoughts from weightier themes. +</p> +<p> +“I'm sure of it, Miss Martin. I'm certain that he is a most accomplished +whip, and as such perfectly sure to find favor in <i>your</i> eyes. Let +him come up here at once, however. Say I want him immediately,” added he, +sternly; and Mary despatched a servant with the message, and sat down in +front of her uncle, neither uttering a word nor even looking towards the +other. +</p> +<p> +“After all, Molly,” said he, in the quiet, indolent tone so natural to him—“after +all, what does it signify who's in or who's out? I don't care a brass +farthing about party or party triumphs; and even if I did, I 'm not +prepared—What are you laughing at,—what is it amuses you now?” + asked he, half testily, while she laughed out in all the unrestrained flow +of joyous mirth. +</p> +<p> +“I have been waiting for that confession this half-hour, uncle, and really +I was beginning to be afraid of a disappointment. Why, dearest uncle, you +were within a hair's breadth of forgetting your principles, and being +actually caught, for once in your life, prepared and ready.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, is that it? Is it my embarrassment, then, that affords you so much +amusement?” + </p> +<p> +“Far from it,” said she, affectionately. “I was only laughing at that +quiet little nook you retire to whenever you ought to be up and doing. +Unprepared you say. Not a bit of it. Indisposed, indolent, unwilling, +indifferent, any of these you like; but with a mind so full of its own +good resources, and as ready to meet every contingency as any one's, don't +say you are unprepared. Come, now, bear with me this once, dearest uncle, +and don't be angry if I throw myself, like a rock or sandbank, betwixt you +and your harbor of refuge. But I hear Mr. Scanlan's voice, and so I shall +leave you. Be resolute, uncle, determined, and—'prepared'!” And with +a gesture half menace and half drollery, she left the room as the attorney +entered it. +</p> +<p> +Scanlan, like most of those who came but casually in contact with Martin, +had conceived a low idea of his capacity,—lower by far than it +deserved, since behind his indolence there lay a fund of good +common-sense,—a mine, it must be acknowledged, that he seldom cared +to work. The crafty man of law had, however, only seen him in his ordinary +moods of careless ease and idleness, and believed that pride of family, +fortune, and position were the only ideas that found access to his mind, +and that by a dexterous allusion to these topics it would always be an +easy task to influence and direct him. +</p> +<p> +“What's this my niece has been telling me of Lord Kilmorris?” said Martin, +abruptly, and without even replying to the salutations of the other, who +hovered around a chair in an uncertainty as to whether he might dare to +seat himself uninvited,—“he's going to contest the borough with us, +is n't he?” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan leaned one arm on the back of the chair, and in a half-careless +way replied,— +</p> +<p> +“He is afraid that you and he don't quite agree, sir. He leans to measures +that he suspects you may not altogether approve of.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, none of this balderdash with me, Master Maurice. Has he +bought the fellows already, or, rather, have you bought them? Out with it, +man! What will he give? Name the sum, and let us treat the matter in a +business-like way.” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan sat down and laughed heartily for some minutes. +</p> +<p> +“I think you know me well enough, Mr. Martin, by this time,” said he, “to +say whether I'ma likely man to meddle with such a transaction.” + </p> +<p> +“The very likeliest in Ireland; the man I 'd select amidst ten thousand.” + </p> +<p> +“I am sorry to hear you say so, sir, that's all,” said the other, with a +half-offended air; “nor do I see that anything in my past life warrants +the imputation.” + </p> +<p> +Martin turned fiercely round, about to make a reply which, if once +uttered, would have ended all colloquy between them, when suddenly +catching himself he said, “Have you taken any engagement with his +Lordship?” + </p> +<p> +“Not as yet, sir,—not formally, at least. My Lord has written me a +very full statement of his ideas on politics, what he means to do, and so +forth, and he seems to think that anything short of a very liberal line +would not give satisfaction to the electors.” + </p> +<p> +“Who told him so? Who said that the borough was not perfectly content with +the representative that—that”—he stammered and faltered—“that +its best friends had fixed upon to defend its interests? Who said that a +member of my own family might not desire the seat?” + </p> +<p> +This announcement, uttered with a tone very much akin to menace, failed to +produce either the astonishment or terror that Martin looked for, and +actually supposing that the expression had not been heard, he repeated it. +“I say, sir, has any one declared that a Martin will not stand?” + </p> +<p> +“I am not aware of it,” said Scanlan, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir,” cried Martin, as if unable to delineate the consequences, and +wished to throw the weight of the duty on his opponent. +</p> +<p> +“There would be a warm contest, no doubt, sir,” said Scanlan, guardedly. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; nor the shadow of a contest,” rejoined Martin, angrily. “You'll +not tell <i>me</i> that my own town—the property that has been in my +family for seven centuries and more—would presume—that is, +would desire—to—to—break the ties that have bound us to +each other?” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I could tell you my mind, Mr. Martin, without offending you; that +is, I wish you 'd let me just say what my own opinion is, and take it for +what it is worth, and in five minutes you 'd be in a better position to +make up your mind about this matter than if we went on discussing it for a +week.” There was a dash of independence in his utterance of these words +that actually startled Martin; for, somehow, Scanlan had himself been +surprised into earnestness by meeting with an energy on the other's part +that he had never suspected; and thus each appeared in a new light to the +other. +</p> +<p> +“May I speak out? Well, then, here is what I have to say: the Relief Bill +is passed, the Catholics are now emancipated—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, and be—” Martin caught himself with a cough, and the other +went on:— +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, if they don't send one of their own set into Parliament at +once, it is because they 'd like to affect, for a little while at least, a +kind of confidence in the men who gave them their liberties. O'Connell +himself gave a pledge, that of two candidates, equal in all other +respects, they'd select the Protestant; and so they would for a time. And +it lies with you, and other men of your station, to determine how long +that interval is to last; for an interval it will only be, after all. If +you want to pursue the old system of 'keeping down,' you 'll drive them at +once into the hands of the extreme Papist party, who, thanks to +yourselves, can now sit in Parliament; but if you 'll moderate your views, +take a humbler standard of your own power,—conciliate a prejudice +here, obliterate an old animosity there—” + </p> +<p> +“In fact,” broke in Martin, “swear by this new creed that Lord Kilmorris +has sent you a sketch of in his letter! Then I 'll tell you what, sir—I +'d send the borough and all in it to the—” + </p> +<p> +“So you might, Mr. Martin, and you 'd never mend matters in the least,” + broke he in, with great coolness. +</p> +<p> +There was now a dead silence for several minutes; at last Martin spoke, +and it was in a tone and with a manner that indicated deep reflection:— +</p> +<p> +“I often said to those who would emancipate the Catholics, 'Are you +prepared to change places with them? You have been in the ascendant a good +many years, are you anxious now to try what the other side of the medal +looks like? for, if not, leave them as they are.' Well, they did n't +believe me; and maybe now my prophecy is nigh its accomplishment.” + </p> +<p> +“It is very likely you were right, sir; but whether or not, it's the law +now, and let us make the best of it,” said Scanlan, who had a practical +man's aversion to all that savored of mere speculative reasoning. +</p> +<p> +“As how, for instance—in what way, Mr. Scanlan?” asked Martin, +curtly. +</p> +<p> +“If you 'll not support Lord Kilmorris—” + </p> +<p> +“That I won't, I promise you; put that clean out of your head to begin +with.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, then, there is but one other course open. Come to some compromise +with the Romanist party; if you don't like to give them a stray vote—and +mark me, they 'd make better terms with <i>you</i> than with a stranger—but +if you don't like that, why, take the representation alternately with +them.” + </p> +<p> +Martin rose from his chair and advanced close to where Scanlan was +sitting, then, fixing his eyes steadfastly on him, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Who commissioned you to make this proposition to <i>me?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“No one, upon my oath. There is not a man breathing who has ever so much +as hinted at what I have just said to you.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm glad of it; I'm heartily glad of it,” said Martin, calmly reseating +himself. “I'm glad there is not another fellow in this county your equal +in impudence! Aye, Mr. Scanlan, you heard me quite correctly. I saw many a +change going on amongst us, and I foresaw many more; but that a Martin of +Cro' Martin should be taught his political duty by Maurice Scanlan, and +that that duty consisted in a beggarly alliance with the riff-raff of a +county town,—that was, indeed, a surprise for which I was in no wise +prepared.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, I 'm sorry if I have given any offence,” said Scanlan, rising, +and, in a voice of the most quiet intonation, making his excuses. “Your +rejection of the counsel I was bold enough to suggest leaves me, at least, +at liberty to offer my services where they will not be rejected so +contumeliously.” + </p> +<p> +“Is this a threat, Mr. Scanlan?” said Martin, with a supercilious smile. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, nothing of the kind. I know too well what becomes <i>my</i> +station, and is <i>due to yours</i>, to forget myself so far; but as you +don't set any value on the borough yourself, and as there may be others +who do—” + </p> +<p> +“Stay and eat your dinner here, Scanlan,” said Martin. +</p> +<p> +“I promised Mrs. Cronan, sir—” + </p> +<p> +“Send an apology to her; say it was <i>my</i> fault,—that I detained +you.” And without waiting for a reply, Martin sauntered from the room, +leaving the attorney alone with his reflections. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. A COLLEGE COMPETITOR +</h2> +<p> +Young Nelligan had distanced all his competitors in his college career; +some who were his equals in ability, were inferior to him in habits of +hard and patient labor; and others, again, were faint-hearted to oppose +one in whose success they affected to believe luck had no small share. One +alone had the honest candor to avow that he deserved his pre-eminence, on +the true ground of his being their superior. This was a certain Jack +Massingbred, a young fellow of good family and fortune, and who, having +been rusticated at Oxford, and involved in some outrage against authority +in Cambridge, had come over to finish his college career in the “Silent +Sister.” + </p> +<p> +Although Irish by birth, and connected with Ireland by ties of family and +fortune, he had passed all his life in England, his father having repaired +to that country after the Union, exchanging the barren honor of a seat for +an Irish borough for a snug Treasury appointment. His son had very early +given proof of superior capacity. At Rugby he was distinguished as a +scholar; and in his opening life at Oxford his talents won high praise for +him. Soon after his entrance, however, he had fallen into a fast set,—of +hunting, tandem-driving, and occasionally hard-drinking men,—in +whose society he learned to forget all his aim for college success, and to +be far more anxious for distinction as a whip or a stroke-oar than for all +the honors of scholarship. At first he experienced a sense of pride in the +thought that he could hold his own with either set, and take the lead in +the examination-hall as easily as he assumed the first place in the social +meeting. A few reverses, however, taught him that his theory was a +mistake, that no amount of ability will compensate for habits of idleness +and dissipation, and that the discursive efforts of even high genius will +be ever beaten by the steady results of patient industry. Partly +indifferent to what had once been his great ambition, partly offended by +his failures, Massingbred threw himself entirely into the circle of his +dissipated companions, and became the very head and front of all their +wildest excesses. An absurd exploit, far more ludicrous than really +culpable, procured his rustication; a not less ridiculous adventure drove +him from Cambridge; and he had at last arrived in Dublin, somewhat tamed +down by his experiences, and half inclined to resume his long-abandoned +desire for college distinction. +</p> +<p> +The habits of the Irish College were strikingly unlike those of either +Oxford or Cambridge. Instead of a large class consisting of men of great +fortune and high expectations, he found a very slight sprinkling of such, +and even they made up nothing that resembled a party. Separated by age, +political distinctions, and county associations, all stronger in the +poorer country than in the richer one, they held little intercourse +together, and were scarcely acquainted. +</p> +<p> +If there was less actual wealth, there was also less credit to be obtained +by an Irish student. The Dublin shopkeeper acknowledged no prestige in the +“gownsman;” he admitted him to no special privilege of book-debts; and as +the great majority of the students resided with their families in the +capital, there was no room for that reckless extravagance so often +prosecuted by those who are temporarily removed from domestic supervision. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred was at first grievously disappointed. There were neither great +names nor great fortunes amongst his new associates. Their mode of life, +too, struck him as mean and contemptible. There were clever men reading +for honors, and stupid men steering their slow way to a degree; but where +were the fast ones? where the fellows who could tool a team or steer a +six-oar, who could dash up to town for a week's reckless life at Crocky's +and Tattersall's, make their book on the Oaks, or perhaps ride the winner +at a steeplechase? +</p> +<p> +It was all grievously slow. Dublin itself was a poor affair. He had few +acquaintances, the theatres were bad, and public amusements there were +none. His fellow-students, too, stood aloof from him. It was not that he +was richer, better dressed, rode blood horses, dined at Morris-son's, wore +kid gloves, and carried scented pocket-handkerchiefs. It was not that he +had a certain air of puppyism as he wended his way across the courts, or +sauntered elegantly into chapel. They could have forgiven any or all of +these better than one of his offendings, which was his accent. Strange as +it may seem, his English voice and English pronunciation were the most +unpopular things about him, and many a real defect in his character might +have met a more merciful construction had he given no initial “H” to +“humble,” and evinced a more generous confusion about his “wills” and +“snails.” + </p> +<p> +Somewhat bored by a life so unlike anything he had ever tried before,—partly, +perhaps, stimulated to show that he could do something beside canter his +thorough-bred along Sackville Street, or lounge in the stage-box in +solitary splendor,—he went in for honors, and, to the surprise of +all, succeeded. In fact, he beat two or three of the distinguished men of +his time, till, thrown by the chance of events into Nelligan's division, +he found at once his superior, and saw that he was in presence of an +intelligence considerably above his own. When he had adventured on the +struggle and found himself worsted, he acknowledged defeat with all the +generosity of an honorable nature; and forcing his way through the crowd +as it issued from the examination-hall, was the very first to grasp +Nelligan's hand and congratulate him on his success. +</p> +<p> +“That was all got up; he was bursting with jealousy. The fellow could have +strangled Nelligan,” muttered one. +</p> +<p> +“He certainly put a good face on the disaster,” said another, more +mercifully given; “though I suppose he feels the thing sorely enough at +heart!” + </p> +<p> +That was exactly what he did not, however. Young Massingbred regarded a +college distinction as no evidence whatever of a man's attainments. He had +seen stupid fellows win the prize for which clever ones strove in vain; +but, at all events, he regarded such successes as contributing in nothing +to the great race of life, and had even a theory that such early efforts +were often the very means of exhausting the energies that should be +exerted for the high rewards of the world. Besides this, he felt a +pleasure in manfully showing that he was above a petty jealousy, and +fairly owning himself beaten in a fair struggle. +</p> +<p> +“You are the better man, Nelligan,” said he, gayly; “I 'll not try another +fall with you, be assured.” + </p> +<p> +Strange was it that in this very avowal he had asserted what the other +felt in his inmost heart to be an immeasurable superiority over him; and +that in the very moment of striking his flag he had proclaimed his +victory. To be able to run him so hard for the race and yet not feel the +struggle, to strive for the prize and care nothing for defeat, seemed to +Nelligan the evidence of an ambition that soared above college triumph, +and he could not but envy that buoyant high-hearted temperament that +seemed to make light of difficulties and not even feel depressed by a +defeat. +</p> +<p> +Up to this time these two young men had scarcely known each other, but now +they became intimate. The very difference in character served to draw them +more closely together; and if Nelligan felt a degree of admiration for +qualities whose brilliant display opened a new sense of enjoyment to him, +the other was delighted with the gentle and almost childlike innocence of +the student whose far-soaring intellect was mastering the highest +questions of science. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred was one of those natures in whom frankness is an instinct. It +seems to such a relief to open the secrets of the heart and avow their +weaknesses and their shortcomings, as though—by some Moral Popery—they +would obtain the benefit of a free confession and go forth the better for +their candor. +</p> +<p> +Not only did he tell Nelligan of his own career and its accidents, the +causes for which he was not on good terms with his family, and so on; but +he even ventured to discuss the public life of his father, and, in a +spirit of banter, swore that to his political subserviency did he owe his +whole fortune in life. +</p> +<p> +“My father was one of the crew when the vessel was wrecked, Nelligan,” + said he; “there was plenty of talk of standing by the ship to the last, +and perishing with her. Some did so, and they are forgotten already. My +father, however, jumped into the long-boat with a few more, and thought +that probably they might find another craft more seaworthy; fortunately he +was right; at least, assuredly, I 'm not the man to say he was not.” + </p> +<p> +“But was there no desertion of principle, Massingbred?” said Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“No more than there is a desertion of your old coat when you discover it +to be too threadbare to wear any longer. Irish Politics, as the men of +that day understood them, had become impracticable,—impossible, I +might say; the only sensible thing to do was to acknowledge the fact. My +father was keen-sighted enough to see it in that light, and here 's his +health for it.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Joe, out with it. Your family were honest Unionists. Tell me so +frankly, man. Own to me that you and yours look upon us all as a set of +knaves and scoundrels, that sold their country, and so forth. I want to +see you in a mood of good passionate indignation for once. Out with it, +boy; curse us to your heart's content, and I 'll hear it like an angel, +for the simple reason that I know it to be just. You won't, won't you? Is +your anger too deep for words? or are there any special and peculiar +wrongs that make your dark consuming wrath too hot for utterance?” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan was still silent; but the blush which now covered his face had +become almost purple. The allusion to his family as persons of political +importance struck him, and for the first time, with a sense of shame. What +would Massingbred think of them if he knew their real station? what would +he think of <i>him</i> for having concealed it? Had he concealed it? Had +he ever divulged the truth? He knew not; in the whirlwind of his confusion +he knew nothing. He tried to say some words to break the oppressive +silence that seemed to weigh him down like an accusation, but he could +not. +</p> +<p> +“I see it all, Nelligan. My foolish affectation of laughing at all +principle has disgusted you; but the truth is, I don't feel it: I do not. +I own frankly that the bought patriot is a ruined man, and there is a +moral Nemesis over every fellow that sells himself; I don't mean to say +but that many who did so did n't make the best bargain their brains were +worth, and my father for one; he was a man of fair average abilities,—able +to say his commonplaces like his neighbors,—and naturally felt that +they would sound as well in England as in Ireland; I don't think he had a +single conviction on any subject, so that he really sold a very unsalable +article when he vended himself. But there were others,—your +Governor, for instance; come, now, tell me about him; you are so devilish +close, and I want to hear all about your family. You won't; well, I'll +give you one chance more, and then—” + </p> +<p> +“What then?” asked Nelligan, breathlessly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll just go and learn for myself.” + </p> +<p> +“How? what do you mean?” “The easiest way in the world. The vacation +begins next Tuesday, and I 'll just invite myself to spend the first week +of it under your paternal roof. You look terribly shocked, absolutely +horrified; well, so you ought. It is about the greatest piece of +impertinence I 've heard of. I assure you I have a full consciousness of +that myself; but no matter, I 'll do it.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan's shame was now an agony. It had never occurred to him in his +life to feel ashamed of his station or that of his family, for the simple +reason that he had never made pretension to anything higher or more +exalted. The distinctions at which he aimed were those attainable by +ability; social successes were triumphs he never dreamed of. But now came +the thought of how he should stand in his friend's esteem, when the fact +was revealed that he was the son of very humble parents, all whose ways, +thoughts, and habits would be apt themes for ridicule and sarcasm. Over +and over again had Massingbred annoyed him by the disparaging tone in +which he canvassed “small people,” the sneering depreciation in which he +held all their doings, and the wholesale injustice by which he classed +their sentiments with their good manners. It was the one feature of his +friend's character that gave a check to his unbounded esteem for him. Had +he not possessed this blemish, Nelligan would have deemed him nearly +faultless. +</p> +<p> +Intensely feeling this, Nelligan would have given much for courage to say, +“I am one of that very set you sneer at. All my associations and ties are +with them. My home is amongst them, and every link of kindred binds me to +them.” + </p> +<p> +Yet, somehow, he could not bring himself to the effort. It was not that he +dreaded the loss of friendship that might ensue,—indeed, he rather +believed that such would not occur; but he thought that a time might come +when that avowal might be made with pride, and not in humiliation, when he +should say: “My father, the little shopkeeper of Oughterard, gave me the +advantages by which I became what I am. The class you sneer at had yet +ambitions high and daring as your own; and talents to attain them, too! +The age of noble and serf has passed away, and we live in a freer and more +generous era, when men are tested by their own worth; and if birth and +blood would retain their respect amongst us, it is by contesting with us +more humbly born the prizes of life.” To have asserted these things now, +however, when he was nothing, when his name had no echo beyond the walls +of a college, would have seemed to him an intolerable piece of +presumption, and he was silent. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred read his reserve as proceeding from displeasure, and jestingly +said,— +</p> +<p> +“You mustn't be angry with me, Joe. The boldness of men like me is less +impudence than you take it for, since—should I fulfil my threat, and +pay your father a visit—I 'd neither show surprise nor shame if he +refused to receive me. I throw over all the claims of ceremony; but at the +same time I don't want to impose the trammels on my friends. They are free +to deal with me as frankly, ay, and as curtly as I have treated them; but +enough of all this. Let us talk of something else.” + </p> +<p> +And so they did, too,—of their college life and its changeful +fortunes; of their companions and their several characters, and of the +future itself, of which Massingbred pretended to read the fate, saying: +“You'll be something wonderful one of these days, Joe. I have it as though +revealed to me,—<i>you</i> astonishing the world by your abilities, +and winning your way to rank and eminence; while <i>I</i> like a sign-post +that points to the direction, shall stand stock-still, and never budge an +inch, knowing the road, but not travelling it.” + </p> +<p> +“And why should it be so, Mass, when you have such a perfect consciousness +of your powers for success?” + </p> +<p> +“For the simple reason, my boy, that I know and feel how the cleverness +which imposes upon others has never imposed upon myself. The popular error +of a man's being able to do fifty things which he has not done from +idleness, apathy, carelessness, and so on, never yet deceived me, because +I know well that when a fellow has great stuff in him it will come out, +whether he likes or not. You might as well say that the grapes in a +wine-vat could arrest their own process of fermentation, as that a man of +real genius—and mind, I am now speaking of no other—could +suppress the working of his intelligence, and throw his faculties into +torpor. The men who do nothing are exactly the men who can do no better. +Volition, energy, the strong impulse for action, are part and parcel of +every really great intellect; and your 'mute, inglorious Milton' only +reminds me of the artist who painted his canvas all red to represent the +passage of the Egyptians through the Red Sea. Believe me, you must take +all untried genius in the same scale of credit as that by which you have +fancied the chariots and horsemen submerged in the flood. They are there, +if you like; and if you don't—” + </p> +<p> +“Your theory requires that all men's advantages should be equal, their +station alike, and their obstacles the same. Now, they are not so. See, +for instance, in our University here. <i>I</i> am debarred from the +fellowship-bench—or, at least, from attempting to reach it—because +I am a Papist.” + </p> +<p> +“Then turn Protestant; or if that doesn't suit you, address yourself to +kick down the barrier that stands in your way. By the bye, I did n't know +you were a Roman; how comes that? Is it a family creed, or was it a +caprice of your own?” + </p> +<p> +“It is the religion my family have always professed,” said Nelligan, +gravely. +</p> +<p> +“I have no right to speak of these subjects, because I have never felt +strongly enough on them to establish strong convictions; but it appears to +me that if I were you—that is, if I had <i>your</i> head on my +shoulders—I should think twice ere I 'd sacrifice my whole future +out of respect for certain dogmas that no more interfere with one's daily +life and opinions than some obsolete usage of ancient Greece has a bearing +upon a modern suit in Chancery. There, don't look fretful and impatient; I +don't want to provoke you, nor is it worth your while to bring your siege +artillery against my card-house. I appreciate everything you could +possibly adduce by anticipation, and I yield myself as vanquished.” + </p> +<p> +Thus, half in earnest, half jestingly, Massingbred talked away, little +thinking how deeply many a random speech entered into his friend's heart, +taking firm root there to grow and vegetate hereafter. As for himself, it +would have been somewhat difficult to say how far his convictions ever +went with his words. Any attempt to guide and direct him was, at any time, +enough to excite a wilful endeavor to oppose it, and whatever savored of +opposition immediately evoked his resistance. The spirit of rebellion was +the keynote of his character; he could be made anything, everything, or +nothing, as authority—or as he would have styled it, tyranny—decided. +</p> +<p> +It was just at this very moment that an incident occurred to display this +habit of his mind in its full force. His father, by employing much private +influence and the aid of powerful friends, had succeeded in obtaining for +him the promise of a most lucrative civil appointment in India. It was one +of those situations which in a few years of very moderate labor secure an +ample fortune for the possessor. Mr. Massingbred had forgotten but one +thing in all the arrangement of this affair, which was to apprise his son +of it beforehand, and make him, as it were, a part of the plot. That one +omission, however, was enough to secure its failure. +</p> +<p> +Jack received the first tidings of the scheme when it was a fact, not a +speculation. It was a thing done, not to do, and consequently a “gross +piece of domestic cruelty to dispose of him and his future by an arbitrary +banishment to a distant land, linking him with distasteful duties, +uncongenial associates,” and the rest of it. In a word, it was a case for +resistance, and he did resist, and in no very measured fashion, either. He +wrote back a pettish and ill-tempered refusal of the place, sneered at the +class by whom such appointments were regarded as prizes, and coolly said +that “it was quite time enough to attach himself to the serious business +of life when he had tasted something of the pleasures that suited his time +of life; besides,” added he, “I must see which way my ambitions point; +perhaps to a seat on the Treasury benches, perhaps to a bullock-team, a +wood-axe, and a rifle in a new settlement. Of my resolves on either head, +or on anything between them, you shall have the earliest possible +intimation from your devoted, but perhaps not very obedient, to command, +</p> +<p> +“J. M.” + </p> +<p> +His father rejoined angrily and peremptorily. The place had cost him +everything he could employ or enlist of friendly patronage; he made the +request assume all the weight of a deep personal obligation, and now the +solicitation and the success were all to go for nothing. What if he should +leave so very gifted a young gentleman to the unfettered use of his great +abilities? What if he abstained from any interference with one so +competent to guide himself? He threw out these suggestions too palpably to +occasion any misconception, and Jack read them aright. “I'm quite ready +for sea whenever you are pleased to cut the painter,” said he; and the +correspondence concluded with a dry intimation that two hundred a year, +less than one half of his former allowance, should be paid into Coutts's +for his benefit, but that no expenditure above that sum would be repaid by +his father. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll emigrate; I 'll agitate; I 'll turn author, and write for the +reviews; I 'll correspond with the newspapers; I 'll travel in Afrifca; I +'ll go to sea,—be a pirate;” in fact, there was nothing for which he +thought his capacity unequal, nor anything against which his principles +would revolt. In speculation, only, however; for in sober reality he +settled down into a mere idler, discontented, dreamy, and unhappy. +</p> +<p> +Little momentary bursts of energy would drive him now and then to his +books, and for a week or two he would work really hard; when a change as +sudden would come over him, and he would relapse into his former apathy. +Thus was it that he had lived for some time after the term had come to an +end, and scarcely a single student lingered within the silent courts. +Perhaps the very solitude was the great charm of the place; there was that +in his lonely, unfriended, uncompanionable existence that seemed to feed +the brooding melancholy in which he indulged with all the ardor of a vice. +He liked to think himself an outcast and forgotten. It was a species of +flattery that he addressed to his own heart when he affected to need +neither sympathy nor affection. Still his was not the stuff of which +misanthropy is fashioned, and he felt acutely the silence of his friend +Nelligan, who had never once written to him since they parted. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd scarcely have left <i>him</i> here,” said he to himself one day; +“had <i>he</i> been in my position, I 'd hardly have quitted <i>him</i> +under such circumstances. He knew all about my quarrel with my father. He +had read our letters on each side. To be sure he had condemned <i>me</i>, +and taken the side against me; still, when there was a breach, and that +breach offered no prospect of reconciliation, it was but scant friendship +to say good-bye, and desert me. He might, at least, have asked me down to +his house. I 'd not have gone; that 's certain. I feel myself very poor +company for myself, and I 'd not inflict my stupidity upon others. Still, +<i>he</i> might have thought it kind or generous. In fact, in such a case +I would have taken no refusal; I'd have insisted.” + </p> +<p> +What a dangerous hypothesis it is when we assume to act for another; how +magnanimously do we rise above all meaner motives, and only think of what +is generous and noble; how completely we discard every possible +contingency that could sway us from the road of duty, and neither look +right nor left on our way to some high object! Jack Massingbred, arguing +thus, ended by thinking himself a very fine fellow and his friend a very +shabby one,—two conclusions that, strangely enough, did not put him +into half as much good-humor with the world as he expected. At all events, +he felt very sore with Nelligan, and had he known where to address him, +would have written a very angry epistle of mock gratitude for all his +solicitude in his behalf; very unfortunately, however, he did not know in +what part of Ireland the other resided, nor did his acquaintance with +provincial dialect enable him to connect his friend with a western county. +He had so confidently expected to hear from him, that he had never asked a +question as to his whereabouts. Thus was it with Massingbred, as he +sauntered along the silent alleys of the College Park, in which, at rare +intervals, some solitary sizar might be met with,—spare, sad-looking +figures,—in whose features might be read the painful conflict of +narrow fortune and high ambition. Book in hand generally, they rarely +exchanged a look as he passed them; and Massingbred scanned at his ease +these wasted and careworn sons of labor, wondering within himself was +“theirs the right road to fortune.” + </p> +<p> +Partly to shake off the depression that was over him by change of place, +and in part to see something of the country itself, Massingbred resolved +to make a walking-tour through the south and west of Ireland, and with a +knapsack on his back, he started one fine autumn morning for Wicklow. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. SOME KNOTTY POINTS THAT PUZZLED JOE NELLIGAN +</h2> +<p> +This true history contains no record of the evening Mr. Scanlan passed at +the Osprey's Nest; nor is it probable that in any diary kept by that +intelligent individual there will yet be found materials to supply this +historical void. Whether, therefore, high events and their consequences +were discussed, or that the meeting was only devoted to themes of lighter +importance, is likely to remain a secret to all time. That matters beneath +the range of politics occupied the consideration of the parties was, +however, evident from the following few lines of a note received by young +Nelligan the next morning:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Dear Joe,—I dined yesterday at the 'Nest,' and we talked +much of you. What would you think of paying a visit there +this morning to see the picture, or anything else you can +think of? I 've a notion it would be well taken. At all +events, come over and speak to me here. + +“Ever yours, + +“M. SCANLAN.” + </pre> +<p> +“I scarcely understand your note, Maurice,” said young Nelligan, as he +entered the little room where the other sat at breakfast. +</p> +<p> +“Have you breakfasted?” said Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, an hour ago.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you taste that salmon? Well, then, just try Poll Hanigan's attempt +at a grouse-pie; let me tell you, there is genius in the very ambition; +she got the receipt from the cook at Cro' Martin, and the imitation is +highly creditable. You 're wrong to decline it.” And he helped himself +amply as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“But this note?” broke in the other, half impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Oh—ay—the note; I 'm sure I forget what I wrote; what was it +about? Yes, to be sure, I remember now. I want you to make yourself known, +up there. It is downright folly, if not worse, to be keeping up these +feuds and differences in Ireland any longer; such a course might suit the +small politicians of Oughterard, but you and I know better, and Martin +himself knows better.” + </p> +<p> +“But I never took any part in the conflict you speak of; I lived out of +it,—away from it.” + </p> +<p> +“And are therefore, exactly suited to repair a breach to which you never +contributed. I assure you, my boy, the gentry—and I know them well—will +meet you more than half-way. There is not a prouder fellow living than +Martin there; he has throughout his whole life held his head higher than +any man in our county, and yet he is quite ready to make advances towards +you. Of course, what I say is strictly between ourselves; but my opinion +is, that, if you like it, you may be as intimate up there as ever you were +at old Hayes's, at the Priory.” + </p> +<p> +“Then, what would you have me do?” asked Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Just pay a visit there this morning; say that you are curious to see that +great picture,—and it is a wonderful thing, if only for the size of +it; or that you 'd like to have a look at Arran Island out of the big +telescope at the top of the house; anything will serve as a reason, and +then,—why, leave the rest to chance.” + </p> +<p> +“But really, Maurice, I see no sufficient cause for all this,” said the +youth, timidly. +</p> +<p> +“Look now, Joe,” said the other, drawing his chair closer to him, and +talking in the low and measured tone of a confidence,—“look now, +you're not going to pass your life as the successor to that excellent man, +Dan Nelligan, of Oughterard, selling hides and ropes and ten-penny-nails, +and making an estate the way old ladies make a patchwork quilt. You'll be +able to start in life with plenty of tin and plenty of talent; you'll have +every advantage that money and education can give, and only one drawback +on your road to success,—the mere want of blood,—that dash of +birth which forms the only real freemasonry in this world. Now mind me, +Joe; the next best thing to having this oneself is to live and associate +with those who have; for in time, what with catching up their prejudices +and learning their ways, you come to feel very much as they do; and, what +is better still, they begin to regard you as one of themselves.” + </p> +<p> +“But if I do not ambition this,—if I even reject it?” said the +other, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Then all I say is that Trinity College may make wonderful scholars, but +turns out mighty weak men of the world!” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps so!” said Nelligan, dryly, and with a half-nettled air. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you fancy there would be something like slavery in such a +position?” said Scanlan, with a derisive look. +</p> +<p> +“I know it!” responded the other, firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Then what do you say to the alternative,—and there is but one only +open to you,—what do you think of spending your life as a follower +of Daniel O'Connell; of being reminded every day and every hour that you +have not a privilege nor a place that he did n't win for you; that he +opened Parliament to you, and made you free of every guild where men of +ability rise to honor? Ay, Joe! and what 's a thousand times worse,—knowing +it all to be true, my boy! Take service with him once, and if you leave +him you 're a renegade; remember that, and bethink you that there's no +saying what crotchet he may have in store for future agitation.” + </p> +<p> +“But I never purposed any such part for myself,” broke in Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind, it will fall to your lot for all that, if you don't quickly +decide against it. What's Simmy Crow staring at? Look at him down there, +he's counting every window in the street like a tax-gatherer.” And he +pointed to the artist, who, shading his eyes with one hand, stood peering +at every house along the little street. “What's the matter, Simmy?” cried +he, opening the casement. +</p> +<p> +“It's a house I'm looking for, down here, and I forget which it is; bother +them, they 're all so like at this time of the year when they 're empty.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you in search of a lodging, Simmy?” + </p> +<p> +“No, it is n't that!” said the other, curtly, and still intent on his +pursuit. “Bad luck to the architect that would n't vary what they call the +'façade,' and give one some chance of finding the place again.” + </p> +<p> +“Who is it you want, man?” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, and I don't even know that same!” replied the artist; “but”—and +he lowered his voice to a whisper as he spoke—“he's an elegant +study,— as fine a head and face and as beautiful a beard as ever you +saw. I met him at Kyle's Wood a week ago, begging; and what with his fine +forehead and deep-set blue eyes, his long white hair, and his great shaggy +eyebrows, I said to myself: 'Belisarius,' says I, 'by all that's grand,—a +Moses, a Marino Faliero, or a monk in a back parlor discoursing to an old +skull and a vellum folio,—any one of these,' says I, 'not to speak +of misers, money-lenders, or magicians, as well;' and so I coaxed him down +here on Saturday last, and put him somewhere to sleep, with a good supper +and a pint of spirits, and may I never, if I know where I left him.” + </p> +<p> +“Three days ago?” + </p> +<p> +“Just so; and worse than all, I shut up the place quite dark, and only +made a hole in the roof, just to let a fine Rembrandt light fall down on +his head. Oh, then, it's no laughing matter, Maurice! Sure if anything +happened to him—” + </p> +<p> +“Your life wouldn't be worth sixpence before any jury in the county.” + </p> +<p> +“Begad! it's what I was thinking; if they wouldn't take it as a practical +joke.” + </p> +<p> +“You're looking for ould Brennan!” cried a weather-beaten hag; “but he's +gone to Oughterard for a summons. You'll pay dear for your tricks this +time, anyhow.” + </p> +<p> +“Come up here, Simmy, and never mind her,” said Scanlan; then, turning to +Nelligan, he added, “There's not such a character in the county! +</p> +<p> +“I want my friend, Mr. Nelligan, here—Mr. Nelligan—Mr. Crow—I +want him, I say, to come up and have a look at the great 'Historical '—eh, +Simmy!—would n't it astonish him?” + </p> +<p> +“Are you a votary of art, sir?” asked Crow, modestly. +</p> +<p> +“I 've never seen what could be called a picture, except those portraits +in the College Examination Hall might be deemed such.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, and they're not worthy the name, sir. Flood, mayhap, is like, but +he's hard and stiff, and out of drawing; and Lord Clare is worse. It's in +the Low Countries you 'd see portraits, real portraits! men that look down +on you out of the canvas, as if <i>you</i> were the intruder there, and +that <i>they</i> were waiting to know what brought you. A sturdy old +Burgomaster, for instance, with a red-brown beard and a fierce pair of +eyes, standing up firm as a rock on a pair of legs that made many a +drawbridge tremble as he walked home to dinner on the Grand Canal, at +Rotterdam, after finishing some mighty bargain for half a spice island, or +paying a million of guilders down as a dowry for that flaxen-haired, buxom +damsel in the next frame. Look at the dimples in her neck, and mark the +folds in her satin. Is n't she comely, and calm, and haughty, and +house-wifery, all together? Mind her foot, it isn't small, but see the +shape of it, and the way it presses the ground—ay, just so—my +service to you; but you are one there 's no joking with, even if one was +alone with you.” And he doffed his hat, and bowed obsequiously as he +spoke. +</p> +<p> +“You're an enthusiast for your art?” said Nelligan, interested by the +unmistakable sincerity of his zeal. +</p> +<p> +“I am, sir,” was the brief reply. +</p> +<p> +“And the painter's is certainly a glorious career.” + </p> +<p> +“If for nothing else,” burst in Crow, eagerly, “that it can make of one +like me—poor, ignorant, and feeble, as I am—a fellow-soldier +in the same army with Van Dyke and Titian and Velasquez—to know that +in something that they thought, or hoped, or dared, or tried to do, I too +have my share! You think me presumptuous to say this; you are sneering at +such a creature as Simmy Crow for the impudence of such a boast, but it's +in humility I say it, ay, in downright abject humility; for I 'd rather +have swept out Rembrandt's room, and settled his rough boards on Cuyp's +easel, than I 'd be a—a—battle-axe guard, or a +lord-in-waiting, or anything else you like, that's great and grand at +court.” + </p> +<p> +“I envy you a pursuit whose reward is in the practice rather than in the +promise,” said Nelligan, thoughtfully. “Men like myself labor that they +may reach some far-away land of rewards and successes, and bear the +present that they may enjoy the future.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/114.jpg" width="100%" alt="114 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Ay, but it will repay you well, by all accounts,” said Crow. “Miss Mary +told us last night how you had beat every one out of the field, and had +n't left a single prize behind you.” + </p> +<p> +“Who said this?” cried Joe, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Mary,—Miss Martin. She said it was a credit to us all of the +west, here, that there was one, at least, from Galway, who could do +something besides horse-racing and cock-fighting—” + </p> +<p> +“So she did,” said Scanlan, interrupting, with some confusion. “She said +somebody had told her of young Nelligan. She called you 'Young Nelligan.'” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; it was to myself she said it, and the words were, 'Mr. Joseph +Nelligan;' and then, when her uncle said, 'Why don't we know him? '—” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Simmy, you make a most horrible confusion when you attempt a +story,—out of canvas. Mind, I said out of canvas; for I confess that +in your grand 'Historical' the whole incident is admirably detailed. I 've +just said to my friend here, that he has a great pleasure before him in +seeing that picture.” + </p> +<p> +“If you 'll do me the honor to look at it,” said Crow, bowing courteously, +“when you come to dinner to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“Attend to <i>me</i>, Joe,” said Scanlan, passing an arm within +Nelligan's, and leading him away to another part of the room; “that fellow +is little better than an idiot. But I was just going to tell you what +Martin said. 'You are intimate with young Nelligan,' said he; 'you know +him well, and you could possibly do without awkwardness what with more +formality might be difficult. Don't you think, then, that he would +possibly waive ceremony—'” + </p> +<p> +“I must be off,” broke in Crow, hastily. “I have a sitting at twelve +o'clock, so I hope we shall see you at seven, Mr. Nelligan; your note said +seven, sharp.” And without waiting for more, he seized his hat and hurried +down the stairs. +</p> +<p> +“A downright fool!” said Scanlan, angrily. “Mr. Martin said he 'd write to +you, if—if—if, in fact, you stood upon that punctilio; but +that he'd be all the better pleased if you 'd just accept acquaintance as +freely as he offered it, and come and dine there to-day, like a friend.” + </p> +<p> +“Is n't there, or has there not been, some difference between him and my +father?” asked Joe. +</p> +<p> +“A trifle,—and a mistake; the kind of thing that two men of calm +heads and common sense could have settled in five minutes, and which, to +say the truth, Martin was right in throughout. It's all passed and over +now, however, and it would be worse than foolish to revive it. There 's +Miss Martin!” cried he, “and I have a word to say to her;” and hurried off +without waiting for more. As he passed from the room, however, a letter +fell from his pocket; and as Nelligan stooped to take it up, he saw that +it was addressed to himself. He looked hesitatingly at it for a moment or +two, scarcely knowing whether or not he ought to break the seal. “It was +meant for me, at all events,” said he, and opened it. The contents were as +follows;— +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Martin presents his respects to Mr. Joseph Nelligan, and will feel +happy if—excusing the want of formal introduction—Mr. Nelligan +will admit him to the honor of acquaintance, and give him the pleasure of +his society at dinner, to-morrow, at seven o'clock. Mr. Martin does not +hesitate to say that to accept this unceremonious proposal will be felt as +a very great favor indeed by him and his family.” + </p> +<p> +“What does Scanlan mean by all this? Why not have handed me this note at +once?” was Nelligan's question to himself, as he descended the stairs and +gained the street. He was not sorry that Scanlan was not in sight, and +hastened homeward to think over this strange communication. Joe well knew +that his mother was not peculiarly endowed with worldly wisdom or +acuteness; and yet such was his need of counsel at the moment, that he +determined, at least in part, to lay the case before her. “She can +certainly tell me,” said he, “if there be any reason why I should decline +this proposal.” And with this resolve he entered the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you remember Catty Henderson, Joe?” said his mother, as he came +into the room, and presenting a young girl, very plainly but neatly +dressed, who arose to receive him with an air of well-bred composure,—“Catty, +that used to be your playfellow long ago?” + </p> +<p> +“I didn't know you were in Ireland, Miss Henderson. I should never have +recognized you,” said Nelligan, in some confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Nor was I till a few days back,” said she, in an accent very slightly +tinged with a foreign pronunciation. “I came home on Tuesday.” + </p> +<p> +“Isn't she grown, joe? and such a fine girl, too. I always said she 'd be +so; and when the others would have it that your nose was too long for the +rest of your features, I said, 'Wait till she grows up,—wait till +she 's a woman;' and see now if I 'm not right.” + </p> +<p> +It must be owned that Joe Nelligan's confusion during the delivery of this +prophetic criticism was far greater than Catty's own, who received the +speech with a low, gentle laugh, while Mrs. Nelligan went on: “I made her +stay till you came back, Joe, for I wanted her to see what a tall creature +you are, and not more than twenty,—her own age to a month; and I +told her what a genius you turned out, indeed, to the surprise of us all, +and myself, especially.” + </p> +<p> +“Thank you, mother,” said he, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“No, indeed, my dear, 't is your father you may thank for all your talents +and abilities; a wonderful man he is, beginning the world without a +sixpence; and there he is now, with I 'm sure I don't know how many +hundreds a year in land,—ay, Catty, in broad acres; just like any +squire in the county. Well, well, there 's many a change come over the +country since you were here,—how many years is it now?” + </p> +<p> +“Upwards of twelve,” said the young girl. “Dear me, how time flies! It +seems like yesterday that you and Joe had the measles together, in the +yellow room up at Broom Lodge, and your poor mother was alive then, and +would insist on giving you everything cool to drink, just because you +liked it, though I told her that was exactly the reason it was sure to be +bad for you; for there 's nothing so true in life,—that everything +we wish for is wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“An unpleasant theory, certainly,” said Catty, laughing; “but I hope not +of universal application, for I have been long wishing to see you again.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well, who knows whether it may be good or bad,” said she, sighing; +“not but I 'm pleased to see you growing up the image of your poor dear +mother,—taller, maybe, but not so handsome, nor so genteel-looking; +but when you have your trials and troubles, as she had, maybe that will +come, too, for I often remarked, there 's nothing like affliction to make +one genteel.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, mother, you are profuse in unhappy apothegms this morning,” said +Joe. +</p> +<p> +“And you are coming to stay amongst us now, Catty; or are you going back +to France again?” said Mrs. Nelligan, not heeding the remark. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely know, as yet,” replied the young girl. “My father's letter to +summon me home said something about placing me as a governess, if I were +capable of the charge.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course you are, my dear, after all your advantages; not but that I 'd +rather see you anything else,—a nice light business; for instance, +in baby-linen or stationery, or in Miss Busk's establishment, if that +could be accomplished.” + </p> +<p> +A very slight flush—so slight as to be nearly imperceptible—crossed +the young girl's cheek, but not a syllable escaped her, as Mrs. Nelligan +resumed,— +</p> +<p> +“And there was an excellent opening the other day at the Post here, in the +circulating-library way, and lending out a newspaper or two. I don't know +how much you might make of it. Not but maybe you 'd rather be companion to +a lady, or what they call a 'nervous invalid.'” + </p> +<p> +“That, too, has been thought of,” said the girl, smiling; “but I have +little choice in the matter, and, happily, as little preference for one as +the other of these occupations. And now I must take my leave, for I +promised to be back by two o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, there's Joe will see you home with pleasure, and I 'm sure you have +plenty to say to each other about long ago; not but I hope you 'll agree +better than you did then. You were the torment of my life, the way you +used to fight.” + </p> +<p> +“I couldn't think of trespassing on Mr. Joseph's time; I should be quite +ashamed of imposing such trouble on him. So good-bye, godmamma; good-bye, +Mr. Joseph,” said she, hurriedly throwing her shawl around her. +</p> +<p> +“If you will allow me to accompany you,” said Joseph, scarcely knowing +whether she rejected or accepted his escort. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure she will, and you have both more sense than to fall out now; +and mind, Joseph, you 're to be here at four, for I asked Mrs. Cronan to +dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that reminds me of something,” said Joe, hurriedly; and he leaned +over his mother's chair, and whispered to her, “Mr. Martin has invited me +to dine with him to-day; here is his note, which came to me in rather a +strange fashion.” + </p> +<p> +“To dine at the Nest! May I never! But I scarcely can believe my eyes,” + said Mrs. Nelligan, in ecstasy. “And the honor, and the pleasure, too; +well, well, you 're the lucky boy.” + </p> +<p> +“What shall I do, mother; is n't there something between my father and +him?” + </p> +<p> +“What will you do but go; what else would you do, I 'd like to know? What +will they say at the Post when they hear it?” + </p> +<p> +“But I want you to hear how this occurred.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well; I don't care,—go you must, Joe. But there 's poor Catty +walking away all alone; just overtake her, and say that a sudden +invitation from the Martins—mention it as if you were up there every +day—” + </p> +<p> +But young Nelligan did not wait for the conclusion of this artful counsel, +but hurrying after Catty Henderson, overtook her as she had gained the +beach. +</p> +<p> +“I have no need of an escort, Mr. Joseph,” said she, good-humoredly. “I +know every turn of the way here.” + </p> +<p> +“But you'll not refuse my companionship?” said he. “We have scarcely +spoken to each other yet.” And as he spoke he drew his arm within her own, +and they walked along in silence. +</p> +<p> +“My mother thinks we did nothing but quarrel long ago,” said he, after a +pause; “but if my memory serves me truly, it was upon this very pathway we +once swore to each other vows of a very different kind. Do you recollect +anything of that, Miss Henderson?” + </p> +<p> +“I do, Mr. Joseph,” said she, with a sly half-glance as she uttered the +last word. +</p> +<p> +“Then why 'Mr. Joseph'?” said he, half reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +“Why 'Miss Henderson'?” said she, with a malicious smile at the other's +confusion; for somehow Joseph's manner was far less easy than her own. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely know why,” replied he, after a short silence, “except that you +seem so changed; and I myself, too, am probably in your eyes as much +altered—from what we both were, that—that—” + </p> +<p> +“That, in short, it would be impossible to link the past with the +present,” said she, quickly; “and you were quite right. I 'm convinced the +effort is always a failure, and prejudices in a hundred ways the good +qualities of those who attempt it. Let us, therefore, begin our +acquaintance here; learn to know each other as we are,—that is, if +we are to know each other at all.” + </p> +<p> +“Why do you say that?” asked he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“For many reasons. We may not meet often; perhaps not at all; perhaps +under circumstances where to renew intimacy might be difficult. Assuredly, +although the path here might once have sufficed us, our roads in life lie +widely apart now, and the less we travel together the more we shall each +go towards his own goal, and—and the less regret we shall feel at +parting; and so now good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“You wish it?” said he, reproachfully. “You desire this?” + </p> +<p> +“What matters it whether I wish it or not? I know it must be. Good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, then,—good-bye,” said he, affecting as much indifference +as he could; and then, slightly raising his hat, he turned away on the +road homeward. +</p> +<p> +Joseph Nelligan's reflections were not of the pleasantest as he sauntered +slowly back. He was not exactly satisfied with himself; he felt, he could +not just say how, that the young girl had had the mastery over him; she +was more calm or self-possessed; she had more tact, or she knew more of +life; had more of self-control, or breeding, or some other quality, +whatever it might be, than he had. At all events, he was ill at ease and +discontented. Then he doubted whether he ought to have taken her at her +word when she talked of parting. It might, possibly, have been meant by +her to evoke some show of resistance on his part; that same inequality of +station she seemed to hint at might, perhaps, demand from him a greater +deference. In fact, whichever way he turned the matter over, he saw little +cause for self-gratulation; nor did he discover that it mended matters +when he tried to accuse her of French frivolity, and such other traits as +he fancied of foreign origin. +</p> +<p> +In this not over-pleasant mood was it that he re-entered the cottage, +where his mother was busy in preparing a very formidable cravat for the +approaching dinner-party. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Joe!” said she, anxiously, “if you were to dress now, and then stay +quiet, you 'd be quite fresh when the time came; for, remember, it's not +like your father you are, that has the world about him, and can converse +about everything that comes uppermost; but with all your learning, you +know, you always feel somehow—” + </p> +<p> +“Stupid, mother?” + </p> +<p> +“Not stupid, my dear, but depressed,—out of spirits in society; so +that my advice to you is, now, dress yourself in good time, take a small +glass of ginger-cordial, and throw your eye over the second chapter of +'Social Hints,' with an account of conversation before and at dinner, and +some excellent advice about'compliments, meet for every season of the +year.'” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think such preparations quite necessary, mother?” asked Joe, +slyly; for he rather relished the simplicity of her counsels. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, I do; for yours is no common difficulty, Joe. If you talk of +country matters, you 'll get into Kyle's Wood and the Chancery suit; if +you touch politics or religion, it will be worse again. The Martins, I +hear, never play cards, so you can't allude to them; and they 'll be too +grand to know anything about poor Miss Cuddy going off with the sergeant +of police, or what Con Kelly did with his aunt's furniture.” + </p> +<p> +“So that really the topics open to me are marvellously few.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, there's shooting; but to be sure you know nothing about that, nor +fishing, either; and I suppose farming, if you did understand it, would +n't be genteel. Indeed, I see little that is n't dangerous, except the +dearness of everything. I remark that's a subject nobody ever tires of, +and all can take their share in.” + </p> +<p> +“And I conclude it to be fact, mother?” + </p> +<p> +“A very melancholy fact, my dear; and so I said to Betty Gargan, +yesterday. 'It's well for <i>you</i>,' said I, 'and the likes of you, that +use nothing but potatoes; but think of us, that have to pay sixpence a +pound for mutton, six-and-a-half for the prime pieces, and veal not to be +had under eightpence.' They talk of the poor, indeed! but sure they never +suffer from a rise in butcher's meat, and care nothing at all what tea +costs. I assure you I made the tears come into her eyes, with the way I +described our hardships.” + </p> +<p> +“So that this will be a safe subject for me, mother?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly safe, my dear, and no ways mean, either; for I always remarked +that the higher people are, the stingier they are, and the more pleasure +they take in any little sharp trick that saves them sixpence. And when +that 's exhausted, just bring in the Rams.” + </p> +<p> +“The Rams?” + </p> +<p> +“I mean my aunt Ram, and my relations in Wexford. I 'm sure, with a little +address, you 'll be able to show how I came to be married beneath me, and +all the misery it cost me.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, mother, I believe I have now ample material,” said Joe, rising, +with a lively dread of an opening which he knew well boded a lengthy +exposition; “and to my own want of skill must it be ascribed if I do not +employ it profitably.” And with this he hurried to his room to prepare for +the great event. +</p> +<p> +The “Gentlemen of England” do not deem it a very formidable circumstance +to repair towards seven, or half-past, to a dinner-party, even of the +dullest and most rigid kind. There is a sombre “routine” in these cases, +so recognized that each goes tolerably well prepared for the species of +entertainment before him. There is nothing very exhilarating in the +prospect, and as little to depress. It is a leaf torn out of one of the +tamest chapters in life's diary, where it is just as rare to record a new +dish as a new idea, and where the company and the cookery are both +foreknown. +</p> +<p> +No one goes with any exaggerated expectations of enjoyment; but as little +does he anticipate anything to discompose or displease him. The whole +thing is very quiet and well-bred; rather dull, but not unpleasant. Now, +Joseph Nelligan had not graduated as a “diner-out;” he was about as +ignorant of these solemn festivals as any man well could be. He was not, +therefore, without a certain sense of anxiety as to the conversational +requisites for such occasions. Would the company rise to themes and places +and people of which he had never as much as heard? or would they treat of +ordinary events, and if so, on what terms? If politics came to be +discussed, would Mr. Martin expect him to hear in silence opinions from +which he dissented? Dare he speak his sentiments, at the cost of directing +attention to himself?—a course he would fain have avoided. These, +and innumerable other doubts, occupied him as he was dressing, and made +him more than once regret that he had determined to accept this +invitation; and when the hour at last came for him to set out, he felt a +sense of shrinking terror of what was before him greater than he had ever +known as he mounted the dreaded steps of the College Examination Hall. +</p> +<p> +He might, it is true, have bethought him of the fact that where Simmy Crow +and Maurice Scanlan were guests, he too might pass muster without +reproach; but he did not remember this, or, at least, it failed to impress +him sufficiently. Nor was his dread without a certain dash of vanity, as +he thought of the contrast between the humble place he was perhaps about +to occupy at a great man's table, and the proud one he had achieved in the +ranks of scholarship and science. Thus musing, he sauntered slowly along +till he found himself in front of the little garden of the Osprey's Nest. +He looked at his watch,—it was exactly seven; so he pulled the bell, +and entered. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. THE MARTIN ARMS +</h2> +<p> +In the small and not over-neat parlor of the Martin Arms at Oughterard, a +young man sat at his breakfast, at times casting his eyes over the columns +of the “Vindicator,” and anon strolling to the window to watch the +gathering of the country people at the weekly market. The scene was one of +that mingled bustle and languor so characteristically Irish. Cart-loads of +turf, vegetables, fruit, or turkeys blocked up the narrow passage between +booths of fancy wares, gilt jewelry, crockery, and cutlery; the vendors +all eagerly vociferating commendations of their stores, in chorus with +still more clamorous beggars, or the discordant notes of vagrant +minstrelsy. Some animal monstrosity, announced by a cracked-voiced herald +and two clarionets, added to a din to which loud laughter contributed its +share of uproar. +</p> +<p> +The assemblage was entirely formed of the country people, many of whom +made the pretext of having a pig or a lamb to sell the reason of their +coming; but, in reality, led thither by the native love of a gathering,—that +fondness to be where their neighbors were,—without any definite aim +or object. There was, then, in strong contrast to the anxious solicitation +of all who had aught to sell, the dreary, languid, almost apathetic look +of the mere lounger, come to while away his weary hour and kill time just +like any very bored fine gentleman who airs his listlessness along St +James's Street, or lazily canters his <i>ennui</i> down Rotten Row. +</p> +<p> +Jack Massingbred—for he was the traveller whose straw hat and +knapsack stood upon a table near—was amused at a scene so full of +its native characteristics. The physiognomy, the dress, the bearing of the +people, their greetings as they met, their conduct of a bargain, all +bespoke a nation widely differing from the sister country, and set him +a-dreaming as to how it was that equality of laws might very possibly +establish anything but equality of condition amongst people so dissimilar. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/126.jpg" width="100%" alt="" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +alt="126 “> +</p> +<p> +While thus musing, his eye chanced to rest upon the half-effaced +inscription over a shop door in front, and where the name of Daniel +Nelligan figured as “licensed for all kinds of groceries and spirits.” + “Nelligan,” repeated he to himself, “I shall certainly quiz my friend Joe, +when we meet, about his namesake in Oughterard. How good it would be to +pick up some details of our friend opposite to torment him with! What rare +fun to affect to have discovered a near relative in this man of hides, +glue, sugar, and Jamaica rum! Eh, gad, I'll try it.” And with this resolve +he crossed the street at once, and soon found himself in the compact crowd +which thronged the doorway of this popular shop. +</p> +<p> +It was, indeed, a busy scene, since many who were there came as much +sellers as buyers, giving all the complexity of barter to their several +transactions. Here was a staid country-woman exchanging her spunyarn, or +her “cloth,” as it is called, for various commodities in tea, candles, and +such like; here a farmer, with a sample of seed-oats in his +pocket-handkerchief, of which he wanted the value in certain farm +utensils; here was another, with a stout roll of home-made frieze to +dispose of; some were even fain to offer a goose or a hen as the medium +for a little tobacco, or some equally tempting luxury of cottier life. But +there was another class of customers, who, brushing their way through the +throng, made for a small, dingy-looking chamber behind the shop, in which +Mr. Nelligan performed the functions of banker and money-lender, +discounting small bills, advancing loans, and transacting all the various +duties of a petty capitalist,—means by which, it was alleged, he had +already amassed a very ample fortune. +</p> +<p> +An announcement in writing on the glass door of this sanctum informed +Massingbred that “bank-notes” were exchanged, and “small loans advanced on +good security,” suggesting to him at once the means of opening an +acquaintance with the interior. Without any very definite purpose, +however, he now found himself one of a very closely packed crowd within +the chamber. At a small desk, around which ran a railing of about a foot +in height, serving, as it were, to “filter the stream” of solicitation +that poured in upon him, sat a dark-eyed, bilious-looking man of about +fifty; a black wig, cut in two deep arches over the temples, showed a +strongly formed, massive head, very favorably in contrast to the features +beneath it, which were only indicative of intense shrewdness and cunning. +The eyes, in particular, were restless and furtive-looking, distrust and +suspicion giving their entire expression,—qualities, it was to be +owned, in very active employment in the intercourse of his daily life. +</p> +<p> +The anxious looks around him—careworn, eager, tremulous with anxiety +as they were—seemed the very opposite to his own, full of the +security that a strong purse bestows, and stern in the conscious strength +of his affluence. +</p> +<p> +“It won't do, Hagan,” said he, with a half-smile, as he pushed back +through the grating a very dirty, discolored piece of paper. “You 'll be +off to America before it comes due. I would n't take the Lord-Lieutenant's +note at six months, as times go.” + </p> +<p> +“See, now, Mr. Nelligan,” replied the other, pressing his face close to +the cage, and talking with intense eagerness. “May I never see Christmas, +but I 'll pay it 'T was marryin' the daughter left me low in cash; but +with the blessing of God and your help—” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you 're more certain of the blessing than the help. What's this +with the string round it?” continued Nelligan, addressing another +applicant. +</p> +<p> +“'T is a roll of notes I wanted to ax your honor about. Molly never 'let +on' she had them till Friday last; and now that James is going away, and +wants a trifle to fit him out—” + </p> +<p> +“Why, they're French's Bank, man, that broke years ago,—they 're not +worth a farthing!” + </p> +<p> +“Arrah, don't say so, and God reward you,” cried the poor fellow, while +his eyes filled up and his lip trembled convulsively; “don't take the hope +out of my heart all at onst. Look at them again, your honor, and maybe you +'ll think different.” + </p> +<p> +“If I did, I 'd be as great a fool as yourself, Patsy. The bank is closed, +and the banker dead this many a day; and I would n't give you sixpence for +sixty thousand of them. Take him out in the fresh air,—give him a +mouthful of water,” added he, hastily, as the wretched countryman +staggered back, sick, and almost fainting with the sad tidings. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Mooney,” said he, addressing a pale, mild-featured woman in a +widow's cap and black gown, “you can't expect to hear from Dublin for a +week or ten days to come. It takes some time to administer; but if you are +in want of a few pounds—” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, thank you,” said she, in a low voice; “but as I can't go back to +the place again,—as I 'll never be able to live there now—” + </p> +<p> +“Don't be in a hurry, Mrs. Mooney, do nothing rash. None of us know what +we can do till we 're tried. There's Miles Dogherty never thought he 'd be +paying me that eight pound fifteen he owes me, and see now if he is n't +come with it to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, and I am not,” sturdily responded a very powerfully built man in +the comfortable dress of a substantial farmer. “I don't owe it, and I 'll +never pay it; and what's more, if you get a decree against me to-morrow, +I'd sell every stick and stone in the place and go to 'Quay bec'.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed you would n't, Miles, not a bit more than I'd go and take the law +of an old friend and neighbor.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, I never thought you would,” said the stout man, wiping his +forehead, and appearing as if he had forgotten his wrath. +</p> +<p> +“And now, Miles, what about that water-course?” said Nelligan, +good-humoredly; “are you content to leave it to any two fair men—” + </p> +<p> +As he got thus far, his eye for the first time fell upon Massingbred, who, +with folded arms, was leaning against a wall, an attentive spectator of +the whole scene. +</p> +<p> +“That is a stranger yonder! what can he want here?” said Nelligan, who +watched the attentive look of Massingbred's face with considerable +distrust. He whispered a few words into the ear of a man beside him, who, +making his way through the crowd, addressed the young man with— +</p> +<p> +“It's the master, sir, wants to know if he could do anything for your +honor?” + </p> +<p> +“For <i>me?</i> oh, you spoke to <i>me?</i>” said Massingbred, suddenly +recalled to himself. “Yes, to be sure; I wanted to know—that is, I +was thinking—” And he stopped to try and remember by what device he +had purposed making Mr. Nelligan's acquaintance. +</p> +<p> +While he thus stood doubting and confused, his eyes suddenly met the +black, searching, deep-set orbs that peered at him behind the grating; and +without knowing how or why, he slowly approached him. +</p> +<p> +“In what way can I be of any use to you, sir?” said Nelligan, in a tone +which very palpably demanded the reason of his presence there. +</p> +<p> +Jack Massingbred was eminently “cool,”—that is, he was possessed of +that peculiar assurance which rarely suffers itself to be ruffled by a +difficulty. In the intercourse of society, and with men of the world, he +could have submitted to any test unabashed; and yet now, in presence of +this shrewd-looking and very commonplace personage, he, somehow, felt +marvellously ill at ease, and from the simple reason that the man before +whom he stood was not of his “world,” but one of a set of whose habits and +thoughts and ways he was in utter ignorance. +</p> +<p> +Nelligan's question was a second time addressed to him, and in the same +words, before he thought of framing a reply to it. For a second or two it +occurred to him to say that he had strolled in, half inadvertently, and +apologizing for the intrusion, to withdraw; but his pride was offended at +the notion of defeat this conduct implied, and with an assumption of that +conventional impudence far more natural to him, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“It was your name, sir, attracted me—the name 'Nelligan' which I +read over your door—being that of a very dear and valued friend of +mine, suggested to me to inquire whether you might not be relatives.” + </p> +<p> +The cool indifference which accompanied these words, uttered as they were +in a certain languid drawl, were very far from predisposing Nelligan in +favor of the speaker; while the pretence of attaching any singularity to a +name so common as his own, struck him at once as indicative of covert +impertinence. +</p> +<p> +“Nelligan is not a very remarkable name down here, sir,” dryly responded +he. +</p> +<p> +“Very possibly,” replied Jack, with all his accustomed ease. “I know +little or nothing of Ireland. Your namesake, or your relative, perhaps, +was a college friend of mine, but to what part of the country he belonged, +I never knew.” + </p> +<p> +The words, “a college friend,” roused the other's anxiety, and leaning +forward eagerly, and dropping his voice to a whisper, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Where? In what college, may I ask, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“In Trinity, Dublin.” + </p> +<p> +“The Medallist of this year, you mean?” said the other, almost breathless +in his anxiety. +</p> +<p> +“Just so. The same fellow who has been sweeping away all the honors of his +day. You have heard of him, it would seem?” + </p> +<p> +“He is my son, sir. I 'm Joe Nelligan's father!” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred's astonishment did not betray itself by any change of feature; +not a word escaped him; but his eye ranged over the scene around him, and +came back to rest upon old Nelligan's face with an expression of the +calmest meaning. +</p> +<p> +“What a fortunate accident—for <i>me</i>, I mean,” continued he. +“Joe and I are very dear friends, and it is a great happiness for me to +make his father's acquaintance. Is he with you now?” “No, sir; he's at the +sea,—a place called Kilkieran, about twenty miles away; but we 'll +have him back by tomorrow if you 'll stay with us, and I 'm sure you 'll +not refuse me that pleasure. The young gentleman who is my son's friend, +is mine also, if he 'll permit me to call him so; and now just tell me +what name shall I say?—who is it that I 'm to tell Joe has arrived +here?” + </p> +<p> +“Say that Jack Massingbred is come, and I 'll lay my life on't you'll see +him here as fast as may be.” + </p> +<p> +“And now, Mr. Massingbred, just take up your quarters with us. Where are +you stopping? I 'll send over the boy for your trunks, for I need n't say +that this must be your home while you stay at Oughterard.” The genial tone +of warm hospitality in which he now spoke made him seem a very different +man from the hard-featured old money-lender he had appeared when Jack +first beheld him, and Massingbred returned his cordial shake hands with a +pressure equal to his own, while he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Be assured that I accept your offer most heartily. My whole baggage is a +knapsack and a fishing-rod, so that if you admit me as your guest you must +dispense with all beyond the very humblest requirements. I have no coat, +except this on me; and, when I brush my hair, I have dressed for dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“You are amongst very humble people, Mr. Massingbred,—a country +shopkeeper, and his wife, and son,—and they 'll be only too happy to +feel that you don't despise their company. Come, and I 'll show you your +room.” And so saying, Nelligan led him up a narrow stair, and at the end +of a corridor opened a door into a neatly furnished chamber, which looked +out into a spacious garden. The whole interior was scrupulously clean and +comfortable; and as Jack surveyed his new dominions, he inwardly blessed +his good fortune that had piloted him into such a haven. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll just step down and write to Joe. Meanwhile you 'll have your things +brought over to you. Make yourself at home here—at least, as much as +you can in such a place—and when you want anything, just ask for +it.” And with these words old Nelligan left him to his own thoughts. +</p> +<p> +Whatever savored of an adventure was the delight of Jack Massingbred. He +was one of those men whose egotism takes the shape of playing hero to +themselves,—a tolerably large category amongst the spoiled children +of this world. To be thrown into any strange or novel position, with +associates he was unused to, and amidst circumstances totally unlike all +he had ever met before, was his great happiness; and although here there +was nothing like actual peril to heighten the zest of the enjoyment, there +was a certain dash of embarrassment in the situation that increased its +piquancy. This embarrassment lay in his approaching meeting with young +Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +All the reserve his young college friend had maintained with regard to his +family was at once explained; and Jack began to think over how often it +must have occurred to him to say the most galling and offensive things in +his ignorance of Nelligan's real station. “If he had been frank and open +with me,” said he to himself, “this would never have happened.” But +therein Jack made two errors, since Nelligan was in no wise bound to make +such revelations, nor was Massingbred the man to distinguish himself +amongst his associates by a close friendship with the son of a country +shopkeeper. He had been trained in a very different school, and taught to +estimate his own station by the standard of his companionship. Indeed, he +had witnessed the lenity which met his transgressions when they occurred +in high company, and saw his father pay the debts he had contracted +amongst titled associates with a far more generous forgiveness than had +they taken their origin with more plebeian friends. “What could have +induced the man to become a Fellow-Commoner,” said he, over and over; “it +is such a palpable piece of presumption?” The truth was, Jack felt +excessively irritated at never having even suspected his friend's +pretensions, and was eager to throw the blame of a deception where none +had ever been practised. +</p> +<p> +“They told me I should find everything very different here from in +England, but they never hinted at anything like this.” There came then +another phase over his reflections, as he asked himself, “But what affair +is it of mine? Nelligan never thrust himself on me, it was I that sought +him. He never proposed introducing me to his family, it was I that made +them out,—I, in fact, who have imposed myself upon them. If I deemed +the old grocer <i>infra dig.</i>, I need never have known him; but I have +not felt this to be the case. He may be—indeed, Joe Nelligan's +father ought to be—a very superior fellow, and at all events the +whole situation is new, and must be amusing.” + </p> +<p> +Such was the course of his thoughts as he arranged his clothes in the +little chest of drawers, put out his few books and papers on the table, +and proceeded to make himself perfectly at home and comfortable in his new +quarters. +</p> +<p> +The embarrassments of selfish men are always lighter than those of other +people, their egotism filling, as it does, such a very large space in the +sea of their troubles. Thus was it that Massingbred suffered little +discomfort at the thought of his friend Nelligan's probable shame and +awkwardness, his thoughts being occupied by how he, clever fellow that he +was, had traced out his home and origin,—won, by a few words, the +old father's esteem, and established himself, by his own sharp wits, a +guest of his house. +</p> +<p> +“It is a downright adventure,” said he; he even thought how the thing +would tell afterwards at some convivial meeting, and set about dramatizing +to himself his own part in the incident, to heighten the piquancy of the +narrative. He resolved to conform in everything to the habits of the +household,—to accommodate himself in all respects to old Nelligan's +tastes, so that Joe should actually be amazed at the versatile resources +of his nature, and struck with astonishment at this new evidence of his +powers. +</p> +<p> +Nor was Mr. Nelligan idle during all this time; the thought of a fellow +collegian of his son Joe being a guest under his roof was a very proud and +inspiring reflection. It was such a recognition of Joe's social claims,—so +flat a contradiction to all the surmises of those who deprecated his +college life, and said “that old Dan was wrong to put his boy into +Trinity”—that he already regarded the incident as the full earnest +of success. +</p> +<p> +“What would have brought him here, if it wasn't for Joe? How would he ever +have been under my roof, if he wasn't Joe's friend?” There was a palpable +triumph here that nothing could gainsay, and with a proud heart he locked +up his desk, resolving to do no more business that day, but make it one of +enjoyment. +</p> +<p> +“Who will I get to dine with us,” thought he, “since Joe can't have the +letter before this evening, and do his best he won't be here before +morning?” The question of those who should fill the places around his +board was a difficulty he had never experienced before, for Mr. Nelligan +was the first man in Oughterard, and never had any trouble about his +dinner company. His politics—very decided as they were—drew +the line amongst his acquaintances, and the Liberal party well knew that +they alone were the partakers of his hospitalities. There now, however, +came the thought that the most respectable residents of the town—Dr. +Dasy, of the Infirmary; Mr. Scanlan, the Attorney; and Morris Croft, the +Adjutant of the Galway———were Conservatives. These were +the fit company to meet young Massingbred, at least for the first day; +afterwards, he might be introduced to their own set. And yet, Father Neal +Rafferty would be outraged at all this. Peter Hayes, of the Priory, would +never enter his doors again; and Peter Hayes had made a will in favor of +Joe Nelligan, and left him every sixpence he had in the world. “What if we +mixed them all together?” said Dan, fairly puzzled by all the conflicting +interests. “A good dinner, some excellent port wine, and 'lashings' of +whiskey-punch, might mould the ingredients together—at least, when +under the restraint of a stranger's presence—sufficiently to pass +muster!” + </p> +<p> +From his doubts as to how the experiment would succeed, came others as to +whether the guests would condescend to meet; and thus his embarrassments +went on increasing around him without his finding a way through them. +</p> +<p> +“That's an elegant salmon I saw Catty bringing home to you, Nelligan?” + said a red-faced man, with large white whiskers, and a most watery look in +his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Brierley, there's a young gentleman just come down here—a +friend of Joe's in college, to stop a day or two with us.” + </p> +<p> +“A nob?” said the other, with a wink. +</p> +<p> +Nelligan nodded assent and went on,— +</p> +<p> +“And I 'm just bothered how to get two or three to make company for him.” + </p> +<p> +“If it's grandeur you want, why don't you go over to the barracks there, +and ask Captain Downie and the two others? Faix! it's a hearty welcome you +'d get, for they 've never seen the inside of Cro' Martin since the +detachment came here.” + </p> +<p> +“It 's my own acquaintances I 'd like to ask to my house, Mat Brierley,” + said Nelligan, proudly; “and the time was when they were n't shy of coming +there.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you say to Peter Hayes, then?” said the other. “If you mean to do +the civil thing, you'll ask him before he buys that old highwayman of a +goose he's cheapening yonder; and there's Father Rafferty in the +snuff-shop, and Tom Magennis, and myself-, and that makes six, just the +right number for the little round table.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan paused, and seemed to reflect over the proposition. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll be quizzing the Englishman,—'taking a rise' out of the +Saxon, Brierley?” said Nelligan, distrustfully. +</p> +<p> +“Devil a bit; I know better manners than that!” + </p> +<p> +“Tom Magennis would have at him about politics; I know he could n't +refrain. And I need n't tell you that English notions are not ours upon +these topics.” + </p> +<p> +“Give Tom a hint, and he 'll never touch the subject.” + </p> +<p> +“And Father Neal, will you vouch for him that he won't attack the +Established Church, and abuse the Protestants?” + </p> +<p> +“That I will, if he's not provoked to it.” + </p> +<p> +“Can you answer for yourself, Mat Brierley, that you won't try to borrow a +five-pound note of him before the evening's over?” said Nelligan, +laughingly. +</p> +<p> +“I' ve a friend here,” said Brierley, tapping the other on the breast, +“that would never see me in want of such a trifle as that.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan made no other reply to this speech than a somewhat awkward +grimace, and walked hurriedly on to overtake a tall and very fat man that +was just turning the corner of the street. This was Father Neal Rafferty. +A very flourishing wave of his reverence's hand, and an urbane bend of his +body, betokened the gracious acceptance he gave to the other's invitation; +and Brierley walked away, muttering to himself: “They may thank me for +this dinner, then; for old Dan was going to feed the 'swells,' if I had +n't stopped him.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. A DINNER-PARTY +</h2> +<p> +People who live much together in small and secluded districts, grow at +length to feel a very great distrust for all strangers. Their own ways and +their own topics have become such a perfect world to them, that to feel +ignorant of these themes appears like affectation or contempt; and the +luckless man who drops down into such a “coterie,” is invariably deemed +impertinent or a fool. Jack Massing-bred fully appreciated this +difficulty; but it imparted such a piquancy to his “adventure,” as he +persisted in calling it to himself, that he would n't have dispensed with +it, had he been able. It was in this temper he entered the room where the +guests were now assembled, and, rather impatiently, awaiting his arrival. +</p> +<p> +It is a very cold, calculating sort of interval, that ten minutes before +dinner; and men regard the stranger presented to them with feelings far +more critical than kindly. Massingbred did not go through the ordeal +unscathed; and it was easy to see in the constraint and reserve of all +present, how little his appearance contributed to the promise of future +conviviality. He made no effort to dispel this impression, for, after +saluting each in turn, he walked to the window, and amused himself with +what was passing in the street. +</p> +<p> +The dinner was announced at last, and passed off drearily enough; none +liked to adventure on any topic of local interest, and they knew of little +others. Brierley was stiffly polite; the priest blandly tranquil; the host +himself uneasy and anxious; and poor old Peter Hayes, of the Priory, +downright melancholy. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred saw the effect he was producing, and saw it with pleasure. His +calculation was this: “Had I started 'at speed' with these fellows, they +would have blown me at once. All my efforts to assimilate myself to their +tastes, to join in their habits and adopt their notions, would have been +detected in a trice. They must be brought to believe that they have made a +convert of me themselves; the wider the space between us at first, the +greater will be their merit in making me forget it in the end.” + </p> +<p> +As the whiskey-punch made its appearance, and the bottle of port was +passed up beside the stranger, Massingbred thought the time was come when +he might change his tactics, and open the campaign in force. “No,” said +he, as the host pushed the wine towards him, “I 've come over here to try +and learn something about Ireland, and I must give myself every advantage +of judging from a native point of view. This excellent old port may +strengthen a man to stand by many an old prejudice, but my object is to +lay in a new stock of ideas, and I 'd rather try a new regimen.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's your bottle, then, sir. Try that,” said Brierley, pushing towards +him a small square decanter of a faint greenish fluid. +</p> +<p> +“That is 'poteen,' Mr. Massingbred,” said the host. “It's the small still +that never paid the King a farthing.” + </p> +<p> +“I like it all the better, for that reason,” said Jack. “There's something +independent in the very thought of a liquor that never submitted to the +indignity of a gauger.” + </p> +<p> +“That's not a very English sentiment, sir,” said the priest, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“I don't know whether it be or not,” rejoined Massingbred; “but I can +neither perceive common-sense or justice in a law that will not allow a +man to do what he likes with his own. Why, if Parliament declared +to-morrow you should n't boil your potatoes in Ireland, but eat them fried—or +that you should n't make bread of your corn, but eat it with milk as the +Neapolitans do—” + </p> +<p> +“I wish we could do the same here, with all my heart,” said the priest. +“It's little wheat or even barley-meal one of our poor people ever sees.” + </p> +<p> +“A wet potato and water is their diet,” said old Hayes, as he sipped his +punch. +</p> +<p> +“I can believe it well,” said Massingbred, with great semblance of +feeling. “I witnessed dreadful poverty and destitution as I came along, +and I couldn't help asking myself: What are the gentry about in this +country? Do they or do they not see these things? If they do, are they +indifferent to them?” + </p> +<p> +“They are indifferent to them; or even worse, they rejoice in them,” broke +in a deep-voiced, energetic-looking man, who sat at the foot of the table, +and had, although silent, taken a deep interest in the conversation. “They +see, sir, in the destitution of Ireland another rivet in the chains of her +bondage. As my 'august leader' remarked, it's the rust on the fetters, +though—and if it proclaims the length of the captivity, it suggests +the hope of freedom.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Magennis is the dearest friend and trusty agent of Mr. O'Connell,” + said Nelligan, in a whisper to Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“Here's his health, whoever said that!” cried Jack, enthusiastically, and +as if not hearing the host's observation. +</p> +<p> +“That's a toast; we'll all drink—and standing, too,” exclaimed +Magennis. “'Daniel O'Connell, gentlemen, hip, hip, hurra! '” And the room +rang again with the hearty acclamations of the company. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! there was something very fine—it was chivalrous—in +the way he brought the Catholic question to issue at last. The bold +expedient of testing the event by an individual experience was as clever +as it was daring,” exclaimed Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“You were in favor of the measure then, sir?” said Father Neal, with a +bland smile that might mean satisfaction or suspicion. +</p> +<p> +“I was always an Emancipationist; but I am little satisfied with the terms +on which the bill has been passed. I 'd have had no restrictions,—no +reservations. It should, according to me, have been unconditional or +nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“You've heard the old proverb about half a loaf, sir?” said Hayes, with a +dry laugh. +</p> +<p> +“And a poor adage it is, in its ordinary acceptation,” said Jack, quickly. +“It 's the prompting spirit to many a shabby compromise! What disabilities +should apply to any of us here, in regard to any post or position in our +country's service, by reason of opinions which are between ourselves and +our own hearts—I say any of us, because some here—one I +perceive is”—and he bowed to Father Rafferty—“a Catholic; and +I for myself avow that, if for no other reason than this proscription, I'd +be on this side.” + </p> +<p> +“You're not in Parliament, sir, are you?” asked old Peter, with a +seriousness that sorely tested the gravity of those at either side of him. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Jack, frankly. “My father and I don't agree on these subjects; +and, consequently, though there is a seat in my family, I have not the +honor to occupy it.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you any relation to Colonel Moore Massingbred, sir?” asked Magennis. +“His son, sir.” + </p> +<p> +The questioner bowed, and a brief silence ensued; short as it was, it +enabled Jack to decide upon his next move, and take it. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said he, “I 'm fully aware that my name is not a favorite in +Ireland; and shall I own to you, till I came to this country myself, I +half believed that this same humble opinion of us was to our credit! I +used to hear such narratives of Irish barbarism, Irish brutality, +priestcraft, superstition, and Heaven knows what besides, that I fully +persuaded myself that our small repute was very nigh to an eulogium on us. +Well, I came over to Trinity College strongly impressed with the notion +that, because I had gained successes at Oxford, here I should be +triumphant. It is in no boastfulness I say that I had acquitted myself +well at home; I had attained to rather a reputation. Well, as I said, I +came over to Trinity and pitted myself against the best man going, and a +very pretty beating he gave me. Yes, gentlemen, he beat me in everything, +even in those which we Oxford men fancy our specialties. I soon learned +that I had not the shadow of a pretension to stand against him, and I +learned, also, that it was no disgrace to me to be thus vanquished, since +he was not alone the foremost man of his time, but the best scholar the +University had seen for a full century; and shall I add, as unpretending +and as modest in the midst of all his triumphs as he was unapproachable by +all competitors. And now; gentlemen, I will ask your leave to drink his +health; doubtless it has been many a time toasted before over the same +table, but none ever more ardently followed the sentiment with his whole +heart than do I in proposing to you, 'Three cheers for Joe Nelligan.'” + </p> +<p> +The rambling opening of this brief speech was quite forgotten in the +enthusiasm that greeted its close. In every respect it was a happy +diversion. It relieved the company from a discussion that promised but +gloomily. It brought back their minds to a pleasant theme, and enabled +them, so to say, to pay off in grateful cheers to their host his own +hospitable reception of them. As for Nelligan himself, he was sincerely, +deeply affected; and though he twice essayed to speak, he could get no +further than “My son Joe”—“my boy”—and sat down murmuring—“Thank +you—God bless you for it”—and covered his face with his hands. +</p> +<p> +Awkward as was the moment, it was relieved by the company filling their +glasses and nodding in most friendly fashion to Massingbred as they drank +his health; while a low murmur of approbation went round the table, of +which he was most unmistakably the object. +</p> +<p> +“Are you fond of shooting, sir?” asked Brierley. “Well, then, I hope +you'll not leave the country without giving me a day or two up at my +little place in the mountains: There's some snipe left; and, upon my +conscience, I'll be proud to see you at Kilmaccud.” + </p> +<p> +“And there's worse quarters, too!” broke in Magennis. “My 'august leader' +spent a day and a half there.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll drive you over there myself,” whispered Father Neal, “if you'll +finish the week at the 'Rookery,'—that's what they call the priest's +house.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred accepted everything, and shook hands across the table in +ratification of half a dozen engagements. +</p> +<p> +“You don't think I'll let you cheat me out of my guest so easily,” said +Nelligan. “No, gentlemen. This must be Mr. Massingbred's head-quarters as +long as he stays here, for, faith, I 'd not give him up to Mr. Martin +himself.” + </p> +<p> +“And who may he be?” asked Jack. +</p> +<p> +“Martin of Cro' Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“The owner of half the county.” + </p> +<p> +“Of the town you 're in, this minute.” + </p> +<p> +“The richest proprietor in the West.” + </p> +<p> +Such were the pattering replies that poured in upon him, while words of +intense astonishment at his ignorance were exchanged on all sides. +</p> +<p> +“I believe I have given you a fair guarantee for my ignorance, gentlemen,” + said Jack, “in confessing that I never so much as heard of Martin of Cro' +Martin. Does he reside on his estate here?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Nelligan, “he lives at Cro' Martin Castle, about sixteen +miles from this; and certainly, while in this part of the country, you +ought to pay the place a visit. I have never been there myself, but I hear +the most astonishing accounts of the splendor of the furniture and the +magnificence of the whole establishment.” + </p> +<p> +“There's pictures there,” said the priest, “that cost the grandfather of +the present man a quarter of a million sterling.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, the three statues in the hall, they say, are worth ten thousand +pounds,” said Brierley. +</p> +<p> +“Be gorra! when a man would give four hundred for a bull, there 's no +saying what he 'd stop at,” broke in Peter Hayes. “I went up to see him +myself, and indeed he's a beauty, there 's no denying it,—but four +hundred pound! Think of four hundred pound!” + </p> +<p> +“The stable is the best thing in the place,” said Father Neal; “they 're +mighty nice cattle, there, for every kind of work.” + </p> +<p> +“Thanks to his niece for that,” cried Magennis; “she knows a horse with +any man in the West of Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“And can break him, too,” chimed in Brierley; “I don't care what his +temper is. Let Miss Mary get her hand on him, and he 'll turn out well.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm driving an old chestnut mare this minute that she trained,” said the +priest; “and though she has n't a good leg amongst the four, and is +touched in the wind, she 's as neat a stepper, and as easy in the mouth as +a five-year-old.” + </p> +<p> +“She 's a fine young woman!” said old Hayes, drinking off his glass as +though toasting her to himself, “and not like any Martin ever I seen +before.” + </p> +<p> +“No pride about her!” said Brierley. +</p> +<p> +“I wouldn't exactly say that, Matthew,” interposed Father Neal. “But her +pride isn't the common kind.” + </p> +<p> +“She's as proud as Lucifer!” broke in Nelligan, almost angrily. “Did you +ever see her drive up to a shop-door in this town, and make the people +come out to serve her, pointing with her whip to this, that, and t'other, +and maybe giving a touch of the lash to the boy if he would n't be lively +enough?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I 'd never call her proud,” rejoined old Hayes, “after seeing her +sitting in Catty Honan's cabin, and turning the bread on the griddle for +her, when Catty was ill.” + </p> +<p> +“Is she handsome?” asked Massingbred, who was rather interested by the +very discrepancy in the estimate of the young lady. +</p> +<p> +“We can agree upon that, I believe, sir,” said the priest; “there 's no +disputing about her beauty.” + </p> +<p> +“I never saw her in a room,” said Magennis; “but my 'august leader' +thought her masculine.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no,” said Nelligan; “she 's not. She has the Martin manner,—overbearing +and tyrannical,—if you like; but she can be gentle enough with women +and children.” + </p> +<p> +“You have certainly given me a strong curiosity to see her,” said +Massingbred. “Does she always live here?” + </p> +<p> +“Always. I don't believe she was ever beyond the bounds of the county in +her life!” + </p> +<p> +“And how does she pass her time?” asked he, with some astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“She manages the whole estate,” said Nelligan; “her uncle 's a conceited +old fool, incapable of anything, and lets her do what she likes; and so +she drains, and plants, and encloses; makes roads, bridges, and even +harbors; has all the new-fangled inventions about farming, and, if what I +hear be true, is spending more money on the property than the fee-simple +is worth.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” chimed in Magennis; “and she 's trying hard to bring back the +old feudal devotion to the Chief, which was the bane of Ireland. She wants +the tenants to have no will of their own, but just to vote whatever the +landlord tells them. She had the impudence to tell my 'august leader' that +they had no need of him down there,—that the county was too poor to +waste its energies in factious squabbles.” + </p> +<p> +“If she 'd let the people alone about their religion, I 'd think better of +her,” said Father Neal. “What does <i>she</i> know about controversial +points and disputed dogmas?” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe you 're wrong about that,” broke in Peter Hayes. “She came to me +the other day for ten shillings for a school, and she said, 'Come over, +Mr. Hayes; come and tell me if there 's anything you are dissatisfied +with.'” + </p> +<p> +“And did you go?” asked the priest. +</p> +<p> +“Faix! I did not,” said Peter, with a dry look. “I thought the visit might +cost me ten shillings, and so I stayed at home.” + </p> +<p> +The manner in which he uttered these words produced a hearty laugh, in +which he himself most good-humoredly took part. +</p> +<p> +“Well, she's good to the poor, anyhow,” said Brierley; “and it's a new +thing for one of her name to be so!” + </p> +<p> +“All policy, all scheming!” said Magennis. “She sees how the family +influence has declined, and is fast becoming obliterated in this country, +by reason of their worthlessness, insolence, and neglect of the people; +and she 's just shrewd enough to see how far a little cajolery goes with +poor Paddy; but, as my 'august leader' observed, it is not a frieze coat, +nor a pair of brogues, that can compensate for the loss of that freedom +that is every man's birthright; and it is not by an ounce of tea, or a +dose of physic, we 'll ever see Ireland great, glorious, and free.” + </p> +<p> +“'First gem of the earth, and first flower of the sea!'” exclaimed Hayes, +with enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +Nor in the moment was the blunder of his quotation noticed by any but +Massingbred. “You are an admirer of Tommy Moore, I see, sir?” said he, to +the old man. +</p> +<p> +“I am fond of 'The Meeting of the Waters,' sir,” said Hayes, meekly, and +like a man who was confessing to a weakness. +</p> +<p> +“And here 's the man to sing it!” cried Brierley, clapping the priest +familiarly on the shoulder; a proposal that was at once hailed with +acclamation. +</p> +<p> +“'T is many a long day I have n't sung a note,” said Father Neal, +modestly. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Father Neal; we'll not let you off that way. It's not under +this roof that you can make such an excuse!” + </p> +<p> +“He 'd rather give us something more to his own taste,” said Brierley. +“'To Ladies' eyes around, boys,'—eh, Father Rafferty?” + </p> +<p> +“That's my favorite of all the songs he sings,” broke in Magennis. +</p> +<p> +“Let it be, 'To Ladies' eyes!'” cried Massingbred; “and we 'll drink 'Miss +Martin's.' 'I 'll warrant she 'll prove an excuse for the glass.'” And he +sang the line with such a mellow cadence that the whole table cheered him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/146.jpg" width="100%" alt="146 " /> +</div> +<p> +To the priest's song, given with considerable taste and no mean musical +skill, there followed, in due course, others, not exactly so successful, +by Brierley and Magennis, and, at last, by old Peter himself, who warbled +out a wonderful ditty, in a tone so doleful that two of the company fell +fast asleep under it, and Brierley's nerves were so affected that, to +support himself, he got most completely drunk, and in a very peremptory +tone told the singer to desist! +</p> +<p> +“Don't you perceive,” cried he, “that there 's a stranger present,—a +young English cub,—come down to laugh at us? Have you no discretion,—have +you no decency, Peter Hayes, but you must go on with your stupid old +'croniawn' about dimples and the devil knows what?” + </p> +<p> +“Another tumbler, Mr. Massingbred,—one more?” said the host, with +the air, however, of one who did not exact compliance. +</p> +<p> +“Not for the world,” said Jack, rising from table. “Have I your permission +to light a cigar?” + </p> +<p> +“To do just whatever you please,” said Nelligan, rather astonished at the +formal preparations for smoking he now perceived brought forth, and which +at the time we tell of were not so popular as in our own day. +</p> +<p> +The priest alone accepted Massingbred's offer of a “weed;” and Nelligan, +opening a door into an adjoining room where tea was laid, threw also wide +a little sash-door that led into the garden, whose cool and fragrant air +was perfectly delicious at the moment. Jack strolled down the steps and +soon lost himself in the dark alleys, not sorry to be left alone with his +own thoughts, after a scene in which his convivial powers had been taxed +to no mean extent. +</p> +<p> +“A clever young fellow! There's stuff in him,” said the priest, in a +whisper to Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“And no impudence about him,” said Brierley; “he's just like one of +ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +“He has a wonderful opinion of Joe!” said Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“He's the very man for my 'august leader,'” said Magennis. “I 'd like to +bring them together!” + </p> +<p> +“His father 's a Treasury Lord,” said Nelligan, swelling at the thought of +his being the host of such company! +</p> +<p> +“And I 'll tell you what, Dan Nelligan,” said the priest, confidentially, +“talents won't do everything, nowadays, without high connections; mark my +words, and see if that young man does n't stand high yet. He has just got +every requirement of success. He has good family, good looks, good +abilities, and”—here he dropped his voice still lower—“plenty +of brass. Ay, Dan, if Joe could borrow a little of his friend's impudence, +it would be telling him something.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan nodded assentingly; it was about the only quality in the world +which he could have believed Joe stood in any need of getting a loan of. +</p> +<p> +“Joe beat him out of the field,” said Dan, proudly. “He told me so +himself, this morning.” + </p> +<p> +“No doubt; and he would again, where the contest was a college one; but +'Life,' my dear friend,—life demands other gifts beside genius.” + </p> +<p> +“Ganius!” broke in old Hayes, with an accent of the profoundest contempt,—“Ganius! +I never knew a 'Ganius' yet that was n't the ruin of all belonging to him! +And whenever I see a young fellow that knows no trade, nor has any +livelihood, who's always borrowing here and begging there, a torment to +his family and a burden to his friends, I set him down at once for a +'Ganius.'” + </p> +<p> +“It's not <i>that</i> I was alluding to, Mr. Hayes,” said the priest, in +some irritation. “I spoke of real ability, sterling powers of mind and +thought, and I hope that they are not to be despised.” + </p> +<p> +“Like my 'august leader's'!” said Magennis, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, or like that young gentleman's there,” said Father Neal, with the +tone of a man pronouncing upon what he understood. “I watched him to-day +at dinner, and I saw that every remark he made was shrewd and acute, and +that whenever the subject was new to him, he fell into it as he went on +talking, picking up his facts while he seemed to be discussing them! Take +my word for it, gentlemen, he 'll do!” + </p> +<p> +“He does n't know much about flax, anyhow,” muttered old Hayes. +</p> +<p> +“He took his punch like a man,” said Brierley, bearing testimony on a +point where his evidence was sure to have weight. +</p> +<p> +“He'll do!” said Father Neal once more, and still more authoritatively +than before. +</p> +<p> +“Joe carried away every premium from him,” said old Nelligan, with a +degree of irritation that proclaimed how little he enjoyed the priest's +eulogy of his guest. +</p> +<p> +“I know he did, sir; and no man has a higher respect for your son's great +abilities than myself; but here 's how it is, Mr. Nelligan,”—and he +drew himself up like a man about to deliver a profound opinion,—“here +'s how it is. The mind that can master abstract science is one thing; the +faculties that can deal with fellow-mortals is another. This world is not +a University!” + </p> +<p> +“The Lord be praised for that same!” cried old Hayes, “or I 'm afraid I 'd +fare badly in it.” + </p> +<p> +“To unite both descriptions of talent,” resumed the priest, oratorically, +“is the gift of but few.” + </p> +<p> +“My 'august leader' has them,” broke in Magennis. +</p> +<p> +“Show me the man that can deal with men!” said Father Neal, dictatorially. +</p> +<p> +“Women is twice as hard to deal with!” cried old Hayes. “I 'll back Nancy +Drake against any man in the barony.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith, and I remember her a pretty woman,” said Brierley, who would +gladly have enticed the conversation out of its graver character. “A +prettier girl than Mary Martin herself!” continued the inexorable +Brierley, for the company did not appear to approve of his diversion. +</p> +<p> +“We are now discussing politics,—grave questions of state, sir,” + said Father Neal,—“for we have come to times when even the most +indifferent and insignificant amongst us cannot refrain feeling an +interest in the progress of our country. And when I see a fine young man +like that there, as one may say going a-begging for a party, I tell you +that we are fools—worse than fools—if we don't secure him.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you mean for the borough?” asked Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“I do, sir,—I mean for the borough!” + </p> +<p> +“Not till we have consulted my 'august leader,' I hope,” broke in +Magennis. +</p> +<p> +“I'm for managing our own affairs ourselves,” said the priest. “What we +want is a man of our own; and if that young gentleman there will take the +pledges we should propose, I don't know that we'd readily get the like of +him.” + </p> +<p> +The silence that now fell upon the party was ominous; it was plain that +either the priest's proposition was not fully acquiesced in, or that the +mode of announcing it was too abrupt. Perhaps this latter appeared the +case to his own eyes, for he was the first to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Of course what I have said now is strictly among ourselves, and not to be +mentioned outside of this room; for until my friend Dan Nelligan here +consents to take the field against the Martin interest, there is no chance +of opening the borough. Let him once agree to <i>that</i>, and the member +for Oughterard will be his own nominee.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you really think so?” asked Nelligan, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I know it, sir; and every gentleman at this table knows it.” + </p> +<p> +A strong chorus in assent murmured around the board. +</p> +<p> +“It would be a great struggle,” muttered Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“And a great victory!” said the priest. +</p> +<p> +“What a deal of money, too, it would cost!” + </p> +<p> +“You have the money, Dan Nelligan; and let me tell you one thing,”—here +he leaned over his chair and whispered some words in the other's ear. +</p> +<p> +Old Nelligan's face flushed as he listened, and his eyes sparkled with +intense excitement. +</p> +<p> +“If I thought <i>that</i>—if I only thought that, Father Rafferty—I +'d spend half my fortune on it to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“It's as true as I'm a living man,” said the priest, solemnly; and then +with a motion of his hand gestured caution, for Massingbred was slowly +ascending the steps, and about to enter the room. +</p> +<p> +With an instinctive readiness all his own, he saw in the embarrassed and +conscious looks around that he had himself been the object of their +discussion, and with the same shrewdness he detected their favorable +feeling towards him. +</p> +<p> +“I have made them my own!” muttered he to himself. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll do our work well!” said the priest in his heart. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. YOUNG NELLIGAN, AS INTERPRETED IN TWO WAYS. +</h2> +<p> +“I rather like that young Nelligan,” said Martin, the day after Joseph had +made his first appearance at dinner. “He talks pleasantly, and nothing of +a pedant, as I half dreaded he might be.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought his manner respectful, and very proper for his station,” said +Lady Dorothea, with an air of dignity. +</p> +<p> +“He spoke of politics, too, with less of prejudice, less of class +bitterness, than I could have expected.” + </p> +<p> +“Some policy, perhaps, in that,” remarked her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“Possibly!” said Martin, with a careless shrug of the shoulders. +</p> +<p> +“He was in a measure on his trial amongst us, and felt the importance of +making a favorable first impression.” + </p> +<p> +“It was more trouble than his father would have taken, then,” said Martin, +smiling. “Old Dan, as they call him, is not a very conciliating +personage.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot imagine that the disposition of such a person is a matter of +much moment. Does n't the man deal in tea, candles, and such like?” + </p> +<p> +“That he does, and in loans, and in mortgages, too; not to add that he +exercises a very considerable share of influence in his town of +Oughterard.” + </p> +<p> +“A very shocking feature of the time we live in!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“So it may be; but there it is,—just like the wet weather, and the +typhus, and the sheep-rot, and fifty other disagreeable things one can't +help.” + </p> +<p> +“But at least they can avoid recurring to them in conversation, sir. There +is no necessity to open the window when the look-out is a dreary one.” + </p> +<p> +Martin made no reply, and a pause of some moments ensued. +</p> +<p> +“What arrangement did you come to with him about his party in the +borough?” said she at last. +</p> +<p> +“I didn't even allude to the topic,” replied he, half testily. “These +things are not to be done in that hasty fashion; they require management, +discretion, and a fitting opportunity, too.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you talk of your grocer's boy as if he were a Cabinet Minister, Mr. +Martin; you treat him like a great diplomatist!” + </p> +<p> +“It was not exactly on the first occasion of his being in my house that I +could have broached the matter.” + </p> +<p> +“Which implies that you mean to invite him again.” + </p> +<p> +“Possibly!” was the abrupt rejoinder. +</p> +<p> +“And must the odious attorney always be of the party?” + </p> +<p> +“No, madam, the odious attorney has set out for Dublin; but I shortly +expect here one whom your Ladyship will, doubtless, call an odious lawyer,—though +he happens to be one of the foremost men of the Irish bar.” + </p> +<p> +“A class I detest,” said her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“He has one consolation, at least, madam,” said Martin; “he figures in a +pretty long category.” + </p> +<p> +“And why should he not, sir? What have I ever met in the dreary eighteen +years and seven months I have passed here, except unmitigated +self-conceit, vulgarity, and presumption,—the very type of all three +being your Dublin barrister.” + </p> +<p> +“Their countrymen certainly entertain another estimate of them,” said +Martin, laughing, for he had a lazy man's enjoyment of any passionate +excitement of another's temper. +</p> +<p> +“And it was,” resumed she, “in some sort the contrast presented to such +which pleased me in that young man's manner yesterday. Not but I feel +assured that erelong you and Miss Martin will spoil him.” + </p> +<p> +“I! aunt?” said Mary, looking up from her work; “how am I to exercise the +evil influence you speak of?” + </p> +<p> +“By the notice—the interest you vouchsafe him, Miss Martin,—the +most flattering compliment to one in his station.” + </p> +<p> +“If he bears collegiate honors so meekly, aunt,” said Mary, quietly, +“don't you think his head might sustain itself under <i>my</i> +attentions?” + </p> +<p> +“Possibly so, young lady, if not accompanied by the accessories of your +rank in life,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily; “and as to college honors,” + added she, after a pause, “they are like school distinctions, of no +earthly value out of the class-room.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith, I don't know that,” said Martin. “At least, in my own experience, +I can say, every fellow that has made a figure in life gave indications of +high ability in his college years. I could go over the names of at least a +dozen.” + </p> +<p> +“Pray don't, sir,—spare your memory, and spare us. Miss Martin and I +will take it for granted that this young man is destined to be Lord +Chancellor,—Ambassador at St. Petersburg,—or anything else you +please. I have no doubt that the time is approaching when such things are +very possible.” + </p> +<p> +“It has come already, my Lady,” said Martin; and in the manner he uttered +the words there was no saying whether the sentiment was pleasurable or the +reverse. +</p> +<p> +“And yet I trust that there is a little interval still left to us ere that +consummation,” said she, with pretentious dignity. “Birth and blood have +not lost all their <i>prestige!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“But they soon would,” said Mary, “if they feared to enter the lists +against those less well-born than themselves.” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Martin!” exclaimed her Ladyship, “what words are these?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope they are void of offence, aunt. Assuredly I never conceived that I +could wound any susceptibilities here by saying that the well-born are +ready to meet the plebeian on any ground.” + </p> +<p> +“There is no necessity for such trials, Miss Martin; the position of each +has been so accurately defined by—by—by Providence,” said she, +at last, blushing slightly as she uttered the word, “that the contest is +almost impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“The French Revolution reveals another story, aunt, and tells us, besides, +how inferior were the nobles of that country in the day of struggle.” + </p> +<p> +“Upon my word, these are very pretty notions, young lady. Have they been +derived from the intelligent columns of the “Galway Monitor,” or are they +the teachings of the gifted Mr. Scanlan? Assuredly, Mr. Martin,” said she, +turning to him, “papa was right, when he said that the Irish nature was +essentially rebellious.” + </p> +<p> +“Complimentary, certainly,” said Martin, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“He founded the remark on history. Papa was uncommonly well read, and used +to observe that there seemed something in the Celtic nature incompatible +with that high-souled, chivalrous loyalty Englishmen exhibit.” + </p> +<p> +“But how much of the Celt have Mary and myself got in us, if your +observation is meant for us? Why, my Lady, what with intermarriage +centuries ago, and change of blood ever since, the distinctive element has +been utterly lost.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet we are not English, uncle,” said Mary, with something that +smacked of pride. “Confess it: we have our nationality, and that our +people have traits of their own.” + </p> +<p> +“That they have; but I never heard them made matter of boastfulness +before,” said Lady Dorothea, sneeringly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, aunt, it is not too late to hear it now; and I, for one, am proud +of my country,—not of its political station, for it is dependent,—not +of its wealth, for it is poor,—but of its genial courtesy, its +free-hearted hospitality, its manly patience under many a crushing +calamity, and not least of all, its gallantry on every field where England +has won honor.” + </p> +<p> +“I have read of all these things; but my own experiences are limited to +the rags and restlessness of a semi-barbarous people. Nay, Miss Martin, +I'm not going to discuss the matter. I have lived elsewhere,—you +have not. I have acquired habits—prejudices, perhaps you 'd call +them—in behalf of twenty things that Irish civilization sees no need +of.” + </p> +<p> +“Would it not be kind, aunt, were you to aid us by the light of these same +experiences?” said Mary, with an air of well-assumed humility. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not, at the price of intercourse with the natives!” exclaimed +her Ladyship, haughtily. “I detest, on principle, the Lady Bountiful +character. The whole of the hymn-book, castor-oil, and patent-barley +sympathy is shockingly vulgar. Like many things, well done at first, it +fell into low hands, and got spoiled.” + </p> +<p> +The tone of sarcasm in which this was spoken made Mary's cheeks crimson, +and the flush spread itself over her neck. Still she made no reply, but +bending down her head, continued to work more assiduously. +</p> +<p> +“When are we to leave this place, Mr. Martin?” asked her Ladyship, +abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“I believe we are only waiting here till it be your pleasure to quit.” + </p> +<p> +“And I dying to get away this fortnight past! Some one certainly told me +that Cro' Martin was not ready for us. Was it <i>you</i>, Miss Martin?” + </p> +<p> +“No, aunt.” + </p> +<p> +“It ran in my head it was you, then. Well, can we go at once—to-day—this +afternoon?” + </p> +<p> +“To-morrow we might, perhaps,” said Mary. +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely so,” said Martin, interposing, “seeing that I have asked Repton +to come down here and see the place.” + </p> +<p> +“But you can drive him over from Cro' Martin. It would be intolerable, the +idea of remaining here just for him. So we shall go to-morrow, Miss +Martin.” And with this, uttered in the tone of an order, her Ladyship +swept proudly out of the room, from which Martin, not overanxious for a <i>tête-à-tête</i> +with his niece, stepped noiselessly at the same moment by another door. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had the door closed behind Lady Dorothea, when it was reopened to +admit Joe Nelligan, who had met her Ladyship in the corridor and been +received with such palpable coldness of manner that he entered the room +bashful and awkward, and hardly knowing whether to advance or retire. +</p> +<p> +“I fear I have made my visit at an untimely hour, Miss Martin,” said he, +blushing; “but the truth is, I know next to nothing of society and its +habits, and if you would only be kind enough to tell me when I am a +transgressor—” + </p> +<p> +“The notion of learning from <i>me</i> is perfect,” said Mary, +interrupting him with a pleasant laugh. “Why, Mr. Nelli-gan, I never could +be taught anything, even of the most ordinary rules of ceremonial life! +though,” added she, slyly, “I have lived certainly in the midst of great +opportunities.” + </p> +<p> +“But then, I have not,” said Nelligan, gravely, and accepting the speech +in all seriousness. “Well, it comes pretty much to the same thing,” said +she, smiling, “since I have profited so little by them.” + </p> +<p> +“I came thus early, however,” said he, earnestly, “because I was impatient +to correct an impression which might have remained from something that +fell from me last night. You smile, I perceive,” said he, “that I should +attach so much importance to my own words!” + </p> +<p> +“It was not at that I smiled,” said Mary, archly. +</p> +<p> +“No matter,” continued he. “It is better, at the cost of a little wounded +vanity, that I should escape a misconception. When your uncle spoke to me, +last night, about the division of parties in the borough—You are +smiling again, Miss Martin!” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you perceive, sir, that what amuses me is the mistaken estimate you +have formed of me, by addressing me on such topics?” + </p> +<p> +“But I came here expressly to speak to you,” said he, with increased +eagerness; “for I have always heard—always understood—that +none ever took a deeper interest in all that regarded the country than +yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean, by the country, the lives and fortunes of those who live in +it,—the people by whose toil it is fertilized, by whose traits it is +a nation,—I tell you frankly that I yield to none for interest in +all that touches them; but if you come to talk of privileges and +legislative benefits, I know nothing of them: they form a land of whose +very geography I am ignorant.” + </p> +<p> +“But the subject is the same, and the mind which comprehends one could +embrace the other.” + </p> +<p> +“In the one, however, I can labor usefully and fittingly, without much +risk of mistake,—never, indeed, of any mistake that might prove of +serious moment. The other involves great questions, and has great hazards, +perils, to affright stronger heads than mine!” + </p> +<p> +“There is much in what you say,” said he, reflectingly. +</p> +<p> +“There is far more than I am able to express,” said she, warmly. “Just +remember, for a moment, that of all the laws you great and wise men are +making, over which you rant and wrangle, and assail each other so +vindictively, how few ever touch the interests or descend to the fortunes +of those for whom you assume to make them,—that the craftiest +devices of your legislation never uproot ah old prejudice nor disturb an +antiquated superstition; while I, and such as I,—and there need be +nothing more humble,—can by a little timely help in trouble—a +little care, or even a little counsel—comfort many a failing heart, +cheer up many a sinking spirit, and, better still, do good service by +teaching the poor man that he is of one family with those better off than +himself, and that he is not an outcast because he is lowly!” + </p> +<p> +As Mary went on, her eyes shone more brilliantly, and her cheeks glowed, +till Nelligan forgot even the words she spoke in admiration of the +speaker. +</p> +<p> +“But here comes my uncle,” cried she, hastily, “to rescue you from further +amplification of the theme. Come in, uncle,”—for Martin was already +about to retire,—“it is Mr. Nelligan, who wants to speak to you.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I was in terror of a regular morning visitor!” said Martin, shaking +the young man's hand cordially. “They didn't tell me you were here.” + </p> +<p> +“I came, sir,” said Joseph, hesitatingly, “to rectify what might, perhaps, +require correction in an observation I made last night. We were talking +about the proper basis of a representation—” + </p> +<p> +“My dear boy,” broke in Martin, laughingly, “there's nothing kills me like +asking me to go over the past, either in reading an old letter or +recalling an old conversation. And as to calling on me to justify +something I once defended in argument, I 'd give up the cause at once, and +say I was all wrong, in preference.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I need not fear you will hold me responsible—” + </p> +<p> +“Not for anything, except your pledge to dine here tomorrow at seven.” + </p> +<p> +Notwithstanding all the ease and frankness of Martin's manner—and as +manner it was perfect—the young man felt far from satisfied. His +want of breeding—that cruel want strong enough to mar the promise of +high ability, and even impair the excellence of many a noble nature—seemed +to hold him fast bound to the object of his visit. He had come for an +explanation, and he couldn't go away without it. Mary read his difficulty +at once, and as she passed him to leave the room, said in a low voice, +“To-morrow evening.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan started at the words, and his face became scarlet. What could she +have meant? Was it that she wished him to come, and had thus condescended +to remind him of his promise? or was it to suggest a more fitting moment +to return to the late discussion? +</p> +<p> +“Are you coming to luncheon, Nelligan?” said Martin, rising. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; not to-day. I have a call—a visit—some miles off.” + And while he was yet stammering out his excuses, Martin waved a familiar +good-bye with his hand, and passed into the adjoining room. +</p> +<p> +“And what can this mean?” said Nelligan to himself. “Is this the cordial +treatment of an intimate, or is it contemptuous indifference for an +inferior?” And, far more puzzled than he should have been with the +knottiest problem of the “Principia,” he quitted the house and strolled +homewards. +</p> +<p> +His way led along the shore, and consequently in front of that straggling +row of cottages which formed the village. It chanced to be the last day of +the month, and, by the decree of the almanac, the close of the +bathing-season. The scene then going forward was one of unusual and not +unpicturesque confusion. It was a general break-up of the encampment, and +all were preparing to depart to their homes, inland. Had young Nelligan +been—what he was not—anything of a humorist, he might have +been amused at the variety of equipage and costume around him. Conveyances +the most cumbrous and most rickety, drawn by farm horses, or even donkeys, +stopped the way before each door, all in process of loading by a strangely +attired assemblage, whose Welsh wigs, flannel dressing-gowns, and woollen +nightcaps showed how, by a common consent, all had agreed to merge +personal vanity in the emergency of the moment. The innumerable little +concealments which had sheltered many a narrow household, the various +little stratagems that had eked out many a scanty wardrobe, were now +abandoned with a noble sincerity; and had there been a cork leg or a glass +eye in the company, it would not have shrunk from the gaze of that +open-hearted community. +</p> +<p> +Such of the travellers as had taken their places were already surrounded +with the strangest medley of household gods it is possible to conceive. +Like trophies, bird-cages, candlesticks, spits, cullenders, fenders, and +bread-baskets bristled around them, making one marvel how they ever got +in, or, still more, how they were ever to get out again; the croaking of +invalids, with crying children, barking terriers, and scolding owners, +making a suitable chorus to the confusion. +</p> +<p> +Still, amidst all the discomforts of the moment, amidst the last +wranglings with landlords, and the last squabbles over broken furniture +and missing movables, it must be owned that the prevailing temper of the +scene was good-humor and jollity. The Irish temperament seems ever to +discover something congenial in those incidents of confusion and bustle +which to other people are seasons of unmitigated misery, and even out of +its own sources of discomfiture can derive matter for that quaint humor +with which it can always regard life. In this wise was it that few now +dwelt much upon their own inconveniences, so long as they were free to +laugh at those of their neighbors. +</p> +<p> +Before he was well aware of it, young Nelligan found himself in the very +midst of this gathering, whose mirthful accents suddenly subsided at his +approach, and an air of constraint and reserve seemed to take their place. +Never very quick to appreciate such indications, he drew nigh to a very +lofty “conveniency” in which, with an air of stately dignity, Mrs. Cronan +sat enthroned on a backgammon-table, with a portentous-looking cap-case in +her lap. +</p> +<p> +“My mother will be sorry not to have seen you before you went away, Mrs. +Cronan,” said he to that lady, whose demure and frigid demeanor made the +speech sound like a bold one. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd have left my card and my compliments, sir, if I wasn't so pressed +for time,” responded she, with a haughty gravity. +</p> +<p> +“With P. P. C. on the corner,” said the Captain from his pony-gig +alongside; “which means, pour prendre 'congo,' or 'congee,' I never knew +which.” + </p> +<p> +“She 'll be very lonely now, for the few days we remain,” resumed Joe, +conscious of some awkwardness, without knowing where or how. +</p> +<p> +“Not with the society of your distinguished acquaintances at 'The Nest,' +sir!” the sarcastic import of which reply was more in the manner than the +mere words; while the old Captain murmured,— +</p> +<p> +“Begad, she gave it to him there,—a regular double-headed shot!” + </p> +<p> +“We hope to follow you by the end of the week,” said Nelligan, trying to +seem at ease. +</p> +<p> +“If you can tear yourselves away, I suppose,” said Miss Busk, through a +double veil of blue gauze; for that lady's auburn ringlets reposed at the +moment in the small mahogany casket beside her. +</p> +<p> +“There is not much attraction in the spot just now,” said Joseph, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Not for the like of us, perhaps, sir,” retorted Mrs. Cronan,—“not +for persons in our station; but your fashionable people, I believe, always +prefer a place when the vulgar company have left it.” + </p> +<p> +“Good again,—grape and canister!” chuckled out the Captain, who +seemed to derive a high enjoyment from the scene. +</p> +<p> +“Would you move a little to one side, Mr. Nelligan?” said the doctor; “my +pony won't stand.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, he's mettlesome,” said Joe, good-humoredly, as he stepped out of the +way. +</p> +<p> +“That he is, sir, though he never was leader in a four-in-hand; but, you +see, poor creatures of quadrupeds forget themselves down here, just like +their betters!” + </p> +<p> +And the success of this sally was acknowledged by a general laugh from the +company. The tone of the speakers, even more than their words, convinced +Joseph that, from some cause or other, he was the object of their +sarcasms; and although slow to take offence,—even to the verge of +what many might have called an unfeeling indifference,—he felt their +treatment most acutely. It was, then, in something like a haughty defiance +that he wished them a careless good-bye, and continued his way. +</p> +<p> +“The world seems bent on puzzling me this morning,” muttered he, as he +sauntered slowly on. “People treat me as though I were playing some deep +game to their detriment,—I, who have no game, almost no future!” + added he, despondingly. “For what avails it to attain eminence amidst such +as these; and, as for the others, I was not born for them.” + </p> +<p> +To these moody thoughts succeeded others still gloomier. It had only been +within a short time back that the young man had begun to appreciate the +difficulties of a position to which his early successes imparted +increasing embarrassment; and darkly brooding over these things, he drew +near his mother's cottage. She was already at the door to meet him, with a +letter in her hand. +</p> +<p> +“This is from your father, Joe,” said she. “He wants you in all haste up +at the town; and I've packed your clothes, and sent off Patsey for +Mooney's car; so come in and eat something at once.” + </p> +<p> +Joseph took the note from her hand and perused it in silence. It was +brief, and ran thus:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Dear Joe,—I want you up here as soon as possible, to meet +a friend whom you 'll be surprised to see. I say no more, +but that I expect you by dinner-time.—Yours ever, + +“D.N.” + </pre> +<p> +“What does that mean, Joe?” asked his mother. +</p> +<p> +He only shrugged his shoulders in reply. +</p> +<p> +“And who can it be?” said she again. +</p> +<p> +“Some of the townspeople, of course,” said he, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Joe; it must be a stranger. Maybe it's Morgan Drake; his aunt +expected him back from Jamaica before Christmas. Or it 's Corny Dwyer 's +come home from Africa; you know he went on the deploring expedition—” + “Exploring, mother,—exploring.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, exploring or deploring, it's all the same. He went four years ago, +and all the tidings they 've had of him was an elephant's tooth he sent +home to his stepfather. I know it's Corny, for your father always liked +him and the funny stories he told.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps so!” replied Joe. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder, is he grown any bigger? He was little better than a dwarf when +he went away, and the same age as yourself. No, indeed, he was older,—fourteen +months older. It was Catty Henderson was running in my head. Is n't she a +fine young woman, Joe?” + </p> +<p> +“Remarkably so,” said he, with more animation in his tone. +</p> +<p> +“A little bit too haughty-looking and proud, maybe, considering her +station in life, and that she has to go to service—” + </p> +<p> +“Go to service, mother?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure she has. If they can't get her a place as a governess or a +companion, she 'll have to take what she can get. Her father's married +again, my dear Joe; and when men do that!” And here Mrs. Nelligan uplifted +her hands and eyes most expressively. “Ay, indeed,” continued she, with a +heavy sigh, “and if it was once it was fifty times, Catty's poor mother +said to me, 'Sarah,' says she,—she never called me Sally, but always +Sarah,—'Sarah,' says she, 'I 've but one comfort, and that is that +Catty will never want a mother while you live. You 'll be the same to her +as myself,—just as fond, and just as forgiving;' them was her very +words!” + </p> +<p> +“And I hope you have never forgotten them, mother?” said Joe, with +emotion. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you see I have n't; an't I repeating them to you this minute?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; but I mean the spirit and the meaning of them,” rejoined he, “and +that you feel the obligation they 've laid upon you.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure I feel it; don't I fret over it every time I 'm alone? for I +can't get it out of my head that maybe she 'd appear to me—” + </p> +<p> +“No, but her mother. Oh, it 's nothing to laugh at, Joe. There was Eliza +Keane came back every Easter Monday for two-and-twenty years to search for +a gravy-spoon. Well, if it's laughing you are, I won't say any more; but +here 's the car now, and it's late enough we 'll be on the road!” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not thinking of going, mother. I never meant to go,” said Joe, +resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“Never meant to go, after your father's note to you, Joe?” cried she, in +half horror. “Surely it's all as one as ordering you up there.” + </p> +<p> +“I know all that,” said he, calmly; “but I see no reason why I should +forego the pleasure of a party at the Martins' for the sake of meeting the +convivial celebrities of Oughterard.” + </p> +<p> +“But what will you say?” + </p> +<p> +“Say I'm engaged; have accepted another invitation; or, better still, +leave you to make my excuses, mother. Come, come, don't look so terribly +shocked and terrified. You know well enough that my father's four-year-old +mutton and his crusted port will compensate the company for heavier +inflictions than my absence.” + </p> +<p> +“They were always fond of you, Joe,” said Mrs. Nelligan, half +reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, mother; they never cared for me, nor was there any +reason why they should. I 'm sure I never cared for them. We endured one +another; that was all.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear; but I 'm glad your father is not listening to you,” said she, +with a stealthy glance around, as though not perfectly assured of secrecy. +“So, then, I suppose, there 's nothing for it but to go up myself and make +the best of it; and sure it's all a lottery what temper he 's in, and how +he 'll take it. I remember when they put the new duty on—what was +it, Joe? I think it was hides—” + </p> +<p> +“Not the least matter, mother; you 've only to say that Mr. Martin has +been kind enough to show me some attentions, and that I am silly enough—if +you like to say so—to prefer them to the festive pleasures of +Oughterard. In another week or so I shall have to go back to college. Let +me, at least, enjoy the few days of my vacation in my own fashion.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. Nelligan shook her head mournfully over these signs of rebellion, and +muttering many a gloomy foreboding, she went off to her room to make her +preparations for the journey. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. A VERY “CROSS EXAMINATION” + </h2> +<p> +The morning was bright and sunny, the air sharp, crisp, and bracing, as +the heavy travelling-carriage which conveyed Mr. Martin and Lady Dorothea +rolled smoothly along the trimly kept approach to Cro' Martin. Many a +beautiful glade, many a lovely vista opened on them as they passed along +deep-bosomed woods and gently swelling slopes, dotted over with cattle, +stretched away on either side; while far in the distance could be seen the +battlemented towers of the princely residence. +</p> +<p> +The lover of nature might have felt intense pleasure at a scene so +abounding in objects of beauty. A painter would have lingered with delight +over effects of light and shade, glorious displays of color, and graceful +groupings of rocks and trees and gnarled stumps. A proud man might have +exulted in the selfish enjoyment of feeling that these were all his own; +while a benevolent one would have revelled in the thought of all the +channels through which such wealth might carry the blessings of aid and +charity. +</p> +<p> +Which of these feelings predominated now in the minds of those who, snugly +encased in furs, occupied the respective corners of the ample coach? Shall +we own it? Not any of them. A dreamy, unremarking indifference was the +sentiment of each; and they sat silently gazing on a prospect which +suggested nothing, nor awoke one passing emotion in their hearts. Had any +one been there to express his admiration of the landscape,—praised +the trees, the cattle, or the grassy slopes,—Martin might have heard +him with pleasure, and listened even with interest to his description. My +Lady, too, might not unwillingly have lent an ear to some flattery of the +splendid demesne of which she was mistress, and accepted as half homage +the eulogy of what was hers. None such was, however, there; and so they +journeyed along, as seemingly unconscious as though the scene were wrapped +in midnight darkness. +</p> +<p> +Martin had known the spot, and every detail of it, from his boyhood. The +timber, indeed, had greatly grown,—graceful saplings had become +stately trees, and feathery foliage deepened into leafy shade; but he +himself had grown older, too, and his sense of enjoyment, dulled and +deadened with years, saw nothing in the scene to awaken pleasure. As for +Lady Dorothea, she had reasoned herself into the notion that the walls of +her own grounds were the boundaries of a prison, and had long convinced +herself that she was a suffering martyr to some mysterious sense of duty. +From the drowsy languor in which they reclined they were both aroused, as +the pace of the carriage gradually diminished from a smooth brisk trot to +an uneven jolting motion, the very reverse of agreeable. +</p> +<p> +“What have they done? Where are they going?” said Lady Dorothea, +peevishly. +</p> +<p> +And Martin called out from the window, in tones even less gentle. “Oh, +it's the new approach; the road is not quite completed,” said he, half +sulkily, as he resumed his place. +</p> +<p> +“Another of Miss Martin's clever devices, which, I must say, I never +concurred in.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you always professed to hate the old road by the stables.” + </p> +<p> +“So I did; but I never agreed to passing round the back of the house, and +thus destroying the privacy of the flower-garden,—the only spot I +may dare to call my own. Oh, dear! I shall be shaken to death. Have they +broken the carriage? I 'm certain they 've smashed the spring at my side!” + </p> +<p> +Martin gave a cold, supercilious smile, the only reply to these words. +</p> +<p> +“They 've only broken a trace, I perceive,” said he, casting a hurried +glance through the window, as the carriage came to a dead stop. +</p> +<p> +“You are equanimity itself, sir, this morning,” said her Ladyship, in a +voice almost tremulous with anger. “I wonder if this admirable temper will +befriend you when you shall see the cost of this precious piece of +road-making?” + </p> +<p> +“It employs the people,” said he, coolly. +</p> +<p> +“Employs the people! How I hate that cant phrase! Can't they employ +themselves on their own farms? Have n't they digging and draining, and +whatever it is, to do of their own? Must they of necessity depend on us +for support, and require that we should institute useless works to employ +them?” + </p> +<p> +As if to offer a living commentary on her speech, a number of half-fed and +less than half-clad men now drew near, and in accents of a most servile +entreaty begged to offer their services. Some, indeed, had already busied +themselves to repair the broken harness, and others were levelling the +road, carrying stones to fill up holes, and in every possible manner +endeavoring to render assistance; but all were vociferous in asserting +that the delay would not be above a minute or two; that the road was an +elegant one, or would be soon, and that it was a “raal blessing” to see +her Ladyship and the master looking so well. In fact, they were thankful +and hopeful together; and, notwithstanding the evidences of the deepest +destitution in their appearance, they wore an air of easy, jaunty +politeness, such as many a professional diner-out might have envied. Lady +Dorothea was in no mood to appreciate such traits; indeed, if the truth +must be told, they rather ruffled than soothed her. Martin saw nothing in +them; he was too much accustomed to the people to be struck with any of +their peculiarities, and so he lay back in silent apathy, and took no +notice of them. +</p> +<p> +With all their alacrity and all their good-will—and there was no +lack of either—there was yet such a total absence of all system and +order, that their efforts were utterly useless. Some tugged away manfully +to raise stones too heavy to lift; others came rudely in contact with +fellows heavily laden, and upset them. The sturdy arms that spoked the +hind wheels were resolutely antagonized by as vigorous struggles to move +the fore ones. Every one shouted, cried, cursed, and laughed, by turns; +and a more hopeless scene of confusion and uproar need not be conceived. +Nor was Lady Dorothea herself an inactive spectator; for, with her head +from the carriage-window, she directed a hundred impossible measures, and +sat down at last, overcome with rage and mortification at their blunders. +</p> +<p> +The tumult was now at the highest, and the horses, terrified by the noise +around them, had commenced plunging and rearing fearfully, when Mary +Martin came galloping up to the spot at full speed. +</p> +<p> +“Let go that bridle, Hogan,” cried she, aloud; “you are driving that horse +mad. Loose the leaders' traces; unbuckle the reins, Patsey; the wheelers +will stand quietly. There, lead them away. Speak to that mare; she 's +trembling with fear. I told you not to come by this road, Barney; and it +was only by accident that I saw the wheel-tracks. A thousand pardons, Aunt +Dora, for this mishap. Barney misunderstood my orders. It will be all +right in a moment. Once over this bad spot, the road is hard and level.” + </p> +<p> +“Having no taste, nor any genius for adventures, Miss Martin,” began her +Ladyship—But Mary did not await the remainder of the speech; for, +turning her horse sharply round, and beckoning to some of the people to +follow her, she was away across the lawn at a smart canter. Having arrived +at a small wooden bridge over a river, she ordered the men to lift some of +the planking, by the aid of which they soon constructed a firm and safe +passage for the carriage; and as her presence was the signal for quiet +obedience and prompt action, in less than ten minutes the difficulty was +surmounted, the horses reharnessed, and all in readiness to proceed on +their way. +</p> +<p> +Martin looked on in silent satisfaction, not offering a single suggestion, +or even seeming to feel interested in the events, but enjoying, with all a +lazy man's pleasure, the activity displayed around him. Not so Lady +Dorothea. If she did not like “an adventure,” she loved “a grievance.” + Whatever ministered to her selfishness, even in the remotest degree, was +grateful to her. Mary's opportune arrival had now converted what might +have passed for a calamity into a mere momentary inconvenience; and she +could not conceal her discontent. “Your heroines are a perfect torment; at +least, to us souls of commoner clay. They live only for disasters.” + </p> +<p> +“I must say that Mary extricated us from what might have become one,” said +Martin, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“We are indebted to her, however, for the possibility. This detestable +road, which I promise you I 'll never come again, is entirely her own +invention. I hope, Miss Martin,” added she, from the window, “that the +other approach is to be kept in repair,—at least, for me.” But Mary +did not hear the appeal, for she was bandaging the arm of a poor country +fellow, who had been sorely cut. +</p> +<p> +“There, drive on, Barney,” cried Lady Dorothea. “I shall be taken ill if I +stay here. Really, Mr. Martin, your niece's accomplishments are the least +feminine one can conceive.” And improving this theme, she continued the +entire way till the carriage drew up at the door of the castle. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said she, as she descended, “that heavy sigh shows you are +indeed greatly to be pitied. No martyrdom ever exceeded yours. I am quite +aware of all my imperfections, and can at least fancy everything you could +say of me and my temper. What did you say, Collins?” said she, addressing +the obsequious-looking servant, who, with an air of gloomy joy, very +respectful,—but meant to mean more,—had whispered something in +her ear. +</p> +<p> +“A young lady, did you say, Collins?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“Then you were very wrong, Collins. You meant to say a young person.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,—a young person, like a lady.” + </p> +<p> +“Not in the least, except to such appreciation as yours. Where is she?” + </p> +<p> +“In your Ladyship's library.” + </p> +<p> +“Did she come alone?” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lady. Mr. Henderson drove her over in his car, and said he 'd pass +this way again in the evening.” + </p> +<p> +And now her Ladyship swept proudly by, scarcely noticing the bowing +servants who had formed into a line along the hall, and who endeavored to +throw into their sorrowful faces as much of joy as might consist with the +very deepest humility. Nor was she more condescending to old Catty, who +stood courtesying at the top of the stairs, with a basket of keys on her +arm that might have served to lock up all Newgate. +</p> +<p> +“How cold every place feels! Collins, are you sure the rooms are properly +aired?” cried she, shuddering. “But I suppose it's the climate. Have +another stove put there,” said she, pointing to an impossible locality. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,” replied Collins. +</p> +<p> +“And warmer carpets on these passages.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady; it shall be done to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady; this afternoon.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't remember if the windows are double along here.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady, they are all double towards the north.” + </p> +<p> +“Then they fit badly, for I feel the draught acutely here. It's like the +keen air of a mountain;” and Collins gave a slight sympathetic shudder, +and really looked cold. A somewhat haughty glance from her Ladyship, +however, as quickly reproved him, for Collins ought to have known that it +was not by such as himself changes of temperature could be appreciable. +And now she passed on and entered that part of the mansion peculiarly her +own, and where, it must be owned, her spirit of fault-finding would have +been at a loss what to condemn. +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea's library occupied an angle of the building; and from this +circumstance, included within its precincts an octagonal tower, the view +from which comprised every varied character of landscape. This favored +spot was fitted up in the most luxurious taste,—with rarest gems of +art, and cabinet pictures of almost fabulous value,—to supply which +foreign dealers and connoisseurs had been for years back in correspondence +with her Ladyship. Now it was some rare treasure of carved ivory, or some +sculptured cup of Benvenuto, that had been discovered accidentally, and +which, despite the emulous zeal of princes and cardinals to obtain, was +destined for herself. Now it was some choice mosaic of which but one other +specimen existed, and that in the Pope's private collection at the +Quirinal. Such was her ardor in this pursuit of excellence, that more than +once had every object of this precious chamber been changed, to give place +to something more costly, more precious, and rarer. For about two years +back, however, the resources of the old world seemed to offer nothing +worthy of attention, and the vases, the “statuettes,” the bronzes, the +pictures, and medallions had held their ground undisturbed. +</p> +<p> +Such was the sanctity of this spot, that in showing the house to strangers +it was never opened, nor, without a special order from Lady Dorothea,—a +favor somewhat more difficult to obtain than a firman from the Sultan,—could +any one be admitted within its walls. The trusty servant in whose charge +it was, was actually invested with a species of sacred character in the +household, as one whose feet had passed the threshold of the tabernacle. +Our reader may then picture to himself something of Lady Dorothea's varied +sensations—for, indeed, they were most mingled—as she heard a +slight cough from within the chamber, and, drawing nearer, perceived a +female figure seated in front of one of the windows, calmly regarding the +landscape. +</p> +<p> +With a degree of noise and bustle sufficient to announce her approach, +Lady Dorothea entered the tower; while the stranger, rising, retired one +step, and courtesied very deeply. There was in all the humility of the +obeisance a certain degree of graceful dignity that certainly struck her +Ladyship; and her haughty look and haughtier tone were some little +modified as she asked by what accident she found her there. +</p> +<p> +“My intrusion was a pure accident, my Lady,” replied the other, in a low, +soft voice; “mistaking the door by which I had entered a room, I wandered +on through one after another until I found myself here. I beg your +Ladyship to believe that nothing was further from my thoughts than to +obtrude upon your privacy.” + </p> +<p> +“Your name?” began her Ladyship; and then, as suddenly correcting herself, +she said, “You are Miss Henderson, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,” she replied, with a slight bend of the head. +</p> +<p> +“I sent for you,” said Lady Dorothea, in a half-careless tone, while she +turned over some books on the table, as if in search of something,—“I +sent for you, partly at the request of your mother—” + </p> +<p> +“My stepmother, my Lady,” interposed the girl, calmly. +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea stared at her for a second or two, as though to say, how had +she dared to correct her; but either that the reproof had not met its full +success, or that she did not care to pursue it, she added, “At the request +of your friends, and partly out of curiosity.” And here Lady Dorothea +raised her glass to her eye, and quietly surveyed her,—an +examination which, it must be owned, none could have borne with more +unshaken fortitude; not the slightest tremor of a limb, not the faintest +change of color betokening that the ordeal was a painful one. +</p> +<p> +“I do see that you have been educated in France,” said her Ladyship, with +a smile of most supercilious import, while a courtesy from the young girl +admitted the fact. +</p> +<p> +“Were you brought up in Paris?” asked she, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“For four years, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“And the remainder of the time, where was it passed?” + </p> +<p> +“We travelled a great deal, my Lady, in Germany and Italy.” + </p> +<p> +“'We,'—who were the 'we' you speak of? Please to bear in mind that I +know nothing of your history.” + </p> +<p> +“I forgot that, my Lady. I thought my stepmother had, perhaps, informed +your Ladyship.” + </p> +<p> +“Of nothing whatever, child,” said she, haughtily, “save of your having a +foreign education, and wishing, or hoping, to find some engagement as a +governess or a teacher;” and the last words were drawled out languidly, as +though they were suggestive of all that was wearisome and a bore. “So you +must be good enough to explain who 'we' were.” + </p> +<p> +“The Duchesse de Luygnes and her family, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“You travelled with them; and in what capacity, pray?” + </p> +<p> +“I was called companion to the Princesse de Courcelles, the eldest +daughter of the Duchess, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“Companion!—why, you must have been a mere child at the time?” + </p> +<p> +“A mere child, my Lady; but they took me from the Pensionnat, to speak +English with the young Princess.” + </p> +<p> +“And then they took the charge of your education, I conclude?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“And to what extent—or rather, in what direction; I mean, what +object had they in view in choosing your studies?” + </p> +<p> +“They gave me the same masters as to the young Princess, my Lady; and I +was instructed in all respects as she was.” + </p> +<p> +“And treated like her also, I conclude?” said Lady Dorothea, with a +sneering smile. +</p> +<p> +“Madame la Duchesse was ever most kind to me,” said the girl, half +proudly. +</p> +<p> +“Kind—yes, of course—kind, if you conducted yourself properly +and to her satisfaction. A person of her condition would be kind; but I +trust this did not proceed so far as to spoil you? I hope it never made +you forget your station?” + </p> +<p> +“I trust it did not, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“With what part of the establishment did you live? Where did you dine?” + </p> +<p> +“With the Princess, my Lady; except on <i>fête</i> days, when we were +invited to the table of the Duchess.” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard of anything more absurd,—outrageously absurd. Why, +are you aware, young woman, that these same friends of yours have done you +irreparable mischief? They have, so to say, ruined your entire future; for +how can I, and others in my station, avail myself of your services, with +such habits and expectations as these?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not expectations, my Lady. I never did or can expect such +condescension from another.” + </p> +<p> +“No matter; your head is filled with ideas unbefitting your condition, +usages, habits, associations, all foreign to a menial station. You have +been admitted to privileges the want of which would be felt as hardships. +In fact, as I said before, they have done you irreparable injury. You must +feel it yourself.” + </p> +<p> +A very faint smile, half in deprecation of the appeal, was the only reply +of the young girl. +</p> +<p> +“You are certain to feel it later on in life, if you are not sensible of +it at present, that I can vouch for, young woman,” said Lady Dorothea, +with all the firmness with which she could utter an unpleasant speech. +“Nothing but unhappiness ever resulted from such ill-judged indulgence. +Indeed, if your mother had mentioned the circumstances, I scarcely think I +should have sent for you”—she paused to see if any strong signs of +contrite sorrow displayed themselves in the young girl's features; none +such were there, and Lady Dorothea more sternly added,—“I may safely +say, I never should have asked to see you.” + </p> +<p> +When a speech meant to be severe has failed to inflict the pain it was +intended to produce, it invariably recoils with redoubled power upon him +who uttered it; and so Lady Dorothea now felt all the pang of her own +ungenerous sentiment. With an effort to shake off this unpleasant +sensation, she resumed,— +</p> +<p> +“I might go further, and observe that unless you yourself became +thoroughly penetrated with the fact, you must always prove very unsuitable +to the station you are destined to occupy in life. Do you understand me?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe I do, my Lady,” was the calm reply. +</p> +<p> +“And also,” resumed she, still more dictatorially—“and also, that +acquiring this knowledge by yourself will be less painful to your feelings +than if impressed upon you by others. Do you fully apprehend me?” + </p> +<p> +“I think so, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +Now, although the tone and manner of the young girl were unexceptionable +in all that regards deference and respect, Lady Dorothea was not a little +provoked at her unbroken composure. There was no confusion, not even a +semblance of constraint about her. She replied to even sarcastic questions +without the faintest shadow of irritation, and exhibited throughout the +most perfect quietude and good breeding. Had the “young person” been +overwhelmed with shame, or betrayed into any access of temper, her +Ladyship's manner would have presented a pattern of haughty dignity and +gracefulness, and her rebukes would have been delivered in a tone of +queen-like superiority; but Miss Henderson afforded no opportunity for +these great qualities. She was deference itself; but deference so +self-possessed, so assured of its own safeguard, as to be positively +provoking. +</p> +<p> +“Under all these circumstances, therefore,” resumed Lady Dorothea, as if +having revolved mighty thoughts within her mind, “it appears to me you +would not suit me.” + </p> +<p> +But even this speech failed to call up one trait of disappointment, and +the young girl received it with only a deep courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“I'm sorry for it,” continued my Lady, “on your mother's account; your +education has of course cost her and your father many sacrifices, which +your duty requires you to repay.” She paused, as if asking for some assent +to this speech. +</p> +<p> +Another deep courtesy was the reply. +</p> +<p> +“There, that will do,” said Lady Dorothea, angrily; for any attempt to +provoke seemed an utter failure. “I think I have nothing more to say. When +I shall see your mother I can explain more fully to her. Good-morning.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish your Ladyship good-morning,” said the girl, with a deep obeisance, +and in a voice of perfect deference, while she retired towards the door. +Before she had reached it, however, Lady Dorothea again addressed her. +</p> +<p> +“You forgot, I think, to tell me why you left the Duchesse de Luygnes?” + </p> +<p> +“I left on the marriage of the Princess, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I remember; she married a Russian, I think.” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lady; she married the Duc de Mirecourt, French Ambassador at St. +Petersburg.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, to be sure. I knew there was something Russian about it. And so they +sent you away then?” + </p> +<p> +“The Duchess most kindly invited me to accompany her, my Lady, but my +father desired I should return to Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“And very properly,” said Lady Dorothea; “he took a most just view of the +case; your position would only have exposed you to great perils. I'm sure +you are not of my opinion, for distrust of yourself does not appear one of +your failings.”—It is possible that this ungenerous remark was +evoked by a very slight curl of the young girl's lip, and which, faint as +it was, did not escape her Ladyship's keen glances.—“Good-morning.” + </p> +<p> +Again had Miss Henderson gained the door; her hand was already on the +lock, when her Ladyship called out: “In the event of anything occurring to +me likely to suit you, I ought to know what you can teach; and mind, don't +bore me with a mere catalogue of hard names, but say what you really +know.” + </p> +<p> +“Some modern languages, my Lady, with music.” + </p> +<p> +“No Greek or Latin?” said Lady Dorothea, half sneer-ingly. +</p> +<p> +“Latin, perhaps; but though I can read some Greek, I could not venture to +teach it.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor Hebrew?” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“And the modern tongues,—which of them do you profess to know?” + </p> +<p> +“French, Italian, Spanish, and German.” + </p> +<p> +“And don't you draw?—they showed me what they called yours.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady, but I cannot teach drawing.” + </p> +<p> +“And of course you are thoroughly versed in history. Have you studied any +scientific subjects?—mathematics, for instance.” + </p> +<p> +“Only a few of the French initial books, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you are quite an Admirable Crichton for acquirement. I feel really +abashed to find myself in such company.” But even this coarse speech +failed to irritate, and Lady Dorothea walked angrily towards the window +and looked out. +</p> +<p> +It so chanced that, through an opening of the wood, she caught sight of a +large assemblage of workpeople, who, headed by Miss Martin on horseback, +were on their way to the quarries; and as she looked, a sudden thought +flashed across her: “Why not retain the 'young person' as a companion for +her niece? How admirably would all this girl's knowledge contrast with +Mary's ignorance! What an unceasing source of disparagement would their +contact afford, at the very moment that the arrangement might seem +dictated by the very best and highest of motives.” + </p> +<p> +It may doubtless appear to many, that the individual who could reason thus +must be animated by a most corrupt and depraved nature, but unhappily the +spiteful element in the human heart is one which never measures its modes +of attack, but suffers itself to be led on, from acts of mere petty malice +to actions of downright baseness and badness. Lady Dorothea was not devoid +of good traits, but once involved in a pursuit, she totally forgot the +object which originally suggested it, but engaged all her zeal and all her +ardor for success. She would have been shocked at the bare possibility of +actually injuring her niece; she would have resented with indignation the +mere mention of such; but yet she would have eagerly grasped at whatever +afforded a chance of dominating over her. Mary's influence in the +household—her rule over the peasantry of the estate—was a +perpetual source of annoyance to her Ladyship, and yet she never knew how +to thwart it, till now that chance seemed to offer this means. +</p> +<p> +“You need not go back just yet: I 'll speak to Mr. Martin about you,” said +she, turning towards Miss Henderson; and, with a respectful courtesy, the +girl withdrew, leaving her Ladyship to her own somewhat complicated +reflections. +</p> +<p> +In less than half an hour after Lady Dorothea proceeded to Mr. Martin's +study, where a cabinet council was held, the substance of which our reader +can readily conceive; nor need he have any doubts as to the decision, when +we say that Lady Dorothea retired to her own room with a look of +satisfaction so palpably displayed that Mademoiselle Hortense, her maid, +remarked to herself, “Somebody or other was sure to pass a <i>mauvais +quart d'heure</i> when <i>miladi</i> goes to her room with an air of such +triumphant meaning as that.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. “A HOUSEKEEPER'S ROOM” + </h2> +<p> +Cro' Martin was replete with every comfort and luxury. All its +arrangements betokened wealth; not a single appliance of ease or enjoyment +but was to be found within its well-ordered walls; and yet there was one +want which seemed to mar all, and infuse a sense of almost dreary coldness +over everything, and this was—the absence of a numerous family, the +assemblage of various ages, which gives to a home its peculiar interest, +embodying the hopes and fears and passions and motives of manhood, in +every stage of existence, making up that little world within doors which +emblematizes the great one without; but, with this singular advantage, of +its being bound up in one holy sentiment of mutual love and affection. +</p> +<p> +This charm is it which gives the whole vitality to home,—this +mingling of the temperaments of youth and manhood and deep age, blending +hopes of the future with memories of the past, and making of every heart a +portion of one human biography, in which many are sharers. To the +stranger, who came to see the house and its gorgeous decorations, all +seemed suggestive of habitable enjoyment. The vast drawing-rooms appeared +as if only waiting for a splendid company; the dark wainscoted +dining-room, with its noble fireplace of gigantic dimensions, looked the +very scene where hospitable conviviality might be enacted; the library, +calm, quiet, and secluded, seemed a spot wherein a student might have +passed a life long. Even in the views that presented themselves at the +several windows, there was a certain appropriateness to the character of +the room, and the same importunate question still arose to one's mind: Who +is there to enjoy all this? What words of glad welcome echo through this +vaulted hall, what happy daughter sings through these gilded chambers, +where is the social pleasantry that circles the blazing fire of the ample +hearth? Alas! all was sombre, splendid, and dreary. No, we are wrong!—not +all! There was one corner of this great house where cheerfulness was the +very type of comfort. It was a small and not lofty room, whose two windows +projected beyond the walls, giving a wide view over the swelling landscape +for miles of space. Here the furniture was of the most ordinary kind, but +scrupulously neat and well kept. The chairs—there were but four of +them—all with arms and deep cushions; the walnut table a perfect +mirror of polish; the cloth curtains, that closed the windows and +concealed the door, massive and heavy-folded,—all breathed of +snugness; while the screen that surrounded the fire had other perfections +than those of comfortable seclusion, containing a most strange collection +of the caricatures of the time, and the period before the Union. It is but +necessary to add that this was Mrs. Broon's apartment,—the snug +chamber where old Catty enjoyed herself, after the fatigues and duties of +the day. Here now she sat at tea, beside a cheerful fire, the hissing +kettle on the hob harmonizing pleasantly with the happy purring of an +enormous cat, who sat winking at the blaze; and while evidently +inconvenienced by the heat, lacking energy to retreat from it. Catty had +just obtained the newspaper,—as the master had gone to dinner,—and +was really about to enjoy a comfortable evening. Far from devoid of social +qualities, or a liking for companionship, she still lived almost entirely +to herself, the other servants being chiefly English, whose habits and +ways were all strange to her, and all whose associations were widely +different from her own. Catty Broon had thus obtained a reputation for +unsociability which she by no means deserved, but to which, it must be +owned, she was totally indifferent. In fact, if <i>they</i> deemed <i>her</i> +morose and disagreeable, <i>she</i>, in turn, held <i>them</i> still more +cheaply, calling them a set of lazy devils that “were only in each other's +way,” and “half of them not worth their salt.” + </p> +<p> +Catty had also survived her generation; all her friends of former years +had either died or emigrated, and except two or three of the +farm-servants, none of the “ould stock,” as she called them, were in +existence. This brief explanation will show that Catty's comparative +isolation was not entirely a matter of choice. If a sense of loneliness +did now and then cross her mind, she never suffered it to dwell there, but +chased away the unpleasant thought by some active duty; or if the season +of that were over, by the amusing columns of the “Intelligence,”—a +journal which realized to Mrs. Broon's conceptions the very highest order +of literary merit. +</p> +<p> +Catty did not take much interest in politics; she had a vague, dreamy kind +of notion that the game of party was a kind of disreputable gambling, and +Parliament itself little better than a “Hell,” frequented by very +indifferent company. Indeed, she often said it would be “well for us if +there was no politics, and maybe then, there would be no taxes either.” + The news she liked was the price of farming-stock at fairs and markets,—what +Mr. Hynes got for his “top lot” of hoggets, and what Tom Healey paid for +the “finest heifers ever seen on the fair-green.” These, and the accidents—a +deeply interesting column—were her peculiar tastes; and her memory +was stored with every casualty, by sea, fire, and violence, that had +graced the “Intelligence” for forty years back; in truth they formed the +stations of her chronology, and she would refer to events as having +occurred the same year that Joe Ryan was hanged, or “the very Christmas +that Hogan fired at Captain Crossley.” An inundation of great extent also +figured in these memorabilia, and was constantly referred to, by her +saying, “This or that happened the year after the Flood,” suggesting a +rather startling impression as to her longevity. +</p> +<p> +On the evening we now refer to, the newspaper was more than commonly +adorned with these incidents. Public news having failed, private +calamities were invoked to supply the place. Catty was, therefore, +fortunate. There was something, too, not altogether unpleasant in the +whistling storm that raged without, and the heavy plashing of the rain as +it beat upon the window-panes. Without imputing to her, as would be most +unjust, the slightest touch of ill-nature, she felt a heightened sense of +her own snugness as she drew closer to the bright hearth, while she read +of “a dreadful gale in the Bay of Biscay.” + </p> +<p> +It was just in the most exciting portion of the description that her door +was rudely opened, and the heavy curtain dashed aside with a daring hand; +and Catty, startled by the sudden interruption, called angrily out,— +</p> +<p> +“Who's there?—who are ye at all?” + </p> +<p> +“Can't you guess, Catty?” cried out a pleasant voice. “Don't you know that +there's only one in this house here who 'd dare to enter in such a +fashion?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Miss Mary, is it you? And, blessed Virgin, what a state ye 're in!” + cried she, as she gazed at the young girl, who, throwing away her +riding-hat, wrung out the rain from her long and silky hair, while she +laughed merrily at old Catty's dismayed countenance. +</p> +<p> +“Why, where in the world were you—what happened you, darling?” said +Catty, as she assisted her to remove the dripping costume. +</p> +<p> +“I was at the Wood, Catty, and up to the quarries, and round by Cronebawn, +and then, seeing a storm gathering, I thought I 'd turn homeward, but one +of Kit Sullivan's children—my little godchild, you know—detained +me to hear him recite some verses he had learned for my birthday; and, +what with one thing and another, it was pitch dark when I reached the 'New +Cut,' and then, to my annoyance, I found the bridge had just been carried +away—there, Catty, now for a pair of your own comfortable slippers—and, +as I was saying to you, there was no bridge!” + </p> +<p> +“The bridge gone!” exclaimed Catty, in horror. +</p> +<p> +“All Tom Healey's fault. I told him that the arch had not span enough, and +that the buttresses would never stand the first heavy fall of rain from +the mountains, and there 's not a vestige of them now!” + </p> +<p> +“And what did you do?” + </p> +<p> +“I rode for the Low Meadows, Catty, with all speed. I knew that the river, +not being confined there between narrow banks, and spreading over a wide +surface, couldn't be very deep. Nor was it. It never touched the girths +but once, when we got into a hole. But she is such a rare good beast, that +little Sorrel; she dashed through everything, and I don't think I took +forty minutes from Kane's Mill to this door, though I never saw a spot of +the road all the while, except when the lightning showed it. There now, +like a good old dear, don't wring your hands and say, 'Blessed hour!' but +just put some more tea in the teapot, and fetch me your brown loaf!” + </p> +<p> +“But surely you 'll die of cold!—you 'll be in a fever!” + </p> +<p> +“Nonsense, Catty; I have been out in rain before this. I'm more provoked +about that bridge than all else. My excellent aunt will have such a laugh +at my engineering skill, when she hears of it. Can't be helped, however. +And so there's a dinner-party upstairs, I hear. Fanny told me there were +three strangers.” + </p> +<p> +“So I hear. There's a lawyer from Dublin; and a lady from I don't know +where; and young Nelligan, old Dan's son. I 'm sure I never thought I 'd +see the day he 'd be eating his dinner at Cro' Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“And why not, Catty? What is there in his manners and conduct that should +not make him good company for any one here?” + </p> +<p> +“Is n't he the son of a little huckster in Oughterard? Old Dan, that I +remember without a shoe to his foot?” + </p> +<p> +“And is it a reproach to him that he has made a fortune by years of +patient industry and toil?” + </p> +<p> +“In-dus-try! toil! indeed,” said Catty, sneeringly. “How much in-dus-try +or toil there is, weighing out snuff and sugar in a snug shop. Ayeh! he's +an old nig-gar, the same Dan. I know him well.” + </p> +<p> +“But that is no reason why you should disparage his son, Catty, who is a +young gentleman of the highest ability and great promise. I never heard +you speak so ungenerously before.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well, darling, don't look angry with your ould Catty, anyway. It +isn't for the like of Dan Nelligan, or his son either, you'd be cross with +<i>me!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Never, Catty, never,—for anybody or anything,” said the young girl, +taking her hand with both her own. “But you have n't told me who the lady +is. How did she arrive, and when?” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing of her. Peter came to say that the blue bedroom was +wanting to-night, and he wished to torment me into asking who for?—but +I wouldn't, just for that same; and so I gave him the keys without a +word.” + </p> +<p> +“I wonder if this note, that I found on my dressing-table, will explain +anything,” said Mary, as she proceeded to break the seal. “Of all the +absurd ways of my Lady aunt, she has not a more ridiculous one than this +trick of writing little notes, instead of speaking. She sees me every day, +and might surely say whatever she wanted to say, without embalming it in a +despatch. This, I perceive, is number four hundred and seventy-six, and I +presume she 's correct in the score. Only think, Catty,—four hundred +little epistles like this!” + </p> +<p> +And with these words she carelessly unfolded the letter and began to read +it. All her indifference of manner, however, soon gave way to an +expression of considerable eagerness, and she had no sooner finished the +epistle than she recommenced and reread it. +</p> +<p> +“You 'd never guess what tidings this brings me, Catty,” said she, laying +down the paper, and looking with an expression half sad, half comical. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe I might, then,” said Catty, shaking her head knowingly. +</p> +<p> +“Come, out with your guess, then, old lady, and I promise to venerate your +wisdom ever after if you be right,—that is, if nobody has already +given you a hint on the subject.” + </p> +<p> +“Not one in the world,” said Catty, solemnly; “I pledge you my word and +faith I never heard a syllable about it.” + </p> +<p> +“About it! about what?” + </p> +<p> +“About what's in the letter there,” said Catty, stoutly. +</p> +<p> +“You are therefore quite certain that you know it,” said Mary, smiling, +“so now let's have your interpretation.” + </p> +<p> +“It 's a proposial,” said Catty, with a slight wink. +</p> +<p> +“A what!” + </p> +<p> +“A proposial—of marriage, I mean.” + </p> +<p> +But before the words were out, Mary burst into a fit of laughter, so +hearty and with such good-will that poor Catty felt perfectly ashamed of +herself. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Catty,” said she, at length, “you must have been reading fairy +tales this morning; nothing short of such bright literature could have +filled your mind with these imaginings. The object of the note is, I +assure you, of a quite different kind;” and here she ran her eye once more +over the epistle. “Yes,” continued she, “it is written in my dear aunt's +own peculiar style, and begins with a 'declaratory clause,' as I think Mr. +Scanlan would call it, expressive of my lamentably neglected education, +and then proceeds to the appropriate remedy, by telling me that I am to +have a governess!” + </p> +<p> +“A what!” cried Catty, in angry amazement. +</p> +<p> +“A governess, Catty,—not a governor, as you suspected.” + </p> +<p> +“Ayeh, ayeh!” cried the old woman, wringing her hands; “what's this for? +Don't you know how to govern yourself by this time? And what can they +teach you that you don't understand already?” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, my dear Catty,” said the young girl, sadly, “it is a sad subject you +would open there,—one that I have wept over many a dreary hour! No +one knows—no one even could guess—how deeply I have deplored +my illiterate condition. Nor was it,” added she, ardently, “till I had +fashioned out a kind of existence of my own—active, useful, and +energetic—that I could bury the thought of my utter want of +education. Not even you, Catty, could fathom all the tears this theme has +cost me, nor with what a sinking of the heart I have thought over my +actual unfitness for my station.” + </p> +<p> +“Arrah, don't provoke me! don't drive me mad!” cried the old woman, in +real anger. “There never was one yet as fit for the highest place as +yourself; and it is n't me alone that says it, but hundreds of—” + </p> +<p> +“Hundreds of dear, kind, loving hearts,” broke in Mary, “that would +measure my poor capacity by my will to serve them. But no matter, Catty; I +'ll not try to undeceive them. They shall think of me with every help +their own affection may lend them, and I will not love them less for the +overestimate.” + </p> +<p> +As she spoke these words, she buried her face between her hands; but the +quick heaving of her chest showed how deep was her emotion. The old woman +respected her sorrow too deeply to interrupt her, and for several minutes +not a word was spoken on either side. At last Mary raised her head, and +throwing back the long, loose hair, which in heavy masses shaded her face, +said with a firm and resolute voice,— +</p> +<p> +“I 'd have courage to go to school to-morrow, Catty, and begin as a mere +child to learn, if I knew that another was ready to take my place here. +But who is to look after these poor people, who are accustomed now to see +me amongst them, on the mountains, in the fields, at their firesides?—who +gain new spirit for labor when I ride down in the midst of them, and look +up, cheered, by seeing me, even from a sick-bed. Her Ladyship would say, +Mr. Henderson could do all this far better than myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Henderson, indeed!” exclaimed Catty, indignantly; “the smooth-tongued +old rogue!” + </p> +<p> +“And perhaps he might, in England,” resumed Mary; “but not here, Catty,—not +here! We care less for benefits than the source from which they spring. We +Irish cherish the love of motives as well as actions; and, above all, we +cherish the links that bind the lowliest in the land with the highest, and +make both better by the union.” + </p> +<p> +She poured out these words with rapid impetuosity, rather talking to +herself than addressing her companion; then, suddenly changing her tone, +she added,— +</p> +<p> +“Besides, Catty, <i>they</i> are used to me, and <i>I</i> to <i>them</i>. +A new face and a new voice would not bring the same comfort to them.” + </p> +<p> +“Never, never,” muttered the old woman to herself. +</p> +<p> +“And I 'll not desert them.” + </p> +<p> +“That you won't, darling,” said the old woman, kissing her hand +passionately, while tears swam in her eyes, and trickled down her cheeks. +</p> +<p> +“There is but one thought, Catty, that makes me at all faint-hearted about +this, and whenever it crosses me I do feel very low and depressed.” She +paused, and then murmured the words, “My father!” + </p> +<p> +“Your father, my darling! What about <i>him?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“It is thinking, Catty, of his return; an event that ought to be—and +would be, too—the very happiest of my life; a day for whose coming I +never sleep without a prayer; and yet, even this bright prospect has its +dark side, when I recall all my own deficiencies, and how different he +will find his daughter from what he had expected her.” + </p> +<p> +“May the blessed saints grant me patience!” cried Catty, breaking in. +“Isn't it too bad to hear you talking this way? Sure, don't I know Master +Barry well? Didn't I nurse him, and wasn't I all as one as his own mother +to him, and don't I know that you are his own born image? 'Tis himself and +no other ye are every minute of the day.” + </p> +<p> +“And even that, Catty,” said Mary, smiling, “might fail to satisfy him. It +is something very different indeed he might have imagined his daughter. +I'm sure nobody can be more ignorant than I am, of what a person in my +station ought to know. I cannot hide this from myself in my sad moments. I +do not try to do so, but I have always relied upon the consolation that, +to an existence such as mine is like to be, these deficiencies do not +bring the same sense of shame, the same painful consciousness of +inferiority, as if I were to mingle with the world of my equals. But if he +were to come back,—he, who has seen society in every shape and +fashion,—and find me the poor, unlettered, unread, untaught thing I +am, unable to follow his very descriptions of far-away lands without +confusion and mistake; unable to benefit by his reflections from very want +of previous knowledge,—oh, Catty dearest, what a miserable thing is +self-love after all, when it should thus thrust itself into the +foreground, where very different affections alone should have the place.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'd love you like his own heart,” said Catty. “Nobody knows him like +me; and if there was ever one made for him to dote on, it's your own +self.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you indeed think so?” cried Mary, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Do I know it—could I swear it?” said Catty. “He was never much +given to study himself, except it was books of travel like 'Robinson +Crusoe,' and the like; and then, after reading one of them books he 'd be +off for days together, and we 'd be looking for him over the whole +country, and maybe find him in the middle of Kyle's Wood up a tree; or +once, indeed, it was in the island of Lettermullen we got him. He built a +mud-house, and was living there with a goat and two rabbits that he reared +himself, and if he was n't miserable when they brought him away home! I +remember his words well,—'Maybe,' says he, 'the time will come that +I 'll go where you can't come after me;' and ye see that's what he's done, +for nobody knows where he wasn't wandering these last eight or nine +years.” + </p> +<p> +When Catty got upon this theme she could not be brought to quit it,—nor, +indeed, did Mary try,—for though she had heard these stories of her +father's boyish days over and over again, she never wearied of them; they +had all the fascination of romance for her, with the stronger interest +that grew out of her love for one who, she was told, had so loved herself. +Besides this, she felt in her own heart the same promptings to a life of +action and adventure. All the incidents and accidents of an eventful +existence were the very things to delight her, and one of her happiest +daydreams was to fancy herself her father's companion in his wanderings by +flood and field. +</p> +<p> +And thus they sat till a late hour of the night talking and listening, old +Catty answering each inquiry of the young girl by some anecdote or trait +of him she still persisted in calling “Master Barry,” till, in the ardor +of listening, Mary herself caught up the phrase, and so designated her own +father. +</p> +<p> +“How unlike my uncle in everything!” exclaimed Mary, as she reflected over +some traits the old woman had just recorded. “And were they not very fond +of each other?” + </p> +<p> +“That they were: at least I can answer for Master Barry's love; and to be +sure, if having a reason was worth anything, your uncle ought to love him +more than one man ever did another.” Old Catty uttered these words with a +slow and almost muttering accent; they seemed as if the expression of a +thought delivered involuntarily—almost unconsciously. +</p> +<p> +Mary was attracted by the unwonted solemnity of her accent, but still more +by an expression of intense meaning which gathered over the old woman's +brows and forehead. “Ay, ay,” muttered she, still to herself, “there's few +brothers would do it. Maybe there's not another living but himself would +have done it.” + </p> +<p> +“And what was it, Catty?” asked Mary, boldly. +</p> +<p> +“Eh!—what was I saying, darling?” said Catty, rousing herself to +full consciousness. +</p> +<p> +“You were telling of my father, and some great proof of affection he gave +my uncle.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure he did,” said the old woman, hastily. “They were always fond +of each other, as brothers ought to be.” + </p> +<p> +“But this one particular instance of love,—what was it, Catty?” + </p> +<p> +The old woman started, and looked eagerly around the room, as though to +assure herself that they were alone; then, drawing her chair close to +Mary's, she said, in a low voice: “Don't ask me any more about them +things, darling. 'T is past and gone many a year now, and I 'd rather +never think of it more, for I 've a heavy heart after it.” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, it is a secret, Catty?” said Mary, half proudly. +</p> +<p> +“A secret, indeed,” said Catty, shaking her head mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“Then you need only to have said so, and I'd not have importuned you to +tell it; for, to say truth, Catty, I never knew you had any secrets from +me.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor have I another, except this, darling,” said Catty; and she buried her +face within her hands. And now both sat in silence for some minutes,—a +most painful silence to each. At last Mary arose, and, although evidently +trying to overcome it, a feeling of constraint was marked in her features. +</p> +<p> +“You'd never guess how late it is, Catty,” said she, trying to change the +current of her thoughts. “You 'd not believe it is past three o'clock; how +pleasantly we must have talked, to forget time in this way!” + </p> +<p> +But the old woman made no reply, and it was clear that she had never heard +the words, so deeply was she sunk in her own reflections. +</p> +<p> +“This poor hat of mine will scarcely do another day's service,” said Mary, +as she looked at it half laughingly. “Nor is my habit the fresher of its +bath in the 'Red River;' and the worst of it is, Catty, I have overdrawn +my quarter's allowance, and must live on, in rags, till Easter. I see, old +lady, you have no sympathies to waste on me and my calamities this +evening,” added she, gayly, “and so I'll just go to bed and, if I can, +dream pleasantly.” + </p> +<p> +“Rags, indeed,” said Catty. “It's well it becomes you to wear rags!” and +her eyes sparkled with indignant passion. “Faith, if it comes to that,”—here +she suddenly paused, and a pale hue spread over her features like a qualm +of faintish sickness,—“may the Holy Mother give me help and advice; +for sometimes I'm nigh forgetting myself!” + </p> +<p> +“My dear old Catty,” said Mary, fondly, “don't fret about me and my +foolish speech. I only said it in jest. I have everything,—far more +than I want; a thousand times more than I desire. And my excellent aunt +never said a truer thing in her life than when she declared that +'everybody spoiled me.' Now, good-night.” And kissing the old woman +affectionately, Mary gathered up the stray fragments of her riding-gear, +and hurried away, her merry voice heard cheerfully as she wended her way +up many a stair and gallery to her own chamber. +</p> +<p> +If Mary Martin's character had any one quality preeminently remarkable, it +was the absence of everything like distrust and suspicion. Frankness and +candor itself in all her dealings, she never condescended to impute secret +motives to another; and the very thought of anything like mystery was +absolutely repugant to her nature. For the very first time in her life, +then, she left old Catty Broon with a kind of uneasy, dissatisfied +impression. There was a secret, and she was somehow or other concerned in +it; so much was clear. How could she convince the old woman that no +revelation, however disagreeable in itself, could be as torturing as a +doubt? “Can there be anything in my position or circumstances here that I +am not aware of? Is there a mystery about me in any way?” The very +imagination of such a thing was agony. In vain she tried to chase away the +unwelcome thought by singing, as she went, by thinking over plans for the +morrow, by noting down, as she did each night, some stray records of the +past day; still Catty's agitated face and strange emotion rose before her, +and would not suffer her to be at rest. +</p> +<p> +To a day of great excitement and fatigue now succeeded a sleepless, +feverish night, and morning broke on her unrefreshed, and even ill. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. A FINE OLD IRISH BARRISTER +</h2> +<p> +Can any one tell us what has become of that high conversational power for +which Ireland, but more especially Dublin, was once celebrated? Have the +brilliant talkers of other days left no successors? Has that race of +delightful con-vivialists gone and disappeared forever? Or are we only +enduring an interregnum of dulness, the fit repose, perhaps, after a +period of such excitement? The altered circumstances of the country will +doubtless account for much of this change. The presence of a Parliament in +Ireland imparted a dignity and importance to society, while it secured to +social intercourse the men who made that Senate illustrious. The Bar, too, +of former days, was essentially the career of the highest class, of those +who had the ambition of political success without the necessity of toiling +for it through the laborious paths of the law; and thus the wit, the +brilliancy, and the readiness which gives conversation its charm, obtained +the high culture which comes of a learned profession, and the social +intercourse with men of refined understanding. +</p> +<p> +With the Union this spirit died out. Some of the brightest and gayest +retired from the world, sad, dispirited, and depressed; some felt that a +new and very different career was to open before them, and addressed +themselves to the task of conforming to new habits and acquiring new +influences; and others, again, sought in the richer and greater country +the rewards which they once were satisfied to reap in their own. With the +Union, society in Dublin—using the word in its really comprehensive +sense—ceased to exist. The great interests of a nation departed, men +sank to the level of the small topics that engaged them, and gradually the +smallest and narrowest views of mere local matters usurped the place of +great events and liberal speculations. Towards the end of the first +quarter of the present century, a few of those who had once made +companionship with Curran and Grattan and Lysaght and Parsons were still +in good health and vigor. A fine, high-hearted, manly class they were, +full of that peculiar generosity of character which has ever marked the +true Irish gentleman, and with a readiness in humor and a genial flow of +pleasantry which rendered their society delightful. +</p> +<p> +Of this school—and probably the last, for he was then the Father of +the Bar—was Valentine Repton, a man whose abilities might have won +for him the very highest distinctions, but who, partly through indolence, +and partly through a sturdy desire to be independent of all party, had all +his life rejected every offer of advancement, and had seen his juniors +pass on to the highest ranks of the profession, while he still wore his +stuff-gown, and rose to address the Court from the outer benches. +</p> +<p> +He was reported in early life to have professed very democratic opinions, +for which he more than once had incurred the <i>deep</i> displeasure of +the authorities of the University. The principles of the French Revolution +had, however, been gradually toned down in him by time, and probably by a +very aristocratic contempt for the party who advocated them; so that soon +after he entered on his career at the Bar he seemed to have abandoned +politics; nor, except by a sly jest or an epigram upon a party leader, no +matter of which side, did he ever advert to the contests of statecraft. +</p> +<p> +Though closely approaching seventy, he was hale and vigorous, his gray +eyes quick and full of fire, his voice clear, and his whole air and +bearing that of one many years younger. He had been a “beau” in his youth, +and there was in the accurately powdered hair, the lace ruffles in which +he still appeared at dinner, and the well-fitting silk stocking, an +evidence that he had not forgotten the attractions of dress. At the Bar he +still maintained the very highest place. His powers of cross-examination +were very great; his management of a jury unrivalled. A lifelong +acquaintance with Dublin had familiarized him with the tone and temper of +every class of its citizens, and had taught him the precise kind of +argument, and the exact nature of the appeal to address to each. As he +grew older, perhaps he did not observe all his wonted discretion in the +use of this subtle power, and somewhat presumed upon his own skill. Nor +was he so scrupulous in his deference to the Court,—a feature which +had once pre-eminently distinguished him; but, upon the whole, he had kept +wonderfully clear of the proverbial irritability of age, and was, without +an exception, the favorite amongst his brethren. +</p> +<p> +The only touch of years observable about his mind was a fondness for +recurring to incidents or events in which he himself had borne a part. A +case in which he held a brief, the dinner at which he had been brilliant, +the epigram he had dashed off in Lady Somebody's drawing-room, were bright +spots he could not refrain from adverting to; but, generally speaking, he +had skill enough to introduce these without any seeming effort or any +straining, and thus strangers, at least, were in wonderment at his endless +stores of anecdote and illustration. No man better than he knew how to +throw a great name into the course of a conversation, and make an audience +for himself, by saying, “I remember one day at the Priory with Curran”—or, +“We were dining with poor Grattan at Tinnehinch, when—” “As Flood +once remarked to me—” and so on. +</p> +<p> +The flattery of being addressed by one who had stood in such intimate +relation to those illustrious men never failed of success. The most +thoughtless and giddy hearers were at once arrested by such an opening, +and Repton was sure of listeners in every company. +</p> +<p> +The man who finds his place in every society is unquestionably a clever +man. The aptitude to chime in with the tone of others infers a high order +of humor,—of humor in its real sense; meaning, thereby, the faculty +of appreciating, and even cultivating, the individual peculiarities of +those around him, and deriving from their display a high order of +pleasure. +</p> +<p> +From these scattered traits let my reader conjure up Valentine Repton +before him, and imagine the bustling, active, and brisk-looking old +gentleman whose fidgetiness nearly drove Martin mad, as they held converse +together in the library after breakfast. Now seated, now rising to pace +the room, or drawing nigh the window to curse the pelting rain without, +Repton seemed the incarnation of uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +“Very splendid—very grand—very sumptuous—no doubt,” said +he, ranging his eyes over the gorgeous decorations of the spacious +apartment, “but would kill me in a month; what am I saying?—in a +week!” + </p> +<p> +“What would kill you, Repton?” said Martin, languidly. +</p> +<p> +“This life of yours, Martin,—this sombre quiet, this unbroken +stillness, this grave-like monotony. Why, man, where 's your neighborhood? +where are your gentry friends?” + </p> +<p> +“Cosby Blake, of Swainestown, is abroad,” said Martin, with an indolent +drawl. “Randal Burke seldom comes down here now. Rickman, I believe, is in +the Fleet. They were the nearest to us!” + </p> +<p> +“What a country! and you are spending—What did you tell me last +night,—was it upwards of ten thousand a year here?” + </p> +<p> +“What with planting, draining, bridging, reclaiming waste lands, and other +improvements, the wages of last year alone exceeded seven thousand!” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! it 's nigh incredible,” said the lawyer, energetically. “My dear +Martin, can't you perceive that all this is sheer waste,—so much +good money actually thrown into Lough Corrib? Tell me, frankly, how long +have you been pursuing this system of improvement?” + </p> +<p> +“About three years; under Mary's management.” + </p> +<p> +“And the results,—what of them?” + </p> +<p> +“It is too early to speak of that; there's Kyle's Wood, for instance,—we +have enclosed that at considerable cost. Of course we can't expect that +the mere thinnings can repay us, the first year or two.” + </p> +<p> +“And your reclaimed land,—how has <i>it</i> prospered?” + </p> +<p> +“Not over well. They pushed draining so far that they 've left a large +tract perfectly barren and unproductive.” + </p> +<p> +“And the harbor,—the pier I saw yesterday?” + </p> +<p> +“That 's a bad business,—it's filling up the bay with sand! but +we'll alter it in summer.” + </p> +<p> +“And now for the people themselves,—are they better off, better fed, +clothed, housed, and looked after, than before?” + </p> +<p> +“Mary says so. She tells me that there is a wonderful change for the +better in them.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't believe a word of it, Martin,—not a word of it. Ireland is +not to be redeemed by her own gentry. The thing is sheer impossibility! +They both know each other too well. Do you understand me? They are too +ready to make allowances for shortcomings that have their source in some +national prejudice; whereas your Saxon or your Scotchman would scout such +a plea at once. Ireland wants an alternative, Martin,—an +alternative; and, amidst our other anomalies, not the least singular is +the fact that the Englishman, who knows nothing about us, nor ever will +know anything, is precisely the man to better our condition.” + </p> +<p> +“These are strange opinions to hear from your lips, Repton. I never heard +any man so sarcastic as yourself on English ignorance regarding Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“And you may hear me again on the same theme whenever you vouchsafe me an +audience,” said the lawyer, sharply. “It was but the other day I gave our +newly arrived secretary, Mr. Muspratt, a gentle intimation of my +sentiments on that score. We were dining at the Lodge. I sat next his +Excellency, who, in the course of dinner, directed my attention to a very +graphic picture the secretary was drawing of the misery he had witnessed +that very day, coming up from Carlow. He did the thing well, I must own. +He gave the famished looks, the rags, the wretchedness, all their due; and +he mingled his pathos and indignation with all the skill of an artist; +while he actually imparted a Raffaelle effect to his sketch, as he +portrayed the halt, the maimed, the blind, and the palsied that crowded +around the carriage as he changed horses, exclaiming, by way of +peroration, 'Misery and destitution like this no man ever witnessed +before, all real and unfeigned as it was sure to be.' +</p> +<p> +“'Naas is a miserable place, indeed,' said I, for he looked directly +towards me for a confirmation of his narrative. +</p> +<p> +“'There is no denying one word the gentleman has said; I came up that way +from circuit three weeks ago, and was beset in the same spot, and in the +same manner as we have just heard. I can't attempt such a description as +Mr. Muspratt has given us; but I will say that there was not a human +deformity or defect that did n't appear to have its representative in that +ragged gathering, all clamorous and eager for aid. I looked at them for a +while in wonderment, and at last I threw out a “tenpenny” in the midst. +The “blind” fellow saw it first, but the “lame cripple” had the foot of +him, and got the money!'” + </p> +<p> +Repton leaned back in his chair, and laughed heartily as he finished. “I +only wish you saw his face, Martin; and, indeed, his Excellency's too. The +aides-de-camp laughed; they were very young, and could n't help it.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll not make you a chief justice, Repton,” said Martin, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll take care he don't,” said the other. “<i>Summum jus summa injuria</i>. +The chief justice is a great humbug, or a great abuse, whichever way you +like to render it.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet they'd be glad to promote you,” said Martin, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure they would, sir; delighted to place me where they had no fear +of my indiscretions. But your judge should be ever a grave animal. The +temptation to a joke should never sit on the ermine. As Flood once +remarked to me of old Romney, 'A man, sir,' said he,—and Flood had a +semi-sarcastic solemnity always about him,—'a man, sir, who has +reversed the law of physics; for he rose by his gravity, and only fell by +his lightness.' Very epigrammatic and sharp, that. Ah, Martin, they don't +say these things nowadays. By the way, who is the young fellow who dined +with us yesterday?” + </p> +<p> +“His name is Nelligan; the son of one of our Oughterard neighbors.” + </p> +<p> +“Pleasing manners, gentle, too, and observant,” said Repton, with the tone +of one delivering a judgment to be recorded. +</p> +<p> +“He's more than that,” said Martin; “he is the great prize man of the year +in Trinity. You must have surely heard of his name up in town.” + </p> +<p> +“I think somebody did speak of him to me,—recommend him, in some +shape or other,” said Repton, abstractedly; “these things are so easily +forgotten; for, to say the truth, I hold very cheaply all intellectual +efforts accomplished by great preparation. The cramming, the grinding, the +plodding, the artificial memory work, and the rest of it, detract +terribly, in my estimation, from the glory of success. Give me your man of +impromptu readiness, never unprepared, never at a loss. The very +consciousness of power is double power.” And as he spoke he drew himself +up, threw his head back, and stared steadfastly at Martin, as though to +say, “Such is he who now stands before you.” + </p> +<p> +Martin was amused at the display of vanity, and had there been another +there to have participated in the enjoyment, would have willingly +encouraged him to continue the theme; but he was alone, and let it pass. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll make a note of that young man. Mulligan, is n't it?” + </p> +<p> +“Nelligan.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure. I 'll remember poor Curran's epigram:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'Oh, pity poor Tom Nelligan! +Who walking down Pall Mall, +He slipt his foot, +And down he fell, +And fears he won't get well again.' +</pre> +<p> +Glorious fellow, sir; the greatest of all the convivialists of his time, +was Curran. A host in himself; but, as he once said, you could n't always +depend on the 'elevation.'” + </p> +<p> +Martin smiled faintly; he relished the lawyer's talk, but he felt that it +demanded an amount of attention on his part that wearied him. Anything +that cost him trouble was more or less of a “bore;” and he already began +to wish for his accustomed ease and indolence. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Repton,” said he, “you wished to see the quarries, I think?” + </p> +<p> +“To see everything and everybody, sir, and with my own eyes, too. As +Lysaght said, when I read the book of nature, 'I let no man note my brief +for me.'” + </p> +<p> +“I thought of being your companion, myself; but somehow, this morning, my +old enemy, the gout, is busy again; however, you 'll not regret the +exchange, Repton, when I give you in charge to my niece. She 'll be but +too happy to do the honors of our poor country to so distinguished a +visitor.” + </p> +<p> +“And a very artful plan to put me in good humor with everything,” said +Repton, laughing. “Well, I consent. I offer myself a willing victim to any +amount of seduction. How are we to go?—do we drive, walk, or ride?” + </p> +<p> +“If Mary be consulted, she'll say ride,” said Martin; “but perhaps—” + </p> +<p> +“I'm for the saddle, too,” broke in Repton. “Give me something active and +lively, light of mouth and well up before, and I'll show you, as Tom +Parsons said, that we can cut as good a figure at the wall as the 'bar.'” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll go and consult my niece, then,” said Martin, hastening out of the +room, to conceal the smile which the old man's vanity had just provoked. +</p> +<p> +Mary was dressed in her riding-habit, and about to leave her room as her +uncle entered it. +</p> +<p> +“I have just come in the nick of time, Molly, I see,” cried he. “I want +you to lionize an old friend of mine, who has the ambition to 'do' +Connemara under your guidance.” + </p> +<p> +“What a provoke!” said Mary, half aloud. “Could he not wait for another +day, uncle? I have to go over to Glencalgher and Kilduff; besides, there's +that bridge to be looked after, and they 've just come to tell me that the +floods have carried away the strong paling around the larch copse. Really, +this old gentleman must wait.” It was a rare thing for Mary Martin to +display anything either of impatience or opposition to her uncle. Her +affection for him was so blended with respect that she scarcely ever +transgressed in this wise; but this morning she was ill and irritable,—a +restless, feverish night following on a day of great fatigue and as great +excitement,—and she was still suffering, and her nerves jarring when +he met her. +</p> +<p> +“But I assure you, Molly, you 'll be pleased with the companionship,” + began Martin. +</p> +<p> +“So I might at another time; but I 'm out of sorts to-day, uncle. I 'm +cross and ill-tempered, and I 'll have it out on Mr. Henderson,—that +precious specimen of his class. Let Mr. Nelligan perform cicerone, or +persuade my Lady to drive him out; do anything you like with him, except +give him to me.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet that is exactly what I have promised him. As for Nelligan, they +are not suited to each other; so come, be a good girl, and comply.” + </p> +<p> +“If I must,” said she, pettishly. “And how are we to go?” + </p> +<p> +“He proposes to ride, and bespeaks something lively for his own mount.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! That sounds well!” cried she, with more animation. “There 's +'Cropper' in great heart; he 'll carry him to perfection. I 'll have a +ring-snaffle put on him, and my word for it but he 'll have a pleasant +ride.” + </p> +<p> +“Take care, Molly; take care that he's not too fresh. Remember that Repton +is some dozen years or more my senior.” + </p> +<p> +“Let him keep him off the grass and he 'll go like a lamb. I'll not answer +for him on the sward, though; but I 'll look to him, uncle, and bring him +back safe and sound.” And, so saying, Mary bounded away down the stairs, +and away to the stables, forgetting everything of her late discontent, and +only eager on the plan before her. +</p> +<p> +Martin was very far from satisfied about the arrangement for his friend's +equitation; nor did the aspect of Repton himself, as attired for the road, +allay that sense of alarm; the old lawyer's costume being a correct copy +of the colored prints of those worthies who figured in the early years of +George the Third's reign,—a gray cloth spencer being drawn over his +coat, fur-collared and cuffed, high riding-boots of black polished +leather, reaching above the knee, and large gauntlets of bright yellow +doeskin, completing an equipment which Martin had seen nothing resembling +for forty years back. +</p> +<p> +“A perfect cavalier, Repton!” exclaimed he, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“We once could do a little that way,” said the other, with a touch of +vanity. “In our early days, Martin, hunting was essentially a gentleman's +pastime. The meet was not disfigured by aspiring linen drapers or +ambitious hardwaremen, and the tone of the field was the tone of society; +but <i>nous avons changé tout cela</i>. Sporting men, as they call +themselves, have descended to the groom vocabulary; and the groom morals, +and we, of the old school, should only be laughed at for the pedantry of +good manners and good English, did we venture amongst them.” + </p> +<p> +“My niece will put a different estimate on your companionship; and here +she comes. Molly, my old and valued friend, Mr. Repton.” + </p> +<p> +“I kiss your hand, Miss Martin,” said he, accompanying the speech by the +act, with all the grace of a courtier. “It's worth while being an old +fellow, to be able to claim these antiquated privileges.” + </p> +<p> +There was something in the jaunty air and well-assumed gallantry of the +old lawyer which at once pleased Mary, who accepted his courtesy with a +gracious smile. She had been picturing to herself a very different kind of +companion, and was well satisfied with the reality. +</p> +<p> +“I proposed to young Mr. Nelligan to join us,” said Repton, as he +conducted her to the door; “but it seems he is too deeply intent upon some +question or point of law or history—I forget which—whereupon +we differed last night, and has gone into the library to search for the +solution of it. As for me, Miss Martin, I am too young for such dry +labors; or, as the Duc de Nevers said, when somebody rebuked him for +dancing at seventy, 'Only think what a short time is left me for folly.'” + </p> +<p> +We do not propose to chronicle, the subjects or the sayings by which the +old lawyer beguiled the way; enough if we say that Mary was actually +delighted with his companionship. The racy admixture of humor and strong +common-sense, acute views of life, flavored with, now a witty remark, now +a pertinent anecdote, were conversational powers totally new to her. Nor +was he less charmed with her. Independently of all the pleasure it gave +him to find one who heard him with such true enjoyment, and relished all +his varied powers of amusing, he was equally struck with the high-spirited +enthusiasm and generous ardor of the young girl. She spoke of the people +and the country with all the devotion of one who loved both; and if at +times with more of hopefulness than he himself could feel, the sanguine +forecast but lent another charm to her fascination. +</p> +<p> +He listened with astonishment as she explained to him the different works +then in progress,—the vast plans for drainage; the great enclosures +for planting; the roads projected here, the bridges there. At one place +were strings of carts, conveying limestone for admixture with the colder +soil of low grounds; at another they met asses loaded with seaweed for the +potato land. There was movement and occupation on every side. In the deep +valleys, on the mountains, in the clefts of the rocky shore, in the dark +marble quarries, hundreds of people were employed; and by these was Mary +welcomed with eager enthusiasm the moment she appeared. One glance at +their delighted features was sufficient to show that theirs was no +counterfeit joy. Wherever she went the same reception awaited her; nor did +she try to conceal the happiness it conferred. +</p> +<p> +“This is very wonderful, very strange, and very fascinating, Miss Martin,” + said Repton, as they moved slowly through a rocky path, escarped from the +side of the mountain; “but pardon me if I venture to suggest one gloomy +anticipation in the midst of such brightness. What is to become of all +these people when <i>you</i> leave them,—as leave them you will and +must, one day?” + </p> +<p> +“I never mean to do so,” said Mary, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“Stoutly spoken,” said he, smiling; “but, unfortunately, he who hears it +could be your grandfather. And again I ask, how is this good despotism to +be carried on when the despot abdicates? Nay, nay; there never was a very +beautiful girl yet, with every charm under heaven, who did n't swear she +'d never marry; so let us take another alternative. Your uncle may go to +live in London,—abroad. He may sell Cro' Martin—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that is impossible! He loves the old home of his family and his name +too dearly; he would be incapable of such a treason to his house!” + </p> +<p> +“Now, remember, my dear young lady, you are speaking to the most +suspectful, unimpulsive, and ungenerously disposed of all natures, an old +lawyer, who has witnessed so many events in life he would have once +pronounced impossible,—ay, just as roundly as you said the word +yourself,—and seen people and things under aspects so totally the +reverse of what he first knew them, that he has taught himself to believe +that change is the law, and not permanence, in this life, and that you and +I, and all of us, ought ever to look forward to anything, everything, but +the condition in which at present we find ourselves. Now, I don't want to +discourage you with the noble career you have opened for yourself here. I +am far more likely to be fascinated—I was going to say fall in love—with +you for it, than to try and turn your thoughts elsewhere; but as to these +people themselves, the experiment comes too late.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it ever too late to repair a wrong, to assist destitution, relieve +misery, and console misfortune?” broke in Mary, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“It is too late to try the feudal system in the year of our Lord 1829, +Miss Martin. We live in an age where everything is to be redressed by a +Parliament. The old social compact between proprietor and peasant is +repealed, and all must be done by 'the House.' Now, if your grandfather +had pursued the path that you are doing to-day, this crisis might never +have arrived; but he did not, young lady. He lived like a real gentleman; +he hunted, and drank, and feasted, and rack-rented, and horsewhipped all +around him; and what with duelling of a morning and drinking over-night, +taught the people a code of morals that has assumed all the compactness of +a system. Ay, I say it with grief, this is a land corrupted from the top, +and every vice of its gentry has but filtered down to its populace! What +was that I heard?—was it not a shot?” cried he, reining in his horse +to listen. +</p> +<p> +“I thought so, too; but it might be a blast, for we are not far from the +quarries.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you preserve the game, Miss Martin? are you sworn foe to the +poacher?” + </p> +<p> +“I do so; but in reality more for the sake of the people than the +partridges. Your lounging country fellow, with a rusty gun and a starved +lurcher, is but an embryo highwayman.” + </p> +<p> +“So he is,” cried Repton, delighted at the energy with which she spoke; +“and I have always thought that the worst thing about the game-laws was +the class of fellows we educate to break them. Poor old Cranbury was n't +of that opinion, though. You could never have seen him, Miss Martin; but +he was a fine specimen of the Irish Bench in the old time. He was the +readiest pistol in the Irish house; and, as they said then, he 'shot up' +into preferment. He always deemed an infraction of the game-laws as one of +the gravest crimes in the statute. Juries, however, did n't concur with +him; and, knowing the severity of the penalty, they invariably brought in +a verdict of Not Guilty, rather than subject a poor wretch to +transportation for a jack-snipe. I remember once,—it was at +Maryborough; the fellow in the dock was a notable poacher, and, worse +still, the scene of his exploits was Cranbury's own estate. As usual, the +jury listened apathetically to the evidence; they cared little for the +case, and had predetermined the verdict. It was, however, so palpably +proven, so self-evident that he was guilty, that they clubbed their heads +together to concert a pretext for their decision. Cranbury saw the +movement, and appreciated it, and, leaning his head down upon his hand, +mumbled out, as if talking to himself, in broken sentences, 'A poor man—with +a large family—great temptation—and, after all, a slight +offence,—a very slight offence.' The jury listened and took courage; +they fancied some scruples were at work in the old judge's heart, and that +they might venture on the truth, innocuously. 'Guilty, my Lord,' said the +foreman. 'Transportation for seven years!' cried the judge, with a look at +the jury-box that there was no mistaking. They were 'done,' but there +never was another conviction in that town afterwards.” + </p> +<p> +“And were such things possible on the justice-seat?” exclaimed Mary, in +horror. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, my dear young lady, I could tell you of far worse than that. There +was a time in this country when the indictment against the prisoner was +Secondary in importance to his general character, his party, his +connections, and fifty other things which had no bearing upon criminality. +There goes another shot! I 'll swear to that,” cried he, pulling up short, +and looking in the direction from which the report proceeded. +</p> +<p> +Mary turned at the same moment, and pointed with her whip towards a beech +wood that skirted the foot of the mountain. +</p> +<p> +“Was it from that quarter the sound came?” said she. +</p> +<p> +The sharp crack of a fowling-piece, quickly followed by a second report, +now decided the question; and, as if by mutual consent, they both wheeled +their horses round, and set off at a brisk canter towards the wood. +</p> +<p> +“I have taken especial pains about preserving this part of the estate,” + said Mary, as they rode along. “It was my cousin Harry's favorite cover +when he was last at home, and he left I can't say how many directions +about it when quitting us; though, to say truth, I never deemed any +precautions necessary till he spoke of it.” + </p> +<p> +“So that poaching was unknown down here?” + </p> +<p> +“Almost completely so; now and then some idle fellow with a half-bred +greyhound might run down a hare, or with a rusty firelock knock over a +rabbit, but there it ended. And as we have no gentry neighbors to ask for +leave, and the Oughterard folks would not venture on that liberty, I may +safely say that the report of a gun is a rare event in these solitudes.” + </p> +<p> +“Whoever he be, yonder, is not losing time,” said Rep-ton; “there was +another shot.” + </p> +<p> +Their pace had now become a smart half-gallop; Mary, a little in advance, +leading the way, and pointing out the safe ground to her companion. As +they drew nigh the wood, however, she slackened speed till he came up, and +then said,— +</p> +<p> +“As I know everybody hereabouts, it will be enough if I only see the +offender; and how to do that is the question.” + </p> +<p> +“I am at your orders,” said Repton, raising his whip to a salute. +</p> +<p> +“It will be somewhat difficult,” said Mary, pondering; “the wood is so +overgrown with low copse that one can't ride through it, except along +certain alleys. Now we might canter there for hours and see nothing. I +have it,” cried she, suddenly; “you shall enter the wood and ride slowly +along the green alley, yonder, till you come to the crossroad, when you +'ll turn off to the left; while I will remain in observation outside here, +so that if our friend make his exit I am sure to overtake him. At all +events, we shall meet again at the lower end of the road.” + </p> +<p> +Repton made her repeat her directions, and then, touching his hat in +respectful salutation, rode away to fulfil his mission. A low gate, merely +fastened by a loop of iron without a padlock, admitted the lawyer within +the precincts, in which he soon discovered that his pace must be a walk, +so heavy was the deep clayey soil, littered with fallen leaves and rotting +acorns. Great trees bent their massive limbs over his head, and, even +leafless as they were, formed a darksome, gloomy aisle, the sides of which +were closed in with the wild holly and the broom, and even the arbutus, +all intermingled inextricably. There was something solemn even to sadness +in the deep solitude, and so Repton seemed to feel as he rode slowly +along, alone, tingeing his thoughts of her he had just quitted with +melancholy. +</p> +<p> +“What a girl and what a life!” said he, musingly. “I must tell Martin that +this will never do! What can all this devotion end in but disappointment! +With the first gleam of their newly acquired power the people will reject +these benefits; they will despise the slow-won fruits of industry as the +gambler rejects a life of toil. Then will come a reaction—a terrible +reaction—with all the semblance of black ingratitude! She will +herself be disgusted. The breach once made will grow wider and wider, and +at last the demagogue will take the place of the landed proprietor. +Estrangement at first, next distrust, and finally dislike, will separate +the gentry from the peasantry, and then—I tremble to think of what +then!” + </p> +<p> +As Repton had uttered these words, the sharp bang of a gun startled him, +and at the same instant a young fellow sprang from the copse in front of +him into the alley. His coarse fustian shooting-jacket, low-crowned +oil-skin hat, and leather gaiters seemed to bespeak the professional +poacher, and Repton dashed forward with his heavy riding-whip upraised +towards him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/206.jpg" width="100%" alt="206 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Take care, old gentleman,” said the young man, facing about; “my second +barrel is loaded, and if you dare—” + </p> +<p> +“By Heaven! I'll thrash you, you scoundrel!” said Repton, whose passion +was now boiling over by a sudden bound of the cob, which had nearly thrown +him from the saddle,—a mischance greeted by a hearty burst of +laughter from the stranger. +</p> +<p> +“I fancy you have quite enough to do at this moment!” cried he, still +laughing. +</p> +<p> +Half mad with anger, Repton pressed his spurs to the cob's flanks, while +he gave him a vigorous cut of the whip on the shoulder. The animal was +little accustomed to such usage, and reared up wildly, and would +inevitably have fallen back with his rider, had not the stranger, +springing forward, seized the bridle, and pulled him down by main force. +Whether indifferent to his own safety, or so blinded by passion as not to +recognize to what he owed it, the old man struck the other a heavy blow +with his whip over the head, cutting through his hat, and covering his +face with blood. +</p> +<p> +The young man passing his arm through the bridle, so as to render the +other's escape impossible, coolly removed his hat and proceeded to stanch +the bleeding with his handkerchief,—not the slightest sign of +excitement being displayed by him, nor any evidence of feeling that the +event was other than a more accident. +</p> +<p> +“Let loose my bridle-rein,—let it loose, sir,” said Repton, +passionately,—more passionately, perhaps, from observing the +measured calmness of the other. +</p> +<p> +“When I know who you are, I shall,” said the young man. +</p> +<p> +“My name is Valentine Repton; my address, if you want it, is Merrion +Square North, Dublin; and can you now tell me where a magistrate's warrant +will reach <i>you?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“My present residence is a house you may have seen on the side of the +mountain as you came along, called, I think, Barnagheela; my name is +Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +“You presume to be a gentleman, then?” said Repton. +</p> +<p> +“I have not heard the matter disputed before,” said Jack, with an easy +smile, while he leisurely bound the handkerchief round his head. +</p> +<p> +“And of course, you look for satisfaction for this?” + </p> +<p> +“I trust that there can be no mistake upon that point, at least,” replied +he. +</p> +<p> +“And you shall have it, too; though, hang me, if I well know whether you +should not receive it at the next assizes,—but you shall have it. I +'ll go into Oughterard this day; I 'll be there by nine o'clock, at the +Martin Arms.” + </p> +<p> +“That will do,” said Massingbred, with a coolness almost like +indifference; while he resumed his gun, which he had thrown down, and +proceeded to load the second barrel. +</p> +<p> +“You are aware that you are poaching here?” said Repton,—“that this +is part of the Martin estate, and strictly preserved?” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! and I thought it belonged to Magennis,” said Jack, easily; “but a +preserve without a gamekeeper, or even a notice, is a blockade without a +blockading squadron.” And without a word more, or any notice of the other, +Massingbred shouldered his gun and walked away. +</p> +<p> +It was some time before Repton could summon resolution to leave the spot, +such was the conflict of thoughts that went on within him. Shame and +sorrow were, indeed, uppermost in his mind, but still not unmingled with +anger at the consummate ease and coolness of the other, who by this line +of conduct seemed to assume a tone of superiority the most galling and +insulting. In vain did he endeavor to justify his act to himself,—in +vain seek to find a plausible pretext for his anger. He could not, by all +his ingenuity, do so, and he only grew more passionate at his own failure. +“Another would hand him over to the next justice of the peace,—would +leave him to quarter sessions; but not so Val Repton. No, by Jove, he 'll +find a man to his humor there, if he wants fighting,” said he, aloud, as +he turned his horse about and rode slowly back. +</p> +<p> +It was already dusk when he joined Miss Martin, who, uneasy at his +prolonged absence, had entered the wood in search of him. It required all +the practised dissimulation of the old lawyer to conceal the signs of his +late adventure; nor, indeed, were his replies to her questions quite free +from a certain amount of inconsistency. Mary, however, willingly changed +the subject, and led him back to speak of topics more agreeable and +congenial to him. Still he was not the same sprightly companion who had +ridden beside her in the morning. He conversed with a degree of effort, +and, when suffered, would relapse into long intervals of silence. +</p> +<p> +“Who inhabits that bleak-looking house yonder?” said he, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“A certain Mr. Magennis, a neighbor, but not an acquaintance, of ours.” + </p> +<p> +“And how comes it that he lives in the very middle, as it were, of the +estate?” + </p> +<p> +“An old lease, obtained I can't say how many centuries back, and which +will expire in a year or two. He has already applied for a renewal of it.” + </p> +<p> +“And of course, unsuccessfully?” + </p> +<p> +“Up to this moment it is as you say, but I am endeavoring to persuade my +uncle not to disturb him; nor would he, if Magennis would only be commonly +prudent. You must know that this person is the leading Radical of our town +of Oughterard, the man who sets himself most strenuously in opposition to +our influence in the borough, and would uproot our power there, were he +able.” + </p> +<p> +“So far, then, he is a courageous fellow.” + </p> +<p> +“Sometimes I take that view of his conduct, and at others I am disposed to +regard him as one not unwilling to make terms with us.” + </p> +<p> +“How subtle all these dealings can make a young lady!” said Repton, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“Say, rather, what a strain upon one's acuteness it is to ride out with a +great lawyer, one so trained to see spots in the sun that he won't +acknowledge its brightness if there be a speck to search for.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet it's a great mistake to suppose that we are always looking on the +dark side of human nature,” said he, reflectively; “though,” added he, +after a pause, “it's very often our business to exaggerate baseness, and +make the worst of a bad man.” + </p> +<p> +“Even that may be more pardonable than to vilify a good one,” said Mary. +</p> +<p> +“So it is, young lady; you are quite right there.” He was thoughtful for a +while, and then said: “It is very singular, but nevertheless true, that, +in my profession, one loses sight of the individual, as such, and only +regards him as a mere element of the case, plaintiff or defendant as he +may be. I remember once, in a southern circuit, a hale, fine-looking young +fellow entering my room to present me with a hare. He had walked twelve +miles to offer it to me. 'Your honor doesn't remember me,' said he, +sorrowfully, and evidently grieved at my forgetfulness. 'To be sure I do,' +replied I, trying to recall his features; 'you are—let me see—you +are—I have it—you are Jemmy Ryan.' +</p> +<p> +“'No, sir,' rejoined he, quickly, 'I'm the boy that murdered him.' +</p> +<p> +“Ay, Miss Martin, there's a leaf out of a lawyer's notebook, and yet I +could tell you more good traits of men and women, more of patient +martyrdom under wrong, more courageous suffering to do right, than if I +were—what shall I say?—a chaplain in a nobleman's family.” + </p> +<p> +Repton's memory was well stored with instances in question, and he +beguiled the way by relating several, till they reached Cro' Martin. +</p> +<p> +“And there is another yet,” added he, at the close, “more strongly +illustrating what I have said than all these, but I cannot tell it to <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Why so?” asked she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“It is a family secret, Miss Martin, and one that in all likelihood you +shall never know. Still, I cannot refrain from saying that you have in +your own family as noble a specimen of self-sacrifice and denial as I ever +heard of.” + </p> +<p> +They were already at the door as he said this, and a troop of servants had +assembled to receive them. Mary, therefore, had no time for further +inquiry, had such an attempt been of any avail. +</p> +<p> +“There goes the first dinner-bell, Miss Martin,” said Repton, gayly. “I'm +resolved to be in the drawing-room before you!” And with this he hopped +briskly upstairs, while Mary hastened to her room to dress. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. “A RUINED FORTUNE” + </h2> +<p> +No stronger contrast could be presented than that offered by the house +which called Mr. Magennis master, to all the splendor and elegance which +distinguished Cro' Martin. Built on the side of a bleak, barren mountain, +without a trace of cultivation,—not even a tree beside it,—the +coarse stone walls, high pitched roof, and narrow windows seemed all +devised in some spirit of derision towards its graceful neighbor. A low +wall, coped with a formidable “frieze” of broken bottles and crockery, +enclosed a space in front once destined for a garden, but left in its +original state of shingle, intermixed with the remnants of building +materials and scaffold planks. A long shed, abutting on the house, +sheltered a cow and a horse; the latter standing with his head above a +rickety half-door, and looking ruefully out at the dismal landscape +beneath him. +</p> +<p> +Most of the windows were broken,—and in some no attempt at repair +had been made,—indicating that the rooms within were left unused. +The hall-door stood ajar, but fastened by a strong iron chain; but the +roof, more than all besides, bespoke decay and neglect, the rafters being +in many places totally bare, while in others some rude attempts at tiling +compensated for the want of the original slates. A strong colony of +jackdaws had established themselves in one of the chimneys; but from +another, in the centre of the building, a thick volume of dark-blue smoke +rolled continually, conveying, indeed, the only sign of habitation about +this dreary abode. +</p> +<p> +The inside of the house was, if possible, more cheerless than the out. +Most of the rooms had never been finished, and still remained in their +coarse brown plaster, and unprovided with grates or chimney-pieces. The +parlor, <i>par excellence</i>, was a long, low-ceilinged chamber, with +yellow-ochre walls, dimly lighted by two narrow windows; its furniture, a +piece of ragged carpet beneath a rickety table of black mahogany, some +half-dozen crazy chairs, and a small sideboard, surmounted by something +that might mean buffet or bookcase, and now served for both, being +indifferently garnished with glasses, decanters, and thumbed volumes, +intermingled with salt-cellars, empty sauce-bottles, and a powder-flask. +</p> +<p> +An atrociously painted picture of an officer in scarlet uniform hung over +the fireplace, surmounted by an infantry sword, suspended by a much-worn +sash. These were the sole decorations of the room, to which even the great +turf fire that blazed on the hearth could not impart a look of comfort. +</p> +<p> +It was now a little after nightfall; the shutters were closed, and two +attenuated tallow candles dimly illuminated this dreary chamber. A patched +and much discolored tablecloth, with some coarse knives and forks, bespoke +preparation for a meal, and some half-dozen plates stood warming before +the fire. But the room had no occupant; and, except for the beating of the +shutters against the sash, as the wind whistled through the broken window, +all was silent within it. Now and then a loud noise would resound through +the house; doors would bang, and rafters rattle, as the hall-door would be +partially opened to permit the head of a woman to peer out and listen if +any one were coming; but a heavy sigh at each attempt showed that hope was +still deferred, and the weary footfall of her steps, as she retired, +betrayed disappointment. It was after one of these excursions that she sat +down beside the kitchen fire, screening her face from the blaze with her +apron, and then, in the subdued light, it might be seen that, although +bearing many traces of sorrow and suffering, she was still young and +handsome. Large masses of the silkiest brown hair, escaping from her cap, +fell in heavy masses on her neck; her eyes were large and blue, and shaded +by the longest lashes; her mouth, a little large, perhaps, was still +beautifully formed, and her teeth were of surpassing whiteness. The +expression of the whole face was of gentle simplicity and love,—love +in which timidity, however, deeply entered, and made the feeling one of +acute suffering. In figure and dress she was exactly like any other +peasant girl, a gaudy silk handkerchief on her neck being the only article +of assumed luxury in her costume. She wore shoes, it is true,—not +altogether the custom of country girls,—but they were heavy and +coarsely made, and imparted to her walk a hobbling motion that detracted +from her appearance. +</p> +<p> +A large pot which hung suspended by a chain above the fire seemed to +demand her especial care, and she more than once removed the wooden cover +to inspect the contents; after which she invariably approached the window +to listen, and then came back sorrowfully to her place, her lips muttering +some low sounds inaudibly. Once she tried to hum a part of a song to try +and beguile the time, but the effort was a failure, and, as her voice died +away, two heavy tears stole slowly along her cheeks, and a deep sob burst +from her; after which she threw her apron over her face, and buried her +head in her lap. It was as she sat thus that a loud knocking shook the +outer door, and the tones of a gruff voice rose even above the noise; but +she heard neither. Again and again was the summons repeated, with the same +result; and at last a handful of coarse gravel struck the kitchen window +with a crash that effectually aroused her, and springing up in terror, she +hastened to the door. +</p> +<p> +In an instant she had unhooked the heavy chain, and sheltering the candle +with her hand, admitted a large powerfully built man, who was scarcely +within the hall when he said angrily, “Where the devil were you, that you +could n't hear me?” + </p> +<p> +“I was in the kitchen, Tom,” said she. +</p> +<p> +“Don't call <i>me</i> Tom, d——n you,” replied he, violently. +“Don't keep dinning into me the infernal fool that I've made of myself, or +it will be worse for you.” + </p> +<p> +“Sure I never meant any harm by it; and it was your own self bid me do +it,” said she, meekly, as she assisted him to remove his dripping +great-coat. +</p> +<p> +“And don't I rue it well?” rejoined he, through his half-closed teeth. +“Isn't it this confounded folly that has shut me out of the best houses in +the county? My bitter curse on the day and the hour I first saw you!” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, don't say them words,—don't, or you'll break my poor heart,” + cried she, clinging to him as he strode angrily into the parlor. +</p> +<p> +“Be off with you,—be off to the kitchen, and leave me quiet,” said +he, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“There 's your slippers, sir,” said she, meekly, as, bending down, she +untied his heavy shooting-shoes, and replaced them by a pair of list ones. +</p> +<p> +“Is the dinner ready?” asked he, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“It is, sir; but Massin'bred is n't come back.” + </p> +<p> +“And who the devil is Massingbred? Don't you think he might be Mister +Massingbred out of <i>your</i> mouth?” + </p> +<p> +“I ax your pardon, sir, and his, too; but I didn't mean—” + </p> +<p> +“There, there,—away with you!” cried he, impatiently. “I 'm never in +a bad humor that you don't make me worse.” And he leaned his face between +his hands over the fire, while she slipped noiselessly from the room. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe he thinks he's doing me honor by staying here,” burst he forth, +suddenly, as he sprang to his legs and stared angrily around him. “Maybe +he supposes that it's great condescension for him to put up with my humble +house! Ay, and that it's <i>my</i> bounden duty to wait for <i>him</i> to +any hour he pleases. If I thought he did,—if I was sure of it!” + added he, with a deep guttural tone, while he struck his clenched fist +violently against the chimney-piece. Then, seizing the large iron poker, +he knocked loudly with it against the back of the fireplace,—a +summons quickly answered by the appearance of the girl at the door. +</p> +<p> +“Did he come in since morning?” asked he, abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, never,” replied she, with a half courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“Nor say what time he 'd be back?” + </p> +<p> +“Not a word, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Then, maybe, he's not coming back,—taken French leave, as they call +it, eh, Joan?” + </p> +<p> +The sound of her name, spoken, too, in an accent of more friendly meaning, +lighted up her face at once, and her large eyes swam in tears of gratitude +towards him as she stood there. +</p> +<p> +“But he 'd scarcely dare to do that!” said he, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” said she, echoing half unconsciously his opinion. +</p> +<p> +“And what do <i>you</i> know about it?” said he, turning savagely on her. +“Where were you born and bred, to say what any gentleman might do, at any +time, or in anything? Is it Joan Landy, the herd's daughter, is going to +play fine lady upon us! Faix, we 're come to a pretty pass now, in +earnest! Be off with you! Away! Stop, what was that? Did n't you hear a +shot?” + </p> +<p> +“I did, sir,—quite near the house, too.” + </p> +<p> +A sharp knocking now on the hall-door decided the question, and Magennis +hastened to admit the arrival. +</p> +<p> +It is a strange fact, and one of which we are satisfied merely to make +mention, without attempting in the least to explain, but no sooner was +Magennis in the presence of his young guest, than not only he seemed to +forget all possible cause of irritation towards him, but to behave with a +manner of, for him, the most courteous civility. He aided him to remove +his shot-belt and his bag; took his hat from his hands, and carefully +wiped it; placed a chair for him close to the fire; and then, as he turned +to address him, remarked for the first time the blood-stained handkerchief +which still bound his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Did you fall,—had you an accident?” asked he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said the other, laughing; “a bit of an adventure only, which I 'll +tell you after dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“Was it any of the people? Had you a fight—” + </p> +<p> +“Come, Magennis, you must exercise a little patience. Not a word, not a +syllable, till I have eaten something, for I am actually famishing.” + </p> +<p> +A stout knock of the poker on the chimney summoned the dinner, and almost +in the same instant the woman entered with a smoking dish of Irish stew. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Joan, you're an angel,” said Massingbred; “if there was a dish I was +longing for on this cold, raw day, it was one of your glorious messes. +They seem made for the climate, and by Jove, the climate for them. I say, +Mac, does it always rain in this fashion here?” + </p> +<p> +“No; it sleets now and then, and sometimes blows.” + </p> +<p> +“I should think it does,” said Jack, seating himself at the table. “The +pleasant little slabs of marble one sees on the cabin-roofs to keep down +the thatch are signs of your western zephyrs. Mrs. Joan has outdone +herself today. This is first-rate.” + </p> +<p> +“There's too strong a flavor of hare in it,” said Magen-nis, critically. +</p> +<p> +“That's exactly its perfection; the wild savor lifts it out of the vulgar +category of Irish stews, and assimilates it, but not too closely, to the +ragout. I tell you, Mac, there's genius in the composition of that gravy.” + </p> +<p> +The partial pedantry of this speech was more than compensated for by the +racy enjoyment of the speaker, and Magennis was really gratified at the +zest with which his young friend relished his meal. +</p> +<p> +“It has one perfection, at least,” said he, modestly,—“it 's very +unlike what you get at home.” + </p> +<p> +“We have a goodish sort of a cook,” said Jack, languidly,—“a fellow +my father picked up after the Congress of Verona. Truffles and treaties +seem to have some strong sympathetic attraction, and when diplomacy had +finished its work, a <i>chef</i> was to be had cheap! The worst of the +class is, they 'll only functionate for your grand dinners and they leave +your every-day meal to some inferior in the department.” + </p> +<p> +It was strange that Magennis could listen with interest always whenever +Massingbred spoke of habits, people, and places with which he had never +been conversant. It was not so much for the topics themselves he cared,—they +were, in reality, valueless in his eyes,—it was some singular +pleasure he felt in thinking that the man who could so discuss them was +his own guest, seated at his own table, thus connecting himself by some +invisible link with the great ones of this world! +</p> +<p> +Massingbred's very name—the son of the celebrated Moore Massingbred—a +Treasury Lord—Heaven knows what else besides—certainly a Right +Honorable—was what first fascinated him in his young acquaintance, +and induced him to invite him to his house. Jack would probably have +declined the invitation, but it just came at the moment when he was deeply +mortified at Nelligan's absence,—an absence which old Dan was +totally unable to explain or account for. Indeed, he had forgotten that, +in his note to his son, he had not mentioned Massingbred by name, and thus +was he left to all the embarrassment of an apology without the slightest +clew as to the nature of the excuse. +</p> +<p> +No sooner, then, was it apparent to Massingbred that young Nelligan did +not intend to return home, than he decided on taking his own departure. At +first he determined on going back to Dublin; but suddenly a malicious +thought sprung up of all, the mortification it might occasion Joe to learn +that he was still in the neighborhood; and with the amiable anticipation +of this vengeance, he at once accepted Magennis's offer to “accompany him +to his place in the mountains, and have some shooting.” + </p> +<p> +It would not have been easy to find two men so essentially unlike in every +respect as these two, who now sat discussing their punch after dinner. In +birth, bringing-up, habits, instincts, they were widely dissimilar, and +yet, somehow, they formed a sort of companionship palatable to each. Each +had something to tell the other which he had either not heard before, or +not heard in the same way. We have already adverted to the strong +fascination Magen-nis experienced in dwelling on the rank and social +position of his young guest. Massingbred experienced no less delight in +the indulgence of his favorite pastime,—adventure hunting. Now, here +was really something like adventure,—this wild, rude mountain home, +this strange compound of gloom and passion, this poor simple country girl, +more than servant, less than wife,—all separated from the remainder +of the world by a gulf wider than mere space. These were all ingredients +more than enough to suggest matter for imagination, and food for +after-thought in many a day to come. +</p> +<p> +They had thus passed part of a week in company, when the incident occurred +of which our last chapter makes mention, and an account of which, now, +Massingbred proceeded to give his host, neither exaggerating nor +diminishing in the slightest particular any portion of the event. He even +repressed his habitual tendency to sarcasm, and spoke of his antagonist +seriously and respectfully. “It was quite clear,” said he, in conclusion, +“that he did n't know I was a gentleman, and consequently never +anticipated the consequence of a blow.” + </p> +<p> +“And he struck you?” broke in Magennis, violently. +</p> +<p> +“You shall see for yourself,” said Jack, smiling, as, untying the +handkerchief, he exhibited a deep cut on his forehead, from which the +blood still continued to ooze. +</p> +<p> +“Let Joan doctor you; she's wonderful at a cut. She has something they +call Beggarman's Balsam. I 'll fetch her.” And without waiting for a reply +he left the room. The young woman speedily after appeared with some lint +and a small pot of ointment, proceeding to her office with all the quiet +assiduity of a practised hand, and a gentleness that few “regulars” could +vie with. Her skill was more than recompensed by the few muttered words of +praise Magennis bestowed, as he grumbled out, half to himself: “Old Cahill +himself could n't do it better. I 'd back her for a bandage against the +College of Surgeons. Ain't ye easier now?—to be sure you are. She 's +good for <i>that</i> if she is for nothing else!” And even this much of +eulogy made her bosom heave proudly, and brought a flush of joy over her +cheek that was ecstasy itself. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/218.jpg" width="100%" alt="218 " /> +</div> +<p> +The world is not deficient in acts of kindness, benevolence, and +good-will. There is a large fountain of these running in ten thousand +rills. But how many more might there not be,—how much of this wealth +might there not be dispensed, and nobody living one jot the poorer! How +many are there toiling away in obscurity and narrow fortune, to whom one +single word of praise—one chance syllable of encouragement—would +be life's blood! What sunken cheeks and lacklustre eyes would glow and +gladden again by even a look of sympathy, withheld from no lack of +kindliness, but mere want of thought! Oh ye who have station and fame, +genius or greatness, bethink ye that these gifts are never higher than +when they elevate the humble and cheer the lowly, and there is no +physician like him who animates the drooping heart, and gives new vigor to +wearied faculties and failing energy. Joan was made happy by the two or +three words of grateful thanks Massingbred addressed to her, and stole +quietly away, leaving the two companions once more alone. +</p> +<p> +If there was any incident in life participation in which could convey +intense gratification to Magennis, it was that sort of difference or +misunderstanding that might lead to a duel. Whenever the affair offered no +other alternative, his delight was unbounded. There were, it was rumored +events in his own early life which would imply that the taste for mortal +combat extended only to cases where his friends were concerned, and had no +selfish application whatever. Of these we know nothing; nor, indeed, have +we any information to convey regarding him, save by chance and stray words +dropped by himself in the unguarded hours of after-dinner converse. There +are, however, many who like the subordinate parts in this world's comedy,—who +would rather be best man than bridegroom, and infinitely prefer performing +second to principal. +</p> +<p> +We are not, however, going into the inquiry as to the cause; enough when +we repeat that this was Magennis's great passion, and these were the kind +of events for whose conduct and management he believed himself to possess +the most consummate tact and ability. +</p> +<p> +“You 're in luck, Massingbred,” cried he, as the other concluded his +recital,—“you're in luck, sir, to have for your friend one that, +though I say it myself, has n't his equal for a case like this in the +three kingdoms. It was I, sir, took out Cahill when he shot Major Harris, +of the Fusiliers. I handled him that morning in a way that made the +English officers confess there was no chance against us! A duel seems an +easy thing to arrange. You 'd say that any fool could put up two men, +twelve or even ten paces asunder, and tell them to blaze away; and if that +was all there was in it, it would be simple enough. But consider for a +minute the real case, and just remember how much the nature of the ground, +whether level or uneven, has to do with it; what's behind,—if a +wall, or trees, or only sky; the state of the light; how the sun stands; +whether there 's wind, and what way it's coming. These are not all. +There's the pistols,—how they <i>'throw,'</i> and with what charge; +and then there 's the size of your man. Ay, Massingbred, and let me tell +you, you now see before you the man that invented the 'invulnerable +position.'” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! that's a most valuable fact to me just now,” said Jack, helping +himself to a fresh tumbler. “I 'm glad you have not been retained by the +other side.” + </p> +<p> +“The 'invulnerable position'!” continued Magennis, perfectly heedless of +the other's remark; while, taking up the poker, he stalked out to the +middle of the room, drawing himself up to his full height, and presenting, +as though with a pistol,—“Do you see what I mean?” cried he. +</p> +<p> +“I can't say I do,” said Jack, hesitatingly. +</p> +<p> +“I thought not,” rejoined the other, proudly; “nobody ever did that was +n't 'out' often. Pay attention now, and I 'll explain it. My head, you +perceive, is carried far behind my right shoulder, so as to be completely +protected by my pistol-hand and the pistol. I say the pistol, because it +has been proved scientifically that the steadiest eye that ever fired +never could aim at the antagonist's pistol. Morris Crofton practised it +for eight years in his own garden; and though he did succeed, he told me +that for practical purposes it was no use. Now we come to the neck, and +you may observe the bend of my elbow. Ay, that little angle that nobody +would remark masks the jugular arteries, and all the other vital nerves in +that part. John Toler used to say that the head and neck was like the +metropolis, and that a shot elsewhere was only like a 'row' in the +provinces; and a very true and wise remark it was. Not that I neglect the +trunk,” added he, proudly; “for you see how I stand,—three-quarters +of the back towards the enemy so as not to expose the soft parts. As for +the legs,” cried he, contemptuously, “let them crack at them as long as +they like.” + </p> +<p> +“And that 's the 'invulnerable position,'” said Massing-bred; with less +enthusiasm, however, than the discovery might seem to warrant. +</p> +<p> +“It is, sir; and if it was n't for it there 's many a strapping fellow +walking about this day-that would be lying with a marble counterpane over +him. Billy Welsh, that fought Brian of Deanstown, was the first man I ever +'put up' in it. Billy had a slight crick of the neck, and could n't get +the head far enough round to the right, and the ball took him in the +bridge of the nose, and carried that feature clean off, but never damaged +him in any other respect whatever!” + </p> +<p> +“I must say that the loss was quite sufficient for a man who had the +benefit of the 'invulnerable position,'” said Massingbred, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“He thinks nothing of it. A chap in the Crow Street Theatre made him a +better nose than ever he had, out of wax, I believe; and he has a winter +one, with a blush of red on it, to make believe it was cold; and they tell +me you 'd never discover it was n't his own.” + </p> +<p> +Magennis had now resumed his place at table, and seemed bent on making up +for lost time by giving double measure of whiskey to his punch. +</p> +<p> +“You say that he's to be in Oughterard to-night; well, with the blessing +of the Virgin,”—an invocation he invariably applied to every act of +dubious morality,—“we 'll be with him before he's out of bed +to-morrow!” + </p> +<p> +“I wish he had not given me a blow,” said Jack, musingly. “He seemed such +a stout-hearted, spirited old fellow, I'm really grieved to quarrel with +him.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm glad that there's nobody to hear them words but myself, Mr. +Massingbred,” said the other, with all the slowness and deliberation of +incipient drunkenness; “I'm rejoiced, sir, that it's in the confidential +intercourse of friendly—friendly—communication—that the +son of my old and valued friend—Moore Massingbred—used +expressions like that.” + </p> +<p> +Jack started with amazement at this speech; he had not the slightest +suspicion till that moment that Magennis and his father had ever known +each other, or even met. A very little patience, however, on his part +served to solve the difficulty; for he discovered that one of the +peculiarities of this stage of his friend's ebriety was to fancy himself +the intimate and associate of any one whose name he had ever heard +mentioned. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, sir, them's words your father would never have uttered. I was with +him in his first blaze. 'Moore,' says I, 'have n't you a pair of black +breeches?'—he wore a pair of web 'tights' of a light pattern—What +are you laughing at, sir?” cried he, sternly, and striking the table with +his clenched knuckles, till the glasses all rang on it. +</p> +<p> +“I was laughing at my father's costume,” said Jack, who really told the +truth; such a portrait of his parent's appearance being manifestly unlike +anything he had ever imagined. +</p> +<p> +“And the worse manners yours, sir,” rejoined Magennis, rudely. “I' ll not +suffer any man to laugh at an old friend—and—and—schoolfellow!” + </p> +<p> +It was with the very greatest difficulty that Jack could restrain himself +at this peroration, which indignation—the same, probably, that +creates poets—had suggested. He had, however, tact enough to +preserve his gravity, whilst he assured his companion that no unfilial +sentiment had any share in his thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“So far, so well,” said Magennis, who now helped himself to the whiskey, +unadulterated by any water; “otherwise, sir, it's not Lieutenant Magennis, +of the—9th Foot, would handle you on the ground to-morrow!” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, you've served, Mac? Why, you never broke that to me before!” + </p> +<p> +“Broke!” cried the other, with a voice shrill from passion, while he made +an effort to rise from his chair, and sunk back again,—“broke; who +dares to say I was broke? I left the scoundrels myself. I shook the dust +off my feet after them. There never was a court-martial about it. Never—never!” + To the deep crimson that suffused his face before, there now succeeded an +almost death-like pallor, and Massingbred really felt terrified at the +change. Some heart-rending recollection seemed suddenly to have cleared +his brain, routing in an instant all the effects of intoxication, and +restoring him to sobriety and sorrow together. +</p> +<p> +“Ay,” said he, in a low, broken voice, and still speaking to himself, +“that finished me! I never held my head up again! Who could, after such a +business? I came here, Mr. Massingbred,” continued he, but addressing his +guest in a tone of deep respect,—“I came back here a ruined man, and +not eight-and-twenty! You see me now, a dirty, drunken sot, not better +dressed nor better mannered than the commonest fellow on the road, and yet +I'm a gentleman born and bred, well nurtured, and well educated. I took a +college degree and went into the army.” He paused, as if trying to gather +courage to go on; the effort was more than he could accomplish, and, as +the heavy tears stole slowly down his cheeks, the agony of the struggle +might be detected. Half mechanically he seized the decanter of whiskey and +poured the tumbler nearly full; but Jack good-humoredly stretched out his +hand towards the glass, and said, “Don't drink, Mac; there's no head could +stand it.” + </p> +<p> +“You think so, boy,” cried he, with a saucy smile. “Little you know the +way we live in the West, here;” and he tossed off the liquor before the +other could stop him. The empty glass had scarcely been replaced on the +table, when all the former signs of drunkenness had come back again, and +in his bloodshot eyes and swollen veins might be seen the very type of +passionate debauch. +</p> +<p> +“Not ask me to their houses!” cried he, hoarse with passion. “Who wants +them? Not invite me! Did I ever seek them? The dirty, mean spalpeens, +don't I know the history of every one of them? Could n't I expose them +from one end of the county to the other? Who 's Blake of Harris-town? He +'s the son of Lucky Magarry, the pedler. You don't believe me. I had it +from Father Cole himself. Lucky was hanged at Ennis. 'Ye want a +confession!' says Lucky, when he came out on the drop; 'ye want a +confession! Well, I suppose there's no use in keeping anything back now, +for ye 'll hang me at any rate, and so here it's for you. It was I +murdered Mr. Shea, and there was nobody helping me at all. I did it all +myself with a flail; and be the same token, it 's under Mark Bindon's +tombstone this minute. There now, the jury may be azy in their minds, and +the judge, and the hangman, too, if he cares about it. As for his honor +the high sheriff,' said he, raising his voice, 'he 's a fine man, God +bless him, and the county may be proud of him; for it was he ferreted out +all about this business! And faix, notwithstanding all, I 'm proud of him +myself, for he 's my own son!' And as he said that he dropped on his knees +and cried out that he might never see glory if there was a word of lie in +anything he said then! So that's what Blake got for his zeal for justice!” + </p> +<p> +And as Magennis finished, he burst into a wild, fiendish laugh, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“There 's the country gentry—there 's the people won't know Magennis +and his wife!—ay, sir, his lawful, married wife! Let me see that you +or any other man will deny it, or refuse to treat her as becomes her +station.—Joan! Joan!” shouted he, striking the poker violently +against the chimney; and with hot haste and intense anxiety the poor girl +rushed into the room the moment after. “Sit down here, ma'am,” said +Magennis, rising, and placing a chair for her beside his own, with an +affectation of courtesy that savored of mockery,—“sit down, I say,” + cried he, stamping his foot passionately. “That's my wife, sir! No man +that sits at <i>my</i> board shall behave to her as anything else.” + </p> +<p> +“I have ever treated her with respect,” said Massingbred, “and shall +always continue to do so.” + </p> +<p> +“And it's better for you to do so,” said the other, fiercely, the bullying +spirit rising on what he deemed the craven submission of his guest. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile the girl sat trembling with terror, not knowing what the scene +portended, or how it was to end. +</p> +<p> +“The herd's daughter, indeed! No, sir, Mrs. Magennis, of Barnagheela, +that's her name and title!” + </p> +<p> +At these words the poor girl, overcome with joy and gratitude, fell down +upon her knees before him, and, clasping his hand, covered it with kisses. +</p> +<p> +“Is n't that pretty breeding!” cried Magennis, violently. “Get up, ma'am, +and sit on your chair like a lady. The devil a use in it, do what you +will, say what you will,—the bad 'drop' is in them; and whatever +becomes of you in life, Massingbred, let me give you this advice,—never +marry beneath you!” + </p> +<p> +Jack contrived at this juncture to signal to the girl to step away; and by +appearing to attend with eagerness to Magennis, he prevented his remarking +her exit. +</p> +<p> +“A man 's never really ruined till then,” continued he, slowly, and +evidently sobering again as he went on. “Friends fall away from you, and +your companions are sure to be fellows with something against them! You +begin by thinking you 're doing a grand and a courageous thing! You string +up your resolution to despise the world, and, take my word for it, the +world pays you off at last. Ay,” said he, after a long pause, in which his +features settled down into an expression of deep sorrow, and his voice +quivered with emotion,—“ay, and I 'll tell you something worse than +all,—you revenge all your disappointment on the poor girl that +trusted you! and you break <i>her</i> heart to try and heal your own!” + </p> +<p> +With these last words he buried his head between his hands and sobbed +fearfully. +</p> +<p> +“Leave me now,—leave me alone,” said he, without lifting his head. +“Good-night—good-night to you!” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred arose without a word, and, taking a candle, ascended to his +chamber, his last thoughts about his host being very unlike those with +which he had first regarded him. From these considerations he turned to +others more immediately concerning himself; nor could he conquer his +misgivings that Magennis was a most unhappy selection for a friend in such +an emergency. +</p> +<p> +“But then I really am without a choice,” said he to himself. “Joe +Nelligan, perhaps, might—but no, he would have been infinitely more +unfit than the other. At all events, Nelligan has himself severed the +friendship that once existed between us.” And so he wandered on to +thoughts of his former companionship with him. Regretful and gloomy enough +were they, as are all memories of those in whose hearts we once believed +we had a share, and from which we cannot reconcile ourselves to the +exclusion. +</p> +<p> +“He had not the manliness to meet me when I had become aware of his real +station! What a poor-spirited fellow! Just as if I cared what or who his +father was! <i>My</i> theory is, Jack Massingbred can afford to know any +man he pleases! Witness the roof that now shelters me, and the character +of him who is my host!” + </p> +<p> +It was a philosophy he built much upon, for it was a form of self-love +that simulated a good quality, many of his acquaintances saying, “At all +events, there 's no snobbery about Massingbred; he 'll know, and even be +intimate with, anybody.” Nor did the deception only extend to others. Jack +himself fancied he was an excellent fellow,—frank, generous, and +open-hearted. +</p> +<p> +It is a very strange fact—and fact it certainly is—that the +men who reason most upon their own natures, look inwardly at their own +minds, and scrutinize most their own motives, are frequently the least +natural of all mankind! This self-inquiry is such thorough self-deception +that he who indulges in it often becomes an actor. As for Massingbred, +there was nothing real about him save his egotism! Gifted with very good +abilities, aided by a strong “vitality,” he had great versatility; but of +all powers, this same plastic habit tends most to render a man artificial. +</p> +<p> +Now, his present difficulty was by no means to his taste. He did not like +his “quarrel;” he liked less the age and station of his adversary; and +least of all was he pleased with the character of his “friend.” It was +said of Sheridan, that when consulted about the music of his operas, he +only asked, “Will it grind?”—that is, would it be popular enough for +a street organ, and become familiar to every ear? So Jack Massingbred +regarded each event in life by the test of how it would “tell,” in what +wise could a newspaper report it, and how would it read in the Clubs? He +fancied himself discussing the adventure at “White's,” and asking, “Can +any one say what Massingbred's row was about? Was he poaching?—or +how came he there? Was there a woman in it? And who is his friend +Magennis?” In thoughts like these he passed hour after hour, walking his +room from end to end, and waiting for morning. +</p> +<p> +At length he bethought him how little likely it was that Magennis would +remember anything whatever of the transaction, and that his late debauch +might obliterate all memory of the affair. “What if this were to be the +case, and that we were to arrive too late at Oughterard? A pretty version +would the papers then publish to the world!” Of all possible casualties +this was the very worst; and the more he reflected on it, the more +probable did it seem. “He is the very fellow to wake up late in the +afternoon, rub his eyes, and declare he had forgotten the whole thing.” + </p> +<p> +“This will never do!” muttered he to himself; and at once determined that +he would make an endeavor to recall his friend to consciousness, and come +to some arrangement for the approaching meeting. Massingbred descended the +stairs with noiseless steps, and gently approaching the door of the +sitting-room, opened it. +</p> +<p> +Magennis was asleep, his head resting upon the table, and his heavy +breathing denoting how deeply he slumbered. On a low stool at his feet sat +Joan, pale and weary-looking, her cheeks still marked with recent tears, +and the dark impression of what seemed to have been a blow beneath her +eye. Jack approached her cautiously, and asked if it were his custom to +pass the night thus. +</p> +<p> +“Sometimes, when he 's tired—when he has anything on his mind,” + replied she, in some confusion, and averting her head so as to escape +notice. +</p> +<p> +“And when he awakes,” said Jack, “he will be quite refreshed, and his head +all clear again?” + </p> +<p> +“By coorse he will!” said she, proudly. “No matter what he took of a +night, nobody ever saw the signs of it on him the next morning.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not ask out of any impertinent curiosity,” continued Massingbred; +“but we have, both of us, some rather important business to-morrow in +Oughterard. We ought to be there at an early hour.” + </p> +<p> +“I know,” said she, interrupting. “He bid me bring down these;” and she +pointed to a case of pistols lying open beside her, and in cleaning which +she had been at the moment engaged. “I brought the wrong ones, first.” + Here she stammered out something, and grew crimson over her whole face; +then suddenly recovering herself, said, “I did n't know it was the +'Terries' he wanted.” + </p> +<p> +“The 'Terries'?” repeated Jack. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. It was these Terry Callaghan shot the two gentlemen with, the +same morning, at Croghaglin,—father and son they were!” And saying +these words in a voice of the most perfect unconcern possible, she took up +a flannel rag and began to polish the lock of one of the weapons. +</p> +<p> +“They 're handsome pistols,” said Jack, rather amused with her remark. +</p> +<p> +“They 're good, and that's better!” replied she, gravely. “That one in +your hand has seven double crosses on the stock and nine single.” + </p> +<p> +“The seven were killed on the ground, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> +A short nod of assent was her reply. +</p> +<p> +“Such little events are not unfrequent down here, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Anan!” said she, not understanding his question. +</p> +<p> +Jack quickly perceived that he had not taken sufficient account of Joan's +limited acquaintance with language, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“They often fight in these parts?” + </p> +<p> +“Ayeh! not now,” replied she, in a half-deploring tone. “My father +remembers twenty duels for one that does be nowadays.” + </p> +<p> +“A great change, indeed.” + </p> +<p> +“Some say it's all for the better,” resumed she, doubtfully. “But hush,—he's +stirring; leave him quiet, and I 'll call you when he's ready.” + </p> +<p> +“And I can depend—” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure you can. He forgets many a thing; but no man living can say +that he ever misremembered a duel.” And with these words, in a low +whisper, she motioned Massingbred to the door. +</p> +<p> +Jack obeyed in silence, and, ascending to his room, lay down on the bed. +He determined to pass the interval before morning in deep thought and +self-examination; but, somehow, he had scarcely laid his head on the +pillow when he fell off into a heavy sleep, sound and dreamless. +</p> +<p> +The day was just breaking when he was aroused by a somewhat rude shake, +and a voice saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Come, up with you. We 've a sharp ride before us!” + </p> +<p> +Jack started up, and in an instant recalled all the exigencies of the +hour. +</p> +<p> +“I have sent the 'tools' forward by a safe hand,” continued Magennis; “and +Joan has a cup of tea ready for us below stairs. So lose no time now, and +let us be off.” + </p> +<p> +The humble meal that awaited them was soon despatched, and they were +speedily mounted on the pair of mountain ponies Magennis had provided, and +whose equipments, even in the half-light of the morning, rather shocked +Mas-singbred's notions of propriety,—one of his stirrup-leathers +being a foot shorter than the other, while an old worsted bell-rope formed +the snaffle-rein of his bridle. +</p> +<p> +The road, too, was rugged and precipitous, and many a stumble and scramble +had they in the uncertain light; while the swooping rain dashed violently +against them, and effectually precluded all thought of conversation. Two +hours, that seemed like ten, brought them at length upon the highroad; +after which, by a brisk canter of forty minutes, they reached Oughterard. +</p> +<p> +“Let us dismount here,” said Jack, as they gained the outskirts of the +town, not fancying to make a public appearance on his humble steed. +</p> +<p> +“Why so?” answered Magennis. “It's ashamed of the pony you are! Oh, for +the matter of that, don't distress yourself; we 're too well used to them +in these parts to think them ridiculous.” + </p> +<p> +There was a soreness and irritation in his tone which Jack quickly +remarked, and as quickly tried to obviate, by some good-natured remark +about the good qualities of the animals; but Magennis heard him without +attention, and seemed entirely immersed in his own thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“Turn in there, to your left,” cried he, suddenly, and they wheeled into +an arched gateway that opened upon the stable-yard of the inn. Early as it +was, the place was full of bustle and movement; for it was the market-day, +and the farmers were already arriving. +</p> +<p> +Carts, cars, gigs, and a dozen other nameless vehicles crowded the spot, +with kicking ponies and mules of malicious disposition; grooming and +shoeing and unharnessing went on, with a noise and merriment that was +perfectly deafening; and Massingbred, as he threaded his way through the +crowd, soon perceived how little notice he was likely to attract in such +an assembly. Magennis soon dismounted, and having given directions about +the beasts, led Jack into the house, and up a narrow, creaking stair into +a small room, with a single window, and a bed in one corner. “This is +where I always put up,” said he, laying down his hat and whip, “and it +will do well enough for the time we 'll want it.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. “A CHALLENGE” + </h2> +<p> +“He 's here; he arrived last night,” said Magennis, as he entered the room +after a short exploring tour through the stables, the kitchen, and every +other quarter where intelligence might be come at. “He came alone; but the +major of the detachment supped with him, and that looks like business!” + </p> +<p> +“The earlier you see him the better, then,” said Mas-singbred. +</p> +<p> +“I'll just go and get my beard off,” said he, passing his hand across a +very grizzly stubble, “and I'll be with him in less than half an hour. +There's only a point or two I want to be clear about. Before he struck +you, did you gesticulate, or show any intention of using violence?” + </p> +<p> +“None. I have told you that I caught his horse by the bridle, but that was +to save him from falling back.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, that was indiscreet, at all events.” + </p> +<p> +“Would n't it have been worse to suffer him to incur a severe danger which +I might have prevented?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think so; but we'll not discuss the point now. There was a blow?” + </p> +<p> +“That there was,” said Jack, pointing to the spot where a great strap of +sticking-plaster extended across his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“And he seemed to understand at once that reparation was to be made for +it?” + </p> +<p> +“The suggestion came from himself, frankly and speedily.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, it's pretty evident we have to deal with a gentleman!” said +Magennis, “and that same's a comfort; so I'll leave you now for a short +time: amuse yourself as well as you can, but don't quit the room.” And +with this caution Magennis took his departure, and set off in search of +Mr. Repton's chamber. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you bringing the mutton chops, Peter?” said he to a waiter, +who, with a well-loaded tray of eatables, was hastening along the +corridor. +</p> +<p> +“To the ould Counsellor from Dublin, sir. He's break-fastin' with the +Major.” + </p> +<p> +“And that's his room, No. 19?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“They 're merry, at all events,” said Magennis, as a burst of hearty +laughter was heard from within the chamber. +</p> +<p> +“'T is just that they are, indeed,” replied Peter. “The Counsellor does be +telling one story after another, till you 'd think he 'd no end of them. +He began last night at supper, and I could scarce change the plates for +laughin'.” + </p> +<p> +Muttering some not very intelligible observation to himself, Magennis +passed down the stairs, and issuing into the street, wended his way to the +barber's. +</p> +<p> +If the Oughterard Figaro had not as brilliant a vocation as his colleague +of Seville, his occupations were scarcely less multifarious, for he kept +the post-office, was clerk at petty sessions, collected the parish cess, +presided over “the pound,” besides a vast number of inferior duties. +Whether it was the result of a natural gift, or by the various information +of his official life, Hosey Lynch was regarded in his native town as a +remarkably shrewd man, and a good opinion on a number of subjects. +</p> +<p> +He was a short, decrepit old fellow, with an enormous head of curly black +hair, which he seemed to cultivate with all the address of his craft; +probably intending it as a kind of advertisement of his skill, displaying +as it did all the resources of his handiwork. But even above this passion +was his ardor for news,—news political, social, legal, or literary; +whatever might be the topic, it always interested him, and it was his +especial pride to have the initiative of every event that stirred the +hearts of the Oughterard public. +</p> +<p> +The small den in which he performed his functions occupied the corner of +the street, giving a view in two directions, so that Hosey, while cutting +and curling, never was obliged to lose sight of that world without, in +whose doings he felt so strong an interest. In the one easy-chair of this +sanctum was Magennis now disposed, waiting for Mr. Lynch, who had just +stepped down to “the pound,” to liberate the priest's pig. Nor had he long +to wait, for Hosey soon made his appearance, and slipping on a very +greasy-looking jean-jacket, proceeded to serve him. +</p> +<p> +“The top of the morning to you, Captain,”—he always styled him by +the title,—“it's a rare pleasure to see you so early in town; but it +will be a bad market to-day—cut and curled, Captain?” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/232.jpg" width="100%" alt="232 " /> +</div> +<p> +“No; shaved!” said Magennis, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“And shaved you shall be, Captain,—and beautifully shaved, too, for +I have got an excellent case from Lamprey's; they came yesterday,—came +with the writ against Jones Creegan.” + </p> +<p> +“At whose suit?” + </p> +<p> +“Mrs. Miles Creegan, the other brother's widow,” said Hosey, lathering +away and talking with breathless rapidity. “There was a clause in old +Sam's will, that if ever Tom, the chap that died at Demerara—you'd +like more off the whiskers, it's more military. It was only yesterday +Major Froode remarked to me what a soldierlike-looking man was Captain +Magennis.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he in command of the detachment?” + </p> +<p> +“He is in his Majesty's—1st Foot—the 'Buccaneers,' they used +to be called; I suppose you never heard why?” + </p> +<p> +“No, nor don't want to hear. What kind of a man is the Major?” + </p> +<p> +“He 's a smart, well-made man, with rather a haughty look,” said Hosey, +drawing himself up, and seeming to imply that there was a kind of +resemblance between them. +</p> +<p> +“Is he English or Irish?” + </p> +<p> +“Scotch, Captain,—Scotch; and never gives more than fivepence for a +cut and curl, pomatum included.—No letters, Mrs. Cronin,” cried he, +raising up the movable shutter of the little window; then bending down his +ear he listened to some whispered communication from that lady, after +which he shut the panel, and resumed his functions. “She 's at law with +O'Reilly about the party wall. There's the Major now going down to the +barracks, and I wonder who's the other along with him;” and Hosey rushed +to the door to find some clew to the stranger. In less than a quarter of a +minute he was back again, asking pardon for absence, and informing +Magennis “that the man in plain clothes was a Dublin counsellor, that +arrived the night before. I think I can guess what he's here for.” + </p> +<p> +“What is it?” cried Magennis, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“There's an election coming on, and the Martins expect a contest.—Nothing +for you, Peter,” said he, to an applicant for a letter outside. “He's +looking to be made barony constable these four years, and he 's as much +chance as I have of being—what shall I say?—” + </p> +<p> +“Are you done?” asked Magennis, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“One minute more, sir—the least touch round the chin,—and, as +I was saying, Captain, the Martins will lose the borough.” + </p> +<p> +“Who thinks so besides you?” asked Magennis, gruffly. +</p> +<p> +“It is, I may say, the general opinion; the notion current in— There +'s Miss Martin herself,” cried he, running to the window. “Well, really, +she handles them ponies elegant!” + </p> +<p> +“Does she come often into town?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I saw her in Oughterard—let me see when it was—it's +two years—no, but it's not far off—it's more than—” + </p> +<p> +“Are you done?” said Magennis, impatiently. “I told you that I was pressed +for time this morning.” + </p> +<p> +“You're finished now, Captain,” said Hosey, presenting him with a small +cracked looking-glass. “That's what I call a neat chin and a beautiful +sweep of whisker. Thank you, Captain. It's a pleasure and an honor—not +to say that it's—” + </p> +<p> +Magennis did not wait for the peroration, but striding hastily out of the +little shop, issued into the street that led to the inn. On arriving +there, he heard that Mr. Rep-ton had gone out, leaving word that he would +be found at Major Froode's quarters. Thither Magennis now repaired with +all the solemn importance befitting his mission. +</p> +<p> +As he sent in his name, he could overhear the short colloquy that passed +within, and perceived that Repton was about to retire; and now the servant +ushered him into the presence of a smart, light-whiskered little man, with +a pair of shrewd gray eyes, and a high forehead. +</p> +<p> +“A brother officer, I perceive, sir,” said he, looking at the card, +whereupon the title Captain was inscribed; “pray take a chair.” + </p> +<p> +“You anticipate the reason of this visit, Major Froode,” said the other, +with some degree of constraint, as though the preliminaries were the +reverse of pleasant to him. The Major bowed, and Magennis went on: “I +suppose, then, I'm to treat with you as the friend of Mr. Valentine +Repton?” + </p> +<p> +“And you are Mr. Massingbred's?” said the Major, answering the question +with another. +</p> +<p> +“I have that honor, sir,” said Magennis, pompously; “and now, sir, how +soon can it come off?” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you imagine, Captain Magennis, that a little quiet discussion of +the question at issue between two old soldiers, like you and myself, might +possibly be advisable? Is there not a chance that our united experience +might not suggest an amicable arrangement of this business?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite out of the question,—utterly, totally impossible!” said +Magennis, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Then perhaps I lie under some misconception,” said the Major, +courteously. +</p> +<p> +“There was a blow, sir!—a blow!” said Magennis, in the same stern +tone. +</p> +<p> +“I opine that everything that occurred was purely accidental,—just +hear me out,—that a hasty word and a hurried gesture, complicated +with the impatient movement of a horse—” + </p> +<p> +A long whistle from Magennis interrupted the speech, and the Major, +reddening to the very top of his high forehead, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Sir, this is unbecoming,—are you aware of it?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm quite ready for anything when this is settled,” said Magennis, but +with less composure than he desired to assume. “What I meant was, that for +a blow there is but one reparation.” + </p> +<p> +“Doubtless, if the injury admit of no explanation,” said the Major, +calmly; “but in that lies the whole question. Consider two things, Captain +Magennis: first of all, the equivocal appearance of <i>your</i> friend, +the age and standing of <i>mine</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! you'll kill me in trying to save my life,” said Repton, bursting +into the room. “I didn't want to play eavesdropper, Froode, but these thin +partitions are only soundboards for the voice. This gentleman,” added he, +turning to Magennis, “is perfectly correct. There was a blow; and a blow +has only one consequence, and that one I 'm ready for. There may be, for +aught I know, twenty ways of settling these matters in London or at the +clubs, but we 're old-fashioned in our notions in Ireland here; and I +don't think that even when we pick up new fashions that we 're much the +better for them, so that if your friend is here, Captain, and ready—” + </p> +<p> +“Both, sir; here and ready!” + </p> +<p> +“Then so am I; and now for the place. Come, Froode, you don't know Ireland +as well as I do; just humor me this time, and whenever I get into a scrape +in Scotland you shall have it all your own way. Eh, Captain, is n't that +fair?” + </p> +<p> +“Spoke like a trump!” muttered Magennis. +</p> +<p> +“For <i>me</i>, did you say?” said Repton, taking a letter from the +servant, who had just entered the room. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; and the groom says there's an answer expected.” + </p> +<p> +“The devil take it, I 've forgotten my spectacles. Froode, just tell me +what's this about, and who it comes from.” + </p> +<p> +“It's Miss Martin's hand,” said Froode, breaking the seal and running over +the contents. “Oh, I perceive,” said he; “they're afraid you have taken +French leave of them at Cro' Martin, and she has driven into town to carry +you back again.” + </p> +<p> +“That comes of my leaving word at the little post-office to forward my +letters to Dublin if not asked for to-morrow. Take a pen, Froode, and +write a couple of lines for me; say that a very urgent call—a +professional call—will detain me here to-day, but that if not back +by dinner-time—Captain Magennis thinks it not likely,” added he, +turning towards him as he sat, with a very equivocal expression, half +grin, half sneer, upon his features—“that I 'll be with them at +breakfast next morning,” resumed Repton, boldly. “Make some excuse for my +not answering the note myself,—whatever occurs to you. And so, sir,” + said he, turning to Magennis, “your friend's name is Massingbred. Any +relation to Colonel Moore Massingbred?” + </p> +<p> +“His son,—his only son, I believe.” + </p> +<p> +“How strange! I remember the father in the 'House'—I mean the Irish +House—five-and-thirty years ago; he was always on the Government +benches. It was of him Parsons wrote those doggerel lines,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'A man without a heart or head, +Who seldom thought, who never read, +A witty word who never said, +One at whose board none ever fed, +Such is the Colonel M—g—b—d.' +</pre> +<p> +He could n't call him a coward, though; for when they went out—which +they did—Massingbred's manner on the ground was admirable.” + </p> +<p> +“Will that do?” said Froode, showing a few lines he had hastily jotted +down. +</p> +<p> +“I can't read a word of it, but of course it will,” said he; “and then, +sir,” added he, addressing Magennis, “the sooner we place ourselves at +your disposal the better.” + </p> +<p> +Froode whispered something in Repton' ear, and by his manner seemed as if +remonstrating with him, when the other said aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“We 're in Ireland, Major; and, what's more, we 're in Galway, as +Macleweed said once to a prisoner, 'With a Yorkshire jury, sir, I 'd hang +you. Your sentence now is to pay five marks to the King, and find bail for +your good behavior.' You see what virtue there is in locality.” + </p> +<p> +“There's a neat spot about two miles off, on the road to Maum,” said +Magennis to the Major. “We could ride slowly forward, and you might keep +us in view.” + </p> +<p> +“In what direction did you say?” + </p> +<p> +“Take the second turn out of the market-place till you pass the baker's +shop, then to the left, and straight on afterwards. You can't miss it.” + </p> +<p> +“Stop a moment, sir,” said Froode to Magennis, as he moved towards the +door; “one word, if you please. It is distinctly understood that I have +been overruled in this business,—that, in fact, I have submitted—” + </p> +<p> +“Your point has been reserved,” said Repton, laughing, while he led him +away; and Magennis at the same moment took his departure. +</p> +<p> +It was, indeed, with no slight feeling of triumph that thia gentleman now +hastened back to the Martin Arms. Never did a great diplomatist experience +more pride in the conclusion of some crowning act of negotiation than did +he in the accomplishment of this affair. +</p> +<p> +“There 's many a man,” said he to himself, “who 'd have accepted an +apology here. There's many a man might have let himself be embarrassed by +the circumstances; for, certainly, the taking hold of the bridle was an +awkward fact, and if the Major was a cute fellow he 'd have made a stand +upon it. I must say that the Counsellor showed no backwardness; he comes +of that fine old stock we used to have before the Union.” + </p> +<p> +And with this profound reflection he entered the room where Massingbred +sat awaiting him. +</p> +<p> +“It's all settled. We're to meet at the Priest's Gap within an hour,” said +Magennis, with the air of a man who had acquitted himself cleverly. “And +though I say it that should n't, if you were in other hands this morning +you would n't have got your shot.” + </p> +<p> +“I always relied implicitly upon your skill!” said Massingbred, humoring +his vanity. +</p> +<p> +“Have you anything to arrange,—a letter or so to write; for I'll +step down to Dr. Hearkins to tell him to follow us?” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred made no reply as the other left the room. Once more alone, he +began to think gravely over his present situation. Nor could all his +habitual levity steel him against the conviction that five minutes of +common-sense talk might arrange a dispute which now promised a serious +ending. “However,” thought he, “we are not in the land where such +differences admit of amicable solution, and there's no help for it.” + </p> +<p> +A sharp tap at the door startled him from these musings, and before he +could well reply to it Daniel Nelligan entered the room, and advanced +towards him with an air of mingled ease and constraint. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you 'll forgive me, Mr. Massingbred,” he began. “I feel certain +that you will at some future day, at least, for what I 'm going to do.” + Here he stopped and drew a long breath, as if not knowing in what terms to +continue. Massingbred handed him a chair, and took one in front of him +without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“I know what brought you here to-day; I am aware of it all.” + </p> +<p> +He paused, and waited for the other to speak; but Massingbred sat without +offering a word, and evidently relying on his own social tact to confound +and embarrass his visitor. +</p> +<p> +“I know, sir, that you are likely to regard my interference as +impertinent,” resumed Nelligan; “but I trust that the friend of my son, +Joe—” + </p> +<p> +“I must set you right upon one point, at least, Mr. Nelligan,” said +Massingbred, with an easy smile. “If you be only as accurate in your +knowledge of my affairs as you are with respect to my private friendships, +this visit has certainly proceeded from some misconception. Your son and I +were friends once upon a time. We are so no longer!” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard of this. I never knew you had quarrelled!” + </p> +<p> +“We have not, sir. We have not even met. The discourtesy he has shown me +since my arrival here—his avoidance of me, too marked to be +explained away—is an offence. The only misfortune is that it is one +which can be practised with impunity.” + </p> +<p> +“My son asks for none such,” said Dan, fiercely. “And if your observation +is meant for an insult—” He stopped suddenly, as if checked by +something within, and then said, but in a voice full and measured, “I'm +magistrate of this town, sir, and I come here upon information that has +reached me of your intentions to commit a breach of the peace.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Mr. Nelligan,” began Massingbred, in his most seductive of +manners,—but the other had already witnessed the rupture of the only +tie which bound them, the supposed friendship between Joe and Massingbred, +and cared nothing for all the blandishments he could bestow,—“my +dear Mr. Nelligan, you cannot, surely, suppose that a mere stranger as I +am in your county—scarcely ten days here—should have been +unfortunate enough to have incurred the animosity of any one.” + </p> +<p> +“I hold here a statement, sir,” said Nelligan, sternly, “which, if you +please to pledge your honor to be incorrect—” + </p> +<p> +“And this is Galway!” exclaimed Massingbred,—“this glorious land of +chivalrous sentiment of which we poor Englishmen have been hearing to +satiety! The Paradise of Point of Honor, then, turns out a very +commonplace locality, after all!” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm proud to say that our county has another reputation than its old +one; not but—” and he added the words in some temper—“there +are a few left would like to teach you that its character was not acquired +for nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well!” sighed Jack, as he closed his eyes, and appeared as if +indulging in a revery, “of all the mockeries I have lived to see unmasked, +this is the worst and meanest.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not come here to listen to this, sir,” said Nelli-gan, haughtily, +as he arose. “I waited upon you, intending to accept your solemn pledge, +by word of honor, to commit no act hostile to the public peace. Now, sir, +I shall call upon you to give me the legal guarantee for this security,—good +and sufficient bail, and that within an hour!” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Mr. Nelligan,” replied Massingbred, with all the quiet ease of an +unruffled temper, “I have not a single friend here, except yourself, upon +whom I could call in such an emergency. I am utterly unknown in these +parts; my very name unheard of before my arrival. If I <i>did</i> by any +unhappy circumstance find myself in such an involvement as you speak of, I +solemnly assure you my first thought would be to address myself to Mr. +Nelligan.” + </p> +<p> +The easy impertinence of this speech would have been perfectly successful +a short time previous, when Nelligan yet believed in the close friendship +with his son. It came now, however, too late, and the old man listened to +it with something bordering on anger. +</p> +<p> +“Good and sufficient bail, sir,—yourself and two others,” repeated +he, slowly, and moving towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“One word, I pray,” said Jack, rising, and speaking with more earnestness +and apparently with more sincerity. “I do not ask you any details as to +the circumstances you impute to me, but perhaps you would, as a favor, +tell me how this information has reached you?” + </p> +<p> +“I will not, sir,” was the abrupt reply. +</p> +<p> +“I am sure no friend of mine could have—” + </p> +<p> +“It is no use, Mr. Massingbred; all your address will avail you nothing. +You shall not cross-examine <i>me!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“You must, however, see, sir,” said Massingbred, “that unknown and +unfriended as I am here, bail is out of the question.” + </p> +<p> +“The Bench will hear anything you desire to say on that subject,” said +Nelligan, coldly. “Good-morning to you.” + </p> +<p> +And with these words he left the room, and descended into the street. +</p> +<p> +The passionate warmth which Massingbred had so successfully controlled in +the presence of his visitor burst forth the first moment he found himself +alone. He inveighed against the country, the people, their habits, and all +belonging to them; cursed his own fate at being ever thrown into such +companionship; and wound up by resolving to submit to any terms by which +he might quit Galway forever, and forget, for the rest of his days, that +he had ever entered it. While he was yet fuming in this fashion, the +waiter entered and presented him with a very dirty-looking note, fastened +by two wafers, and inscribed “Most private.” Massingbred opened it and +read,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“My dear Mr. M.,—We 're found out—I believe by Hosey +Lynch, where I dropped a bullet-mould this morning when he +was shaving me. At all events, we 're blown, and as I am +under £250 recognizances to keep the peace for three years, +I 'm off to the mountains till this passes over. I 'm sure, +from what I saw of the Counsellor, that he 'll keep himself +open to a proposal elsewhere. Meanwhile, there's nothing for +it but to give your bail and satisfy the blackguards—bad +luck to them—that spoiled the sport! You can go back to +the house when all's over, and I 'll return as soon as it is +safe for + +“Your sincere friend, + +“T. M.” + </pre> +<p> +Scarcely had he finished reading this epistle, when Major Froode presented +himself in his chamber, the door of which the waiter was yet holding ajar. +Having introduced himself, he briefly informed Massingbred of his position +as Mr. Repton's friend, and as briefly stated that the Counsellor had been +obliged to pledge himself against any hostile intentions,—a step +which, he foresaw, would also be required of him. “For this reason I have +come,” continued he, “to say that any assistance I can be of to you is +frankly at your service. I have learned that you are a stranger here, and +not likely to have many acquaintances.” + </p> +<p> +“If they would be satisfied with my word,” began Jack. +</p> +<p> +“Of course they will, and shall,” interrupted Froode; “and now, what is +there in the way of <i>amende</i> my friend can make, for what he is +prepared to confess was a mere accident?” + </p> +<p> +“The acknowledgment is ample. I ask for nothing beyond it,” said +Massingbred. “I am not quite certain but that my own conduct might require +a little explanation; but as your friend's vigor put matters beyond +negotiation at the time, we 'll not go back upon bygones.” + </p> +<p> +“And now, sir,” burst in Repton, who had waited outside the door,—“and +now, sir, I beg you to accept the humblest apology I can tender for what +has happened. I 'm not as safe on my saddle as I used to be forty years +ago; and when the nag reared and threatened to fall back upon me, I am +ashamed to own that I neither saw nor cared what I struck at. I 'd have +said all this to you, Mr. Massingbred, after your fire, had we been +permitted to go the ground; and although there is some additional +humiliation in saying it here, I richly deserve all the pain it gives me, +for my want of temper. Will you give me your hand?” + </p> +<p> +“With sincere pleasure,” said Jack, shaking him warmly and cordially with +both his own. +</p> +<p> +“There 's but one thing more to be done,” said Repton. “These borough +magistrates, vulgar dogs as they are, will want you to give a bail bond. +Take no notice of them, but just drive out with me to Cro' Martin, and we +'ll settle it all there.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not acquainted with Mr. Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“But you shall be. He 'll be charmed to know you, and the place is worth +seeing. Come, you mustn't leave the West with only its barbarism in your +memory. You must carry away some other recollections.” + </p> +<p> +The new turn affairs had just taken was by no means distasteful to +Massingbred. It promised another scene in that drama of life he loved to +fashion for himself, with new scenery, new actors, and new incidents. “The +Counsellor,” too, struck his fancy. There was a raciness in the old man's +manner, a genial cordiality, united with such palpable acuteness, that he +promised himself much pleasure in his society; and so he accepted the +proposal with all willingness, and pledged to hold himself ready for his +friend within an hour. +</p> +<p> +Repton and the Major had but just left the room, when the former +re-entered it hurriedly, and said, “By the way, I must leave you to your +own guidance to find your road to Cro' Martin, for there's a young lady +below stairs has a lien upon me. You shall be presented to her when you +come out, and I promise you it will repay the journey.” + </p> +<p> +“This must be the Mary Martin I 've been hearing of,” thought Massingbred, +when again alone; “and so the morning's work will probably turn out better +than I had anticipated.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. A COUNTRY-HOUSE +</h2> +<p> +When Massingbred arrived at Cro' Martin, he found Repton at the door +awaiting him. “I find,” said he, “there is little need of introducing you +here. Your father was an old acquaintance of Martin's; they sat together +for years in Parliament, and Lady Dorothea was related to your family. But +here he comes.” And Martin approached, with his hand extended in cordial +welcome. No one ever knew better how to do the honors of his house, nor +could throw more graceful courtesy into the first steps of +acquaintanceship. Massingbred, too, was well calculated to appreciate this +gift. He had a most intense esteem for “manner,” and enjoyed even the +necessity it imposed upon himself of exertion to please. With sincere +satisfaction was it that he accepted an invitation to pass some days +there, and at once despatched a servant to Magennis's house for his +trunks. +</p> +<p> +The adventure of the morning was alluded to but once, and then in a +jocular strain, as an incident of no moment whatever; and Massingbred +retired to his room to dress for dinner, wondering within himself if he +should find the other members of the family as much to his liking as the +worthy host had been. +</p> +<p> +A dinner-party was a rare event at Cro' Martin. The isolation in which +they lived was rarely broken by a visitor; and when, by rare accident, +some solitary stranger did present himself with a letter of introduction, +his stay was merely of a few hours. Now, however, the company included, in +addition to the family, Repton, Massingbred, and Nelligan, besides Miss +Henderson, who was on that day to appear at dinner. The quondam college +friends had not met; neither had Miss Martin ever seen her governess; so +that there was no small degree of anticipation as to how such elements +would harmonize and agree. +</p> +<p> +When Massingbred entered the drawing-room, he found Miss Henderson there +alone; and at once believing she could be no other than Miss Martin, he +proceeded to introduce himself in the best manner he could. Her reception +was perfect in ease and self-possession, and they soon found themselves +engaged in a lively discussion as to the scenery, the people and their +habits, of which they both appeared to have a very similar appreciation. +Lady Dorothea next made her appearance; and, advancing towards +Massingbred, welcomed him with what, for her, was the extreme of +cordiality. “Your mother was a Caradoc, Mr. Massingbred, and the Caradocs +are all of our family; so let me claim relationship at once.” + </p> +<p> +With all the pretensions of a very fine lady, Lady Dorothea knew how to +unite very agreeable qualities, not the less successful in her +captivations, that she never exercised them without a real desire to +please; so that Massingbred soon saw how in the wilds of dreary Connemara +there existed a little oasis of polish and civilization that would have +done honor to the most splendid society of London or Paris. +</p> +<p> +Nor was Massingbred himself less pleasing to her. It was so long, so many, +many years since she had met with one fresh from that great world which +alone she valued! +</p> +<p> +Correspondence had kept her to a certain extent informed upon the changes +and vicissitudes of society,—the births, deaths, marriages, +separations, quarrels, and other disasters of those dear friends for whose +griefs absence and time offer so many consolations! But then, the actual +appearance, the <i>coup d'oil</i> of that world could only be imparted by +an observer, imbued with all the spirit that gives observation its +peculiar piquancy. This she found in him; and so agreeably exercised was +it, that she actually heard dinner announced without attending, and only +as she arose from her seat was reminded to present him to Miss Martin, by +the brief phrase, “My niece, Mr. Massingbred;” while she took his arm, +with a glance at Mr. Repton, that plainly said, “You are deposed.” + </p> +<p> +The passage to the dinner-room lay through three spacious and splendid +rooms, which now were brilliantly lighted up, and lined with servants in +rich liveries,—a degree of state Massingbred was not a little +pleased at; partly suspecting that it was intended to do himself honor. As +they moved slowly through the last of these, the door suddenly opened, and +young Nelligan entered. He had returned late from a long ride, and heard +nothing whatever of Massing-bred's arrival. With an exclamation of “Jack—Massingbred!” + he bounded forward. But the other showed no recognition of him; and +directing Lady Dorothea's attention to the richness of a picture-frame, +passed calmly on into the dinner-room. +</p> +<p> +“You must bring up the rear alone, Nelligan,” said Martin, who had given +his arm to Miss Henderson; and Joe followed, almost overwhelmed with +mingled shame and amazement. +</p> +<p> +For an instant the possibility of mistake assuaged his sense of +mortification; but no sooner did he find himself at table, and directly +opposite to Massingbred, than he perceived there was no ground whatever +for this consolation. It was, indeed, Massingbred, just as he had seen him +the first day in the Commons Hall at dinner, and when his cold, +supercilious manner had struck him so disagreeably. +</p> +<p> +What a terrible vengeance for all the superiority Nelligan had displayed +over him in the Examination Hall was Massingbred's present success; for +success it was. With all that consummate readiness the habit of society +imparts, Jack could talk well on a great variety of topics, and possessed, +besides, that especial tact to make others so far participators in his +observations that they felt a partnership in the agreeability. Lady +Dorothea was perfectly charmed with him; it was the triumph, as it were, +of one of her own set. His anecdotes—not very pointed or curious in +themselves—had the marked characteristic of always referring to +distinguished individuals; so that what was deficient in wit was more than +compensated by the rank of the actors. Martin enjoyed his conversation +with all his own complacent ease, and felt delighted with one who could +play all the game without an adversary. Mary was pleased and astonished +together—the pleasure being even less than the amazement—at +all he seemed to know of life and the world, and how intimately one so +young seemed to have mixed in society. As for Repton, he relished the +other's powers with the true zest of a pleasant talker; they were of +different styles, and no disagreeable rivalry marred the appreciation. +</p> +<p> +Amidst all these silent or spoken testimonies sat poor Nelligan, +overwhelmed with shame. Massingbred had refused to recognize him; and it +was left to his own gloomy thoughts to search out the reason. At first Joe +avoided meeting the other's look; he dreaded he knew not what of +impertinence or insult, to which the time and place could offer no +reparation; but gradually he grew to perceive that Massingbred's cold eye +met his own without a spark of meaning; nor was there in voice, manner, or +bearing, a single evidence of constraint or awkwardness to be detected. +</p> +<p> +Miss Henderson alone seemed to listen to him with easy indifference; and +more than once, when Jack put forth his most showy pretensions, he was +secretly mortified to see how little impression he had made on the dark +beauty with the haughty smile. This was exactly the kind of defiance that +Massingbred never declined, and he determined within himself to attempt +the conquest. As the party returned to the drawing-room, he asked Lady +Dorothea to present him more formally to the young lady whose acquaintance +he had dared to obtrude upon before dinner; but she coldly said,— +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it's no matter; she's only the governess.” An explanation she deemed +quite sufficient to subdue any rising feeling of interest regarding her. +</p> +<p> +“And the gentleman who sat next her at dinner?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“A neighbor,—that is, the son of one of our borough people. I have +not introduced him to you; for, of course, you are not likely to meet +again. As you were remarking, awhile ago, society in England is gradually +undergoing that change which in France was accomplished in a year or two.” + </p> +<p> +“With the aid of the guillotine and the 'lanterne,'” said Jack, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; they used sharp remedies for a quick cure. But I own to you that +I have not yet reconciled myself, nor do I see how I shall ever reconcile +myself, to intimacy with a class not only whose habits and instincts, but +whose very natures are adverse to our own. That young man now, for +instance, they speak of him as quite a college wonder. I'm ashamed to say +I don't know wherein his great successes lie; but they tell me that he has +distanced every competitor of his day, and stands alone in his +preeminence, and yet we saw him to-day not venturing on a remark, nor even +hazarding an opinion on the topics we talked of, and silent where he ought +to have been heard with advantage.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he bashful?” said Jack, with a lazy drawl. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think it's that; at least, not altogether.” + </p> +<p> +“Supercilious, perhaps?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! certainly not,” replied she, hastily. “The company in which he found +himself is the best answer to that. He could not presume—” + </p> +<p> +“It was, then, downright fear,” broke in Massingbred; “the terror that +even clever men cannot even shake off when thrown amongst a class they're +unused to.” + </p> +<p> +“And very naturally so. I'm sure he must be puzzled to imagine why he is +here. Indeed, we have only known him a few days back. It was one of Mr. +Martin's sudden caprices to ask him to Cro' Martin. He fancied he ought to +conciliate—I believe that's the phrase in vogue—the borough +people, and this young man's father is the chief of them.” And now Lady +Dorothea turned from the topic as one unworthy of further thought, and +entered upon the more congenial theme of her own high relatives and +connections in England. It was strange enough that Massing-bred's remote +alliance with her family was sufficient to induce an intimacy and +familiarity with him which years of mere acquaintanceship could not have +effected. That his grand-aunt had been a Conway, and his +great-grandfather's half-brother was married to a Jernyngham, were all a +species of freemasonry by which he was admitted at once to the privilege +of confidential discussion. +</p> +<p> +It was no small mortification to Massingbred to spend his evening in these +genealogical researches; he had seen the two young girls move off into an +adjoining room, from which at times the sound of a piano, and of voices +singing, issued, and was half mad with impatience to be along with them. +However, it was a penalty must be exacted, and he thought that the toll +once paid he had secured himself against all demands for the future. +</p> +<p> +Not caring to participate in the many intricacies of those family +discussions wherein the degrees of relationship of individuals seem to +form the sole points of interest, we shall betake ourselves to the little +blue drawing-room, where, seated at the piano together, the two young +girls talked, while their fingers strayed along the notes as though +affording a species of involuntary accompaniment to their words. Nelligan, +it is true, was present; but, unnoticed by either, he sat apart in a +distant corner, deep in his own brooding thoughts. +</p> +<p> +Mary had only made Miss Henderson's acquaintance on that evening, but +already they were intimate. It was, indeed, no common boon for her to +obtain companionship with one of her own age, and who, with the dreaded +characteristics of a governess, was in reality a very charming and +attractive person. Miss Henderson sang with all the cultivated knowledge +of a musician; and, while she spoke of foreign countries where she had +travelled, lapsed at times into little snatches of melody, as it were, +illustrative of what she spoke. The delight Mary experienced in listening +was unbounded; and if at moments a sad sense of her own neglected +education shot through her mind, it was forgotten the next instant in her +generous admiration. +</p> +<p> +“And how are <i>you</i>, who have seen this bright and brilliant world you +speak of,” said Mary, “to sit quietly down in this unbroken solitude, +where all the interests are of the humblest and more ordinary kind?” + </p> +<p> +“You forget that I saw all these things, as it were, on sufferance,” + replied she. “I was not born to them, nor could ever hope for more than a +passing glance at splendors wherein I was not to share. And as for the +quiet monotony here, an evening such as this, companionship like yours, +are just as much above my expectations.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, no, no!” cried Mary, eagerly. “You were as surely destined for a +salon as I was for the rude adventures of my own wayward life. You don't +know what a strange existence it is.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard, however!” said the other, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me—do tell me—what you have been told of me, and don't +be afraid of wounding my vanity; for, I pledge you my word, I do think of +myself with almost all the humility that I ought.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard you spoken of in the cabins of the poor as their only +friend, their comforter, and their hope; the laborer knows you as his +succor,—one by whose kind intervention he earns his daily bread; +their children love you as their own chosen protector.” + </p> +<p> +“But it's not of these things I 'm speaking,” said Mary, rapidly. “Do they +not call me self-willed, passionate, sometimes imperious?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; and capricious at times!” said the other, slowly. +</p> +<p> +Mary colored, and her voice faltered as she said,— +</p> +<p> +“There they were unjust. The impracticable tempers I have to deal with—the +untutored minds and undisciplined natures—often lead me into seeming +contradictions.” + </p> +<p> +“Like the present, perhaps,” said Miss Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“How! the present?” said Mary. +</p> +<p> +“That, while claiming the merit of humility, you at once enter upon a +self-defence.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, perhaps I <i>am</i> capricious!” said Mary, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“And haughty?” asked the other, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“I believe so!” said Mary, with a degree of dignity that seemed to display +the sentiment while confessing to it. +</p> +<p> +“I have never heard a heavier accusation against Miss Martin than these,” + said she, “and I have lived with those who rarely scruple how to criticise +their betters.” + </p> +<p> +Mary was silent and thoughtful; she knew not how to interpret the mingled +praise and censure she had just listened to. +</p> +<p> +“But tell me rather of yourself,” said Mary, as though willing to turn the +topic of conversation. “I should like to hear your story.” + </p> +<p> +“At thirteen years of age—I believe even a year later—I was +the playfellow of the young gentleman you see yonder,” said Kate +Henderson, “but who, to-night, seems incapable of remembering anything or +anybody.” + </p> +<p> +“Of Mr. Nelligan?” repeated Mary. And Joseph started as he heard his name, +looked up, and again relapsed into revery. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure that we were not in love. I almost confess that I was, when +my father sent me away to France to be educated. I was very sad—very, +very sad—at being taken away from home and thrown amongst strangers, +with none of whom I could even interchange a word; and I used to sit and +cry for hours by myself, and write sorrowful love-letters to 'dearest +Joseph,' and then imagine the answers to them; sometimes I actually wrote +them, and would suffer agonies of anguish before I dared to break the seal +and learn the contents. Meanwhile I was acquiring a knowledge of French, +and knew a little of music, and used to sing in our choir at chapel, and +learned to believe the world was somewhat larger than I had hitherto +thought it, and that St. Gudule was finer than the mean little church at +Oughterard; and worse still—for it <i>was</i> worse—that the +sous-lieutenants and cadets of the Military College had a much more +dashing, daring look about them than 'poor Joseph;' for so I now called +him to myself, and gave up the correspondence soon after. +</p> +<p> +“Remember, Miss Martin, that I was but a child at this time—at +least, I was little more than fourteen—but in another year I was a +woman, in all the consciousness of certain attractions, clever enough to +know that I could read and detect the weak points in others, and weak +enough to fancy that I could always take advantage of them. This incessant +spirit of casuistry, this passion for investigating the temper of those +about you, and making a study of their natures for purposes of your own, +is the essence of a convent life; you have really little else to do, and +your whole bent is to ascertain why Sister Agnes blushes, or why Beatrice +fainted twice at the Angelus. The minute anatomy of emotions is a very +dangerous topic. At this very moment I cannot free myself from the old +habit; and as I see young Mr. Nelligan there sitting with his head in his +hand, so deep in thought as not to notice us, I begin to examine why is it +he is thus, and on what is he now brooding?” + </p> +<p> +“And can you guess?” asked Mary, half eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I could be certain, if I were but to ask him a question or two.” + </p> +<p> +“Pray do then, if only to convince me of your skill.” + </p> +<p> +“But I must be alone, and that is scarcely possible,—scarcely +becoming.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us contrive some way,—think of something.” + </p> +<p> +“It is too late now; he is about to leave the room,” said Kate, +cautiously. “How pale he looks, and how anxious his eye has become! I +thought at first there was some constraint at meeting <i>me</i> here; he +feared, perhaps—but no, that would be unworthy of him.” + </p> +<p> +She ceased, for Nelligan had now drawn nigh to where they sat, and stood +as if trying to collect himself to say something. +</p> +<p> +“Do you sing, Mr. Nelligan?” asked Kate. +</p> +<p> +“No; I am ignorant of music,” said he, half abstractedly. +</p> +<p> +“But you like it?” asked Mary. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I believe I do,—that is, it calms and quiets me. If I could +understand it, it would do more.” + </p> +<p> +“Then why not understand it, since that is the way you phrase it?” asked +Kate. “Everybody can be a musician to a certain degree of proficiency. +There is no more ear required than you want to learn a language.” + </p> +<p> +“Then you shall teach me,” cried Mary, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +Kate took up her hand and pressed it to her lips for a reply. +</p> +<p> +“Foreigners—men, I mean—are all so well aware of this that +they cultivate music as a necessary part of education; few attain high +eminence, but all know something of it. But somehow we have got to believe +that cultivation in England must always tend to material profit. We learn +this, that, and t' other, to be richer or greater or higher, but never to +be more acceptable in society, more agreeable or pleasanter company.” + </p> +<p> +“We have n't time,” said Nelligan, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“For what have we not time? Do you mean we have no time to be happy?” + cried Repton, suddenly stepping in amongst them. “Now, my dear young +ladies, which of you will bid highest for the heart of an old lawyer—by +a song?” + </p> +<p> +“It must be Miss Henderson,” said Mary, smiling, “for I don't sing.” + </p> +<p> +“Not a ballad?—not even one of the Melodies?” + </p> +<p> +“Not even one of the Melodies,” said she, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“Shame upon me for that 'even,'” said Repton; “but you see what comes of +surviving one's generation. I lived in an age when the 'Last Rose of +Summer' and the 'Harp that Once' were classical as Homer's 'Hymns,' but I +have now fallen upon times when English music is estimated in the same +category with English cookery, and both deemed very little above +barbarous. To be sure,” added he, “it does seem very like a poetical +justice for the slavish adherence of <i>our</i> education to Greek and +Roman literature, that our ladies should only sing to us in the languages +of Italy or Germany.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you would not imply that we are as little versed in these as great +scholars are in the others?” said Kate Henderson, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“Sharply said, miss, and truthfully insinuated too! Not to mention that +there is courage in such a speech before Mr. Nelligan, here.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes—very true—a just remark!” said Joseph, who only overheard +a reference to himself without understanding to what it alluded. And now a +very joyous burst of laughter from the others startled him, while it +covered him with confusion. +</p> +<p> +“We must make them sing, Nelligan,” said Repton, gayly. “They'll vanquish +us in these tilting-matches of word-fence.—Now, Miss Henderson, +something very plaintive and very sentimental, to suit the tenderness of a +feeling heart.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll sing for you with pleasure,” said Kate. “Will this suit you?” And +with a short prelude she sang one of those brilliant little snatches of +Venetian melody which seem like the outburst of a sudden inspiration,—wild, +joyous, floating as they are,—wherein such is the expression that +sounds usurp the place of language, and the mind is carried away by a +dreamy fascination impossible to resist. +</p> +<p> +“How often have I heard that on the Lido!” said Mas-singbred, entering the +room hastily; “and what a glorious thing it is!” + </p> +<p> +“Then you know this?” said Kate, running her fingers over the notes, and +warbling out another of the popular airs of the same class. +</p> +<p> +“The last time I heard that,” said Jack, musingly, “was one night when +returning home from a late party, along the Grand Canal at Venice. There +is a single word at the end of each verse which should be uttered by a +second voice. Just as I passed beneath a brilliantly lighted salon, the +sounds of this melody came floating forth, and as the stanza finished, I +supplied the 'refrain.'” + </p> +<p> +“You?” cried Kate, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but why do you ask?” + </p> +<p> +“Do you remember the exact spot?” said she, not heeding his question. +</p> +<p> +“As well as though I were there only yesterday.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I tell you where it was?” He waited, and she went on: “It was under +the balcony of the Mocenigo Palace.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, this is witchcraft,” cried Jack; “you are perfectly correct.” + </p> +<p> +“The bouquet that was thrown to you from the window fell into the water.” + </p> +<p> +“But I regained it. I have it still,” cried he, more eagerly; “and yours +was the hand that threw it?” + </p> +<p> +She nodded assent. +</p> +<p> +“How strange, is it not, that we should meet here?” He paused for a minute +or two, and then said, “It was the Duchesse de Courcelles lived there at +the time?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, we passed the winter in that palace.” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson was the companion of the young Princess,” said Lady +Dorothea, who had just joined the group, and experienced no slight shock +at observing the tone of easy familiarity in which the conversation was +conducted. But Massingbred seemed wonderfully little moved by the +intelligence, for, drawing his chair closer to Kate's, he led her to talk +of Venice and its life, till, imperceptibly as it were, the discourse +glided into Italian. What a dangerous freemasonry is the use of a foreign +language, lifting the speakers out of the ordinary topics, and leading +them away to distant scenes and impressions, which, constituting a little +world apart, give a degree of confidential feeling to intercourse. +Massingbred would willingly have lent himself to the full enjoyment of +this illusion; but Kate, with quicker tact, saw all the difficulties and +embarrassment it would occasion, and under pretext of searching for some +music, escaped at once from the spot. +</p> +<p> +“How I envy you, dear girl!” said Mary, following her, and passing her arm +affectionately around her. “What a happiness must it be to possess such +gifts as yours, which, even in their careless exercise, are so graceful. +Tell me frankly, is it too late for me to try—” + </p> +<p> +“You overrate <i>me</i> as much as you disparage yourself,” said Kate, +mildly; “but if you really will accept me, I will teach you the little +that I know, but, in return, will you make <i>me</i> your friend?” + </p> +<p> +Mary pressed the other's hand warmly within her own. +</p> +<p> +“Here are some vows of everlasting friendship going forward, I 'll be +sworn,” said old Repton, stepping in between them; “and you ought to have +a legal opinion as to the clauses,—eh, young ladies, am I not +right?” + </p> +<p> +“When was Mr. Repton wrong?” said Mary, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“When he waited till his present age to fall in love!” said he, gayly. +“But, seriously, what have you done with our young student? Of all the +woe-begone faces I ever beheld, his was the very saddest, as he moved into +the large drawing-room awhile ago. Which of you is to blame for this?” + </p> +<p> +“Not guilty, upon my honor,” said Mary, with mock solemnity. +</p> +<p> +“I'm half afraid that our showy friend has eclipsed him in <i>your</i> +eyes, as I own to you he has in <i>mine</i>, clever fellow that he is.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you not charmed with yourself that you did not shoot him this +morning?” said Mary, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I am sincerely gratified that he has not shot me, which, taking his +pistol performance on the same level with his other acquirements, was not +so very improbable!” + </p> +<p> +“There's your uncle stealing away to bed,” said Repton, “and fancying that +nobody remarks him. Shall I be cruel enough to mar the project? Martin—Martin—come +here for a moment; we want your opinion on a knotty point.” + </p> +<p> +“I know what it is,” said Martin, smiling; “the question under discussion +is, “whether you or Mr. Massingbred were the more successful to-day? ” + </p> +<p> +“I think Mr. Massingbred may claim the prize,” said Mary Martin, with a +sly whisper; “he made Lady Dorothea cry.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay,” said Repton, “but <i>I</i> made young Nelligan laugh!” + </p> +<p> +And now the party broke up, Massingbred lingering a little behind to say +something to Miss Henderson, and then betaking himself to his chamber, +well satisfied with his day, and the change it had wrought in his +fortunes. Perhaps a few passages from a letter that he, on that same +night, penned to one of his friends in Dublin, will not be ill-timed as an +exponent of his sentiments. The letter was written, directing certain +articles of dress to be forwarded to him at once, by coach, and contained +these paragraphs:— +</p> +<p> +“You now know how I came here: the next thing is to tell you of the place +itself. The house is large and admirably <i>montée</i>—abundance of +servants, well drilled, and orderly. The master a nonentity, apparently; +easy-tempered and good-humored; liking the quiet monotony of his humdrum +life, and only asking that it may not be interfered with. His wife, a fine +lady of the school of five-and-forty years ago,—a nervous terrorist +about mob encroachments and the democratic tendencies of the times,—insufferably +tiresome on genealogies and 'connections,' and what many would call +downright vulgar in the amount of her pretension. Gratitude—for I +have the honor of being a favorite already—seals my lips against any +further or harsher criticism. As for the niece, she is decidedly handsome; +a great deal of style about her too; with a degree of—shall I call +it daring? for it is more like courage than any other quality—that +tells you she is the uncontrolled ruler over the wild regions and wild +people around her. With more of manner, she would be very charming; but +perhaps she is better in the unfettered freedom of her own capricious +independence: it certainly suits her to perfection. And now I should have +completed my catalogue, if it were not for the governess. Ay, Harry, the +governess! And just fancy, under this unimposing title, a dark-eyed, +haughty-looking girl—I don't think she can be above twenty or +twenty-one—with a carriage and port that might suit an Archduchess +of Austria. She has travelled all over Europe—been everywhere—seen +everything, and, stranger again, everybody; for she was what they style a +companion. By Jove! she must have been a very charming one; that is, if +she liked it; for if she did not, Hal!—At all events, here she is; +only having arrived the very day before myself; so that we are free to +discuss the family, and compare notes together, in the most confidential +fashion. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I need n't tell <i>you</i> Jack Massingbred does not fall in +love,—the very phrase implies it must be beneath one,—but I +already see that if such a girl were a Lady Catherine or a Lady Agnes, +with a father in the Upper House, and two brothers in the 'Lower,' her +dowry anything you like above thirty thousand,—that, in short, even +Jack himself might exhibit the weakness of inferior mortals; for she is +precisely one of those types that are ever looking upward,—a girl +with a high ambition, I 'll be sworn, and formed to make the man, whose +fortunes she shared, stand forward in the van and distinguish himself. +</p> +<p> +“These are our whole <i>dramatis persono</i>, if I include an old +barrister, with a racy humor and a strong stock of Bar anecdotes; and +young Nelligan, the Medal man, whom you quizzed me so much for noticing in +Dublin. You were right then, Harry; he <i>is</i> a low fellow, and I was +wrong in ever thinking him otherwise. I chanced upon his father's +acquaintance rather oddly; and the son has not forgiven it. When we met +here, yesterday, he fancied that we were to speak, and was actually +rushing forward to shake hands with the most enthusiastic warmth; but with +that manner which you have often admired, and once encouraged, when you +called me the 'Cool of the day,' I pulled him up dead short, stared, and +passed on. At dinner, I managed to ignore him so utterly that everybody +else fell into the trap, and he dined as a tutor or the chaplain or the +agent's son might,—mingling his sighs with the soup, and sipping his +claret in all dreariness. +</p> +<p> +“You will see, even from these hasty lines, that there is enough here to +interest and amuse; food for observation, and opportunity for malice. What +can a man want more? The 'joint and the pickles.' They have asked me to +stay,—they have even entreated; and so I mean to pass a week—perhaps +two—here. I conclude that will give me enough of it: however, you +shall hear frequently of my <i>res gesto</i>, and learn all that befalls +</p> +<p> +“Jack Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“... When you pass that way, pray see what letters there may be lying for +me in my chambers. If any of my father's—he writes in a large +splashy hand—and the seal, two maces, saltierwise—forward them +here. I am, or I shall soon be, in want of money; and as I have overdrawn +my allowance already, I shall be obliged to issue bonds, bearing a certain +interest. Can you recommend me to a safe capitalist?—not Fordyce—nor +Henniker—nor yet Sloan—with all of whom I have held dealings, +mutually disagreeable. It is a sad reflection that the stamp worth five +shillings upon a piece of unsullied paper is absolutely valueless when the +words 'Jack Massingbred' are inscribed beneath. Try, and if you can, solve +this curious problem. +</p> +<p> +“At all events, write to me here: supply me freely with news, for I am +supposed to be acquainted with all that goes on, socially and politically, +and I shall be driven to imagination if you do not store me with fact.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. STATECRAFT +</h2> +<p> +It was a cabinet council; they were met in Lady Dorothea's boudoir, Martin +and Mr. Repton being summoned to her presence. A letter had that morning +reached her Ladyship from a very high quarter; the writer was the Marquis +of Reckington, a very distant connection, who had suddenly been graciously +pleased, after a long interval of utter obliviousness, to remember that +Lady Dorothea was his relative, and yet living! Whatever pride her +Ladyship might have summoned to her aid to repel the slights or +impertinences of the vulgar, she displayed a most Christian forgiveness as +she broke the seal of an epistle from one who had left several of her own +without answers, and even replied to her application for a staff +appointment for her son, by a cold assurance that these were times when +“nothing but fitness and superior qualifications entitled any man to +advancement in the public service.” Oh dear, were there ever any other +times since the world was made! Is not merit the only passport to place, +and high desert and capacity the sole recommendation to favor? Of all the +immense advantages of a representative government, is there any more +conspicuous than the unerring certainty with which men of ability rise to +eminence without other aid than their own powers; and that, in a system +like ours, family influence, wealth, name, connections, and parliamentary +support are just so much mere dross? If any one be incredulous of the +virtue of public men, let him only ask for a place; let him entreat his +great friend—everybody has at least one great friend—mine is a +coroner—to make him a Junior Lord, or a Vice-Something, and see what +the answer will be. Polite, certainly; nothing more so; but what a rebuke +to self-seeking!—what a stern chastisement to the ignorant +presumption that places are awarded by means of favor, or that the public +service is ever filled through the channels of private influence! Far from +it. He is told that our age is an incorruptible one, that ministers pass +sleepless nights in balancing the claims of treasury clerks, and that Lord +Chancellors suffer agonies in weighing the merits of barristers of six +years' standing. “We have but one rule for our guidance: the best man in +the best place.” A high-sounding maxim, which it would be excessively +uncivil to disparage by asking what constitutes “a best man.” Is he some +unscrupulous partisan, who first gave his fortune, and afterwards his +fame, to the support of a party? Is he the indisputable disposer of three, +or perhaps four votes in the House? Is he a floating buoy to be anchored +in either roadstead of politics, and only to be secured to either, for a +consideration? Is he the dangerous confidant of some damaging transaction? +Or is he the deserter from a camp, where his treason may sow disaffection? +These several qualifications have ere this served to make up “a best man;” + and strangely enough, are gifts which fit him for the Army, the Navy, the +Home Service, or the Colonies. +</p> +<p> +Let us turn from this digression, into which we have fallen half +inadvertently, and read over some parts of Lord Reckington's letter. It +was somewhat difficult to decipher, as most great men's letters are, and +displayed in more than one place the signs of correction. Although it had +been, as we have said, a very long time since any correspondence had +occurred between the “cousins,” his Lordship resumed the intercourse as +though not a week had intervened. After a little playful chiding over the +laxity of her Ladyship's writing habits,—three of hers had been left +unreplied to,—and some of that small gossip of family changes and +events, never interesting to any but the direct actors, his Lordship +approached the real topic of his letter; and, as he did so, his writing +grew firmer, and larger and bolder, like the voice of a man who spoke of +what truly concerned him. +</p> +<p> +“I thought, my dear Dora, I had done with it all. I flattered myself that +I had served my time in public capacities, and that neither the Crown nor +its advisers could reasonably call upon me for further sacrifices. <i>You</i> +know how little to my taste were either the cares or ambitions of office. +In fact, as happens to most men who are zealous for the public service, my +official career imposed far more of sacrifices than it conferred +privileges. Witness the occasions in which I was driven to reject the +claims of my nearest and dearest friends, in compliance with that nervous +terror of imputed favoritism so fatal to all in power! I thought, as I +have said, that they had no fair claim upon me any longer. I asked +nothing; indeed, many thought I was wrong there. But so it was; I quitted +office without a pension, and without a ribbon! It was late on a Saturday +evening, however, when a Cabinet messenger arrived at 'Beech Woods' with +an order for me to repair at once to Windsor. I was far from well; but +there was no escape. Immediately on arriving I was summoned to the +presence, and before I had paid my respects, his Majesty, who was much +excited, said, 'Reckington, we want you. You must go to Ireland!' I +believe I started, for he went on, 'I 'll have no refusal. There is but +one settlement of this question that I will accept of. You shall go to +Ireland!' The King then entered with considerable warmth, but with all his +own remarkable perspicuity, into a detail of late changes and events in +the Cabinet. He was excessively irritated with B———, and +spoke of G———as one whom he never could forgive. He +repeatedly said, 'I have been duped; I have been tricked;' and, in fact, +exhibited a degree of emotion which, combined with the unbounded frankness +of his manner towards me, affected me almost to tears. Of course, my dear +Dora, personal considerations ceased at once to have any hold upon me; and +I assured his Majesty that the remainder of my life was freely at his +disposal, more than requited, as it already was, by the precious +confidence he had that day reposed in me. I must not weary you with +details. I accepted and kissed hands as Viceroy on Monday morning; since +that I have been in daily communication with G———, who +still remains in office. We have discussed Ireland from morning to night, +and I hope and trust have at last come to a thorough understanding as to +the principles which must guide the future administration. These I reserve +to talk over with you when we meet; nor do I hesitate to say that I +anticipate the very greatest benefit in the fruits of your long residence +and great powers of observation of this strange people.” The letter here +went off into a somewhat long-winded profession of the equal-handed +justice which was to mark the acts of the administration. It was to be, in +fact, a golden era of equity and fairness; but, somehow, as codicils are +occasionally found to revoke the body of the testament, a very suspicious +little paragraph rather damaged this glorious conclusion. “I don't mean to +say, my dear coz., that we are to neglect our followers,—the +Government which could do so never yet possessed, never deserved to +possess, able support; but we must discriminate,—we must distinguish +between the mere partisan who trades on his principles, and that +high-minded and honorable patriot who gives his convictions to party. With +the noisy declaimer at public meetings, the mob-orator or pamphleteer, we +shall have no sympathy. To the worthy country gentleman, independent by +fortune as well as by principle, extending the example of a blameless life +to a large neighborhood, aiding us by his counsels as much as by the +tender of his political support,—to him, I say, we shall show our +gratitude, not grudgingly nor sparingly, but freely, openly, and largely. +You now know in what ranks we wish to see our friends, in the very van of +which array I reckon upon yourself.” We shall again skip a little, since +here the writer diverged into a slight dissertation on the indissoluble +ties of kindred, and the links, stronger than adamant, that bind those of +one blood together. After a brief but rapid survey of the strong +opposition which was to meet them, he went on: “Of course all will depend +upon our parliamentary support; without a good working majority we cannot +stand, and for this must we use all our exertions.” A few generalities on +the comfort and satisfaction resulting from “safe divisions” ensued, and +then came the apparently careless question, “What can <i>you</i> do for +us? Yes, my dear Dora, I repeat, what can <i>you</i> do for us? What we +need is the support of men who have courage enough to merge old prejudices +and old convictions in their full trust in us; who, with the intelligence +of true statesmanship, will comprehend the altered condition of the +country, and not endeavor to adapt the nation to <i>their</i> views, but +rather <i>their</i> views to the nation. In a word, a wise and liberal +policy, not based upon party watchwords and antiquated symbols, but on the +prospect of seeing Ireland great and united. Now, will Martin come to our +aid in this wise? He ought to be in Parliament for his county. But if he +be too indolent, or too happy at home, whom can he send us? And again, +what of the borough? They tell me that Kilcock, seeing his father's great +age, will not stand where a contest might be expected, so that you must +necessarily be prepared with another.” + </p> +<p> +Again the writer launched out upon the happiness he felt at being able to +appeal thus candidly and freely to his own “dearest kinswoman,” inviting +her to speak as frankly in return, and to believe that no possible +difference of political opinion should ever throw a coldness between those +whose veins were filled with the same blood, and whose hearts throbbed +with the same affections. Her Ladyship's voice slightly faltered as she +read out the concluding paragraph, and when she laid the letter down, she +turned away her head and moved her handkerchief to her eyes. +</p> +<p> +As for Martin, he sat still and motionless, his gaze firmly directed to +Repton, as though seeking in the impassive lines of the old lawyer's face +for some clew to guide and direct him. +</p> +<p> +“You used to be a Tory, Martin?” said Repton, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, to be sure, we were always with that party.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, there's an end of them now,” said the other. “What's to follow and +fill their place, my Lord Reckington may be able to say; I cannot. I only +know that <i>they</i> exist no longer; and the great question for you—at +least, one of the great questions—is, have you spirit enough to join +a travelling party without knowing whither they 're journeying?” + </p> +<p> +“And what may be the other great question, sir?” asked Lady Dorothea, +haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“The other is, what will it cost in money—ay, my Lady, in money; +because any other outlay will not require searches nor title-deeds, loans, +mortgages, nor bond-debts.” + </p> +<p> +“To contest the county would cost ten thousand pounds; Scanlan says so,” + rejoined Martin. +</p> +<p> +“And the borough?” asked Repton. +</p> +<p> +“A few hundreds would suffice; at least, they have done so hitherto.” + </p> +<p> +“Then remain content with the cheap luxury of the borough,” said Repton. +“You don't want anything from these people, Martin. You don't covet a +peerage; you would n't accept a baronetcy. You remember what Langton said +when told that the King was going to give him the 'Red Hand.' 'If I have +been unfortunate enough to incur his Majesty's displeasure, I must deplore +it deeply; but surely my innocent son should not be included in the +penalty of my offence. Therefore, in all humility, I beseech and entreat +the royal favor to commute the sentence into knighthood, so that the +disgrace may die with me.'” + </p> +<p> +“There were times when such insolence would have cost him dearly,” said +her Ladyship, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I am not sorry that we don't live in them, my Lady,” replied Repton. “But +to return: as I was saying, you ask for no favors; why should you expend +ten or fifteen thousand pounds to advocate views of whose tendencies you +know nothing, and principles whose very meaning you are in ignorance of?” + </p> +<p> +“I anticipated every word of this,” said Lady Dorothea. “I told Mr. +Martin, this morning, almost literally, the exact advice you'd proffer.” + </p> +<p> +“I am proud that your Ladyship should have read me so justly,” said +Repton, bowing. +</p> +<p> +An insolent toss of her head was the significant answer to this speech. +</p> +<p> +“But were I to speak my mind more candidly, I 'd even say, let the borough +go after the county; and for this plain reason,” said Repton, speaking +with increased firmness and animation, “you neither seek for the ambition +of political life, nor want to make a trade of its casualties.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it not possible, sir, that we might desire the natural influence that +should arise out of our station in society and our rank in this county?” + said Lady Dorothea, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“And your Ladyship has it, and can never lose it. Having a vote or two to +throw into a Ministerial division would never repay you for the anxieties +and cares of contested elections. Ah, my Lady, what do <i>you</i> care for +the small flatteries of London attentions?” + </p> +<p> +“We should have these, sir, as our right,” broke she in. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure you would, and much happiness do I hope they would confer,” + added he, in a tone only overheard by Martin; then continued aloud: “As to +the patronage at your disposal, would you take a present of it? Whom do +you want to make tide-waiters, gaugers, barony-constables, or even clerks +of the peace? Of all men living, who is so free of hungry dependants or +poor relations!” + </p> +<p> +“I must say, sir, that you reduce the question of political support to a +very intelligible one of material benefit,” said her Ladyship, with a +sneer; “but, just for argument sake, imagine that there should be such a +thing as a little principle in the matter.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm going to that part of the case, my Lady,” said Repton. “Martin is a +Tory; now, what are the men coming into power? I wish you could tell me. +Here, for instance, is one of their own journals,”—and he opened a +newspaper and ran his eye over the columns,—“ay, here it is: 'With +regard to Ireland, Lord Reckington's appointment as Viceroy is the best +guarantee that the rights of Irishmen of every persuasion and every +denomination will be respected.' So far so good;” and he read on in a low, +humdrum voice for some minutes, till he came to the following: “'No +privileged class will any longer be tolerated; no exceptional loyalty +admitted as an excuse for insufferable oppression and tyranny; the wishes +and benefits of the people—the real people of that country—will +at length enter into the views of an administration; and Ireland as she +is,—not the possible Ireland of factious enthusiasts,—be +governed by men determined to redress her grievances and improve her +capacities.' Now, Martin, you want no augur to interpret that oracle. They +are going to rule you by the people; but the people must be represented. +</p> +<p> +“Now, who represents them? Not the demagogue; he is merely their tool. The +real representative is the priest; don't laugh, my dear friend, at such a +shadowy possibility; the thing is nearer than you dream of. No +administration ever yet tried to govern Ireland except by intimidation. +The Beresfords were undertakers once, and they did their work very well, +let me tell you; they advanced their friends and whipped their enemies; +and what with peerages for one set, and pitched caps for the other, they +ruled Ireland. Then there came the Orangemen, who rather blundered their +work; there were too many heads amongst them, and the really clever +fellows were overborne by brawling, talkative fools, who always had the +masses with them because they <i>were</i> fools. Still they ruled Ireland. +They preserved the country to the King's crown; and I say once more, that +was no small matter. And now we have arrived at a new era; we have +obtained Emancipation, and must look out for another stamp of +administrators, and I see nothing for it but the priest. Of course you, +and every man of your station, sneer at the notion of being dictated to by +Father Luke, in the greasy leather small-clothes and dirty black boots,—only, +himself, a cottier once removed, a plant of the wild growth of the fields, +cultivated, however, in the hotbeds of Maynooth,—a forcing-house +whose fruits you are yet to taste of! Sneer away, Martin; but my name is +not Val Repton if those men do not rule Ireland yet! Ay, sir, and rule it +in such a fashion as your haughty Beresfords and Tottenhams, and Tisdalls +never dreamed of! They 'll treat with the Government on equal terms,—so +much, for so much; and, what's more, it won't be higgling for a place +here, or a peerage there; but they'll have the price paid down in hard +legislative coin,—Acts of Parliament, sir; privileges for themselves +and their order, benefits to 'the Church;' and, when nothing better or +more tempting offers, insults and slights to their antagonists. You, and +all like you, will be passed over as if you never existed; the minister +will not need you; you'll be so many general officers on the retired list, +and only remarked when you swell the crowd at a levee.” + </p> +<p> +“So, sir, according to this special prediction of yours, we have nothing +left us but to live on our estates, enjoy what we can of our fortunes, and +leave the interests of the nation to those our inferiors in rank, station, +and property?” + </p> +<p> +“Such a period as your Ladyship has pictured forth—a little +strongly, perhaps—is before you. Whether the interval be destined to +be long or short, will, in great measure, depend upon yourselves.” + </p> +<p> +“That agrees with what Scanlan said the other day,” said Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Scanlan!” echoed her Ladyship, with most profound contempt. +</p> +<p> +“Who is this Scanlan?” asked Repton. +</p> +<p> +“There he comes to answer for himself,” said Martin. “The fellow drives +neatly. See how cleverly he swept round that sharp turn! He may be 'at +fault' about the world of politics; but, <i>my</i> word for it! he is a +rare judge of a hack.” + </p> +<p> +“And, now that you suggest it,” said Repton, musingly, “what an +instinctive shrewdness there is on every subject,—I don't care what +it is,—about fellows that deal in horse flesh. The practice of +buying and selling, searching out flaws here, detecting defects there, +gives a degree of suspectful sharpness in all transactions; besides that, +really none but a naturally clever fellow ever graduates in the stable. +You smile, my Lady; but some of our very first men have achieved the +triumphs of the turf.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall we have Scanlan in and hear the news?” asked Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Not here. If you please, you may receive him in the library or your own +room.” + </p> +<p> +“Then, come along, Repton. We can resume this affair in the afternoon or +to-morrow.” And, without waiting for a reply, he passed his arm within the +other's, and led him away. “You have been too abrupt with her, Repton; you +have not made due allowances for her attachment to family influences,” + said he, in a whisper, as they went along. +</p> +<p> +Repton smiled half contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it's all very easy for you to laugh, my dear fellow; but, trust me, +there's nothing to be done with my Lady in that fashion.” + </p> +<p> +“Turn the flank,—eh?” said the old lawyer, slyly. “Ah, Martin, don't +teach <i>me</i> how to deal with humanity. If you have not the courage to +tell your wife that your estate cannot bear fresh encumbrances, new loans, +and new debts—” + </p> +<p> +“Hush!” said Martin, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“Then, I say, let me prevent the casualty, that's all.” + </p> +<p> +“How are you, Scanlan?” said Martin, as the attorney came, bowing and +smiling, forward to pay his respects. “My friend, Mr. Repton, wishes to +make your acquaintance.” + </p> +<p> +“I have the honor of being known to Mr. Repton, already, sir, if he has +not forgotten me.” + </p> +<p> +“Eh,—how? where?” cried the lawyer, sharply. +</p> +<p> +“In Reeves <i>versus</i> Dockery, and another, sir, in Hilary, 24. It was +<i>I</i> supplied the instructions—” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure,—perfectly right. Maurice Scanlan; isn't that the name? +You did the thing well, sir; and if we failed, we retreated without +dishonor.” + </p> +<p> +“That was a grand shot you fired at the Bench, sir, when all was over,” + said Scanlan. “I don't suppose they ever got such a complete 'set down' +before.” + </p> +<p> +“I forget it,” said Repton, but with a bright twinkle of his eye, which +more than contradicted his words. +</p> +<p> +“Then, sir, it's more than their Lordships ever will,” said Scanlan. “The +Chief Baron it was,” said he, addressing Martin, “that overruled every +objection made by Counsellor Repton, and at last declared that he would +n't hear any more citations whatsoever. 'But I have a stronger case still, +my Lord,' says the Counsellor. 'I 'll not hear it, sir,' said the Court. +'It is in Crewe and Fust, Term Reports, page 1,438.' +</p> +<p> +“'I don't care where it is, sir,' was the answer. +</p> +<p> +“'In a charge delivered by Lord Eldon—' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, let us hear my Lord Eldon,' said Plumridge, the Puisne Judge, who +was rather ashamed of the Chief Baron's severity. 'Let us hear my Lord +Eldon.' +</p> +<p> +“'Here it is, my Lords,' said the Counsellor, opening the volume, and +laying his hand upon the page,—'Crewe and Fust's Pleas of the Crown, +page 1,438. My Lord Eldon says, “I may here observe the Courts of Law in +Ireland are <i>generally</i> wrong! The Court of Exchequer is <i>always</i> +wrong!”'” + </p> +<p> +Repton tried to smother his own delighted laugh at the reminiscence, but +all in vain; it burst from him long and joyously; and as he shook +Scanlan's hand, he said, “The incident loses nothing by your telling, sir; +you have done it admirable justice.” + </p> +<p> +“You make me very proud, indeed, Counsellor,” said Scanlan, who really did +look overjoyed at the speech. +</p> +<p> +“Have you any news for us, Scanlan?” said Martin, as they entered the +library. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; the Ministry is out.” + </p> +<p> +“We know that already, man!” + </p> +<p> +“And the Marquis of Reckington comes here as Lord-Lieutenant.” + </p> +<p> +“That we know also.” + </p> +<p> +“Colonel Massingbred to be Chief Sec—” + </p> +<p> +“Moore Massingbred!” cried both, in a breath. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; he that was a Treasury Lord.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you quite sure of this, Scanlan?” asked Martin. +</p> +<p> +“I had it from Groves, sir, at the Castle, yesterday morning, who told me +there would be an immediate dissolution, and showed me a list of +Government candidates.” + </p> +<p> +“You may talk them all over together, then,” said Martin, “for I 'm +heartily tired of politics this morning.” And so saying, he left them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. A STUDIO +</h2> +<p> +It is one of the most inestimable privileges of Art, that amidst all the +cares and contentions of the world, amidst strife and war and carnage, its +glorious realm is undisturbed, its peace unbroken, and its followers free +to follow their own wayward fancies, without let or hindrance. Your great +practical intelligences, your men of committees and corn and railroads and +ship-canals, sneer at the fictitious life—for so does it seem to +them—of the mere painter or musician. They have a sort of pitying +estimate for capacities only exercised upon the ideal, and look down with +a very palpable contempt upon those whose world is a gallery or an +orchestra. After all, this division of labor is a wise and happy +provision, carrying with it many and varied benefits, and making of that +strange edifice of mankind a far more pleasing and harmonious structure +than we should otherwise have seen it. The imagination is to the actual, +in the world of active life, what flowers are to nutritious herbs and +roots. It is the influence that adorns, elevates, and embellishes +existence. That such gifts have been confided to certain individuals is in +itself a sufficient evidence, just as we see in the existence of flowers +that pleasure has its place assigned in the grand scheme of creation, and +that the happiness which flows from gratified sense has not been denied +us. +</p> +<p> +In that petty world which lived beneath the roof of Cro' Martin Castle, +all the eager passions and excitements of political intrigue were now at +work. My lady was full of plans for future greatness; Repton was scheming +and suggesting, and thwarting everybody in turn; and even Martin himself, +engulfed in the “Maelstrom” of the crisis, was roused into a state of +semi-preparation that amounted to a condition of almost fever. As for +Massingbred, whatever he really did feel, his manner affected a most +consummate indifference to all that went forward; nor did the mention of +his father's appointment to high office elicit from him anything beyond a +somewhat contemptuous opinion of the new party in power. While, therefore, +secret counsels were held, letters read and written, conferences conducted +in every room, one little space was devoid of all these embarrassments and +anxieties, and that was an oval chamber, lighted from the top, and +originally destined for a summer ball-room, but now appropriated to Mr. +Crow's use for the completion of the Grand Historical, which had lately +been transferred from Kilkieran to its place there. +</p> +<p> +The unlucky masterpiece was doomed to many a difficulty. The great events +in prospect had totally banished all thought of “art” from Lady Dorothea's +mind. The fall of a recent administration was a far more imminent +circumstance than the abdication of a king a few centuries back. Martin, +of course, had enough on his head, without the cares of mock royalty. Mary +was overwhelmed with occupations. The floods and a threatened famine were +casualties not to be overlooked; and she was absent every day from dawn to +late night; while, to complete the list of defaulters, young Nelligan—the +future Prince of Orange of the picture—was gone! +</p> +<p> +Men deplore their past youth, their bygone buoyancy of heart, their old +loves and extinct friendships; but of all departed pleasures, there is a +peculiar poignancy about one, and that is an artist's grief over a “lost +sitter.” You ladies and gentlemen whose thumbs have never closed on a +palette, nor whose fingers have never felt the soft influence of varnish, +may smile at such a sorrow, but take my word for it, it is a real and +tangible affliction. +</p> +<p> +The waving locks, the noble brow; the deep square orbits, and the finely +cut chin are but the subtle suggestions out of which inspirations are +begotten, and poetic visions nurtured. The graceful bearing and the noble +port, the tender melancholy or the buoyant gladness, have each in turn +struck some chord of secret feeling in the artist's breast, revealing to +him new ideas of beauty, and imparting that creative power which displays +itself in new combinations. +</p> +<p> +Poor Simmy Crow was not a Titian nor a Vandyke, but unhappily the sorrows +of genius are very often experienced by those who are not gifted with its +greatness; and the humble aspirant of excellence can catch every malady to +which the triumphant in all the wild enthusiasm of his powers is exposed. +He sat down before his canvas, as some general might before a fortified +town which had resisted all his efforts of attack. He was depressed and +discouraged. +</p> +<p> +The upper part of the young student's head was already half finished, and +there was enough done to impart a kind of promise of success,—that +glorious vista which opens itself so often in imagination to those whose +world is but their own fancy. He half thought he could finish it from +memory; but before he had proceeded many minutes, he laid down the brush +in despair. It seemed like a fatality that something must always interpose +to bar the road to success. One time it was sickness, then it was poverty; +a disparaging criticism had even done it; and now, when none of these +threatened, there arose a new impediment. “Ah! Simmy, Simmy,” he exclaimed +aloud, “you were born under an unkindly planet. That's the secret of it +all!” + </p> +<p> +“I confess I cannot concur in that opinion,” said a low, soft voice behind +him. He started up, and beheld Kate Henderson, who, leaning on the back of +a chair, continued to gaze steadfastly at the canvas, perfectly regardless +of his astonishment. “There is a great deal to admire in that picture!” + said she, as though talking to herself. +</p> +<p> +Simmy crept stealthily back, and stationed himself behind her, as if to +hear her remarks, while viewing the picture from the same point. +</p> +<p> +“You have grouped your figures admirably,” continued she, now addressing +him, “and your management of the light shows a study of Rembrandt.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true, ma'am—miss, I mean. I have copied nearly all his great +pieces.” + </p> +<p> +“And the drapery—that robe of the King's—tells me that you +have studied another great master of color—am I right, sir, in +saying Paul Veronese?” + </p> +<p> +Simmy Crow's face glowed till it became crimson, while his eyes sparkled +with intense delight. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dear me!” he exclaimed, “is n't it too much happiness to hear this? +and only a minute ago I was in black despair!” + </p> +<p> +“Mine is very humble criticism, sir; but as I have seen good pictures—” + </p> +<p> +“Where? In the galleries abroad?” broke in Crow, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“All over Germany and Italy. I travelled with those who really cared for +and understood art. But to come back to yours—that head is a noble +study.” + </p> +<p> +“And that's exactly what I'm grieving over,—he's gone.” + </p> +<p> +“Young Mr. Nelligan?” + </p> +<p> +“Himself. He started this morning for Oughterard.” + </p> +<p> +“But probably to return in a day or two.” + </p> +<p> +Crow looked stealthily around to see if he were not likely to be +overheard, and then, approaching Kate, said in a whisper,— +</p> +<p> +“I don't think he 'll ever cross the doors again.” + </p> +<p> +“How so? has he received any offence?” + </p> +<p> +“I can't make out what it is,” said Simmy, with a puzzled look, “but he +came to my room late last night, and sat down without saying a word; and +at last, when I questioned him if he were ill, he said suddenly,— +</p> +<p> +“'Have you found, Mr. Crow, that in your career as an artist, you have +been able to withdraw yourself sufficiently from the ordinary events of +life as to make up a little world of your own, wherein you lived +indifferent to passing incidents?' +</p> +<p> +“'Yes,' said I, 'I have, whenever I was doing anything really worth the +name.' +</p> +<p> +“'And at such times,' said he, again, 'you cared nothing, or next to +nothing, for either the flatteries or the sarcasms of those around you?” + </p> +<p> +“'I could n't mind them,' said I, 'for I never so much as heard them.' +</p> +<p> +“'Exactly what I mean,' said he, rapidly. 'Intent upon higher ambitions, +you were above the petty slights of malice or envy, and with your own goal +before you, were steeled against the minor casualties of the journey. Then +why should not I also enjoy the immunity? Can I not summon to my aid a +pride like this, or am I to be discouraged and disgraced to my own heart +by a mere impertinence?' +</p> +<p> +“I stared at him, not guessing what he could mean. +</p> +<p> +“'Rather quit the spot with which it is associated,—quit it +forever,' muttered he to himself, as he paced the room, while his face +grew deathly pale. +</p> +<p> +“'As for me,' said I, for I wanted to say something—anything, in +short—just to take his attention a little off of himself, 'whenever +the world goes hard with me, I just step into my studio, lock the door, +and sit down before a fresh canvas. I throw in a bit of brown, with a dash +of bluish gray over it,—half sky, half atmosphere,—and I daub +away till something like an effect—maybe a sunset, maybe a +sullen-looking seashore, maybe a long, low prairie swell—rises +before me. I don't try for details, I don't even trace an outline, but +just throw in an effect here and there, and by good luck it often comes +right, in some fine harmony of color, that's sure to warm up my heart and +cheer my spirits; for, as there are sounds that, swelling up, fill the +whole nature of man with ecstasy, there are combinations of color and tint +that enter the brain by the eye, and just produce the same sense of +delight.'” + </p> +<p> +“And how did he accept your consolation?” asked she, smiling +good-naturedly. +</p> +<p> +“I don't well know if he listened to me,” said Simmy, sorrowfully; “for +all he said afterwards was,— +</p> +<p> +“'Well, Mr. Crow, good-bye. I hope you 'll come to see me when you visit +Dublin. You 'll easily find out my chambers in the college.' +</p> +<p> +“Of course I said, 'I'd be delighted;' and there we parted.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Kate, but in an accent so peculiar it would have been +very difficult to pronounce whether the words were of kindness or of +disparagement. +</p> +<p> +“And your Prince, Mr. Crow?” said she, changing her tone to one of real or +affected interest; “what's to be done now that Mr. Nelligan has left us?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm thinking of making a background figure of him, miss,” said Simmy. +“Burnt sienna reduces many an illustrious individual to an obscure +position.” + </p> +<p> +“But why not ask Mr. Massingbred to take his place—you've seen him?” + </p> +<p> +“Only passing the window, miss. He is a handsome young man, but that same +look of fashion, the dash of style about him, is exactly what destroys the +face for <i>me</i>, I feel I could make nothing of it; I 'd be always +thinking of him standing inside the plate-glass window of a London club, +or cantering along the alleys of the Park, or sipping his iced lemonade at +Tortoni's. There's no poetizing your man of gold chains and embroidered +waistcoats!” + </p> +<p> +“I half suspect you are unjust in this case,” said she, with one of her +dubious smiles. +</p> +<p> +“I'm only saying what the effect is upon myself, miss,” said Crow. +</p> +<p> +“But why not make a compromise between the two?” said she. “I believe the +great painters—Vandyke, certainly—rarely took the studies from +a single head. They caught a brow here, and a mouth there, harmonizing the +details by the suggestions of their own genius. Now, what if, preserving +all this here,”—and she pointed to the head and eyes,—“you +were to fill up the remainder, partly from imagination, partly from a +study.” And as she spoke she took the brush from his hand, and by a few +light and careless touches imparted a new character to the face. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, go on! that's admirable,—that's glorious!” exclaimed Crow, wild +with delight. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/276.jpg" width="100%" alt="276 " /> +</div> +<p> +“There is no necessity to lose the expression of haughty sorrow in the eye +and brow,” continued she; “nor does it interfere with the passing emotion +he may be supposed unable to control, of proud contempt for that priestly +influence which has dominated over the ambition of a king.” And now, as +though carried away by the theme, she continued to paint as rapidly as she +spoke, while Crow busied himself in preparing the colors upon the palette. +</p> +<p> +“My hardihood is only intended to encourage you, Mr. Crow,” said she, “by +showing that if one like me can point the road, the journey need not be +deemed a difficult one.” As she retired some paces to contemplate the +picture, she casually glanced through a low glass door which opened upon +the lawn, and where, under the shelter of a leafy beech, a young country +girl was standing; her blue cloth cloak, with the hood thrown over her +head, gave a certain picturesque character to the figure, which nearer +inspection more than confirmed, for her features were singularly fine, and +her large, soft blue eyes beamed with a gentle earnestness that showed +Kate she was there with a purpose. +</p> +<p> +Opening the door at once, Kate Henderson approached her, and asked what +she wanted. +</p> +<p> +With an air of half pride, half shame, the country girl drew herself up, +and stared full and steadfastly at the speaker, and so continued till Kate +repeated her question. +</p> +<p> +“Sure you're not Miss Mary?” replied she, by questioning her in turn. +</p> +<p> +“No, but if I can be of any use to you—” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think you can,” broke she in, with a manner almost haughty; “it's +somebody else I 'm wanting.” + </p> +<p> +“If you wish to see Miss Martin, I 'll go and fetch her,” said Kate. +</p> +<p> +“I did n't say it was her I wanted to see,” replied she, with a calm and +almost severe composure. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe her Ladyship?” asked Kate, far more interested than repelled by the +other's manner. +</p> +<p> +“It's none of them at all,” rejoined she. “I came here to speak to one +that I know myself,” added she, after a long pause; “and if he isn't gone, +I want to see him.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I think I can guess now,” said Kate, smiling. “It is the Counsellor +from Dublin, Mr. Repton.” + </p> +<p> +“It is no such thing,” said the girl, promptly. +</p> +<p> +“Then it must be Mr. Crow, here.” + </p> +<p> +An indignant toss of the head gave the negative to this surmise. +</p> +<p> +“I have gone through all our names here,” said Kate; “and except Mr. +Massingbred—” + </p> +<p> +“And there's the very one I want,” said the girl, boldly. +</p> +<p> +“Step in here and rest yourself, and I 'll send for him,” said Kate; and +with such persuasive courtesy were the words uttered, that almost, as it +seemed, against her very will the girl followed her into the studio and +sat down. While Mr. Crow proceeded in search of Massingbred, Kate +Henderson, resuming brush and palette, returned to her painting; not, +however, on the grand canvas of the “Historical,” but dexterously +interposing a piece of fresh board, she seized the opportunity to sketch +the beautiful head then before her, while occupying the girl's attention +with the objects around. +</p> +<p> +Notwithstanding her intense astonishment at all she saw, the country girl +never uttered a word, nor vouchsafed a single question as to the +paintings; she even tried to moderate the eager pleasure they afforded by +an endeavor not to admire them. Touched by the native pride of this +struggle,—for struggle it was,—the features had assumed a look +of haughty composure that well became the character of her beauty, and +Kate caught up the expression so rapidly that her sketch was already +well-nigh completed when Massing-bred entered. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Mistress Joan,” cried he, shaking her cordially by both hands, +“how glad I am to see you again! It was but this very moment I was +inquiring how I could go over and pay you a visit.” + </p> +<p> +Hurriedly as these words were uttered, and in all the apparent fervor of +hearty sincerity, they were accompanied by a short glance at Kate +Henderson, who was about to leave the room, that plainly said, “Remain +where you are, there is no mystery here.” + </p> +<p> +“I thank yer honer kindly,” said Joan Landy, “but it's no good coming, he +is n't there.” + </p> +<p> +“Not there!—how and why is that?” + </p> +<p> +“Sure <i>you</i> ought to know better than me,” said she, fixing her large +eyes full upon him. “Ye left the house together, and <i>he</i> never came +back since.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, perhaps I can guess,” said Jack, pausing for a moment to reflect. “He +might have deemed it safer to keep out of the way for a day or two.” + </p> +<p> +“It's no good deceivin' me, sir,” said she, rising from her seat; “tell me +the whole truth. Where is he?” + </p> +<p> +“That is really more than I can say, my dear Mistress Joan. We parted in +Oughterard.” + </p> +<p> +“And you never saw him after?” + </p> +<p> +“Never, I assure you.” + </p> +<p> +“And you never tried to see him?—you never asked what became of +him?” + </p> +<p> +“I concluded, indeed I was certain, that he returned home,” said Jack, but +not without some confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, that was enough for you,” said she, angrily. “If you were a poor +labor in' man, you 'd not desert him that had you under his roof and gave +you the best he had; but because ye 're a gentleman—” + </p> +<p> +“It is precisely for that reason I can't suffer you to think so meanly of +me,” cried Jack. “Now just hear me for one moment, and you'll see how +unjust you've been.” And, drawing his chair closer to hers, he narrated in +a low and whispering voice the few events of their morning at Oughterard, +and read for her the short note Magennis had written to him. +</p> +<p> +“And is that all?” exclaimed Joan, when he concluded. +</p> +<p> +“All, upon my honor!” said he, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, then, wirra! wirra!” said she, wringing her hands sorrowfully, “why +did I come here?—why did n't I bear it all patient? But sure my +heart was bursting, and I could not rest nor sleep, thinking of what +happened to him! Oh, yer honer knows well what he is to <i>me!</i>” And +she covered her face with her hands. +</p> +<p> +“You have done nothing wrong in coming here,” said Jack, consolingly. +</p> +<p> +“Not if he never hears of it,” said she, in a voice tremulous with fear. +</p> +<p> +“That he need never do,” rejoined Jack; “though I cannot see why he should +object to it. But come, Mrs. Joan, don't let this fret you; here's a young +lady will tell you, as I have, that nobody could possibly blame your +natural anxiety.” + </p> +<p> +“What would a young lady know about a poor creature like <i>me?</i>” + exclaimed Joan, dejectedly. “Sure, from the day she's born, she never felt +what it was to be all alone and friendless!” + </p> +<p> +“You little guess to whom you say that,” said Kate, turning round and +gazing on her calmly; “but if the balance were struck this minute, take my +word for it, you 'd have the better share of fortune.” + </p> +<p> +Jack Massingbred's cheek quivered slightly as he heard these words, and +his eyes were bent upon the speaker with an intense meaning. Kate, +however, turned haughtily away from the gaze, and coldly reminded him that +Mrs. Joan should have some refreshment after her long walk. +</p> +<p> +“No, miss,—no, yer honer; many thanks for the same,” said Joan, +drawing her cloak around her. “I couldn't eat a bit; my heart's heavy +inside me. I 'll go back now.” + </p> +<p> +Kate tried to persuade her to take something, or, at least, to rest a +little longer; but she was resolute, and eager to return. +</p> +<p> +“Shall we bear you company part of the way, then?” said Jack, with a look +of half entreaty towards Kate. +</p> +<p> +“I shall be but too happy,” said Kate, while she turned the nearly +completed sketch to the wall, but not so rapidly as to prevent +Massingbred's catching a glimpse of it. +</p> +<p> +“How like!” exclaimed he, but only in a whisper audible to himself. “I +didn't know that this also was one of your accomplishments.” + </p> +<p> +A little laugh and a saucy motion of her head was all her reply, while she +went in search of her bonnet and shawl. She was back again in a moment, +and the three now issued forth into the wood. +</p> +<p> +For all Jack Massingbred's boasted “tact,” and his assumed power of +suiting himself to his company, he felt very ill at ease as he walked +along that morning. “His world” was not that of the poor country girl at +his side, and he essayed in vain to find some topic to interest her. Not +so Kate Henderson. With all a woman's nice perception, and quite without +effort, she talked to Joan about the country and the people, of whose +habits she knew sufficient not to betray ignorance; and although Joan felt +at times a half-suspicious distrust of her, she grew at length to be +pleased with the tone of easy familiarity used towards her, and the +absence of anything bordering on superiority. +</p> +<p> +Joan, whose instincts and sympathies were all with the humble class from +which she sprung, described in touching language the suffering condition +of the people, the terrible struggle against destitution maintained for +years, and daily becoming more difficult and hopeless. It was like a +shipwrecked crew reduced to quarter-rations, and now about to relinquish +even these! +</p> +<p> +“And they are patient under all this?” asked Kate, with that peculiar +accent so difficult to pronounce its meaning. +</p> +<p> +“They are, indeed, miss,” was the answer. +</p> +<p> +“Have they any hope? What do they promise themselves as the remedy for +these calamities?” + </p> +<p> +“Sorrow one of 'em knows,” said she, with a sigh. “Some goes away to +America, some sinks slowly under it, and waits for God's time to leave the +world; and a few—but very few—gets roused to anger, and does +something to be transported or put in jail.” + </p> +<p> +“And Miss Martin,—does she not relieve a good deal of this misery? +Is she not of immense benefit by her exertions here?” + </p> +<p> +“Arrah, what can a young lady do, after all? Sure it's always them that +talks most and best gets over her. Some are ashamed, and some are too +proud to tell what they 're suffering; and I believe in my heart, for one +that 's relieved there are twenty more angry at seeing how lucky he was.” + </p> +<p> +They walked along now for some time in silence, when Joan, stopping short, +said, “There's the house, miss; that's the place I live in.” + </p> +<p> +“That house far away on the mountain side?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, miss; it's four miles yet from this.” + </p> +<p> +“But surely you haven't to walk all that way?” + </p> +<p> +“What signifies it? Is n't my heart lighter than when I came along this +morning? And now I won't let you come any farther, for I'll take a short +cut here across the fields.” + </p> +<p> +“May I go and see you one of these days?” asked Kate. +</p> +<p> +Joan grew crimson to the very roots of her hair, and turned a look on +Massingbred, as though to say, “You ought to answer this for me.” But Jack +was too deep in his own thoughts even to notice the appeal. +</p> +<p> +“I can scarcely ask <i>you</i> to come to <i>me</i>,” said Kate, quickly +perceiving a difficulty, “for I 'm not even a visitor at Cro' Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure I hope it 's not the last time we 'll meet, miss; but maybe,”—she +faltered, and a heavy tear burst forth, and rolled slowly along her cheek,—“maybe +you oughtn't to come and see me.” + </p> +<p> +Kate pressed her hand affectionately, without speaking, and they parted. +</p> +<p> +“Is Joan gone?” asked Massingbred, raising his head from an attitude of +deep revery. “When did she leave us?” + </p> +<p> +“There she goes yonder,” said Kate, pointing. “I fear me her spirits are +not as light as her footsteps. Are her people very poor?” + </p> +<p> +“Her father was a herd, I believe,” said he, carelessly; “but she does n't +live at home.” + </p> +<p> +“Is she married, then?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure that she is; but at least she believes that she is.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor thing!” said Kate, calmly, while, folding her arms, she continued to +gaze after the departing figure of the country girl. “Poor thing!” + repeated she once more, and turned to walk homewards. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred fixed his eyes upon her keenly as she uttered the words; few +and simple as they were, they seemed to reveal to him something of the +nature of her who spoke them. A mere exclamation—a syllable—will +sometimes convey “whole worlds of secret thought and feeling,” and it was +evidently thus that Massingbred interpreted this brief expression. “There +was nothing of scorn in that pity,” thought he. “I wish she had uttered +even one word more! She is a strange creature!” + </p> +<p> +And it was thus speaking to himself that he walked along at her side. +</p> +<p> +“This wild and desolate scene is not very like that of which we talked the +other night,—when first we met,—Miss Henderson.” + </p> +<p> +“You forget that we never met,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“True, and yet there was a link between us even in those few flowers +thrown at random.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't be romantic, Mr. Massingbred; do not, I pray you,” said she, +smiling faintly. “You <i>know</i> it's not your style, while it would be +utterly thrown away upon <i>me</i>, I am aware that fine gentlemen of your +stamp deem this the fitting tone to assume towards 'the governess;' but I +'m really unworthy of it.” + </p> +<p> +“What a strange girl you are!” said he, half thinking aloud. +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, how very commonplace!” said she, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“Do you like this country?” asked Massingbred, with an imitation of her +own abrupt manner. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said she, shortly. +</p> +<p> +“Nor the people?” + </p> +<p> +“Nor the people!” was the answer. +</p> +<p> +“And is your life to be passed amongst them?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps,” said she, with a slight gesture of her shoulders. “Don't you +know, Mr. Massingbred,” added she, with more energy, “that a woman has no +more power to shape her destiny than a leaf has to choose where it will +fall? If I were a man,—you, for instance,—I would think and +act differently.” + </p> +<p> +“I should like to hear what you would do if in my place,” said Jack, with +a degree of deep interest in the remark. +</p> +<p> +“To begin, I'll tell you what I would not do,” said she, firmly. “I 'd not +waste very good abilities on very small objects; I 'd neither have small +ambitions nor small animosities. You have both.” + </p> +<p> +“As how?” asked he, frankly, and with no touch of irritation. +</p> +<p> +“Am I to be candid?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly.” + </p> +<p> +“Even to rudeness?” + </p> +<p> +“Cut as deeply as you like,” said he, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Then here goes: For the 'small ambition' I speak of, it was displayed +yesterday at dinner, when, in rivalry with that old lawyer, you +condescended to play agreeable, to out-talk him, out-quote, and +out-anecdote him. It is true you succeeded; but what a poor success it +was! how inadequate to the forces that were mustered to effect it!” + </p> +<p> +“And now for the other count of the indictment,” said he, with a half +smile. +</p> +<p> +“First, do you plead guilty to this one?” asked she. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; with an 'extenuating circumstance.'” + </p> +<p> +“What is that?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, that <i>you</i> were present,” said Jack, with a glance of more than +mere passing gallantry. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said she, after a pause, “I <i>did</i> take some of the display to +my own share. I saw that you did n't care to captivate the young lady of +the house, and that my Lady bored you.” + </p> +<p> +“Insufferably!” exclaimed Jack, with energy. +</p> +<p> +“Your manner showed it,” said she, “even more than such polish ought to +have betrayed.” + </p> +<p> +“But I 'm sure I never exhibited any signs of my martyrdom,” said he; “I +stood my torture well.” + </p> +<p> +“Not half so heroically as you fancied I noticed your weariness before the +dinner was half over, as I detected your splenetic dislike to young Mr. +Nelligan—” + </p> +<p> +“To young Nelligan?—then he has told you—” + </p> +<p> +“Stop,—be cautious,” broke she in, hurriedly; “don't turn evidence +against yourself. <i>He</i> has told me nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what do you know?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing; I only surmise.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is your surmise?” + </p> +<p> +“That he and you had met before,—that you had even been intimate,—and +now, from some misunderstanding, you had ceased to be friends. Mind, I +don't want confessions; I don't seek to learn your secrets.” + </p> +<p> +“But you shall hear this from me,” said Massingbred, with earnestness; +“and perhaps you, so ready to blame me for some things, may see reason to +think well of me in this.” He then related, briefly, but simply, the +history of his acquaintance with Nelligan; he dwelt, not without feeling, +upon the passages of their student-life, and at last spoke of his chance +visit to Oughterard, and the accident by which he became old Nelligan's +guest. “What can you make of Joseph's conduct,” cried he; “or how explain +his refusal to meet me at his father's table? One of two reasons there +must be. He either discredits me in the character of his friend, or +shrinks, with an ignoble shame, from appearing there in his real position,—the +son of the country shopkeeper! I scarcely know if I 'd not prefer he +should have been actuated by the former motive; though more offensive to +me, in <i>him</i> it were more manly.” + </p> +<p> +“Why not have asked him which alternative he accepted?” asked Kate. +</p> +<p> +“Because the opportunity to wound him deeply—incurably—first +presented itself. I knew well that nothing would hurt him like the cool +assumption of not recognizing him, and I determined not to lose my +vengeance.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm a woman,” said Kate, “and I'd not have stooped to <i>that!</i>” + </p> +<p> +It was rarely that Massingbred's emotions gave any evidence of their +working; but now his cheek grew crimson, as he said, “A man can only +measure a man's indignation.” + </p> +<p> +“You are angry without cause,” said she, calmly; “you wish me to pronounce +a verdict on an act, and are displeased because I think differently from +you. How right I was in my guess that small animosities were amongst your +failings! You seek now to quarrel with <i>me!</i>” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred walked along for some moments without speaking, and then said, +“You knew Nelligan formerly?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, we were playfellows together as children; lovers, I believe, a +little later on—” + </p> +<p> +“And now?” broke he in. +</p> +<p> +“And now very good friends, as the world uses that phrase. At all events,” + added she, after a brief pause, “enough his friend to be able to say that +you have wronged him by your suspicions. Joe Nelligan—or I'm much +mistaken—may feel the inequality of his position as a something to +overcome, a barrier to be surmounted; not as a disability to contest the +prizes of life even with such as Mr. Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +“It is <i>you</i> now would quarrel with <i>me</i>,” said Jack, retorting +her own words upon her. “And yet,” he added, in a lower tone, “I would +wish to have you my friend.” + </p> +<p> +“So you can, upon one condition,” replied she, promptly. +</p> +<p> +“I accept, whatever it be. Name it.” + </p> +<p> +“That you be your own friend; that you address yourself to the business of +life seriously and steadily, resolving to employ your abilities as a means +of advancement, not as a mere instrument for amusement; determine, in +fact, to be something besides a <i>dilettante</i> and an idler.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it a bargain, then, if I do this?” asked he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I promise you the high and mighty boon of <i>my</i> friendship,” + replied she, with mock solemnity. +</p> +<p> +“And so we seal our contract,” said he, pressing her hand to his lips, but +with an air of such respectful gallantry that the action implied nothing +bordering on a liberty. +</p> +<p> +“And now I leave you,” said she, as she opened the wicket-gate of a small +flower-garden; “such conferences as ours must not be repeated, or they +might be remarked upon. Good-bye.” And without waiting for his reply, she +passed on into the garden, while Massingbred stood gazing after her +silently and thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. AN ELECTION ADDRESS +</h2> +<p> +“Am I behind time, Mr. Massingbred?” said Kate Henderson, as she entered +the library, about a week after the events we have last recorded,—“am +I behind time?” said she, approaching a table where the young man sat +surrounded with a mass of letters and papers. +</p> +<p> +“Not very much,” said he, rising, and placing a chair for her; “and I take +it for granted you came as soon as you could.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I have finished my morning's reading for her Ladyship, noted her +letters, answered the official portion of her correspondence, talked the +newspaper for Mr. Martin, hummed a singing lesson for Miss Mary, listened +to a grand jury story of Mr. Repton; and now, that they are all off to +their several destinations, here I am, very much at the service of Mr. +Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +“Who never needed counsel more than at this moment!” said Jack, running +his hands distractedly through his hair. “That 's from my father!” added +he, handing her a letter with a portentous-looking seal attached to it. +</p> +<p> +“What a fine bold hand, and how easy to read!” said she, perusing it. Jack +watched her narrowly while she read; but on her calm impassive face not a +line nor a lineament betrayed emotion. +</p> +<p> +“It is, then, an English borough he recommends,” said she, laying it down; +“and I suppose, looking to an official career, he is quite right. The 'No +Irish need apply' might be inscribed over Downing Street; but is that +altogether your view?” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely know what I project as yet,” said he. “I have no career!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, let us plan one,” replied she, crossing her arms on the table, and +speaking with increased earnestness. “The Martins have offered you +Oughterard—” He nodded, and she went on: “And, as I understand it, +very much on <i>your</i> own conditions?” + </p> +<p> +“That is to say, I'm not to damage the Tories more than I can help, nor to +help the Radicals more than I must.” + </p> +<p> +“Is there any designation for the party you will thus belong to?” asked +she. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not exactly sure that there is; perhaps they 'd call me a Moderate +Whig.” + </p> +<p> +“That sounds very nice and commonplace, but I don't like it. These are not +times for moderation; nor would the part suit <i>you!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“You think so?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm certain of it. You have n't got habits of discipline to serve with a +regular corps; to do anything, or be anything, you must command a partisan +legion—” + </p> +<p> +“You're right there; I know that,” broke he in. +</p> +<p> +“I don't mean it as flattery, but rather something a little bordering on +the reverse,” said she, fixing her eyes steadfastly on him; “for, after +all, there is no great success—I mean, no towering success—to +be achieved by such a line; but as I feel that you 'll not work—” + </p> +<p> +“No; of that be assured!” + </p> +<p> +“Then there are only secondary rewards to be won.” + </p> +<p> +“You certainly do not overestimate me!” said Jack, trying to seem +perfectly indifferent. +</p> +<p> +“I have no desire to underrate your abilities,” said she, calmly; “they +are very good ones. You have great fluency,—great 'variety,' as +Grattan would call it,—an excellent memory, and a most amiable +self-possession.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove!” said he, reddening slightly, “you enumerate my little gifts +with all the accuracy of an appraiser!” + </p> +<p> +“Then,” resumed she, not heeding his interruption, “you have abundance of +what is vulgarly styled 'pluck,' and which is to courage what <i>esprit</i> +is to actual wit; and, lastly, you are a proficient in that readiness +which the world always accepts for frankness.” + </p> +<p> +“You were right to say that you intended no flattery!” said he, with an +effort to laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I want to be truthful,” rejoined she, calmly. “No praise of mine—however +high it soared, or however lavishly it was squandered—could possibly +raise you in your own esteem. The governess may perform the part of the +slave in the triumphal chariot, but could not aspire to put the crown on +the conqueror!” + </p> +<p> +“But I have not conquered!” said Jack. +</p> +<p> +“You may, whenever you enter the lists; you must, indeed, if you only care +to do so. Go in for an Irish borough,” said she, with renewed animation. +“Arm yourself with all the popular grievances; there is just faction +enough left to last <i>your</i> time. Discuss them in your own way, and my +word for it, but you 'll succeed. It will be such a boon to the House to +hear a gentlemanlike tone on questions which have always been treated in +coarser guise. For a while you 'll have no imitators, and can sneer at the +gentry and extol the 'people' without a competitor. Now and then, too, you +can assail the Treasury benches, where your father is sitting; and nothing +will so redound to your character for independence.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, where, in Heaven's name,” cried Jack, “have you got up all this? +What and how do you know anything of party and politics?” + </p> +<p> +“Have I not been studying 'Hansard' and the files of the 'Times' for the +last week by your directions? Have I not read lives of all the illustrious +prosers you gave me to look through? And is it very wonderful if I have +learned some of the secrets of this success, or that I should 'get up' my +'politics' as rapidly as you can your 'principles'?” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I was even sure that I had done so,” said Jack, laughing; “for +this same address is puzzling me sadly! Now here, for instance,” and he +read aloud: “'While steadfastly upholding the rights of property, +determined to maintain in all their integrity the more sacred rights of +conscience—'Now just tell me, what do you understand by that?” + </p> +<p> +“That rents must be paid,—occasionally, at least; but that you hope +to pull down the Established Church!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, come,” said he, “the thing will perhaps do!” + </p> +<p> +“I don't much like all this about 'the Palladium of the British +Constitution, and the unbroken bulwark of our dearest liberties.' We are +in Ireland, remember, where we care no more for your Palladium—if we +ever knew what it meant—than we do for the 'Grand Lama.' A slight +dash of what is called 'nationality' would be better; very vague, very +shadowy, of course. Bear in mind what Lady Dorothea told us last night +about the charm of the king's bow. Everybody thought it specially meant +for himself; it strikes me that something of this sort should pervade an +election address.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish to Heaven you 'd write it, then,” said Jack, placing a pen in her +fingers. +</p> +<p> +“Something in this fashion,” said she, while her hands traced the lines +rapidly on the paper:— +</p> +<p> +“'Finding that a new era is about to dawn in the political state of +Ireland, when the consequences of late legislation will engender new +conditions and relations, I present myself before you to solicit the honor +of your suffrages, a perfect stranger to your town, but no stranger to the +wants and necessities of that nationality which now, for the first time +for centuries, is about to receive its due development.' +</p> +<p> +“Or this, if you prefer it,” said she, writing away rapidly as before:— +</p> +<p> +“'The presumption of aspiring to your representation will, perhaps, be +compensated when I come before you deeply impressed with the wrongs which +centuries of legislation have enacted, and which, stranger as I am in +Ireland, have arrested my attention and engaged my sympathies, impelling +me to enter upon a public career; and, if favored by your approval, to +devote whatever energy and capacity I may possess to your great and good +cause.'” + </p> +<p> +“I like the first best,” said Jack. “The new era and the results of the +Relief Bill will be such appetizing suggestions. There must be an allusion +to the Martins and their support.” + </p> +<p> +“Rather, however, as though <i>you</i> had brought over Martin to <i>your</i> +views, than that <i>he</i> had selected you to represent his. In this +wise:” and again she wrote,— +</p> +<p> +“'It is with a just pride that I announce to you that in these professions +I am strengthened by the cordial approval and support of one who, in his +rank and station, and natural influence, is second to none in this great +county; and who, whatever misconceptions have hitherto prevailed as to his +views, is, heart and soul, a true patriot and an Irishman!' +</p> +<p> +“It will puzzle him sorely to guess what line he should adopt to realize +all this, and he'll have to come to <i>you</i> for his politics!” + </p> +<p> +“You have caught up the cant of this peculiar literature perfectly,” said +Massingbred, as he pored over the papers she had just penned. +</p> +<p> +“Dear me!” cried she, in a weary tone, “my great difficulty will be to +discard its evil influence, and even write a common note like a reasonable +being again.” + </p> +<p> +“But come, confess frankly: you think that a political career is the only +one worth embracing, and that any other life offers no reward worthy the +name?” + </p> +<p> +“I think you mistake me,” said she. “It is the social position consequent +upon success in a political life that I value,—the eminence it +confers in the very highest and greatest circles. If I regarded the matter +otherwise, I'd not be indifferent as to the line to follow—I 'd have +great convictions, and hold them,—I mean, if I were <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Then of course you consider me as one who has none such?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure I do. Men of your measures of ability can no more burden +themselves with principles than a thoroughbred hackney can carry extra +weight,—they 've quite enough to do to make their running without.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I shall certainly not be spoiled by flattery, at least from you,” + said Jack, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“They who know you less will make up for it all, depend upon it,” said +she, quietly. “Don't fancy, Mr. Massingbred,” added she, with more +earnestness of manner,—“don't fancy that I 'm insensible to the +impertinences I have dared to address to you, or that I venture upon them +without pain; but when I perceived that you would admit me to the liberty +of criticising your conduct, character, and manners, I thought that I +might render you good service by saying what better taste and better +breeding would shrink from, and the only cost be the dislike of myself.” + </p> +<p> +“You took a very bad way to accomplish the latter,” said Jack, fervently. +</p> +<p> +“I did n't give it much consideration,” said she, haughtily. “It was very +little matter what opinion you entertained of 'the governess.'” + </p> +<p> +“I should like to convince you that you were wrong,” said he, looking +fixedly at her. +</p> +<p> +“You'd find your task harder than you suspect, sir,” said she, coldly. +“There is a sense of pride about the humbleness of a station such as mine, +as all the elevation of one in yours could never fathom. And,” added she, +in a still more determined tone, “there is but one condition on which this +intercourse of ours can continue, which is, that this topic be never +resumed between us. The gulf that separates your position in life from +mine is the security for mutual frankness; to attempt to span it over by +deception would be to build a bridge that must break down the first moment +of its trial. Enough of this! I'll take these,” said she, gathering up the +papers, “and copy them out clearly. They ought to be with the printer +to-morrow; and, indeed, you should not defer your canvass.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred made no answer, but sat with his head buried between his +hands. +</p> +<p> +“I'd have you to visit the 'dear constituency' at once, Mr. Massingbred,” + said she, with a slight touch of scorn in her voice. “They are not well +bred enough to bear a slight!” And with this she left the room. +</p> +<p> +“I should like excessively to know the secret of this interest in my +behalf,” said Jack, as he arose and slowly walked the room. “It is not, +unquestionably, from any high estimate of my capacity; as little is it +anything bordering on regard; and yet,” added he, after a pause, “there +are moments when I half fancy she could care for me,—at least I know +well that I could for <i>her</i>, Confound it!” cried he, passionately, +“what a terrible barrier social station throws up! If she were even some +country squire's daughter,—portionless as she is,—the notion +would not be so absurd; but 'the governess!' and 'the steward!' what +frightful figures to conjure up. No, no; that's impossible. One might do +such a folly by retiring from the world forever, but that would be exactly +to defeat the whole object of such a match. She is essentially intended +for 'the world;' every gift and grace she possesses are such as only have +their fitting exercise where the game of life is played by the highest, +and for the heaviest stakes! But it is not to be thought of!” + </p> +<p> +“Have I found you at last?” cried Repton, entering the room. “They say the +writ will be here on Monday, so that we 've not an hour to lose. Let us +drive over to Oughterard at once, see the editor of the 'Intelligence,' +call on Priest Rafferty, and that other fellow—the father of our +young friend here.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Nelligan,” said Jack. “But I can't well visit <i>him</i>—there +have been some rather unpleasant passages between us.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! you told me something about it. He wanted you to fill a bail-bond, or +do something or other, rather than shoot <i>me</i>. An unreasonable old +rascal! Never mind; we shall come before him now in another character, and +you 'll see that he'll be more tractable.” + </p> +<p> +“The matter is graver than this,” said Jack, musingly; “and our difference +is serious enough to make intercourse impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“You shall tell me all about it as we drive along,—that is, if it be +brief and easy to follow, for my head is so full of election matters I +don't desire a new element of complication. Step in now, and let us away.” + And with this he hurried Massingbred to the door, where a pony-phaeton was +in waiting for them. +</p> +<p> +Once on the road, Repton changed the conversation from the domain of +politics, and talked entirely of the host and his family. There was a sort +of constitutional frankness and familiarity about the old lawyer which all +the astute habits and instincts of his profession had never mastered. Like +a great many acute men, his passion for shrewd observation and keen remark +overbore the prudent reserve that belongs to less animated talkers, and so +he now scrupled not to dis-cuss Martin and his affairs to one who but a +few days back had been a complete stranger amongst them. +</p> +<p> +At first Jack heard him without much interest, but, as he continued, the +subject attracted all his attention, full as it was of views of life and +the world perfectly new and strange to him. +</p> +<p> +To Massingbred's great astonishment, he learned that vast as the estates, +and large as was the fortune of the Martins, that they were deeply +encumbered with bond-debts and mortgages. The wasteful habits of the +gentry generally, combined with great facilities for obtaining money at +any emergency, had led to this universal indebtedness; and, in fact, as +the lawyer expressed it, an old estate was supposed to be the victim of +debt, as an elderly gentleman was liable to gout; nobody presuming to +think that the tenure, in either case, was a whit the more precarious on +account of the casualty. +</p> +<p> +“Now,” said Repton, as they reached a point of the road from which a view +of the country could be obtained for miles on every side—“now, as +far as you can see belongs to Martin. Beyond that mountain yonder, too, +there is a large tract—not very productive, it is true—extending +to the sea. The fine waving surface to your left is all tillage land; and +the islands in the bay are his. It is really a princely estate, with even +greater hidden resources than those palpable and open to view. But, were I +to show it to you on a map, and point out at the same time every spot on +which some moneylender has a claim—how much has been advanced upon +this—what sums have been lent upon that—you 'd be more amazed +at the careless ease of the proprietor than you now are at the extent of +his fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“But he is spending immensely in improving and developing the property,” + said Jack. +</p> +<p> +“Of course he is, sir. That new-fangled notion of 'gentleman-farming '—which +has come to us from countries where there are no gentlemen—won't +suit Ireland, at least in the present generation. What <i>we</i> want here +is, not to make more money, but to learn how to spend less; and although +the first very often teaches the last, it is a hard way for an Irishman to +acquire his knowledge. There's your borough, sir,—that little spot +in the valley yonder is Oughterard. Do you feel, as you behold it, as +though it were to be the mainspring of a great career? Is there an +instinctive throb within that says, 'The honorable member for Oughterard +will be a great name in the “Collective Wisdom “'?” + </p> +<p> +“I can scarcely say yes to that appeal,” said Jack, smiling; “though, if +what you have just told me of the mediocrity of public men be true—” + </p> +<p> +“Can you doubt it? You have them all before you,—their lives, their +sayings, and their doings. Show me one in the whole mass who has +originated a new idea in politics, or developed a new resource in the +nation. Do they exhibit the common inventiveness displayed in almost every +other walk of life, or do they even dress up their common platitudes in +any other garb than the cast-off clothes of their predecessors? Mediocrity +is a flattery when applied to them. But what's this coming along behind +us, with such clattering of hoofs?” + </p> +<p> +“A tandem, I think,” said Jack, looking backward, “and very well handled, +too.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that illustrious attorney, Mr. Scanlan, I 've no doubt. Let us draw +up till he passes.” And so saying, Repton moved to one side of the road, +giving a wide space for the other to proceed on his way. Mr. Scanlan, +however, had subdued his nags, by a low, soft whistle, to a half-trot, +when, giving the reins to his servant, he descended and advanced to the +carriage. “I've been in pursuit of you, gentlemen,” said he, touching his +hat courteously, “for the last four miles, and I assure you you 've given +me a breathing heat of it. Mr. Martin requested me to hand you this note, +sir,” added he, addressing Repton, “which demands immediate attention.” + </p> +<p> +The note was marked “Instantaneous,” and “Strictly private,” on the cover, +and Repton opened it at once. Its contents were as follows,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Dear Rep.,—The post has just arrived, with intelligence +that Harry is coming home,—may be here within a week or +so,—so that we must not go on with our present plans for +the borough, as H., of course, will stand. Come back, +therefore, at once, and let as talk over the matter +together. + +“Yours, in haste, + +“G. M.” + </pre> +<p> +“You know what this contains, perhaps?” said Repton, in a whisper to +Scanlan. He nodded an assent, and the old lawyer re-read the note. “I +don't see my way here quite clearly,” added he, in the same subdued voice, +to Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“I'll stroll on and stretch my legs a bit,” said Jack, springing out of +the pony phaeton, and seeing that the others had some private matter of +discussion; and Scanlan now drew nigh, while Repton informed him what the +note contained. +</p> +<p> +“It's a little too late for this now,” said Scanlan, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean too late?” asked Repton. +</p> +<p> +“Why, that Massingbred stands well with the people in the borough. They +think that he 'll be more their man than Martin's, and, indeed, they 're +so confident of it, I half suspect he has told them so.” + </p> +<p> +“But there has been no canvass as yet,—his address isn't even +printed.” + </p> +<p> +“There has been a correspondence, however,” said Scanlan, with a knowing +wink. “Take my word for it, Mr. Repton, he 's a deep fellow.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you quite sure of this?—can you pledge yourself to its truth?” + </p> +<p> +“I only know that Father Rafferty said the night before last he was +satisfied with him, and the one difficulty was about old Nelligan, who +somehow is greatly incensed against Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'd have no chance in the borough without us,” said Repton, +confidently. +</p> +<p> +“If old Dan would consent to spend the money, he'd be the member in spite +of us,” rejoined Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“I'll not dispute local knowledge with you, sir,” said Repton, peevishly. +“Let us turn back at once. Where's Mr. Massingbred? I saw him standing on +the hill yonder a few minutes ago; maybe, he 's strolling along the road +in front.” Repton moved forward to a rising spot of ground, from whence a +wide view extended for a distance on every side, but no trace of +Massingbred could be discovered. “What can have become of him?—has +he turned towards Cro' Martin?” asked Repton. +</p> +<p> +“There he is,” cried Scanlan, suddenly; “there he is, walking with +Magennis. They're taking the short cut over the hills to Oughterard—that's +unfortunate, too!” + </p> +<p> +“How so?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, before they're in the town they'll be as thick as two pickpockets—see +how they 're talking! I think, if I was to drive on, I'd catch them before +they entered the town.” + </p> +<p> +“Do so, then, Scanlan. Say that a sudden message from Mr. Martin recalled +me, but that you'll drive him back with you to Cro' Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I to allude to the contents of the note, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“I think not; I opine it's best not to speak of it. Say, however, that +something of importance has occurred at Cro' Martin, and suggest to him +that the sooner he returns thither the better.” + </p> +<p> +There was an amount of vacillation and uncertainty about Repton's manner +as he uttered these few words that showed not only how gravely he regarded +the crisis, but how totally unprepared he found himself for the emergency. +Not so Scanlan, who took his seat once more on his lofty “buggy,” and was +soon spinning along the road at a pace of full twelve miles the hour. +</p> +<p> +As Repton drove back to Cro' Martin, he thought once, and not without +humiliation, of his late lessons in statecraft to young Massingbred. “To +fancy that I was instilling all these precepts at the very moment that he +was countermining us. The young villain is a worthy son of his father! And +how he will laugh at me, and make others laugh too! It will never do to +drive him into opposition to us. Martin must consent to make the best of +it, now, and accept him as his member,—for the present, at least. +With time and good opportunity we can manage to trip up his heels, but, +for the moment, there's no help for it.” And with these not very consoling +reflections he entered once more the grounds of Cro' Martin Castle. +</p> +<p> +Let us now turn to Massingbred, as, accompanied by Magennis, he walked at +a rapid pace towards Oughterard. It needed but a glance at the figures, +and the rate at which they moved, to see that these two men were bent upon +an object. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you see the town now before you?” said Magennis. “It's not much +above two miles, and by the road it is every step of six, or six and a +half; and if we walk as we're doing now, we'll be there at least twenty +minutes before them.” + </p> +<p> +“But what will Repton think of my leaving him in this fashion?” + </p> +<p> +“That it was a bit of your usual eccentricity,—no more,” said the +other, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You are quite certain of what you've just told me?” asked Jack, after a +pause. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you that you shall have it from Hosey's own lips. He showed the +post-mark on the back of the letter to Father Rafferty, and it was 'Cape +Town, August 24.' Now, as Hosey knows young Martin's writing as well as +any man, what doubt can there be about it?” + </p> +<p> +“By that calculation,” said Jack, thoughtfully, “he might be here within +the present month!” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly what Father Neal said.” + </p> +<p> +“A shrewd fellow that same Hosey must be to put things together in this +fashion,” said Jack. “Such a head as he has on his shoulders might n't be +a bad counsellor at this moment.” + </p> +<p> +“Just come and talk to him a bit,” rejoined Magennis; “say you want to be +trimmed about the whiskers, and he'll be a proud man to have you under his +hand.” + </p> +<p> +“And the committee are satisfied with my letter?” asked Jack. +</p> +<p> +“They are, and they are not; but, on the whole, they think it's a step in +the right direction to get anything out of the Martins, and, as Father +Neal remarks, 'where we can pass with our head, we can put our whole body +through.'” + </p> +<p> +“But what 's to be done about Nelligan? The breach with him is, I suspect, +irreparable.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, it was Nelligan himself moved the first resolution in the committee, +that your address be accepted as embodying the views—he said the +present views—of the liberal electors.” + </p> +<p> +“You amaze me!” cried Massingbred; “and Joe, where was he?” + </p> +<p> +“Joe is off to Dublin; there 's some examination or other he must attend. +But old Dan is your friend, rely upon that.” + </p> +<p> +“This is inexplicable,” muttered Jack to himself. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll go there, straight, the moment we get into the town. He 'll take +it as a great compliment; and you can talk to him frankly and openly, for +old Dan is a man to be trusted.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I could guess at how this reconciliation has been effected,” + muttered Jack. +</p> +<p> +“It was your letter did it, I think.” + </p> +<p> +“But I never wrote one.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, somebody else did, perhaps; at all events, Dan had an open letter +in his hand when he addressed the committee, and said, 'After reading +this, gentlemen,' said he, 'I can only say that I 'll not oppose Mr. +Massingbred; and if the free and independent men of Oughterard ask me who +is the man to represent them, I'll answer, he 's your man! And what's +more, there 's my name down for two hundred pounds for the election, if it +ever comes to be a contest!'” + </p> +<p> +“This is all very good, but very strange news,” cried Jack. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I can explain nothing of the mystery, if there be one. I only know +what I heard and saw myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us go to his house, at all events,” said Massingbred, who now +suffered his companion to rattle on about the state of parties and +politics in Oughterard, little heeding his remarks, and only bent on +following out his own thoughts. “Give whom the slip?” asked he, suddenly +catching at the last words of some observation of Magennis. +</p> +<p> +“The Martins, of course,” resumed the other; “for, as Father Neal says, +'if we can secure the borough for you, you can well afford to stand by <i>us</i>; +but if you were only Martin's member, he 'd drop you whenever it suited +him.'” + </p> +<p> +“As to-morrow, for instance, if his son should make his appearance!” + </p> +<p> +“Just so; and that's the very reason for not losing a minute about getting +the Martins in for the cost. What can they say, after choosing you and +putting you forward?” + </p> +<p> +“They might make a personal appeal to me,—a distinct request to give +place to the son.” + </p> +<p> +“And would n't you pay great attention to it?” said Magennis, in mockery. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not so very sure I 'd refuse,” said Massingbred, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, then, you 'd better be candid enough to tell the electors so 'at +once.' Look now, Mr. Massingbred,” said he, coming to a dead halt, and +standing directly in front of him; “we don't go the same road, not one +step, till I hear from you, distinctly and plainly, what you mean to do.” + </p> +<p> +“This is somewhat of a peremptory proceeding,” replied Jack. “I think it +would not be very unreasonable to allow a man in my situation a little +time for reflection.” + </p> +<p> +“Reflect upon what?” cried Magennis. “Is it what politics you 'd be? If +that's what you mean, I think you 'd better say nothing about it.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, Mac, you are not quite fair in this business; there <i>are</i> +difficulties,—there are embarrassments very often in the way of +doing things which we have made up our minds to do. Now, if I were +perfectly certain that the liberal interest here could succeed in spite of +Martin—” + </p> +<p> +“So it will.” + </p> +<p> +“You're sure of that?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll show it to you on paper. We 'd rather have Martin with us and no +contest, because it's cheaper; but if it must come to money, we 'll do +it.” + </p> +<p> +“Satisfy me on that point, and I'm with you; there's my hand on't!” + </p> +<p> +And Magennis grasped him in his own strong fingers to ratify the contract. +</p> +<p> +While “Mac” went on to give some insight into the views and wishes of his +party, they reached the town and entered the main street, and held their +way towards old Nelligan's shop. +</p> +<p> +“That's Father Neal's pony at the door,” said Mac, as they approached the +shop; “so we'll find them both together.” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely think I can enter here,” said Massingbred, “after what passed +last between us. We surely did not part as friends.” + </p> +<p> +“How little you know about us at all!” said Mac. “Old Dan bears you no +malice, I 'd lay fifty pounds on it! But, if you like, I 'll just step in +and take soundings.” + </p> +<p> +“Do so, then,” said Massingbred, not sorry to have even a few moments to +himself for quiet thought and consideration. He was still standing, and +deeply engrossed by his reflections, when he was aroused by hearing his +name called aloud, and, on looking up, perceived Magennis beckoning to him +from a window overhead. In obedience to the signal, Jack turned and +entered the shop, where his friend quickly joined him. “Old Dan is in his +bed, with a heavy cold and a rheumatism, but he 'll see you; and Father +Neal's with him, and Hayes, besides.” And with this information he hurried +Jack up the stairs, and led him into a darkened room, where the figures of +the priest and old Hayes were dimly discernible. Before Massingbred had +well crossed the door-sill, Nelligan called out, “Your servant, Mr. +Massingbred. I 'm more than pleased with your explanation. Let me shake +your hand once more.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not quite sure that I understand you,” said Jack, in a low voice; but +before he could continue, the priest advanced to greet him, followed by +old Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Wasn't I in luck to catch him on the road this morning?” said Magennis; +“he was coming in with the old Counsellor, and just got out to walk up a +hill—” + </p> +<p> +“Remember,” said Jack, “that I have few minutes to spare, for I must be in +waiting about the market-place when he drives in.” + </p> +<p> +“We must have a conference, though,” said Father Neal; “there 's much to +be settled. First of all, are we to coalesce for the representation?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, no!” cried Nelligan. “We 'll have it our own way. If Mr. +Massingbred will be our Member, we want no help from the Martins.” + </p> +<p> +“There 's five pounds, and I 'll make it guineas if you like,” said old +Hayes, putting a note upon the table; “but the devil a Whig or Tory will +ever get more out of Peter Hayes!” + </p> +<p> +A very good-natured laugh from the others showed how little umbrage the +frank avowal excited. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll not want for money, Peter, make your mind easy about that,” said +Dan. “When can you meet the committee, Mr. Massingbred? Could you say +to-night?” + </p> +<p> +“Better to-morrow morning. I must return to Cro' Martin this evening.” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly,—of course,” said Father Neal, blandly. “You 'll have to +come to an understanding with Mr. Martin about the borough, declare what +your principles are, and how, upon very mature consideration, you find you +can't agree with the opinions of himself and his party.” + </p> +<p> +Magennis winked significantly at Jack, as though to say, “Listen to <i>him; +he 's</i> the man to instruct and direct you;” and the priest resumed:— +</p> +<p> +“Go on to explain that your only utility in the House could arise from +your being the exponent of what you feel to be the truth about Ireland, +the crying evils of the Established Church, and the present tenure of +land! When you throw these two shells in, sir, the town will be on fire. +He 'll reply that under these circumstances there 's no more question +about your standing for the borough; you'll say nothing,—not a word, +not a syllable; you only smile. If Repton 's by—and he 's likely to +be—he 'll get hot, and ask you what you mean by that—” + </p> +<p> +“There 's Scanlan just driving round the corner,” said Magennis, in a +whisper; and Massingbred arose at once and drew nigh to the bedside. +</p> +<p> +“Could I say one word to you alone, Mr. Nelligan?” said he, in a low +voice. +</p> +<p> +“Of course,” said he. And whispering the priest to take the others into an +adjoining room, old Nelligan motioned Jack to sit down beside him. +</p> +<p> +“You said, as I came in,” said Jack, “that you were satisfied with my +explanation—” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure I was,” broke in Dan. “All I wanted to know was, that you +acted under a misconception. That being once explained, there was no +offence on either side. Now, Catty Henderson's letter to my wife put the +thing straight at once; she showed that <i>your</i> conduct at Cro' Martin +arose out of a notion that Joe had slighted you.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/302.jpg" width="100%" alt="302 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Have you got this letter?” asked Jack, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, then, I have not; his mother forwarded it to Joe by the same +post; but, as I tell you I 'm satisfied, there 's an end of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Scanlan 's asking for you below stairs,” said Magennis, putting in his +head; “and I hear them saying that they didn't see you in town.” + </p> +<p> +“All right,” said Jack; “so I'll just slip out by the garden gate and meet +him in the market-square.” And with a hurried leave-taking Jack withdrew, +his mind very far from that state of tranquil composure in which it was +his pride to affect that he invariably revelled. +</p> +<p> +“There they go!” cried Father Neal, shortly after, as Scanlan drove +rapidly by, with Massingbred beside him. “Maybe Master Maurice won't abuse +us all round before he turns in at the gate of Cro' Martin!” + </p> +<p> +“Massingbred is too cute to mind him,” said Magennis. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Tom, there 's one appeal men of his stamp are never deaf to. You may +say fifty things that won't shock them in religion or morals or good +taste; but only utter the one word 'vulgar,' and their indignation rises +at once. That's what Scanlan will do, take my word for it He 'll call us a +low set of fellows, that have no position in society,—no acceptance +anywhere.” + </p> +<p> +“But Massingbred is a gentleman born, and he won't be led astray by such a +consideration.” + </p> +<p> +“It is exactly for that very reason that he will,” said the priest, +stoutly. “It's a strange fact, but there 's no manner of man rates social +advantages so high as he that has them by right, and without any struggle +for them.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said old Hayes, slowly, “if I once thought that of him, the devil +a vote of mine he 'd get, no matter what his principles were.” + </p> +<p> +“And there you 're wrong, Peter,” said Nelligan. “Matters of good manners +and breeding need never be discussed between us. Mr. Massingbred will have +<i>his</i> station; we'll have <i>ours</i>. There 's a long and weary road +before us ere we come to think of our social condition. There 's many a +cruel statute to be abolished, many a hard grievance to be redressed.” + </p> +<p> +“And besides that,” said Father Neal, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye, +“while we 're doing the one we 'll be helping on the other. Political +influence always did, and always will, include rank and station in the +world. When English Ministers find their best ally in the Irish Priest, +there will be no more sneers at his brogue nor his boots. Men of family +and fortune won't shrink from their contact, and maybe you 'll see the day +yet when coaches and chariots will drive up to the chapel, and ladies in +satin and velvet step out to hear Mass.” + </p> +<p> +A prophetic view of the Millennium itself could not have astonished old +Peter Hayes more completely than did this marvellous suggestion of Father +Neal; and he moved away muttering a “Heaven grant it!” between his teeth. +</p> +<p> +“Where's the next meeting of the committee to be?” asked Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“In the Chapel House, to-morrow, at eleven. And that reminds me I 've not +sent out the summonses.” And so saying, Father Neal hastily took leave of +his friends and left the room. +</p> +<p> +Let us take a glance at Mr. Maurice Scanlan, as, with an extra box-coat +ingeniously wrapped around his lower man, he discoursed pleasantly to his +companion while he “tooled” along towards Cro' Martin. Not a word of +politics, not a syllable on the subject of party, escaped him as he +talked. His conversation was entirely of sporting matters: the odds +against Leander, the last bettings on “Firebrand,” whether Spicy Bill was +really in bad training, as the knowing ones said, and if the course +wouldn't “puzzle the young ones” if the wet weather were to continue. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred was sufficiently well versed in these classic themes to be an +amusing and even instructive companion, and communicated many a sly piece +of intelligence that would have been deemed priceless in “Bell's Life;” + and Scanlan quickly conceived a high estimate for one who had graduated at +Newmarket, and taken honors at Goodwood. +</p> +<p> +“After the kind of life you 've led in England, I wonder how you endure +this country at all,” said Maurice, with real sincerity of voice and +manner. +</p> +<p> +“I like it,” said Jack; “the whole thing is new to me, and vastly amusing. +I don't mean to say I 'd willingly pass a lifetime in this fashion, but +for a few weeks—” + </p> +<p> +“Just so; to give you a better relish for the real thing when you go back +again,” said Maurice. +</p> +<p> +“What a neat stepper that leader is!” said Jack, to change the topic from +himself and his own affairs. “She's a well-bred one; that's clear.” + </p> +<p> +“Nearly full-bred; the least bit of cocktail in the world. She's out of +Crescent, that ran a very good third for the Oaks.” + </p> +<p> +“A strong horse, and a very honest one,” said Jack. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I bought that little mare from young Mr. Martin—the Captain—when +he was ordered out to India; I put her in training, and ran her at the +Curragh in three weeks, and won, too, the St. Lawrence Handicap.” + </p> +<p> +“Is Captain Martin a sporting character?” asked Jack, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“He is and he is not,” said Scanlan, half querulously. “He likes a safe +thing,—do you understand?” and he gave a most significant wink as he +spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, then he's close about money matters?” said Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“Not exactly that. He 's wasteful and spendthrift, but he'd go to the +world's end to do a knowing thing; you 've seen men of that kind?” + </p> +<p> +“Scores of them,” replied Jack; “and they were always the easiest fellows +to be duped!” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly my own experience,” said Scanlan, delighted to find his opinions +confirmed in such a quarter. “Now, young Martin would give five hundred +pounds for a horse to win a fifty pound cup. Don't you know what I mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly,” said Massingbred, with an approving smile. +</p> +<p> +“Nobody knows the sums he has drawn since he went away,” exclaimed +Scanlan, who was momentarily growing more and more confidential. +</p> +<p> +“There 's a deal of high play in India; perhaps he gambles,” said Jack, +carelessly. +</p> +<p> +A significant wink and nod gave the answer. +</p> +<p> +“Well, well,” added he, after a pause, “he 'll not mend matters by coming +back again.” + </p> +<p> +“And is he about to visit England?” asked Massingbred, in the same easy +tone. +</p> +<p> +“So they say,” replied Scanlan, with an effort at the easy indifference of +the other. +</p> +<p> +“On leave, perhaps?” said Jack, indolently. +</p> +<p> +“That 's more than I know,” replied he, and relapsed into a thoughtful +silence, during which Massingbred continued to scan his features with a +sly, downcast glance peculiar to himself. +</p> +<p> +“You've never been in Leicestershire, Mr. Scanlan?” said he, when he had +fully satisfied himself with his examination. “Well, then, come over there +in the spring—say about March next—and pay me a visit. I 've +got a sort of hunting-box there, with a neat stable, and by that time I +hope to raise funds for a couple of nags.” + </p> +<p> +“Trust <i>me</i> for the horseflesh, sir. I know where to mount you this +very minute. You 're not much above eleven stone?” + </p> +<p> +“Eleven-eight,—at least, so I used to be. Is it a bargain? Will you +come?” + </p> +<p> +“There's my hand on't,” said the attorney, overjoyed at the prospect. +</p> +<p> +“Mackworth, and Lord Harry Coverdale, and Sir Went-worth Danby, and a few +more, are all my neighbors. Capital fellows, whom you 'll be delighted +with. Just the sort of men to suit you,—up to everything that means +sport.” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly what I like!” cried Maurice, in ecstasy. +</p> +<p> +“We'll arrange it all this evening, then,” said Jack. “Just drop into my +room after they 're all gone to bed, and we'll have a talk over it. You +don't know my father, do you?” + </p> +<p> +“I haven't that honor,” said Scanlan, with an accent of real deference in +his voice. +</p> +<p> +“Another kind of person from these I've mentioned,” said Jack, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“So I should suppose, sir,” said Scanlan, a tone of respect involuntarily +attaching itself to him as he addressed the son of a Secretary of State. +</p> +<p> +“Not that he doesn't like field sports, and all the enjoyments of a +country life. But, you know, he's an old official—a Downing Street +veteran—who really relishes public business, just as you and I would +a coursing-match, or a heavy pool at Crocky's.” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan nodded as if in perfect assent. +</p> +<p> +“While I say this, it's only fair to add that he has most excellent +qualities, and is a stanch friend when he takes any one up. I suspect you +'d like him. I know he 'd like your—” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm greatly flattered. I don't deserve—” + </p> +<p> +“You see,” said Jack, not heeding the interruption, and assuming the low +accents of a confidential communication—“You see, he and I have not +been on the very best of terms for some time back; I 've done some silly +things—spent a little more money than he liked—and, what was +still worse in his eyes, refused a first-rate Government appointment—a +really good thing, and such as one does n't meet with every day—and +now, the only road back to his favor will be for me to come out strongly +in some shape, either as a college prizeman or in public life. I despise +the former. It's all very well for fellows like Nelligan—it's their +natural 'beat,'—but for a man like <i>me</i>, one who has seen the +world,—the real world,—these are nothing more than schoolboy +distinctions,—the silver medal he brings home of a Saturday, and +makes him the wonder of his sisters for twenty-four hours. I'll have to +strike out a line of my own!” + </p> +<p> +“No fear of you, sir,—devil a bit!” said Maurice, with a sententious +shake of the head. “Here we are now at Cro' Martin, and then there's the +first dinner-bell ringing.” + </p> +<p> +“We shall be late, perhaps,” said Jack. +</p> +<p> +“You'll be in good time. As for me, I haven't been asked to dinner, so +that when I drop you I 'll go down to the village.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, then, I 'll walk over and see you in the evening,” said +Massingbred. “It seems to me—I don't know whether you are of the +same opinion, though—but it seems strongly to me that you and I +ought to be allies.” + </p> +<p> +“If I thought I was worthy—” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, Scanlan, no modesty, old boy. You know you 're a devilish +clever fellow, and you no more intend to pass your life cruising after +petty-session practice in Galway, than I do to settle down here as +under-gardener.” + </p> +<p> +“They 're all looking at us, sir, from the drawing-room window,” said +Scanlan, in a cautious voice; “don't let us appear too confidential.” And +at the same instant he extended his whip as though to point attention to +some distant object, and seem as if he were describing the scenery. +</p> +<p> +“Shrewd dog it is,” muttered Massingbred in soliloquy, but taking good +care to be overheard. “I 'll beat up your quarters, Scanlan, in a couple +of hours or so,” said Massingbred, as he descended from the lofty “drag.” + </p> +<p> +Somewhat, but not very much, later than the time appointed, Jack +Massingbred appeared in the small chamber of the “Crueskeen,”—the +humble hostel on the roadside adjoining the demesne of Cro' Martin. +Maurice Scanlan had made every preparation which the fluid resources of +the house admitted to receive his guest, but they were not destined to be +put in requisition. +</p> +<p> +“I have only come lest you should accuse me of forgetting you, Scanlan,” + said Massingbred, as he stood in the doorway without removing his hat. “I +'m off to Oughter-ard, having made my adieux at Cro' Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“Left Cro' Martin, and for good!” exclaimed Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“If that means forever, I suspect you 're right,” replied Jack; “but you +'ll have the whole story in the morning when you go up there, and +doubtless more impartially than I should tell it. And now, good-bye for a +brief space. We shall meet soon.” And, without waiting for an answer, he +nodded familiarly, stepped briskly to the door, where a post-chaise +awaited him, and was gone, before Scanlan had even half recovered from his +astonishment and surprise. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. AN AWKWARD VISITOR +</h2> +<p> +It is a singularly impressive sensation, and one, too, of which even +frequency will scarcely diminish the effect, to pass from the busy streets +and moving population of Dublin, and enter the quiet courts of the +University. The suddenness of the change is most striking, and you pass at +once from all the bustling interests of life—its cares and +ambitions, its pursuits of wealth and pleasure—into the stillness of +a cloister. Scarcely within the massive gates, and the noise of the great +capital is hushed and subdued, its sounds seem to come from afar, and in +their place is an unbroken calm, or the more solemn echoes of its vaulted +roofs. +</p> +<p> +In a corner of the Old Square, and in a building almost entirely occupied +by the University authorities, and whose stairs had seldom echoed beneath +less reverend footsteps than those of deans and bursars, were the chambers +of Joe Nelligan. He had obtained them in this peculiar locality as a +special favor from “the Board,” as eminently suited to his habits of study +and seclusion; for his was indeed a life of labor,—labor, hard, +unremitting, and unbroken! Dreary as was the aspect of the spot, it was +one dear to the heart of him who occupied it. If it had been the cell +wherein he had passed nights of severest toil and days of intense effort, +so had it been the calm retreat into which he had retired as a sanctuary, +and at times the scene of the hallowed joy he felt when success had +crowned all his labors. Thither had he bent his steps at nightfall, as to +a home; thence had he written the few lines which more than once announced +his triumph to his father. +</p> +<p> +Within those halls had he experienced all that he had ever tasted of +successful ambition, and in the depths of that old chair had he dreamed +away all the visions of a glorious future. The room in which he sat was a +large and lofty one, lighted by two windows deeply set in the wall. Its +sides were lined with book-shelves, and books littered the tables and even +the floor,—for it was one of his caprices to read as he lay at full +length, either on the ground or a sofa,—and the paper and pens were +scattered about in different quarters, as accident suggested. The only +thing like ornament to be seen was a lithographic print of Cro' Martin +Castle over the fireplace,—a strange exception would it seem, but +traceable, perhaps, to some remote scene of boyish admiration for what had +first awakened in him a feeling of awe and admiration; and there it now +remained, time-worn and discolored, perhaps unnoticed, or looked on with +very different emotions. Ay! these pictures are terrible landmarks of our +thoughts! I speak not of such as appeal to our hearts by the features we +loved, the eyes into whose depths we have gazed, the lips on whose accents +we have hung entranced, but even when they trace the outlines of some spot +well known to us in boyhood,—some scene of long, long years ago. It +is not alone that the “Then” and “Now” stand out in strongest contrast, +that what we were and what we are are in juxtaposition, but that whole +memories of what we once hoped to be come rushing over us, and all the +spirit-stirring emotions of early ambitions mingle themselves with the +stern realities of the present. And, after all, what success in life, +however great and seemingly unexpected it may be, ever equals one of the +glorious daydreams of our boyish ambition, in which there comes no alloy +of broken health, wasted energies, and exhausted spirits? or, far worse +again, the envious jealousy of those we once deemed friends, and who, had +we lived obscurely, still might be such? Student life is essentially +imaginative. The very division of time, the objects which have value to a +student's eyes, the seclusion in which he lives, the tranquil frame of +mind coexistent with highly strained faculties, all tend to make his +intervals of repose periods of day-dream and revery. It is not improbable +that these periods are the fitting form of relaxation for overtaxed minds, +and that the Imagination is the soothing influence that repairs the wear +and tear of Reason. +</p> +<p> +The peculiar circumstances of young Nelligan's position in life had almost +totally estranged him from others. The constraint that attaches to a very +bashful temperament had suggested to him a certain cold and reserved +manner, that some took for pride, and many were repelled from his intimacy +by this seeming haughtiness. The unhappy course of what had been his first +friendship—for such was it with Massingbred—had rendered him +more distrustful than ever of himself, and more firmly convinced that to +men born as he had been the world imposes a barrier that only is passable +by the highest and greatest success. It is true, his father's letter of +explanation assuaged the poignancy of his sorrow; he saw that Massingbred +had proceeded under a misconception, and had believed himself the +aggrieved individual; but all these considerations could not obliterate +the fact that an insult to his social station was the vengeance adopted by +him, and that Massingbred saw no more galling outrage in his power than to +reflect upon his rank in life. +</p> +<p> +There are men who have a rugged pride in contrasting what they were with +what they are. Their self-love finds an intense pleasure in contemplating +difficulties overcome, obstacles surmounted, and a goal won, all by their +own unaided efforts, and to such the very obscurity of their origin is a +source of boastful exultation. Such men are, however, always found in the +ranks of those whose success is wealth. Wherever the triumphs are those +rewarded by station, or the distinctions conferred on intellectual +superiority, this vainglorious sentiment is unknown. An inborn refinement +rejects such coarse pleasure, just as their very habits of life derive no +enjoyment from the display and splendor reflected by riches. +</p> +<p> +Joe Nelligan felt his lowly station most acutely, because he saw in it a +disqualification for that assured and steady temperament which can make +most of success. He would have given half of all he might possess in the +world for even so much of birth as might exempt him from a sneer. The +painful sensitiveness that never rested nor slept—that made him +eternally on the watch lest some covert allusion might be made to him—was +a severe suffering; and far from decreasing, it seemed to grow with him as +he became older, and helped mainly to withdraw him further from the world. +</p> +<p> +No error is more common than for bashful men to believe that they are +unpopular in society, and that the world “will none of them.” They +interpret their own sense of difficulty as a feeling of dislike in others, +and retire to their solitudes convinced that these are their fitting +dwelling-places. To this unpalatable conviction was Joseph Nelligan now +come; and as he entered his chambers, and closed the heavy door behind +him, came the thought: “Here at least no mortifications can reach me. +These old books are my truest and best of friends, and in their +intercourse there is neither present pain nor future humiliation!” + </p> +<p> +It was on a dark and dreary day in winter, and in that cheerless hour +before the closing in of night, that Joseph sat thus in his solitary home. +The sound of carriage-wheels and the sharp tramp of horses' feet—a +rare event in these silent courts—slightly aroused him from a +revery; but too indolent to go to the window, he merely raised his head to +listen; and now a loud knock shook the outer door of his chambers. With a +strange sense of perturbation at this unwonted summons, he arose and +opened it. +</p> +<p> +“The Chief Secretary begs to know if Mr. Nelligan is at home?” said a +well-powdered footman, in a plain but handsome livery. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I am the person,” said Joseph, with a diffidence strongly in +contrast with the composure of the other; and while he yet stood, door in +hand, the steps of the carriage were let down, and a tall +venerable-looking man, somewhat past the prime of life, descended and +approached him. +</p> +<p> +“I must be my own introducer, Mr. Nelligan,” said he; “my name is +Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +With considerable confusion of manner, and in all that hurry in which +bashful men seek to hide their awkwardness, Joseph ushered his visitor +into his dimly lighted chamber. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Massingbred, with all the staid composure of a very quiet +demeanor, had quite sufficient tact to see that he was in the company of +one little versed in the world, and, as soon as he took his seat, +proceeded to explain the reason of his visit. +</p> +<p> +“My son has told me of the great pleasure and profit he has derived from +knowing you, sir,” said he; “he has also informed me that a slight and +purely casual event interrupted the friendship that existed between you; +and although unable himself to tender personally to you at this moment all +his regrets on the subject, he has charged me to be his interpreter, and +express his deep sorrow for what has occurred, and his hope that, after +this avowal, it may never be again thought of by either of you.” + </p> +<p> +“There was a misunderstanding,—a fault on both sides. I was wrong in +the first instance,” said Nelligan, faltering and stammering at every +word. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Nelligan is in a position to be generous,” said the Colonel, blandly, +“and he cannot better show the quality than by accepting a frank and full +apology for a mere mistake. May I trust,” continued he,—but with +that slight change of tone that denoted a change of topic,—“that you +have somewhat abated those habits of severe study you have hitherto +pursued? Jack is really uneasy on that score, and wisely remarks that +great talents should be spared the penalty of great labor.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not reading now. I have read very little of late,” said Joseph, +diffidently. +</p> +<p> +“I can imagine what that means,” said the Colonel, smiling. “Mr. +Nelligan's relaxations would be the hard labor of less zealous students; +but I will also say that upon other grounds this must be done with more +consideration. The public interests, Mr. Nelligan,—the country, to +whose service you will one day be called on to contribute those high +abilities,—will not be satisfied to learn that their exercise should +have been impaired by over-effort in youth.” + </p> +<p> +“You overrate me much, sir. I fear that you have been misled both as to my +capacity and my objects.” + </p> +<p> +“Your capacity is matter of notoriety, Mr. Nelligan! your objects may be +as high as any ambition can desire. But perhaps it is obtrusive in one so +new to your acquaintance to venture on these topics; if so, pray forgive +me, and set it down to the error I have fallen into of fancying that I +know you as well personally as I do by reputation and character.” + </p> +<p> +Before Nelligan could summon words to reply to this complimentary speech, +the door of his room was flung suddenly open, and a short, thickset +figure, shrouded in a coarse shawl and a greatcoat, rushed towards him, +exclaiming in a rich brogue,— +</p> +<p> +“Here I am, body and bones; just off the coach, and straight to your +quarters.” + </p> +<p> +“What! Mr. Crow; is it possible?” cried Nelligan, in some confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Just himself, and no other,” replied the artist, disengaging himself from +his extra coverings. “When you said to me, 'Come and see me when you visit +Dublin,' I said to myself, 'There 's a trump, and I 'll do it;' and so +here I am.” + </p> +<p> +“You left the country yesterday. Did you bring me any letters?” asked +Nelligan; but in the uncertain tone of a man who talked merely to say +something. +</p> +<p> +“Not a line,—not a word. Your father was over head and ears at work +this week back about the election, and it was only the night before last +it was over.” + </p> +<p> +“And is it over?” asked Nelligan, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure it is. Young Massingbred is in, and a nice business it is.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me inform you, Mr. Crow, before you proceed further—” broke in +Nelligan; but as he got so far, Colonel Massingbred laid his hand on his +arm, and said, in a bland but steady voice, “Pray allow the gentleman to +continue; his account promises to be most interesting.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, then, that's what it is not,” said Crow; “for I think it's all +bad from beginning to end.” Another effort to interrupt by Nelligan being +repressed by the Colonel, Crow resumed: “Everybody trying to cheat +somebody else; the Martins wanting to cheat the borough, the borough +wanting to jockey the Martins, and then young Massingbred humbugging them +both! And there he is now, Member for Oughterard; and much he cares for +them both.” + </p> +<p> +“Was there a contest, sir?” asked the Colonel, while by a gesture he +enforced silence on Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“As bitter a one as ever you saw in your life,” continued Simmy, quite +flattered at the attention vouchsafed him; “for though the Martins put +young Massingbred forward at first, they quarrelled with him before the +day for the nomination,—something or other about the franchise, or +Maynooth, or the Church Establishment. Sorra one o' me know much about +these matters; but it was a serious difference, and they split about it! +And after all their planning and conniving together, what do they do but +propose Martin's son, the man in the dragoons, for the borough! +Massingbred bids them do their worst, packs up, sets out for the town, and +makes a speech exposing them all! The next morning he comes to the poll, +with Joe's father there, and Peter Hayes, to propose and second him. +Martin drives in with three elegant coaches and four, and tries to do the +thing 'grand.' 'It's too late, sir; the people know their power,' as +Father Neal told them; and, upon my conscience, I believe it's a most +dangerous kind of knowledge. At all events, at it they go; and such +fighting and murdering nobody ever saw before. There's not a whole pane of +glass in the town, and many a skull cracked as well! One of the wickedest +of the set was young Massingbred himself; he 'd assault the cars as they +drove in, and tear out the chaps he thought were his own voters, in spite +of themselves. He has the spirit of the devil in him! And then to hear how +he harangued the people and abused the aristocracy. Maybe he did n't lay +it on well! To be sure, the Martins drove him to it very hard. They called +him a 'renegade' and a 'spy.' They ransacked everything they could get +against his character, and at last declared that he had no qualification, +and wasn't worth sixpence.” + </p> +<p> +“And how did he answer that?” cried the Colonel, who, fixing his eyes on +the other, entirely engaged his attention. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you how he did. Just producing the title-deeds of an estate +that old Nelligan settled on him eight days before,—ay, and so well +and securely that Counsellor Repton himself, with all his cuteness, could +n't find a flaw in it. Repton said, in my own hearing, 'That 's the +cleverest blackguard in Ireland!'” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Crow—Crow, I say,” broke in young Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Pray don't interrupt him,” said the Colonel, in a tone that seemed to +demand obedience; “I want to learn by what majority he gained the day.” + </p> +<p> +“Thirty-eight or thirty-nine; and there's only two hundred and odd in the +borough. There may be, perhaps, a dozen of these to strike off on a +petition; but he 's all safe after that.” + </p> +<p> +“And will they petition against his return?” + </p> +<p> +“They say so, but nobody believes them. His father,”—and here he +made a gesture towards Nelligan,—“his father has a strong purse, and +will see him well through it all.” + </p> +<p> +“This is very interesting news to me, sir,” said the Colonel, with another +sign to Joseph not to betray him; “for although I could well imagine Jack +Massingbred equal to such an occasion as you describe, I was scarcely +prepared to hear of the generous confidence reposed in him, nor the prompt +and able co-operation of the Liberal party.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, I perceive,” said Crow, with a significant motion of his eyebrows. +“You thought that his name would be against him, and that people would +say, 'Is n't he the son of old Moore Massingbred, that took his bribe for +the Union?'” + </p> +<p> +“This is intolerable,” cried Nelligan, starting up from his seat and +speaking with all the vehemence of outraged feelings. “It is to Colonel +Massingbred himself you have dared to address this impertinence.” + </p> +<p> +“What—how—what's this!” exclaimed Crow, in a perfect horror of +shame. +</p> +<p> +“The fault, if there be any, is all mine, sir,” said the Colonel, pressing +him down into his seat. “I would not have lost the animated description +you have just given me, uttered, as it was, in such perfect frankness, for +any consideration; least of all, at the small price of hearing a public +expression on a public man's conduct. Pray, now, continue to use the same +frankness, and tell me anything more that occurs to you about this +remarkable contest.” + </p> +<p> +This appeal, uttered in all the ease of a well-bred manner, was quite +unsuccessful. Mr. Crow sat perfectly horrified with himself, endeavoring +to remember what possible extent of offence he might have been betrayed +into by his narrative. As for Nelligan, his shame and confusion were even +greater still; and he sat gazing ruefully and reproachfully at the unlucky +painter. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Massingbred made one or two more efforts to relieve the +awkwardness of the incident, but so palpably fruitless were the attempts +that he desisted, and arose to take his leave. As Joe accompanied him to +the door, he tried to blunder out some words of excuse. “My dear Mr. +Nelligan,” broke in the other, with a quiet laugh, “don't imagine for a +moment that I am offended. In the first place, your friend was the bearer +of very pleasant tidings, for Jack has not condescended to write to me +about his success; and secondly, public life is such a stern schoolmaster, +that men like myself get accustomed to rather rough usage, particularly at +the hands of those who do not know us. And now, as I am very unwilling to +include you in this category, when will you come and see me? What day will +you dine with me?” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan blushed and faltered, just as many another awkward man has done +in a similar circumstance; for, however an easy matter for you, my dear +sir, with all your tact and social readiness, to fix the day it will suit +you to accept of an almost stranger's hospitality, Joseph had no such +self-possession, and only stammered and grew crimson. +</p> +<p> +“Shall it be on Saturday? for to-morrow I am engaged to the Chancellor, +and on Friday I dine with his Excellency. Will Saturday suit you?” asked +the Colonel. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, perfectly; with much pleasure,” answered Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Then Saturday be it, and at seven o'clock,” said Massingbred, shaking his +hand most cordially; while Joe, with sorrowful step, returned to his +chamber. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I think I did it there, at all events!” cried Simmy, as the other +entered. “But what, in the name of all that's barefaced, prevented your +stopping me? Why did n't you pull me up short before I made a beast of +myself?” + </p> +<p> +“How could I? You rushed along like a swollen river. You were so full of +your blessed subject that you would n't heed an interruption; and as to +signs and gestures, I made twenty without being able to catch your eye.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe I 'm the only man living ever does these things,” said Simmy, +ruefully. “I lost the two or three people that used to say they were my +friends by some such blundering folly as this. I only hope it won't do <i>you</i> +any mischief. I trust he 'll see that you are not responsible for my +delinquencies!” + </p> +<p> +There was a hearty sincerity in poor Simmy's sorrow that at once +conciliated Nelligan, and he did his best to obliterate every trace of the +unhappy incident. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely supposed my father would have forgiven Massingbred so easily,” + said Joe, in his desire to change the topic. +</p> +<p> +“Blarney,—all blarney!” muttered Crow, with an expressive movement +of his eyebrows. +</p> +<p> +“Father Neal himself is rather a difficult subject to treat with,” added +Joe. +</p> +<p> +“Blarney again!” + </p> +<p> +“Nor do I think,” continued Nelligan, “that the constituency of the +borough, as a body, are remarkable for any special liability to be imposed +on!” + </p> +<p> +“Nor would they, had it been an Irishman was trying to humbug them,” said +Crow, emphatically. “Take my word for it,—and I 've seen a great +deal of the world, and perhaps not the best of it either,—but take +<i>my</i> word for it, English blarney goes further with us here than all +else. It 's not that it's clever or insinuating or delicate,—far +from it; but you see that nobody suspects it. The very blunders and +mistakes of it have an air of sincerity, and we are, besides, so +accustomed always to be humbugged with a brogue, that we fancy ourselves +safe when we hear an English accent.” + </p> +<p> +“There's some ingenuity in your theory,” said Joe, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“There's fact in it; that's what there is,” said Crow, rising from his +seat. “I 'll be going now, for I 'm to dine with Tom Magennis at six.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he here, too?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; and was n't it a piece of good luck that I did n't say anything +about him before Colonel Massingbred?” + </p> +<p> +“Why so?” + </p> +<p> +“Just for this, then,—that it was young Massingbred gave him a +letter to his father, recommending him for some place or other. Half of +the borough expects to be in the Treasury, or the Post-Office, or the +Board of Trade; and I was just on the tip of saying what a set of +rapscallions they were. I 'm sure I don't know what saved me from it.” + </p> +<p> +“Your natural discretion, doubtless,” said Joe, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; it must have been that!” replied he, with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +“You'll breakfast with me to-morrow, Crow, at eight,” said Nelligan, as he +parted with him at the door. And Simmy, having pledged himself to be +punctual, hurried off to keep his dinner appointment. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. A DAY “AFTER” + </h2> +<p> +The reaction that succeeds to a period of festivity has always an air of +peculiar sadness and gloom about it. The day after a ball, the withered +flowers, the faded decorations, the disordered furniture,—all tell +the tale of departed pleasure and past enjoyment. The afternoon of that +morning which has witnessed a wedding-breakfast,—the April landscape +of joy and grief, the bridal beauty, and the high-beating hope of the +happy lover, have all fled; and in the still and silent chambers there +seems to brood a sense of sorrow and mourning. Still with these thoughts +happier memories are mingled. The bright pageant of the past rises again +before the mind; and smiles and music and laughter and graceful forms come +back, and people space with their images. But how different from all this +was the day after the election at Cro' Martin! +</p> +<p> +For a week had the Martins condescended to derogate from their proud +station and “play popular” to the electors of Oughterard. They had opened +their most sumptuous apartments to vulgar company, and made guests of +those they deemed inferior to their own domestics. They had given dinners +and suppers and balls and picnics. They had lavished all the flatteries of +attentions on their rude neighbors. They had admitted them to all the +privileges of a mock equality, “so like the real article as not to be +detected.” They had stored their minds with all the lives and adventures +of these ignoble intimates, so as to impart a false color of friendship to +their conversation with them; in a word, and to use one by which her +Ladyship summed up all the miseries of the occasion, they had +“demoralized” more in a week than she believed it possible could have been +effected in ten years. Let us be just, and add that my Lady had taken the +phrase bodily out of her French vocabulary, and in her ardor applied it +with its native signification,—that is, she alluded to the sad +consequences of association with underbred company, and not by any means +to any inroads made upon her sense of honor and high principle. +</p> +<p> +Still, whatever pangs the sacrifice was costing within, it must be owned +that no signs of them displayed themselves on the outside. Even Repton, +stern critic as he was, said that “they did the thing well.” And now it +was all over, the guests gone, the festivities ended, the election lost, +and nothing in prospect save to settle the heavy outlay of the contest, +and pay the high price for that excessively dear article which combines +contamination with disappointment. +</p> +<p> +In her capacity of head of the administration, Lady Dorothea had assumed +the whole guidance of this contest. With Miss Henderson as her private +secretary, she had corresponded and plotted and bribed and intrigued to +any extent; and although Repton was frequently summoned to a council, his +advice was very rarely, if ever, adopted. Her Ladyship's happy phrase—“one +ought to know their own borough people better than a stranger”—usually +decided every vexed question in favor of her judgment. +</p> +<p> +It is a strange characteristic of human nature that at no time do people +inveigh so loudly against bad faith, treachery, and so on, as when +themselves deeply engaged in some very questionable enterprise. Now her +Ladyship had so fully made up her mind to win in this contest that she had +silenced all scruples as to the means. She had set out with some +comfortable self-assurance that she knew what was good for those “poor +creatures” infinitely better than they did. That it was her duty—a +very onerous and disagreeable one, too—to rescue them from the evil +influence of demagogues and such like; and that when represented by a +member of <i>her</i> family, they would be invested with a pledge that +everything which proper legislation could do for them would be theirs. So +far she had the approval of her own conscience; and for all that was to +follow after, she never consulted that tribunal. It is not at all +improbable that there was little opportunity of doing so in a week of such +bustle and excitement. Every day brought with it fresh cares and troubles; +and although Kate Henderson proved herself invaluable in her various +functions, her Ladyship's fatigues and exertions were of the greatest. +</p> +<p> +The day after the election Lady Dorothea kept her bed. The second day, +too, she never made her appearance; and it was late in the afternoon of +the third that she stole languidly into her library, and ordered her maid +to send Miss Henderson to her. +</p> +<p> +As Kate entered the room, she could not help feeling struck by the +alteration that had taken place in her Ladyship's appearance, who, as she +lay back in a deep chair, with closed eyes and folded hands, looked like +one risen from a long sick-bed. +</p> +<p> +As she started and opened her eyes, however, at Kate's approach, the +features assumed much of their wonted expression, and their haughty +character was only tinged, but not subdued, by the look of sorrow they +wore. With the low and pleasant voice which Kate possessed in perfection, +she had begun to utter some words of pleasure at seeing her Ladyship +again, when the other interrupted her hastily, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“I want you to read to me, child. There, take that volume of Madame de +Sevigne, and begin where you see the mark. You appear weak to-day,—tired, +perhaps?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, a mere passing sense of fatigue, my Lady,” said Kate, assuming her +place, and preparing her book. +</p> +<p> +“Chagrin, annoyance—disgust I would call it—are far more +wearing than mere labor. For my own part, I think nothing of exertion. But +let us not speak of it. Begin.” + </p> +<p> +And Kate now commenced one of those charming letters, wherein the thought +is so embellished by the grace of expression that there is a perpetual +semblance of originality, without that strain upon the comprehension that +real novelty exacts. She read, too, with consummate skill. To all the +natural gifts of voice and utterance she added a most perfect taste, and +that nicely subdued dramatic feeling which lends to reading its great +fascination. Nearly an hour had thus passed, and not a word nor a gesture +from Lady Dorothea interrupted the reader. With slightly drooped eyelids, +she sat calm and tranquil; and as Kate, at moments, stole a passing glance +towards her, she could not guess whether she was listening to her or not. +</p> +<p> +“You'd have succeeded on the stage, Miss Henderson,” said she at length, +raising her eyes slowly. “Did it never occur to you to think of that +career?” + </p> +<p> +“Once I had some notion of it, my Lady,” said Kate quietly. “I played in a +little private theatre of the Duchess's, and they thought that I had some +dramatic ability.” + </p> +<p> +“People of condition have turned actors, latterly,—men, of course, I +mean; for women, the ordeal is too severe,—the coarse familiarity of +a very coarse class, the close association with most inferior natures—By +the way, what a week of it we have had! I 'd not have believed any one who +told me that the whole globe contained as much unredeemed vulgarity as +this little neighborhood. What was the name of the odious little woman +that always lifted the skirt of her dress before sitting down?” + </p> +<p> +“Mrs. Creevy, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure,—Mrs. Creevy. And her friend, who always came with her?” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Busk—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, of course; Miss Busk, of the Emporium. If I don't mistake, I 've +given her an order for something,—bonnets, or caps; what is it?” + </p> +<p> +“A head-dress. Your Ladyship told her—” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll make me ill, child—positively ill—if you remind me of +such horrors. I told you to come and read for me, and you begin to inflict +me with what—I declare solemnly—is the most humiliating +incident of my life.” + </p> +<p> +Kate resumed her book, and read on. Lady Dorothea was now, however, +unmistakably inattentive, and the changing color of her cheek betrayed the +various emotions which moved her. +</p> +<p> +“I really fancy that Miss Martin liked the atrocious creatures we have +received here the past week; she certainly showed them a species of +attention quite distinct from mere acceptance; and then they all addressed +her like old acquaintance. Did you observe that?” + </p> +<p> +“I thought that they assumed a degree of familiarity with Miss Martin +which was scarcely consistent with their station.” + </p> +<p> +“Say highly ridiculous, child,—perfectly preposterous; for although +she will persist in a style of living very opposite to the requirements of +her position, she is Miss Martin, and <i>my</i> niece!” + </p> +<p> +There was now a dead pause of some seconds. At length her Ladyship spoke:— +</p> +<p> +“To have been beaten in one's own town, where we own every stick and stone +in the place, really requires some explanation; and the more I reflect +upon it, the more mysterious does it seem. Repton, indeed, had much to say +to it. He is so indiscreet,—eh, don't you think so?” + </p> +<p> +“He is very vain of his conversational powers, my Lady, and, like all +clever talkers, says too much.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so. But I don't think him even agreeable. I deem him a bore,” said +my Lady, snappishly. “That taste for story-telling—that anecdotic +habit—is quite vulgar; nobody does it now.” + </p> +<p> +Kate listened, as though too eager for instruction to dare to lose a word, +and her Ladyship went on:— +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, everybody—in society, I mean—knows every +story that can or ought to be told; and, secondly, a narrative always +interrupts conversation, which is a game to be played by several.” + </p> +<p> +Kate nodded slightly, as though to accord as much acquiescence as +consorted with great deference. +</p> +<p> +“It is possible, therefore,” resumed her Ladyship, “that he may have +divulged many things in that careless way he talked; and my niece, too, +may have been equally silly. In fact, one thing is clear,—the enemy +acquired a full knowledge of our tactics, and met every move we made by +another. I was prepared for all the violence, all the insult, all the +licentious impertinence and ribaldry of such a contest; but certainly I +reckoned on success.” Another long and dreary pause ensued, and Lady +Dorothea's countenance grew sadder and more clouded as she sat in moody +silence. At length a faint tinge of color marked her cheek; her eyes +sparkled, and it was in a voice of more than ordinary energy she said: “If +they fancy, however, that we shall accept defeat with submission, they are +much mistaken. They have declared the war, and it shall not be for them to +proclaim peace on the day they 've gained a victory. And Miss Martin also +must learn that her Universal Benevolence scheme must give way to the +demands of a just retribution. Have you made out the list I spoke of?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady, in part; some details are wanting, but there are eighteen +cases here quite perfect.” + </p> +<p> +“These are all cottiers,—pauper tenants,” said Lady Dorothea, +scanning the paper superciliously through her eyeglass. +</p> +<p> +“Not all, my Lady; here, for instance, is Dick Sheehan, the blacksmith, +who has worked for the castle twenty-eight years, and who holds a farm +called Mulianahogue, on a terminable lease.” + </p> +<p> +“And he voted against us?” broke she in. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; and made a very violent speech, too.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, turn him out, then,” said Lady Dorothea, interrupting her. “Now, +where 's your father? Send for Henderson at once; I 'll have no delay with +this matter.” + </p> +<p> +“I have sent for him, my Lady; he 'll be here within half an hour.” + </p> +<p> +“And Scanlan also. We shall want him.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Scanlan will be here at the same time.” + </p> +<p> +“This case here, with two crosses before it, what does this refer to?” + said her Ladyship, pointing to a part of the paper. +</p> +<p> +“That's Mr. Magennis, my Lady, of Barnagheela, who has been making +incessant appeals for a renewal of his tenure—” + </p> +<p> +“And how did he behave?” + </p> +<p> +“He seconded Mr. Massingbred's nomination, and made a very outrageous +speech on the occasion.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure, I remember him; and he had the insolence—the +unparalleled insolence—afterwards to address Miss Martin, as she sat +beside me in the carriage, and to tell her that if the rest of the family +had been like her the scene that had been that day enacted would never +have occurred! Who is this Hosey Lynch? His name is so familiar to me.” + </p> +<p> +“He is a postmaster of Oughterard, and a kind of factotum in the town.” + </p> +<p> +“Then make a note of him. He must be dismissed at once.” + </p> +<p> +“He is not a freeholder, my lady, but only mentioned as an active agent of +the Liberal party.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't adopt that vulgar cant, Miss Henderson,—at least, when +speaking to <i>me</i>, They are not—they have no pretensions to be +called the Liberal party. It is bad taste as well as bad policy to apply a +flattering epithet to a faction.” + </p> +<p> +“What shall I call them in future, my Lady?” asked Kate, with a most +admirably assumed air of innocence. +</p> +<p> +“Call them Papists, Radicals, Insurgents,—anything, in fact, which +may designate the vile principles they advocate. You mentioned Mr. +Nelligan, and I own to you I felt ill—positively ill—at the +sound of his name. Just to think of that man's ingratitude,—base +ingratitude. It is but the other day his son was our guest here,—actually +dined at the table with us! You were here. <i>You</i> saw him yourself!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,” was the quiet reply. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm sure nothing could be more civil, nothing more polite, than our +reception of him. I talked to him myself, and asked him something—I +forget what—about his future prospects, and see if this man, or his +father—for it matters not which—is not the ringleader of this +same movement! I tell you, child, and I really do not say so to hurt your +feelings, or to aggravate your natural regrets at your condition in life, +but I say it as a great moral lesson,—that low people are invariably +deceitful. Perhaps they do not always intend it; perhaps—and very +probably, indeed—their standard of honorable dealing is a low one; +but of the fact itself you may rest assured. They are treacherous, and +they are vindictive!” + </p> +<p> +“Ennis Cafferty, my Lady, who lives at Broguestown,” said Kate, reading +from the list, “sends a petition to your Ladyship, entreating forgiveness +if he should have done anything to cause displeasure to the family.” + </p> +<p> +“What <i>did</i> he do? that is the question.” + </p> +<p> +“He carried a banner inscribed 'Down with Monopoly!'” + </p> +<p> +“Mark him for eviction. I'll have no half measures. Miss Martin has +brought the estate to such a pass that we may draw the rents, but never +aspire to the influence of our property. These people shall now know their +real masters. Who is that knocking at the door?—Come in.” + </p> +<p> +And at this summons, uttered in a voice not peculiar for suavity, Mr. +Henderson entered, bowing profoundly, and smoothing the few glossy hairs +that streaked rather than covered his bald head. A momentary glance passed +between the father and daughter; so fleeting, however, was it, that the +most sharp-eyed observer could not have detected its meaning. Lady +Dorothea was too deeply occupied with her own thoughts to waste a second's +consideration on either of them, and promptly said,— +</p> +<p> +“I want you, Henderson, to inform me who are the chief persons who have +distinguished themselves in this outrageous insult to us in the borough.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Henderson moved from one foot to the other, once more stroked down his +hair, and seemed like a man suddenly called upon to enter on a very +unpleasant and somewhat difficult task. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you don't like the office, sir?” said she, hastily. “Perhaps your +own principles are opposed to it?” + </p> +<p> +“Na, my Leddy,” said he, deferentially, “I ha' nae principles but such as +the family sanctions. It's nae business o' mine to profess poleetical +opinions.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true, sir,—very just; you comprehend your station,” replied +she, proudly. “And now to my demand. Who are the heads of this revolt?—for +it is a revolt!” + </p> +<p> +“It's nae sa much a revolt, my Leddy,” rejoined he, slowly and +respectfully, “as the sure and certain consequence of what has been going +on for years on the property. I did my best, by warning, and indeed by +thwarting, so far as I could, these same changes. But I was not listened +to. I foretold what it would all end in, this amelearating the condition +of the small farmer—this raising the moral standard of the people, +and a' that. I foresaw that if they grew richer they 'd grow sturdier; and +if they learned to read, they'd begin to reflact. Ah, my leddy, a vara +dangerous practice this same habit of reflection is, to folk who wear +ragged clothes and dine on potatoes!” + </p> +<p> +“I apprehend that the peril is not felt so acutely in your own country, +sir!” + </p> +<p> +“Vara true, my Leddy; your remark is vara just; but there's this +difference to be remembered: the Scotch are canny folk, and we do many a +thing that might n't be safe for others, but we take care never to do them +ower much.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't want your philosophizing, sir, about national characteristics. I +conclude that you know—it is your duty to know—whence this +spirit took its rise. I desire to be informed on this head, and also what +measures you have to advise for its suppression.” + </p> +<p> +Another pause, longer and more embarrassing than the first, followed on +this speech, and Mr. Henderson really seemed balancing within himself +whether he would or not give evidence. +</p> +<p> +“Your reluctance has only to go a step further, Henderson, to impress me +with the worst suspicions of yourself!” said Lady Dorothea, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm vara sorry for it, my Leddy; I don't deserve them,” was the calm +reply. +</p> +<p> +Had Lady Dorothea been quick-sighted, she might have detected a glance +which the daughter directed towards her father; but she had been more than +quick-minded if she could have read its meaning, so strange was the +expression it bore. +</p> +<p> +“In plain words, sir, do you know the offenders? and if so, how can we +punish them?” + </p> +<p> +“Your Leddyship has them all there,” said he, pointing to the list on the +table; “but there's nae sa much to be done wi' them, as the chief o' the +lot are men o' mark and means, wi' plenty o' siller, and the sperit to +spend it.” + </p> +<p> +“I hear of nothing but defaulters till a moment like this arrives, sir,” + said her Ladyship, passionately. “The burden of every song is arrears of +rent; and now I am told that the tenantry are so prosperous that they can +afford to defy their landlord. Explain this, sir!” + </p> +<p> +Before Mr. Henderson had completed that hesitating process which with him +was the prelude to an answer, the door opened, and Mary Martin entered. +She was in a riding-dress, and bore the traces of the road on her splashed +costume; but her features were paler than usual, and her lip quivered as +she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“My dear aunt,” cried she, not seeming to notice that others were present, +“I have come back at speed from Kyle's Wood to learn if it be true—but +it cannot be true—however the poor creatures there believe it—that +they are to be discharged from work, and no more employment given at the +quarries. You have n't seen them, dear aunt—you haven't beheld them, +as I did this morning—standing panic-stricken around the scene of +their once labor, not speaking, scarcely looking at each other, more like +a shipwrecked crew upon an unknown shore than fathers and mothers beside +their own homesteads!” + </p> +<p> +“It was I gave the order, Miss Martin,” said Lady Dorothea, proudly. “If +these people prefer political agitation to an honest subsistence, let them +pay the price of it.” + </p> +<p> +“But who says that they have done so?” replied Mary. “These poor creatures +have not a single privilege to exercise; they have n't a vote amongst +them. The laws have forgotten them just as completely as human charity +has.” + </p> +<p> +“If they have no votes to record, they have voices to outrage and insult +their natural protectors. Henderson knows that the worst mobs in the +borough were from this very district.” + </p> +<p> +“Let him give the names of those he alludes to. Let him tell me ten—five—ay, +three, if he can, of Kyle's Wood men who took any share in the +disturbances. I am well aware that it is a locality where he enjoys little +popularity himself; but at least he need not calumniate its people. Come, +sir, who are these you speak of?” + </p> +<p> +Kate Henderson, who sat with bent-down head during this speech, contrived +to steal a glance at the speaker so meaningful and so supplicating that +Mary faltered, and as a deep blush covered her cheek, she hastily added: +“But this is really not the question. This miserable contest has done us +all harm; but let us not perpetuate its bitterness! We have been beaten in +an election, but I don't think we ought to be worsted in a struggle of +generosity and good feeling. Come over, dear aunt, and see these poor +creatures.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall certainly do no such thing, Miss Martin. In the first place, the +fever never leaves that village.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true, aunt; and it will be worse company if our kindness should +desert them. But if you will not come, take <i>my</i> word for the state +of their destitution. We have nothing so poor on the whole estate.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/330.jpg" width="100%" alt="330 " /> +</div> +<p> +“It is but a moment back I was told that the spirit of resistance to our +influence here arose from the wealthy independence of the people; now, I +am informed it is their want and destitution suggest the opposition. I +wish I could ascertain which of you is right.” + </p> +<p> +“It's little matter if our theory does not lead us to injustice,” said +Mary, boldly. “Let me only ride back to the quarries, aunt, and tell these +poor people that they 've nothing to fear,—that there is no thought +of withdrawing from them their labor nor its hire. Their lives are, God +knows, not overlaid with worldly blessings; let us not add one drop that +we can spare to their cup of sorrow.” + </p> +<p> +“The young leddy says na mair than the fact; they're vara poor, and they +'re vara dangerous!” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean dangerous, sir?” asked Lady Dorothea, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“There's more out o' that barony at the assizes, my Leddy, than from any +other on the property.” + </p> +<p> +“Starvation and crime are near relatives all the world over,” said Mary; +“nor do I see that the way to cure the one is to increase the other.” + </p> +<p> +“Then let us get rid of both,” said Lady Dorothea. “I don't see why we are +to nurse pauperism either into fever or rebellion. To feed people that +they may live to infect you, or, perhaps, shoot you, is sorry policy. You +showed me a plan for getting rid of them, Henderson,—something about +throwing down their filthy hovels, or unroofing them, or something of that +kind, and then they were to emigrate—I forget where—to +America, I believe—and become excellent people, hard-working and +quiet. I know it all sounded plausible and nice; tell Miss Martin your +scheme, and if it does not fulfil all you calculated, it will at least +serve for an example on the estate.” + </p> +<p> +“An example!” cried Mary. “Take care, my Lady. It's a dangerous precept +you are about to inculcate, and admits of a terrible imitation!” + </p> +<p> +“Now you have decided me, Miss Martin,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“And, good Heavens! is it for a rash word of mine—for a burst of +temper that I could not control—you will turn out upon the wide +world a whole village,—the old that have grown gray there,—the +infant that clings to its mother in her misery, and makes a home for her +by its very dependence—” + </p> +<p> +“Every one of them, sir,” said Lady Dorothea, addressing herself to +Henderson, who had asked some question in a low whisper. “They 're +cottiers all; they require no delays of law, and I insist upon it +peremptorily.” + </p> +<p> +“Not till my uncle hears of it!” exclaimed Mary, passionately. “A cruel +wrong like this shall not be done in mad haste.” And with these words, +uttered in all the vehemence of great excitement, she rushed from the room +in search of Martin. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. A CHARACTERISTIC LETTER +</h2> +<p> +It may save the reader some time, and relieve him from the weary task of +twice listening to the same story, if we steal some passages from a letter +which, about this time, Jack Massingbred addressed to his former +correspondent. He wrote from the inn at Oughterard, and, although still +under the influence of the excitement of the late contest, expressed +himself with much of his constitutional calm and frankness. We shall not +recapitulate his narrative of the election, but proceed at once to what +followed on that description. +</p> +<p> +“I see, Harry, the dubious projection of your nether lip, I appreciate the +slow nod of your head, and I fancy I can hear the little half-sigh of +deprecation with which you hear all this. Worse again, I don't seek to +defend myself. I think my case a bad one; but still I feel there is +something to be said in mitigation. You need not trouble yourself to draw +up an indictment: I plead guilty—entirely guilty—to all you +can say. I <i>have</i> broken with 'the gentlemen' to cast my lot with the +<i>canaille</i>. Why have n't we a good wholesome word of our own for a +home-made article? I <i>have</i> deserted the ranks where, whatever +fortune befell, it was honor to fight; I have given up association with +the well-bred and the well-mannered, to rub shoulders with the +coarse-minded, the rough-hearted, and the vulgar. There is not a reproach +you can make me on this score that I have n't already addressed to myself. +I feel all the indignity of my situation,—I experience all the +insult of their companionship; but, as the lady detected in possession of +her lover's picture pleaded in her defence that it was not like him, so I +hope to arrest judgment against me by the honest avowal that I detest and +despise my party. I don't talk to <i>you</i> about their principles—still +less do I say anything of my own—but merely advert here to the +miserable compromise a gentleman is driven to make with every sentiment of +his nature who once enlists under their flag. As Travers told us one +evening—you were of the party, and must remember it—he was +speaking of the Peninsular campaign, in which he served as a volunteer—'So +long as you were fighting,' said he, 'it was all very well; the fellows +were stout-hearted and full of spirit, and you felt that you couldn't ask +for better comrades; but when the struggle was over—when it came to +associating, living with them, hearing their sentiments, sharing their +opinions, hopes, fears, wishes, and so on—then it became downright +degradation!' Not, as he remarked, that they were one jot more vicious or +more corrupt than their betters, but that every vice and every corruption +amongst them seemed doubly offensive by the contact with their coarse +natures. Now, my friends, the Liberals, are somewhat in the same category. +They do their work right well on the field of battle; they fight, swear, +slander, and perjure themselves just like gentlemen; or rather better of +the two. They even come down handsomely with their cash,—the last +best evidence any man can tender of his honesty in a cause; but then, +Harry, the struggle over, it is sorry work to become their companion and +their friend! Oh! if you had but seen the dinners I have eaten, and the +women I have handed down to them!—if you could have but heard the +sentiments I have cheered,—ay, and even uttered,—only listened +to the projects we have discussed, and the plans matured as we sat over +our whiskey-punch,—you 'd say, 'Jack must have the ambition of the +Evil One himself in his heart, since he pays this price for the mere +glimpse of the goal before him!' +</p> +<p> +“Throughout the whole of your last letter I can detect a sense of +apprehension lest, 'with all my tact,' as you phrase it, these people are +not really duping we,—using me for a present purpose, with the +foregone resolve to get rid of me when it be accomplished. To be sure they +are, Harry. I never doubted it for a moment. The only question is, which +of us shall trip up the other! They desire to show the world that the +operation of the Relief Bill will not be of that exclusive character its +opponents proclaimed,—that a Catholic constituency would choose a +Protestant,—even prefer one,—as Mr. O'Connell said. The +opportunity was a good one to display this sentiment, and so they took me! +Now, <i>my</i> notion is, that every great measure can have only one real +importance, by throwing weight into the scale of one or other of the two +great Parliamentary parties. Do what you will,—agitate, write, +speak, pamphleteer, and libel,—but all resolves itself to some +question of a harm to one side and good to the other, the country the +while being wonderfully little the better or the worse for all the +legislation. We used to have a Constitution in England: we have now only +got a Parliament, and to be anything in the nation a man must make himself +felt there! This, 'if I have the stuff in me,' as old Sherry said, I mean +to do—<i>et nous verrons!</i> +</p> +<p> +“The fatigues of this new life are very great. I 'm up before it is well +day, writing and revising newspaper articles, answering letters, and +replying to 'queries.' I have my whole mornings taken up in audiences of +my constituents, swallowing pledges, and recording promises; and later on +I go to dinner, 'with what appetite I may,' to some one of my faithful +supporters,—some corn-chandler who spouts 'foreign politics,' or a +grocer who ought to be Colonial Secretary! But still I 'm thankful for all +this bustle and occupation: it averts reflection, it raises a barrier +against thought, and muffles the clapper of that small hand-bell in the +human heart men call their conscience! They say few men would have courage +for either a battle or a wedding if it were not for the din of the +trumpets and the joy-bells; and I'm convinced that noise—mere noise—has +no small share in determining the actions of mankind! +</p> +<p> +“And now, Harry, for a confession. I 'm heartily sorry for the whole of +this business, and were it to be done again, nothing would tempt me to +play the same part in it. I was leading the jolliest life imaginable at +Cro' Martin. I had made the place and the people my own. It was a kind of +existence that suited me,—sufficient of occupation, and enough of +leisure. There were oddities to laugh at, eccentricities to quiz, an old +lawyer to sharpen one's wits upon, and a governess—such a governess—to +flirt with! Don't mistake me, Harry; it was not one of those +hand-pressing, downcast-gazing, low-speaking cases in which you are such a +proficient. It was far more like the approaches one might be supposed to +make to a young tigress in a cage,—a creature with whom a mistake +would be your ruin, and whom you always caressed with a sense of impending +peril. +</p> +<p> +“I told you how ably she aided me in this contest,—how she labored +to obtain information—secret information—for me as to every +voter in the borough. What prompted her to this course I cannot fathom. +She does not appear to bear any grudge against the Martins,—she had +been but a few weeks amongst them,—and is, all things considered, +well treated and well received. As little was it any special favor towards +myself. Indeed, on that head she will not permit me to fall into any +error. I cannot suppose that with her foreign education and foreign habits +she cares a jot for the small schemes and intriguings of home politics,—so +what can it possibly mean? Help me to the solution of this riddle, and I +'ll be more deeply your debtor than I can well say. Brought up as she has +been,—and as I have told you in my last letter,—nothing would +be more natural than her adoption of every prejudice of the class by whom +she has been so singularly distinguished; and in this light I have always +viewed her. Under the calm reserve of a most polished manner you can still +detect a shrinking horror of all the vulgar association of the rank she +came from. Her quiet deference, haughtier by far than the domination of +those above her; the humility that no flatteries ever breached; a +self-possession that never seemed so strong as when resisting the +blandishments of praise,—these are strange gifts in a young girl +with beauty enough to turn half the heads of half the fools we know of, +and more than enough to make crazy that of him who writes this. +</p> +<p> +“I tried twenty things to resist this tendency on my part. I laughed at +myself for the absurdity it would lead to. I ridiculed to my own heart all +the extravagance of such a project. I even wrote a paragraph for the +'Times' announcing the marriage of Jack Massingbred with Kate Henderson, +the only daughter of Paul Henderson, the Land Steward, and pasted it above +my chimney to shock and outrage me. I did more. I made love to Miss Martin—as +an alterative, as the doctors would call it—but I fell at a stone +wall, got laughed at, and cured of my passion; and, lastly, I climbed that +lofty tree of my family, and sat high among the branches of defunct barons +and baronets, to get a bird's-eye view of the small mushrooms that grow on +the earth beneath, but hang me, Harry, if the agarics did n't seem better +company, and I was glad to get down amongst them again, meaning thereby to +sit beside that one dear specimen of the class I allude to! +</p> +<p> +“I see that you are curious to know how all these late events have +modified my relations with my father, and really I cannot answer your +inquiry. It is more than likely that my obtaining a seat in Parliament +will embarrass rather than serve him with his party, since he will be +expected to control a vote over which he can exert no influence. +</p> +<p> +“As yet, nothing has occurred to draw us any closer, and my only +communications to him have been certain recommendatory letters, which my +constituents here have somewhat peremptorily demanded at my hands. I gave +them freely, for, after all, application is an easier task than refusing, +and besides, Harry, it is very difficult to persuade your election friends +that you cannot be a patriot and a patron at the same time, and that, in +the luxurious pastime of badgering a government, a man surrenders some of +the pretensions to place. I gave them, therefore, all the letters they +asked for; and if the Chief Secretary but answer one half of my appeals, +Galway—or at least that small portion of it called Oughter-ard—will +have no cause of complaint on the score of its claims to office. +</p> +<p> +“You are, I perceive, astonished that I continue to remain here. So am I, +Harry. The place is detestable in almost every way. I am beset with +entreaties, persecuted with vulgar attentions, bored to death by the +insolent familiarity of people I cannot—do all that I will—grow +intimate with; and yet I stay on, pretexting this, that, and t' other to +myself, and shrinking even to my own heart to avow the real reason of my +delay! +</p> +<p> +“I want once again, if only for a few moments, to see her. I want to try +if by any ingenuity I could discover the mystery of her conduct with +regard to myself; and I want also, if there should be the need to do so, +to justify to her eyes many things which I have been forced by +circumstances to do in this contest. +</p> +<p> +“I have not the slightest suspicion as to how she views all that has +occurred here. Two notes which I addressed to her, very respectful, +businesslike epistles, have not been answered, though I entreated for a +few words to acknowledge their receipt. The Martins, since the election, +seem to have quarantined the whole town and neighborhood. They suffer none +of their people to enter here. They have sent eight miles further off to +market, and even changed the post-town for their letters. Their policy is, +so far, shortsighted, as it has called into an exaggerated importance all +that small fry—like the Nelligans—who have hitherto been +crushed under the greater wealth of the rich proprietor. But I am again +drifting into that tiresome tideway of politics which I have sworn to +myself to avoid, if only for a few days; in pursuance of which wise +resolve I shall betake myself to the mountains, under the pretext of +shooting. A gun is an idler's passport, and a game-bag and a shot-pouch +are sufficient to throw a dignity over vagabondism. You will therefore +divine that I am not bent on snipe slaughter, but simply a good excuse to +be alone! +</p> +<p> +“I mean to go to-morrow, and shall first turn my steps towards the coast, +which, so far as I have seen, is singularly bold and picturesque. If +nothing occurs to alter my determination, I 'll leave this unclosed till I +can tell you that I have come back here, which in all probability will be +by the end of the week. +</p> +<p> +“Once more here, my dear Harry, I sit down to add a few lines to this +already over-lengthy epistle. Wishing to give you some notion of the +scenery, I set out with all the appliances of a sketcher, and have really +contrived to jot down some spots which, for general wildness and grandeur, +it would be difficult to surpass within the bounds of our country. Nor is +it alone the forms that are so striking, although I could show you +outlines here perfectly Alpine in their fantastic extravagance; but the +colors are finer than anything I have seen north of the Alps,—heaths +and lichens grouped over rugged masses of rock, with shades of purple and +gold such as no diadem ever equalled. The sunsets, too, were gorgeous! You +remember how struck we both were at the moment when the dome and aisle of +St. Peter's burst into light, and from the darkness of midnight every +column and every statue became illuminated in a second; but a thousand +times beyond this in grandeur of effect was the moment of the sun's +decline below the horizon. The instant before, the great sullen sea was +rolling and heaving with its leaden blue surface, slightly traced here and +there with foam, but no sooner had the sun touched the horizon, than a +flood of purple glory spread over the whole ocean, so that it became like +a sea of molten gold and amber. The dark cliffs and rugged crags, the +wave-beaten rocks, and the rude wild islands, darksome and dismal but a +moment back, were now all glittering and glowing, every pinnacle and every +peak in deep carbuncle red. How suggestive to him who would describe an +enchanted land or region of magic splendor! and what a hint for your +scene-painter, who, with all his devices of Bengal and blue light, with +every trick that chemistry and optics could aid in, never fancied anything +so splendid or so gorgeous. +</p> +<p> +“I have half filled a sketch-book for you, and more than half filled my +game-bag with mosses and ferns, and such-like gear, which, knowing your +weakness, I have gathered, but, not understanding their virtues, may, for +aught I know, be the commonest things in creation. I can only vouch for +their being very beautiful, and very unlike anything else I ever saw +before; fragments of marble, too, and specimens of Irish jasper and onyx, +are amidst my rubbish, or my treasures, whichever you shall pronounce them +to be. +</p> +<p> +“I got through—don't fancy that the phrase denotes weariness or <i>ennui</i>—I +got through four days in these pursuits, and then I took boat, and for +three more I paddled about the coast, dipping in amongst the cliffs and +creeks and caves of this wonderful coast, gathering shells and seaweed, +and shooting curlews and eating lobsters, and, in fact, to all intents and +purposes, suffering a 'sea change' over myself and my spirit as +unearthlike as well may be imagined; and at last I bethought me of my new +openiug career, and all that I ought to be doing in preparation of St. +Stephen's, and so I turned my steps landward and towards 'my borough.' I +like to say 'my borough;' it sounds feudal and insolent and old Torylike; +it smacks of the day when people received their representative thankfully, +as an alms, and your great proprietor created his nominee as the consul +ennobled his horse! +</p> +<p> +“Revolving very high thoughts, reciting Edmund Burke's grandest +perorations, and picturing very vividly before me the stunning triumphs of +my own eloquence in the House, I plodded along, this time at least +wonderfully indifferent to the scenery, and totally oblivious of where I +was, when suddenly I perceived the great trees of Cro' Martin demesne +shadowing the road I travelled, and saw that I was actually within a mile +or so of the Castle! You, Harry, have contrived, some way or other, to +have had a very rose-colored existence. I never heard that you had been +jilted by a mistress, 'cut' by a once friend, or coldly received by the +rich relative from whom you derived all your expectations. I am not even +aware that the horse you backed ever went wrong, or that the bill you +endorsed for another ever came back protested. In fact, you are what the +world loves best, cherishes most, and lavishes all its blandishments on,—a +devilish lucky fellow! Lucky in a capital fortune, abundance of good +gifts, good looks, and an iron constitution,—one of those natures +that can defy duns, blue-devils, and dyspepsia! Being, therefore, all +this, well received everywhere, good company where pheasants are to be +shot, Burgundy to be drunk, or young ladies to be married,—for you +are a good shot, a good wine-taster, and a good <i>parti</i>,—with +such gifts, I say, it will be very difficult to evoke your sympathy on the +score of a misfortune which no effort of your imagination could compass. +In fact, to ask you to feel what I did, as I found myself walking along <i>outside</i> +of those grounds <i>within</i> which, but a few days back, I was the +cherished visitor, and in sight of that smoke which denoted a hearth +beside which I was never to sit again, and from which I was banished with +something not very unlike disgrace! No sophistry I could summon was +sufficient to assuage the poignancy of this sentiment. I feel certain that +I could stand any amount of open public abuse, any known or unknown +quantity of what is genteelly called 'slanging,' but I own to you that the +bare thought of how my name might at that moment be mentioned beneath that +roof, or even the very reserve that saved it from mention, caused me +unutterable bitterness, and it was in a state of deep humiliation of +spirit that I took the very first path that led across the fields and away +from Cro' Martin. +</p> +<p> +“They tell me that a light heart makes easy work of a day's journey. Take +my word for it, that to get over the ground without a thought of the road, +there's nothing like a regular knock-down affliction. I walked eight +hours, and at a good pace, too, without so much as a few minutes' halt, so +overwhelmed was I with sensations that would not admit of my remembering +anything else. My first moment of consciousness—for really it was +such—came on as I found myself breasting a steep stony ascent, on +the brow of which stood the bleak residence of my friend Mr. Magennis, of +Barnagheela. I have already told you of my visit to his house, so that I +need not inflict you with any new detail of the locality, but I confess, +little as it promised to cheer or rally the spirits, I was well pleased to +find myself so near a roof under which I might take refuge. I knocked +vigorously at the door, but none answered my summons. I repeated my demand +for admittance still more loudly, and at last went round to the back of +the house, which I found as rigidly barred as the front. While still +hesitating what course to take, I spied Joan Landy—you remember the +girl I spoke of in a former letter—ascending the hill at a brisk +pace. In a moment I was beside her. Poor thing, she seemed overjoyed at +our meeting, and warmly welcomed me to her house. 'Tom is away,' said she, +'in Dublin, they tell me, but he 'll be back in a day or two, and there 's +nobody he 'd be so glad to see as yourself when he comes.' In the world, +Harry,—that is, in your world and mine,—such a proposition as +Joan's would have its share of embarrassments. Construe it how one might, +there would be at least some awkwardness in accepting such hospitality. So +I certainly felt it, and, as we walked along, rather turned the +conversation towards herself, and whither she had been. +</p> +<p> +“'I 'm not more than half an hour out of the house,' said she, 'for I only +went down the boreen to show the short cut by Kell Mills to a young lady +that was here.' +</p> +<p> +“'A visitor, Mrs. Joan?' +</p> +<p> +“'Yes. But to be sure you know her yourself, for you came with her the day +she walked part of the way back with me from Cro' Martin.' +</p> +<p> +“'Miss Henderson?' +</p> +<p> +“'Maybe that's her name. She only told me to call her Kate.' +</p> +<p> +“'Was she here alone?—did she come on foot?—which way is she +gone?' cried I, hurrying question after question. Perhaps the tone of my +last was most urgent, for it was to that she replied, by pointing to a +glen between two furze-clad hills, and saying, 'That's the road she 's +taking, till she crosses the ford at Coomavaragh.' +</p> +<p> +“'And she is alone?' +</p> +<p> +“'That she is; sorra a one with her, and she has five good miles before +her.' +</p> +<p> +“I never waited for more. If I did say good-bye to poor Joan, I really +forget; but I dashed down the mountain at speed, and hurried onward in the +direction she had pointed out. In an instant all my fatigue of the day was +forgotten, and as I went along I remembered nothing, thought of nothing, +but the object of my pursuit. +</p> +<p> +“You who have so often bantered me on the score of my languor—that +'elegant lassitude,' as you used to call it, which no zeal ever warmed, +nor any ardor ever could excite—would have been somewhat astonished +had you seen the reckless, headlong pace at which I went,—vaulting +over gates, clearing fences, and dashing through swamps, without ever a +moment's hesitation. Picture to yourself, then, my splashed and heated +condition as, after a two-miles' chase in this fashion, I at length +overtook her, just as she was in search of a safe spot to ford the river. +Startled by the noise behind her, she turned suddenly round, and in an +instant we stood face to face. I 'd have given much to have seen some show +of confusion, even embarrassment in her looks, but there was not the +slightest. No, Harry, had we met in a drawing-room, her manner could not +have been more composed, as she said,—'Good-morning, Mr. +Massingbred. Have you had much sport?' 'My chase was after <i>you</i>, +Miss Henderson,' said I, hurriedly. 'I just reached Barnagheela as +Mistress Joan returned, and having learned which road you took, followed +you in all haste.' +</p> +<p> +“'Indeed!' exclaimed she, and in a voice wherein there were blended a vast +variety of meanings. +</p> +<p> +“'Yes,' I resumed, 'for an opportunity of meeting you alone—of +speaking with you even for a few moments—I have delayed my departure +this week back. I wrote to you twice.' +</p> +<p> +“'Yes; I got your letters.' +</p> +<p> +“'But did not deign to answer them.' +</p> +<p> +“' I did not write to you, because, situated as <i>I</i> was, and regarded +as <i>you</i> were at Cro' Martin, there would have been a species of +treason in maintaining anything like correspondence, just as I feel there +is somewhat akin to it in our intercourse at this moment.' +</p> +<p> +“'And have the events occurring lately changed <i>your</i> feeling with +regard to me?' asked I, half reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +“'I don't exactly know to what former condition you refer, Mr. +Massingbred,' said she, calmly. 'If to the counsels which you were +gracious enough to receive at hands humble and inexperienced as mine, they +were given, as you remember, when you were the chosen representative of +the family at Cro' Martin, and continued only so long as you remained +such.' +</p> +<p> +“'Then I have deceived myself, Miss Henderson,' broke I in. 'I had fancied +that there was a personal good-will in the aid you tendered me. I even +flattered myself that I owed my success entirely and solely to your +efforts.' +</p> +<p> +“'You are jesting, Mr. Massingbred,' said she, with a saucy smile; 'no one +better than yourself knows how to rely upon his own abilities.' +</p> +<p> +“'At least, confess that it was you who first suggested to me that they +were worth cultivating; that it was <i>you</i> who pointed out a road to +me in life, and even promised me your friendship as the price of my +worthily adopting it!' +</p> +<p> +“'I remember the conversation you allude to. It was on this very road it +occurred.' +</p> +<p> +“'Well, and have I done anything as yet to forfeit the reward you spoke +of?' +</p> +<p> +“'All this is beside the real question, Mr. Massingbred,' said she, +hurriedly. 'What you are really curious to learn is, why it is that I, +being such as I am, should have displayed so much zeal in a cause which +could not but have been opposed to the interests of those who are my +patrons. That you have not divined the reason is a proof to me that I +could not make you understand it. I don't want to talk riddles,—enough +that I say it was a caprice.' +</p> +<p> +“'And yet you talked seriously, persuasively to me, of my future road in +life; you made me think that you saw in me the qualities that win +success.' +</p> +<p> +“'You have a wonderful memory for trifles, sir, since you can recall so +readily what I said to you.' +</p> +<p> +“'But it was not a trifle to me,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'Perhaps not, Mr. Massingbred, since it referred to yourself. I don't +mean this for impertinence!' +</p> +<p> +“'I am glad that you say so!' cried I, eagerly. 'I am but too happy to +catch at anything which may tend to convince me that you would not +willingly hurt my feelings.' +</p> +<p> +“For several minutes neither of us uttered a word; at last I said, 'Should +I be asking too much, if I begged Miss Henderson to tell me whether she is +dissatisfied with anything I may have done in this contest? There may be +matters in which I have been misrepresented; others of which I could make +some explanation.' +</p> +<p> +“'Are you quite satisfied with it yourself, sir?' said she, interrupting +me. +</p> +<p> +“'No,' said I; 'so little am I so, that were it all to do over again, I 'd +not embark in it. The whole affair, from beginning to end, is a false +position.' +</p> +<p> +“'Ignoble associates—low companionships—very underbred +acquaintances,' said she, in a tone of scorn that seemed far more directed +at <i>me</i> than the others. I believe I showed how I felt it. I know +that my cheek was on fire for some seconds after. +</p> +<p> +“'The Martins, I take it, are outrageous with me?' said I, at last. +</p> +<p> +“'They never speak of you!' was the reply. +</p> +<p> +“'Not my Lady?' +</p> +<p> +“'No!' +</p> +<p> +“'Nor even Repton?' +</p> +<p> +“'Not once.' +</p> +<p> +“'That, at least, is more dignified; and if any accident should bring us +together in county business—' +</p> +<p> +“'Which is not likely.' +</p> +<p> +“'How so?' asked I. +</p> +<p> +“'They are going away soon.' +</p> +<p> +“'Going away—to leave Cro' Martin—and for any time?' +</p> +<p> +“'My Lady speaks of the Continent, and that, of course, implies a long +absence.' +</p> +<p> +“'And has this miserable election squabble led to this resolve? Is the +neighborhood to be deprived of its chief ornament—the people of +their best friend—just for the sake of a petty party triumph?' +</p> +<p> +“'It is fortunate Mr. Massingbred's constituents cannot hear him,' said +she, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“'But be serious, and tell me how far am I the cause of all this.' +</p> +<p> +“'The whole cause of it,—at least, so far as present events can +reveal.' +</p> +<p> +“'How they must abhor me!' said I, half involuntarily. +</p> +<p> +“'<i>Avec les circonstances atténuantes</i>,' said she, smiling again. +</p> +<p> +“'How so?—what do you mean?' +</p> +<p> +“'Why, that my Lady is thankful at heart for a good excuse to get away,—such +a pretext as Mr. Martin himself cannot oppose. Repton, the Grand Vizier, +counsels economy, and, like all untravelled people, fancies France and +Italy cheap to live in; and Miss Mary is, perhaps, not sorry with the +prospect of the uncontrolled management of the whole estate.' +</p> +<p> +“'And is she to live here alone?' +</p> +<p> +“'Yes; she is to be sole mistress of Cro' Martin, and without even a +governess, since Miss Henderson is to accompany her Ladyship as private +secretary, minister of the household, and, in fact, any other capacity you +may please in flattery to assign her. And now, Mr. Massingbred, that I +have, not over-discreetly, perhaps, adventured to talk of family +arrangements to a stranger, will you frankly ac-knowledge that your pride, +or self-love, or any other quality of the same nature, is rather gratified +than otherwise at all the disturbance you have caused here? Don't you +really feel pleased to think that you have revolutionized a little +neighborhood, broken up a society, severed the ties that bound proprietor +and peasant, and, in fact, made a very pretty chaos, out of which may come +anything or everything?' +</p> +<p> +“'When you address such a question as this to me, you don't expect an +answer. Indeed, the query itself is its own reply,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'Well said, sir, and with consummate temper, too. Certainly, Mr. +Massingbred, you possess one great element of success in public life.' +</p> +<p> +“'Which is—' +</p> +<p> +“'To bear with equanimity and cool forbearance the impertinences of those +you feel to be your inferiors.' +</p> +<p> +“'But it is not in this light I regard Miss Henderson, be assured,' said +I, with earnestness; 'and if I have not replied to her taunts, it is not +because I have not felt them.' +</p> +<p> +“I thought I detected a very faint flush on her cheek as I said this, and +certainly her features assumed a more serious expression than before. +</p> +<p> +“'Will you let me speak to you of what is far nearer my heart?' said I, in +a low voice,—'far nearer than all this strife and war of politics? +And will you deign to believe that what I say is prompted by whatever I +know in myself of good or hopeful?' +</p> +<p> +“'Say on,—that is, if I ought to hear it,' said she, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Deterred a second or two by her manner, I rallied quickly, and with an +ardor of which I cannot convey an impression, much less explain,—one +of those moments of rhapsody, <i>you 'd</i> call it,—poured forth a +warm declaration of love. Aye, Harry, sincere, devoted love!—a +passion which, in mastering all the common promptings of mere worldly +advantage and self-interest, had really inspired me with noble thoughts +and high aspirations. +</p> +<p> +“A judge never listened to a pleading with more dignified patience than +she did to my appeal. She even waited when I had concluded, as it were to +allow of my continuing, had I been so minded; when, seeing that I had +closed my argument, she quietly turned about, and facing the road we had +just been travelling, pointed to the bleak, bare mountain on which +Barnagheela stood. 'It was yonder, then, that you caught up this lesson, +sir. The admirable success of Mr. Magennis's experiment has seduced you!' +</p> +<p> +“'Good heavens! Kate,' cried I— +</p> +<p> +“'Sir,' said she, drawing herself proudly up, 'you are continuing the +parallel too far.' +</p> +<p> +“'But Miss Henderson cannot for a moment believe—' +</p> +<p> +“'I can believe a great deal, sir, of what even Mr. Massingbred would +class with the incredible; but, sir, there are certain situations in life +which exact deference, from the very fact of their humility. Mine is one +of these, and I am aware of it.' +</p> +<p> +“'Will you not understand me aright?' cried I, eagerly. 'In offering to +share my fortune in life with you—' +</p> +<p> +“'Pray, sir, let this stop here. Poor Joan, I have no doubt, felt all the +grandeur of <i>her</i> elevation, and was grateful even in her misery. But +<i>I</i> should not do so. I am one of those who think that the cruellest +share in a <i>mésalliance</i> is that of the humbler victim. To brave such +a fate, there should be all the hopeful, sanguine sense of strong +affection; and, as a reserve to fall back on in reverses, there should be +an intense conviction of the superiority over others of him from whom we +accept our inferiority. Now, in my case, these two conditions are wanting. +I know you like frankness, and I am frank.' +</p> +<p> +“'Even to cruelty,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'We are very near Cro' Martin, sir, and I think we ought to part,' said +she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“'And is it thus you would have us separate? Have I nothing to hope from +time,—from the changes that may come over your opinions of me?' +</p> +<p> +“'Calculate rather on the alterations in your own sentiments, Mr. +Massingbred; and perhaps the day is not very distant when you will laugh +heartily at yourself for the folly of this same morning,—a folly +which might have cost you dearly, sir, for I might have said, Yes.' +</p> +<p> +“'Would that you had!' +</p> +<p> +“'Good-bye, sir,' said she, not noticing my interruption, 'and remember +that, if I should ever need it, I have a strong claim on your gratitude. +Good-bye!' +</p> +<p> +“She did not give me her hand at parting, but waved it coldly towards me +as she went. And so she passed the little wicket, and entered the dark +woods of the demesne, leaving me in a state wherein the sense of +bewilderment alone prevailed over all else. +</p> +<p> +“I have given you this narrative, Harry, as nearly as I can remember, +every step of it; but I do not ask you to understand it better than I do, +which means, not at all! Nor will I worry you with the thousand-and-one +attempts I have made to explain to myself what I still confess to be +inexplicable. I mean to leave this at once. Would that I had never come +here! Write to me soon; but no bantering, Harry. Not even my friendship +for <i>you</i>—oldest and best of all my friends—could stand +any levity on this theme. This girl knows me thoroughly, since she +comprehends that there is no so certain way to engage my affections as to +defy them! +</p> +<p> +“Write to me, I entreat. Address me at my father's, where I shall be, +probably, within a week. Were I to read over what I have just written, the +chances are I should burn the letter; and so, <i>sans adieu</i>, +</p> +<p> +“Yours ever, +</p> +<p> +“Jack Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. THREE COACHES AND THEIR COMPANY +</h2> +<p> +Three large and stately travelling-carriages, heavily laden, and +surrounded with all the appliances for comfort possible, rolled from under +the arched gateway of Cro' Martin. One eager and anxious face turned +hastily to catch a last look at the place he was leaving, and then as +hastily concealing his emotion with his handkerchief, Mr. Martin sat back +in the carriage in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Twenty minutes after eight!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, looking at her +watch. “It is always the case; one never can get away in time.” + </p> +<p> +Rousted by the speech, Martin started, and turned again to the window. +</p> +<p> +“How handsome those larches are!” cried he; “it seems but yesterday that I +planted them, and they are magnificent trees now.” + </p> +<p> +Her Ladyship made no reply, and he went on, half as though speaking to +himself: “The place is in great beauty just now. I don't think I ever saw +it looking so well. Shall I ever see it again?” muttered he, in a still +lower tone. +</p> +<p> +“I really cannot think it ought to break your heart, Mr. Martin, if I were +to say 'No' to that question,” said she, testily. +</p> +<p> +“No—no!” exclaimed he, repeating the word after her; “not come back +here!” + </p> +<p> +“There is nothing to prevent us if we should feel disposed to do so,” + replied she, calmly. “I only observed that one could face the alternative +with a good courage. The twenty years we have passed in this spot are +represented to <i>your</i> mind by more leafy trees and better timber. To +<i>me</i> they are written in the dreary memory of a joyless, weary +existence. I detest the place,” cried she, passionately, “and for nothing +more, that even on leaving it my spirits are too jaded and broken to feel +the happiness that they ought.” + </p> +<p> +Martin sighed heavily, but did not utter a word. +</p> +<p> +“So it is,” resumed she; “one ever takes these resolutions too late. What +we are doing now should have been done sixteen or eighteen years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“Or not at all,” muttered Martin, but in a voice not meant to be +overheard. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so, sir,” cried she, catching up his words; “if only as our +protest against the insolence and ingratitude of this neighborhood,—of +these creatures who have actually been maintained by us! It was high time +to show them their real condition, and to what they will be reduced when +the influence of our position is withdrawn.” + </p> +<p> +“If it were only for <i>that</i> we are going away—” And he stopped +himself as he got thus far. +</p> +<p> +“In itself a good and sufficient reason, sir; but I trust there are others +also. I should hope that we have paid our debt to patriotism, and that a +family who have endured twenty years of banishment may return, if only to +take a passing glance at the world of civilization and refinement.” + </p> +<p> +“And poor Mary!” exclaimed Martin, with deep feeling. +</p> +<p> +“Your niece might have come with us if she pleased, Mr. Martin. To remain +here was entirely her own choice; not that I am at all disposed to think +that her resolution was not a wise one. Miss Mary Martin feels very +naturally her utter deficiency in all the graces and accomplishments which +should pertain to her condition. She appreciates her unfitness for +society, and selects—as I think, with commendable discretion—a +sphere much better adapted to her habits.” + </p> +<p> +Martin again sighed heavily. +</p> +<p> +“To leave any other girl under such circumstances would have been highly +improper,” resumed her Ladyship; “but she is really suited to this kind of +life, and perfectly unfit for any other, and I have no doubt she and Catty +Broon will be excellent company for each other.” + </p> +<p> +“Catty loves her with all her heart,” muttered Martin. +</p> +<p> +And her Ladyship's lip curled in silent derision at the thought of such +affection. “And, after all,” said he, half involuntarily, “our absence +will be less felt so long as Molly stays behind.” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean by that, Mr. Martin, that the same system of wasteful +expenditure is still to continue,—this universal employment scheme,—I +can only say I distinctly and flatly declare against it. Even Rep ton—and +I 'm sure he 's no ally of mine—agrees with me in pronouncing it +perfectly ruinous.” + </p> +<p> +“There's no doubt of the cost of it,” said Martin, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, and what other consideration should weigh with us?—I +mean,” added she, hastily, “what should have the same weight? The +immaculate authority I have just quoted has limited our personal +expenditure for next year to five thousand pounds, and threatens us with +even less in future if the establishment at Cro' Martin cannot be reduced +below its present standard; but I would be curious to know why there is +such a thing as an establishment at Cro' Martin?” + </p> +<p> +“Properly speaking, there is none,” said Martin. “Rep-ton alludes only to +the workpeople,—to those employed on the grounds and the gardens. We +cannot let the place go to ruin.” + </p> +<p> +“There is certainly no necessity for pineries and forcing-houses. Your +niece is not likely to want grapes in January, or camellias in the early +autumn. As little does she need sixteen carriage-horses and a stable full +of hunters.” + </p> +<p> +“They are to be sold off next week. Mary herself said that she only wanted +two saddle-horses and the pony for the phaeton.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite sufficient, I should say, for a young lady.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure she 'd have liked to have kept the harriers—” + </p> +<p> +“A pack of hounds! I really never heard the like!” + </p> +<p> +“Poor Molly! It was her greatest pleasure,—I may say her only +amusement in life. But she would n't hear of keeping them; and when Repton +tried to persuade her—” + </p> +<p> +“Repton's an old fool,—he's worse; he's downright dishonest,—for +he actually proposed my paying my maids out of my miserable pittance of +eight hundred a year, and at the same moment suggests your niece retaining +a pack of foxhounds!” + </p> +<p> +“Harriers, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't care what they 're called. It is too insolent.” + </p> +<p> +“You may rely upon one thing,” said Martin, with more firmness than he had +hitherto used, “there will be nothing of extravagance in Mary's personal +expenditure. If ever there was a girl indifferent to all the claims of +self, she is that one.” + </p> +<p> +“If we continue this discussion, sir, at our present rate, I opine that by +the time we reach Dublin your niece will have become an angel.” + </p> +<p> +Martin dropped his head, and was silent; and although her Ladyship made +two or three other efforts to revive the argument, he seemed resolved to +decline the challenge, and so they rolled along the road sullen and +uncommunicative. +</p> +<p> +In the second carriage were Repton and Kate Henderson,—an +arrangement which the old lawyer flatteringly believed he owed to his +cunning and address, but which in reality was ordained by Lady Dorothea, +whose notions of rank and precedence were rigid. Although Repton's +greatest tact lay in his detection of character, he felt that he could not +satisfactorily affirm he had mastered the difficulty in the present case. +She was not exactly like anything he had met before; her mode of thought, +and even some of her expressions were so different that the old lawyer +owned to himself, “It was like examining a witness through an +interpreter.” + </p> +<p> +A clever talker—your man of conversational success—is rarely +patient under the failure of his powers, and, not very unreasonably +perhaps, very ready to ascribe the ill-success to the defects of his +hearer. They had not proceeded more than half of the first post ere Repton +began to feel the incipient symptoms of this discontent. +</p> +<p> +She evidently had no appreciation for bar anecdote and judicial wit; she +took little interest in political events, and knew nothing of the country +or its people. He tried the subject of foreign travel, but his own +solitary trip to Paris and Brussels afforded but a meagre experience of +continental life, and he was shrewd enough not to swim a yard out of his +depth. “She must have her weak point, if I could but discover it,” said he +to himself. “It is not personal vanity, that I see. She does not want to +be thought clever, nor even eccentric, which is the governess failing <i>par +excellence</i>. What then can it be?” With all his ingenuity he could not +discover. She would talk, and talk well, on any theme he started, but +always like one who maintained conversation through politeness and not +interest; and this very feature it was which piqued the old man's vanity, +and irritated his self-love. +</p> +<p> +When he spoke, she replied, and always with a sufficient semblance of +interest; but if he were silent, she never opened her lips. +</p> +<p> +“And so,” said he, after a longer pause than usual, “you tell me that you +really care little or nothing whither Fortune may be now conducting you.” + </p> +<p> +“To one in my station it really matters very little,” said she, calmly. “I +don't suppose that the post-horses there have any strong preference for +one road above another, if they be both equally level and smooth.” + </p> +<p> +“There lies the very question,” said he; “for you now admit that there may +be a difference.” + </p> +<p> +“I have never found in reality,” said she, “that these differences were +appreciable.” + </p> +<p> +“How is it that one so young should be so—so philosophic?” said he, +after a hesitation. +</p> +<p> +“Had you asked me that question in French, Mr. Repton, the language would +have come so pleasantly to your aid, and spared you the awkwardness of +employing a grand phrase for a small quality; but my 'philosophy' is +simply this: that, to fill a station whose casualties range from +courtesies in the drawing-room to slights from the servants' hall, one +must arm themselves with very defensive armor as much, nay more, against +flattery than against sarcasm. If, in the course of time, this habit +render one ungenial and uncompanionable, pray be lenient enough to ascribe +the fault to the condition as much as to the individual.” + </p> +<p> +“But, to be candid, I only recognize in you qualities the very opposite of +all these; and if I am to confess a smart at this moment, it is in feeling +that I am not the man to elicit them.” + </p> +<p> +“There you do me wrong. I should be very proud to captivate Mr. Repton.” + </p> +<p> +“Now we are on the good road at last!” said he, gayly; “for Mr. Repton is +dying to be captivated.” + </p> +<p> +“The fortress that is only anxious to surrender offers no great glory to +the conqueror,” replied she. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! I 'm glad you 're not at the bar.” + </p> +<p> +“If I had been, I could never have shown the same forbearance as Mr. +Repton.” + </p> +<p> +“How so? What do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“I never could have refused a silk gown, sir; and they tell me you have +done so!” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! they told you that,” said he, coloring with pleasurable pride. “Well, +it's quite true. The fact is correct, but I don't know what explanation +they have given of it!” + </p> +<p> +“There was none, sir,—or, at least, none that deserved the name.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what was your own reading of it?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Simply this, sir: that a proud man may very well serve in the ranks, but +spurn the grade of a petty officer.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove; it is strange to find that a young lady should understand one's +motives better than an old Minister,” said he, with an evident +satisfaction. +</p> +<p> +“It would be unjust, sir, were I to arrogate any credit to my own +perspicuity in this case,” said she, hastily; “for I was aided in my +judgment by what, very probably, never came under the Minister's eyes.” + </p> +<p> +“And what was that?” + </p> +<p> +“A little volume which I discovered one day in the library, entitled 'Days +of the Historical Society of Trinity College,' wherein I found Mr. +Repton's name not only one of the first in debate, but the very first in +enunciating the great truths of political liberty. In fact, I might go +further, and say, the only one who had the courage to proclaim the great +principles of the French Revolution.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah,—yes. I was a boy,—a mere boy,—very rash,—full +of hope,—full of enthusiasm,” said Repton, with an embarrassment +that increased at every word. “We all took fire from the great blaze +beside us just then; but, my dear young lady, the flame has died out,—very +fortunately, too; for if it had n't, it would have burned us up with it. +We were wrong,—wrong with Burke, to be sure,—<i>Errare Platone</i>, +as one may say,—but still wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“You were wrong, sir, in confounding casualties with true consequences; +wrong as a physician would be who abandoned his treatment from mistaking +the symptoms of disease for the effects of medicine. You set out by +declaring there was a terrible malady to be treated, and you shrink back +affrighted at the first results of your remedies; you did worse; you +accommodated your change of principles to party, and from the great +champions of liberty you descended to be—modern Whigs!” + </p> +<p> +“Why, what have we here? A Girondist, I verily believe!” said Repton, +looking in her face with a smile of mingled surprise and amazement. +</p> +<p> +“I don't much care for the name you may give me; but I am one who thinks +that the work of the French Revolution is sure of its accomplishment. We +shall very probably not do the thing in the same way, but it will be done, +nevertheless; for an Act of Parliament, though not so speedy, will be as +effectual as a 'Noyade,' and a Reforming Administration will work as +cleanly as a Constituent!” + </p> +<p> +“But see; look at France at this moment. Is not society reconstituted +pretty near to the old models? What evidence is there that the prestige of +rank has suffered from the shock of revolution?” + </p> +<p> +“The best evidence. Nobody believes in it,—not one. Society is +reconstituted just as a child constructs a card-house to see how high he +can carry the frail edifice before it tumbles. The people—the true +people of the Continent—look at the pageantry of a court and a +nobility just as they do on a stage procession, and criticise it in the +same spirit. They endure it so long as their indolence or their caprice +permit, and then, some fine morning, they 'll dash down the whole edifice; +and be assured that the fragments of the broken toy will never suggest the +sentiment to repair it.” + </p> +<p> +“You are a Democrat of the first water!” exclaimed Repton, in half +amazement. +</p> +<p> +“I am simply for the assertion of the truth everywhere and in everything,—in +religion and in politics, as in art and literature. If the people be the +source of power, don't divert the stream into another channel; and, above +all, don't insist that it should run up-hill! Come abroad, Mr. Repton,—just +come over with us to Paris,—and see if what I am telling you be so +far from the fact. You 'll find, too, that it is not merely the low-born, +the ignoble, and the poor who profess these opinions, but the great, the +titled, and the wealthy men of fourteen quarterings and ancient lineage; +and who, sick to death of a contest with a rich bourgeoisie, would rather +start fair in the race again, and win whatever place their prowess or +their capacity might giye them. You 'll hear very good socialism from the +lips of dukes and princesses who swear by Fourier.” + </p> +<p> +Repton stared at her in silence, not more amazed at the words he heard +than at the manner and air of her who spoke them; for she had gradually +assumed a degree of earnestness and energy which imparted to her features +a character of boldness and determination such as he had not seen in them +before.. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” resumed she, as though following out her own thoughts, “it is your +new creations, your ennobled banker, your starred and cordoned agitator of +the Bourse, who now defends his order, and stands up for the divine right +of misrule! The truly noble have other sentiments!” + </p> +<p> +“There 's nothing surprises me so much,” said Repton, at last, “as to hear +these sentiments from one who has lived surrounded by all the +blandishments of a condition that owes its existence to an aristocracy, +and never could have arisen without one,—who has lived that +delightful life of refined leisure and elevating enjoyment, such as forms +the atmosphere of only one class throughout the whole world. How would you +bear to exchange this for the chaotic struggle that you point at?” + </p> +<p> +“As for me, sir, I only saw the procession from the window. I may, +perhaps, walk in it when I descend to the street; but really,” added she, +laughing, “this is wandering very far out of the record. I had promised +myself to captivate Mr. Repton, and here I am, striving to array every +feeling of his heart and every prejudice of his mind against me.” + </p> +<p> +“It is something like five-and-fifty years since I last heard such +sentiments as you have just uttered,” said Repton, gravely. “I was young +and ardent,—full of that hopefulness in mankind which is, after all, +the life-blood of Republicanism; and here I am now, an old, time-hardened +lawyer, with very little faith in any one. How do you suppose that such +opinions can chime in with all I have witnessed in the interval?” + </p> +<p> +“Come over to Paris, sir,” was her reply. +</p> +<p> +“And I would ask nothing better,” rejoined he. “Did I ever tell you of +what Harry Parsons said to Macnatty when he purposed visiting France, +after the peace of '15? 'Now is the time to see the French capital,' said +Mac. 'I 'll put a guinea in one pocket and a shirt in the other, and start +to-morrow.' 'Ay, sir,' said Parsons, 'and never change either till you +come back again!'” + </p> +<p> +Once back in his accustomed field, the old lawyer went along recounting +story after story, every name seeming to suggest its own anecdote. Nor was +Kate, now, an ungenerous listener; on the contrary, she relished his +stores of wit and repartee. Thus they, too, went on their journey! +</p> +<p> +The third carriage contained Madame Hortense, Lady Dorothea's French maid; +Mrs. Runt, an inferior dignitary of the toilet; and Mark Peddar, Mr. +Martin's “gentleman,”—a party which, we are forced to own, seemed to +combine more elements of sociality than were gathered together in the +vehicles that preceded them. To <i>their</i> share there were no regrets +for leaving home,—no sorrow at quitting a spot endeared to them by +long association. The sentiment was one of unalloyed satisfaction. They +were escaping from the gloom of a long exile, and about to issue forth +into that world which they longed for as eagerly as their betters. And why +should they not? Are not all its pleasures, all its associations more +essentially adapted to such natures; and has solitude one single +compensation for all its depression to such as these? +</p> +<p> +“Our noble selves,” said Mr. Peddar, filling the ladies' glasses, and then +his own; for a very appetizing luncheon was there spread out before them, +and four bottles of long-necked gracefulness rose from amidst the crystal +ruins of a well-filled ice-pail. “Mam'selle, it is your favorite tipple, +and deliciously cool.” + </p> +<p> +“Perfection,” replied mademoiselle, with a foreign accent, for she had +been long in England; “and I never enjoyed it more. <i>Au revoir</i>,” + added she, waving her hand towards the tall towers of Cro' Martin, just +visible above the trees,—“<i>Au revoir!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Just so,—till I see you again,” said Mrs. Runt; “and I 'm sure I +'ll take good care that day won't come soon. It seems like a terrible +nightmare when I think of the eight long years I passed there.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Et moi</i>, twelve! Miladi engage me, so to say, <i>provisoirement</i>, +to come to Ireland, but with a promise of travel abroad; that we live in +Paris, Rome, Naples,—<i>que sais-je?</i> I accept,—I arrive,—<i>et +me voici!</i>” And mademoiselle threw back her veil, the better to direct +attention to the ravages time and exile had made upon her charms. +</p> +<p> +“Hard lines, ma'am,” said Peddar, whose sympathy must not be accused of an +<i>equivoque</i>; “and here am I, that left the best single-handed +situation in all England,—Sir Augustus Hawleigh's,—a young +fellow just of age, and that never knew what money was, to come down here +at a salary positively little better than a country curate's, and live the +life of—of—what shall I say?—” + </p> +<p> +“No, the leg, if you please, Mr. Peddar; no more wine. Well, just one +glass, to drink a hearty farewell to the old house.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure I wish Mary joy of her residence there,” said Peddar, adjusting +his cravat; “she is a devilish fine girl, and might do better, though.” + </p> +<p> +“She has no ambitions,—no what you call them?—no aspirations +for <i>le grand monde</i>; so perhaps she has reason to stay where she +is.” + </p> +<p> +“But with a young fellow of <i>ton</i> and fashion, mam'selle,—a +fellow who has seen life,—to guide and bring her out, trust me, +there are excellent capabilities in that girl.” And as Mr. Peddar +enunciated the sentiment, his hands ran carelessly through his hair, and +performed a kind of impromptu toilet. +</p> +<p> +“She do dress herself <i>bien mal</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Disgracefully so,” chimed in Mrs. Runt “I believe, whenever she bought a +gown, her first thought was what it should turn into when she 'd done with +it.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought that la Henderson might have taught her something,” said +Peddar, affectedly. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Au contraire</i>,—she like to make the contrast more strong; she +always seek to make say, '<i>Regardez</i>, mademoiselle, see what a <i>tournure</i> +is there!'” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think her handsome, Mr. Peddar?” asked Mrs. Runt. +</p> +<p> +“Handsome, yes; but not <i>my</i> style,—not one of what <i>I</i> +call <i>my</i> women; too much of this kind of thing, eh?” And he drew his +head back, and threw into his features an expression of exaggerated scorn. +</p> +<p> +“Just so. Downright impudent, I'd call it.” + </p> +<p> +“Not even that,” said Mr. Peddar, pondering; “haughty, rather,—a +kind of don't-think-to-come-it-on-me style of look, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“Not at all amiable,—<i>point de cela,</i>” exclaimed mam'selle; +“but still, I will say, <i>très bon genre</i>. You see at a glance that +she has seen <i>la bonne société.</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Which, after all, is the same all the world over,” said Peddar, +dogmatically. “At Vienna we just saw the same people we used to have with +us in London; at Rome, the same; so, too, at Naples. I assure you that the +last time I dined at Dolgorouki's, I proposed going in the evening to the +Haymarket. I quite forgot we were on the Neva. And when Prince +Gladuatoffski's gentleman said, 'Where shall I set you down?' I answered +carelessly, 'At my chambers in the Albany, or anywhere your Highness likes +near that.' Such is life!” exclaimed he, draining the last of the +champagne into his glass. +</p> +<p> +“The place will be pretty dull without us, I fancy,” said Mrs. Runt, +looking out at the distant landscape. +</p> +<p> +“That horrid old Mother Broon won't say so,” said Peddar, laughing. “By +Jove! if it was only to escape that detestable hag, it 's worth while +getting away.” + </p> +<p> +“I offer her my hand when I descend the steps, but she refuse <i>froidement</i>, +and say, 'I wish you as much pleasure as you leave behind you.' <i>Pas mal</i> +for such a <i>creature</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“I did n't even notice her,” said Mrs. Runt. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Ma foi!</i> I was good with all the world; I was in such Joy—such +spirits—that I forgave all and everything. I felt <i>nous sommes en +route</i>, and Paris—dear Paris—before us.” + </p> +<p> +“My own sentiments to, a T,” said Mr. Peddar. “Let me live on the +Boulevards, have my cab, my stall at the Opera, two Naps, per diem for my +dinner, and I'd not accept Mary Martin's hand if she owned Cro' Martin, +and obliged me to live in it.” + </p> +<p> +The speech was fully and warmly acknowledged, other subjects were started, +and so they travelled the same road as their betters, and perhaps with +lighter hearts. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. COUNTRY AUCTION +</h2> +<p> +With feelings akin to those with which the populace of a revolted city +invade the once sacred edifice of the deposed Prince, the whole town and +neighborhood of Oughterard now poured into the demesne of Cro' Martin, +wandered through the grounds, explored the gardens, and filled the house. +An immense advertisement in the local papers had announced a general sale +of horses and carriages, farming stock, and agricultural implements; +cattle of choice breeding, sheep of fabulous facilities for fat, and cows +of every imaginable productiveness, were there, with draft-horses like +dwarf elephants, and bulls that would have puzzled a matador. +</p> +<p> +The haughty state in which the Martins habitually lived, the wide distance +by which they separated themselves from the neighborhood around, had +imparted to Cro' Martin a kind of dreamy splendor in the country, exalting +even its well-merited claims to admiration. Some had seen the grounds, a +few had by rare accident visited the gardens, but the house and the +stables were still unexplored territories, of whose magnificence each +spoke without a fear of contradiction. +</p> +<p> +Country neighborhoods are rarely rich in events, and of these, few can +rival a great auction. It is not alone in the interests of barter and gain +thus suggested, but in the thousand new channels for thought thus suddenly +opened,—the altered fortunes of him whose effects have come to the +hammer; his death, or his banishment,—both so much alike. The +visitor wanders amidst objects which have occupied years in collection,—some +the results of considerable research and difficulty, some the long-coveted +acquisitions of half a lifetime, and some—we have known such—the +fond gifts of friendship. There they are now side by side in the +catalogue, their private histories no more suspected than those of them +who lie grass-covered in the churchyard. You admire that highly bred +hunter in all the beauty of his symmetry and his strength, but you never +think of the “little Shelty” in the next stable with shaggy mane and +flowing tail; and yet it was on <i>him</i> the young heir used to ride; <i>he</i> +was the cherished animal of all the stud, led in beside the +breakfast-table to be caressed and petted, fed with sugar from fair +fingers, and patted by hands a Prince might have knelt to kiss! His rider +now sleeps beneath the marble slab in the old aisle, and they who once +brightened in smiles at the sound of his tiny trot would burst into tears +did they behold that pony! +</p> +<p> +So, amidst the triumphs of color and design that grace the walls, you have +no eyes for a little sketch in water-color,—a mill, a shealing +beside a glassy brook, a few trees, and a moss-clad rock; and yet that +little drawing reveals a sad story. It is all that remains of her who went +abroad to die. You throw yourself in listless lassitude upon a couch; it +was the work of one who beguiled over it the last hours of a broken heart! +You turn your steps to the conservatory, but never notice the little +flower-garden, whose narrow walks, designed for tiny feet, need not the +little spade to tell of the child-gardener who tilled it. +</p> +<p> +Ay, this selling-off is a sad process! It bespeaks the disruption of a +home; the scattering of those who once sat around the same hearth, with +all the dear familiar things about them! +</p> +<p> +It was a bright spring morning—one of those breezy, cloud-flitting +days, with flashes of gay sunlight alternating with broad shadows, and +giving in the tamest landscape every effect the painter's art could summon—that +a long procession, consisting of all imaginable vehicles, with many on +horseback intermixed, wound their way beneath the grand entrance and +through the park of Cro' Martin. Such an opportunity of gratifying long +pent-up curiosity had never before offered; since, even when death itself +visited the mansion, the habits of exclusion were not relaxed, but the +Martins went to their graves in the solemn state of their households +alone, and were buried in a little chapel within the grounds, the faint +tolling of the bell alone announcing to the world without that one of a +proud house had departed. +</p> +<p> +The pace of the carriages was slow as they moved along, their occupants +preferring to linger in a scene from which they had been hitherto +excluded, struck by the unexpected beauty of the spot, and wondering at +all the devices by which it was adorned. A few—a very few—had +seen the place in boyhood, and were puzzling themselves to recall this and +that memory; but all agreed in pronouncing that the demesne was far finer, +the timber better grown, and the fields more highly cultivated than +anything they had ever before seen. +</p> +<p> +“I call this the finest place in Ireland, Dan!” said Captain Bodkin, as he +rode beside Nelligan's car, halting every now and then to look around him. +“There's everything can make a demesne beautiful,—wood, water, and +mountain!” + </p> +<p> +“And, better than all, a fine system of farming,” broke in Nelligan. +“That's the best field of 'swedes' I ever beheld!” + </p> +<p> +“And to think that a man would leave this to go live abroad in a dirty +town in France!” exclaimed Mrs. Clinch, from the opposite side of the car. +“That's perverseness indeed!” + </p> +<p> +“Them there is all Swiss cows!” said Mr. Clinch, in an humble tone. +</p> +<p> +“Not one of them, Clinch! they're Alderneys. The Swiss farm, as they call +it, is all on the other side, with the ornamented cottage.” + </p> +<p> +“Dear! dear! there was no end to their waste and extravagance!” muttered +Mrs. Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Wait till you see the house, ma'am, and you 'll say so, indeed,” said the +Captain. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think we 're likely!” observed Nelligan, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Why so?” + </p> +<p> +“Just that Scanlan told Father Mather the auction would be held in the +stables; for as there was none of the furniture to be sold, the house +would n't be opened.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a great disappointment!” exclaimed Bodkin. A sentiment fully +concurred in by the ladies, who both declared that they'd never have, come +so far only to look at pigs and “shorthorns.” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe we 'll get a peep at the gardens,” said Bodkin, endeavoring to +console them. +</p> +<p> +“And the sow!” broke in Peter Hayes, who had joined the party some time +before. “They tell me she's a beauty. She's Lord Somebody's breed, and +beats the world for fat!” + </p> +<p> +“Here's Scanlan now, and he 'll tell us everything,” said Bodkin. But the +sporting attorney, mounted on a splendid little horse, in top condition, +passed them at speed, the few words he uttered being lost as he dashed by. +</p> +<p> +“What was it he said?” cried Bodkin. +</p> +<p> +“I didn't catch the words,” replied Nelligan; “and I suppose it was no +great loss.” + </p> +<p> +“He's an impudent upstart!” exclaimed Mrs. Clinch. +</p> +<p> +“I think he said something about a breakfast,” meekly interposed Mr. +Clinch. +</p> +<p> +“And of course he said nothing of the kind,” retorted his spouse. “You +never happened to be right in your life!” + </p> +<p> +“Faix! I made sure of mine before I started,” said old Hayes, “I ate a +cowld goose!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, to be sure, they could n't be expected to entertain all that's +coming!” said Mrs. Nelligan, who now began a mental calculation of the +numbers on the road. +</p> +<p> +“There will be a thousand people here to-day,” said Bodkin. +</p> +<p> +“Five times that,” said Nelligan. “I know it by the number of small bills +that I gave cash for the last week. There's not a farmer in the county +does n't expect to bring back with him a prize beast of one kind or +other.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll buy that sow if she goes 'reasonable,'” said Peter Hayes, whose +whole thoughts seemed centred on the animal in question. +</p> +<p> +“What do they mean to do when they sell off the stock?” asked the Captain. +</p> +<p> +“I hear that the place will be let,” said Nelligan, in a half whisper, “if +they can find a tenant for it. Henderson told Father Mather that, come +what might, her Ladyship would never come back here.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix! the only one of them worth a groat was Miss Mary, and I suppose +they did n't leave her the means to do much now.” + </p> +<p> +“'Tis she must have the heavy heart to-day,” sighed Mrs. Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“And it is only fair and reasonable she should have her share of troubles, +like the rest of us,” replied Mrs. Clinch. “When Clinch was removed from +Macroon, we had to sell off every stick and stone we had; and as the +neighbors knew we must go, we didn't get five shillings in the pound by +the sale.” + </p> +<p> +“That's mighty grand,—that is really a fine place!” exclaimed +Bodkin, as by a sudden turn of the road they came directly in front of the +house; and the whole party sat in silent admiration of the magnificent +edifice before them. +</p> +<p> +“It is a royal palace,—no less,” said Nelligan, at last; “and that's +exactly what no country gentleman wants. Sure we know well there's no +fortune equal to such a residence. To keep up that house, as it ought to +be, a man should have thirty thousand a year.” + </p> +<p> +“Give me fifteen, Dan, and you'll see if I don't make it comfortable,”, +said Bodkin. +</p> +<p> +“What's this barrier here,—can't we go any further?” exclaimed +Nelligan, as he perceived a strong paling across the avenue. +</p> +<p> +“We 're to go round by the stables, it seems,” said Bodkin; “the hall +entrance is not to be invaded by such vulgar visitors. This is our road, +here.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, if I ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Clinch, whose feelings really +overpowered utterance. +</p> +<p> +“I don't see any great hardship in this after all, ma'am,” said Nelligan; +“for we know if the family were at home we couldn't even be here. Drive +on, Tim.” + </p> +<p> +A short circuit through a very thickly wooded tract brought them at length +to a large and massive gateway, over which the Martins' arms were +sculptured in stone; passing through which they entered a great courtyard, +three sides of which were occupied by stables, the fourth presenting a +range of coach-houses filled with carriages of every description. +</p> +<p> +A large tent was erected in the midst of the court for the convenience of +the sale, in front of which were pens for the cattle, and a space railed +off, wherein the horses were to be viewed and examined. +</p> +<p> +“This is all mighty well arranged,” said Bodkin, as he gave his horse to a +groom, who, in the undress livery of Cro' Martin, came respectfully to his +aid as he got down. +</p> +<p> +“The sale will begin in about an hour, sir,” said the man, in answer to a +question. “Mr. Scanlan is now in the house with Mr. Gibbs, the +auctioneer.” + </p> +<p> +Vast crowds of people of every class, from the small squire to the +Oughterard shopkeeper and country farmer, now came pouring in, all eager +in their curiosity, but somehow all subdued into a kind of reverence for a +spot from which they had been so rigidly excluded, and the very aspect of +which so far transcended expectations. Everything, indeed, was an object +of wonderment. The ornamental tanks for watering the horses, supplied by +beautifully designed fountains; the sculptured medallions along the walls, +emblematizing the chase or the road; the bright mahogany partitions of the +stalls, even to the little channels lined with shining copper, all +demanded notice and comment; and many were the wise reflections uttered +with regard to those who thus squandered away their wealth. The sight of +the cattle, however, which occupied this luxurious abode, went far to +disarm this criticism, since certainly none ever seemed more worthy of the +state and splendor that surrounded them. For these the admiration was +hearty and sincere, and the farmers went along the stalls amazed and +wonderstruck at the size and symmetry of the noble animals that filled +them. +</p> +<p> +“To be sold at Tattersall's, sir, on the 4th of next month,” said a groom, +whose English accent imparted an almost sneer to the supposition that such +a stud should meet purchasers in Ireland. “They 're all advertised in +'Bell's Life.'” + </p> +<p> +“What becomes of the hounds?” asked Bodkin. +</p> +<p> +“Lord Cromore takes them, sir; they're to hunt in Dorsetshire.” + </p> +<p> +“And the sow?” asked old Hayes, with eagerness; “she isn't to go to +England, is she?” + </p> +<p> +“Can't say, sir. We don't look arter no sows here,” replied the fellow, as +he turned away in evident disgust at his questioner. +</p> +<p> +A certain stir and bustle in the court without gave token that the sale +was about to begin; and Scanlan's voice, in its most authoritative tone, +was heard issuing orders and directions on all sides, while servants went +hither and thither distributing catalogues, and securing accommodation for +the visitors with a degree of deference and attention most remarkable. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose we're to pass the day in the stables or the cowhouses, ma'am?” + said Mrs. Clinch, as with a look of indignation she gazed at the range of +seats now being hastily occupied by a miscellaneous company. +</p> +<p> +“If we could only get into the gardens,” said Mrs. Nelligan, timidly. “I'm +sure if I saw Barnes he'd let us in.” And she slipped rapidly from her +friend's arm, and hastily crossing the court, went in search of her only +acquaintance in the household. “Did you see Barnes? Where could I find +Barnes?” asked she of almost every one she met. And following the +complicated directions she received, she wandered onward, through a +kitchen-garden, and into a small nursery beyond it. Bewildered as she +receded beyond the sounds of the multitude, she turned into a little path +which, traversing a shrubbery, opened upon a beautifully cultivated +“parterre,” whose close-shaven sward and flowery beds flanked a long range +of windows opening to the ground, and which, to her no small horror, she +perceived to form one wing of the mansion. While in her distraction to +think what course was best to take, she saw a groom standing at the head +of a small pony, harnessed to a diminutive carriage, and hastily +approached him. Before, however, she had attained within speaking +distance, the man motioned to her, by a gesture, to retire. Her +embarrassment gave her, if not courage, something of resolution, and she +advanced. +</p> +<p> +“Go back!” cried he, in a smothered voice; “there 's no one admitted +here.” + </p> +<p> +“But I 've lost my way. I was looking for Barnes—” + </p> +<p> +“He's not here. Go back, I say,” reiterated the man, in the same stealthy +voice. +</p> +<p> +But poor Mrs. Nelligan, came on, confusion rendering her indifferent to +all reproof, and in spite of gestures and admonitions to retire, steadily +advanced towards the door. As she passed one of the open windows, her +glance caught something within; she stopped suddenly, and, in seeming +shame at her intrusion, turned to go back. A muttered malediction from the +servant increased her terror, and she uttered a faint cry. In an instant +the object at which she had been gazing arose, and Mary Martin, her face +traced with recent tears, started up and approached her. Mrs. Nelligan +felt a sense of sickly faintness come over her, and had to grasp the +window for support. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my dear young lady!” she muttered, “I did n't mean to do this—I +strayed here by accident—I didn't know where I was going—” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Mrs. Nelligan, there is no need of these excuses,” said Mary, +taking her hand cordially, and leading her to a seat. “It is a great +pleasure to me to see a friendly face, and I am grateful for the chance +that sent you here.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. Nelligan, once relieved of her first embarrassment, poured forth with +volubility the explanation of her presence; and Mary heard her to the end +with patient politeness. +</p> +<p> +“And you were going away somewhere,” resumed she, “when I stopped you. I +see your pony-chaise there at the door waiting for you, and you're off to +the quarries or Kilkieran, I 'll be bound; or maybe it's only going away +you are, to be out of this for a day or two. God knows, I don't wonder at +it! It is a trying scene for you, and a great shock to your feelings, to +see the place dismantled, and everything sold off!” + </p> +<p> +“It is sad enough,” said Mary, smiling through her tears. +</p> +<p> +“Not to say that you're left here all alone, just as if you were n't one +of the family at all; that 's what I think most of. And where were you +going, dear?” + </p> +<p> +“I was going to pass a few days at the cottage,—the Swiss cottage. +Catty Broon, my old nurse, has gone over there to get it in readiness for +me, and I shall probably stay there till all this confusion be over.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure, dear. What's more natural than that you'd like to spare your +feelings, seeing all carried away just as if it was bankrupts you were. +Indeed, Dan said to me the things wouldn't bring more than at a sheriff's +sale, because of the hurry you were in to sell them off.” + </p> +<p> +“My uncle's orders were positive on that subject,” said Mary, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear, of course he knows best,” said she, with a shake of the head +not exactly corroborating her own speech. “And how are you to live here by +yourself, dear?” resumed she; “sure you 'll die of the loneliness!” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think so: I shall have plenty to occupy me,—more, indeed, +than I shall be equal to.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, in the daytime; but the long evenings—think of the long +evenings, dear! God knows, I find them very often dreary enough, even +though I have a home and Dan.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not afraid of the long evenings, my dear Mrs. Nelligan. It is the +only time I can spare for reading; they will be my hours of recreation and +amusement.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well, I hope so, with all my heart,” said she, doubtingly. “You +know yourself best, and maybe you'd be happier that way, than if you had +somebody to talk to and keep you company.” + </p> +<p> +“I didn't say that,” said Mary, smiling. “I never implied that a visit +from some kind friend—Mrs. Nelligan, for instance—would not be +a very pleasant event in my solitude.” + </p> +<p> +“To come and see you,—to come to Cro' Martin!” exclaimed Mrs. +Nelligan, as though trying to reconcile her mind to the bare possibility +of such a circumstance. +</p> +<p> +“If you would not think it too far, or too much trouble—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh dear, oh dear, but it's too much honor it would be; and Dan—no +matter what he 'd say to the contrary—would feel it so, in his own +heart. Sure I know well how he felt about Joe being asked here to dinner; +and he 'd never have taken a part against your uncle in the election if it +was n't that he thought Joe was slighted some way—” + </p> +<p> +“But nothing of the kind ever occurred. Mr..Joseph Nelligan met from us +all the respect that his character and his talents entitled him to.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't get warm about it, or I 'll forget everything that's in my head!” + exclaimed Mrs. Nelligan, in terror at the eagerness of Mary's manner. +“Maybe it was Joe's fault—maybe it was young Massingbred's—maybe +it was—” + </p> +<p> +“But what was it?” cried Mary. “What was alleged? What was laid to our +charge?” + </p> +<p> +“There, now, I don't remember anything; you frightened me so that it's +gone clean out of my mind.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear friend,” said Mary, caressingly, “I never meant to alarm you; and +let us talk of something else. You say that you 'll come to see me +sometimes; is it a promise?” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed it is, my dear, whenever Dan gives me the car and horse—” + </p> +<p> +“But I 'll drive in for you, and bring you safely back again. You 've only +to say when you 'll spend the day with me; and there's so much to show you +here that you 'd like to see. The gardens are really handsome, and the +hothouses. And Catty will show us her dairy, and I am very proud of my +lambs.” + </p> +<p> +“It is all like a dream to me,—just like a dream,” said Mrs. +Nelligan, closing her eyes, and folding her arms, “to think that I 'm +sitting here, at Cro' Martin, talking to Miss Mary just as if I were her +equal.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear, dear friend, it shall be a reality whenever you like to make it +so; and you'll tell me all the news of Oughterard,—all about every +one there; for I know them, at least by name, and will be charmed to hear +about them.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Scanlan wants an answer, miss, immediately,” said a servant, +presenting Mary with a few lines written in pencil. +</p> +<p> +She opened the paper and read the following: “Nelligan offers seventy +pounds for the two black horses. Is he to have them? Sir Peter shows an +incipient spavin on the off leg, and I think he 'd be well sold.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell Mr. Scanlan I 'll send him an answer by and by,” said she, +dismissing the servant. Then ringing the bell, she whispered a few words +to the man who answered it. “I have just sent a message to tell Mr. +Nelligan I wish to speak to him,” said she, resuming her place on the +sofa. “It is a mere business matter,” added she, seeing that Mrs. Nelligan +waited for some explanation. “And now, when have you heard from your son? +Is he learning to spare himself anything of those great efforts he imposes +upon his faculties?” + </p> +<p> +This was to touch the most sensitive chord in all her heart; and so she +burst forth into a description of Joseph's daily life of toil and study; +his labors, his self-denial, his solitary, joyless existence, all calling +up, in turn, her praises and her sympathy. +</p> +<p> +“And I,” cried she, “am always saying, what is it all for?—what's +the use of it?—who is to be the better of it? Sure there 's only +himself to get whatever his father leaves behind him; and a pretty penny +it is! Not that <i>you</i> would think so; but for the like of <i>us</i>, +and in <i>our</i> station, it's a snug fortune. He 'll have upwards of two +thousand a year, so that there 's no need to be slaving like a Turk.” + </p> +<p> +“Your son's ambitions take, very probably, a higher range than mere +money-making,” said Mary. “He has a good right to suppose that his +abilities may win him the highest of rewards! But here's Mr. Nelligan.” + And she advanced courteously to meet him at the door. +</p> +<p> +Flushed and heated by the scene he had just quitted, and evidently +embarrassed by the situation in which he stood, Nelligan bowed repeatedly +in reply to Miss Martin's greeting, starting with amazement as he +perceived Mrs. Nelligan, who maintained an air of unbroken dignity on the +sofa. +</p> +<p> +“Well you may stare, Dan!” said she. “I 'm sure you never expected to see +me here!” + </p> +<p> +“It was a most agreeable surprise for <i>me</i>, at least,” said Mary, +motioning to a seat; then, turning to Nelligan, added, “This little note +was the occasion of my asking you to step over here. Will you please to +read it?” + </p> +<p> +“How handsome, how candid, Miss Martin!” said Nelligan, as he restored it, +after perusing it. “Ah, my dear young lady, why would n't your family deal +always with us in this fashion and in everything? I beg your forgiveness, +but I forgot myself. I 'll stick to my offer, miss,—I wouldn't take +fifty pounds for my bargain!” + </p> +<p> +“This, of course, is in confidence between us, sir,” said Mary, as she +tore up the note and threw the fragments on the ground. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/368.jpg" width="100%" alt="368 " /> +</div> +<p> +“I wish I knew how to acknowledge this, Miss Martin; I wish I could show +how sensible one in <i>my</i> station could be of generosity from one in +<i>yours</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“You remind me very opportunely that I have a favor to ask, Mr. Nelligan. +It is this: My kind friend here, Mrs. Nelligan, has just promised to take +pity on my solitude, and occasionally to come and see me. Will you kindly +strengthen her in this benevolent intention, and aid her to turn her steps +very often towards Cro' Martin?” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan's face grew deeply red, and an expression of the greatest +embarrassment settled down on his features; and it was with much +difficulty, and in a voice laboring for utterance, that he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I don't see how this can be. Your friends would not approve,—your +family, I mean, Miss Martin,—would, very naturally, resent the +thought of such an intimacy! They look upon <i>me</i> as an enemy,—an +open and declared enemy,—and so I am, where politics is concerned; +but—” He hesitated, and after a struggle went on: “No matter, it <i>is</i> +war between us, and must be till one crushes the other. What I mean is +this, young lady: that to encourage such acquaintanceship as you speak of +would look like an undue condescension on <i>your</i> part, or something +even worse on <i>ours</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll not listen to such subtleties!” cried Mary, hastily. “Neither you +nor I, my dear Mrs. Nelligan, care for party triumphs or defeats. There +are a thousand themes wherein our hearts can feel alike; and these we 'll +discuss together. We're of the same country; have passed our lives amidst +the same scenes, the same events, and the same people, and it will be hard +if we cannot as easily discover topics for mutual esteem, as subjects of +difference and disagreement.” + </p> +<p> +“But will it not be hinted, Miss Martin, that we took the opportunity of +your solitude here to impose an acquaintanceship which had been impossible +under other circumstances?” + </p> +<p> +“If you are too proud, sir, to know me,—lest an ungenerous sneer +should damage your self-esteem—” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, indeed we're not,” broke in Mrs. Nelligan. “You don't know Dan at +all. He would n't exchange the honor of sitting there, opposite you, to be +High Sheriff.” + </p> +<p> +A servant fortunately presented himself at this awkward moment with a +whispered message for Miss Martin; to which she replied aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“Of course. Tell Mr. Scanlan it is my wish,—<i>my</i> orders,” added +she, more firmly. “The house is open to any one who desires to see it. And +now, before I go, Mr. Nelligan, tell me that I have convinced you,—tell +me that my reasons have prevailed, and that you acknowledge we ought to be +friends.” And as she said the last words, she held out her hand to him +with a grace so perfect, and an air of such winning fascination, that old +Nelligan could only stammer out,— +</p> +<p> +“It shall be how you please. I never bargained to dispute against such +odds as this. We are, indeed, your friends; dispose of us how you like.” + And, so saying, he conducted her to the little carriage, and, assisting +her to her seat, took his leave with all the respect he could have shown a +queen. +</p> +<p> +“It's more than a prejudice, after all,” muttered he, as he looked after +her as she drove away. “There's something deeper and stronger in it than +that, or else a few words spoken by a young girl could n't so suddenly +rout all the sentiments of a lifetime! Ay, ay,” added he, still to +himself, “we may pull them down; we may humble them; but we 'll never fill +their places!” + </p> +<p> +“And we 're to see the house, it seems!” exclaimed Mrs. Nelligan, +gathering her shawl around her. +</p> +<p> +“I don't care to look at it till she herself is here!” said old Nelligan, +taking his wife's arm, and leading her away across the lawn, and in the +direction of the stables. There was that in his moody preoccupation which +did not encourage her to venture on a word, and so she went along at his +side in silence. +</p> +<p> +“You're to have the black horses, Mr. Nelligan,” said Scanlan, overtaking +him. Nelligan nodded. “You 've got a cheap pair of nags, and as good as +gold,” continued he. A dry half-smile was all the reply. “Mr. Martin bred +them himself,” Scanlan went on, “and no price would have bought them three +weeks ago; but everything is going for a song to-day! I don't know how I +'ll muster courage to tell them the results of the sale!” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll have courage for more than that,” said Nelligan. And although +only a chance shot, it fell into a magazine; for Scanlan grew crimson, and +then pale, and seemed ready to faint. +</p> +<p> +Nelligan stared with amazement at the effect his few words had produced, +and then passed on; while the attorney muttered between his teeth, “Can he +suspect me? Is it possible that I have betrayed myself?” + </p> +<p> +No, Maurice Scanlan. Be of good cheer, your secret is safe. No one has as +much as the very barest suspicion that the pettifogging practitioner +aspires to the hand of Mary Martin; nor even in the darkest dreams of that +house's downfall has such a humiliation obtruded itself anywhere! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. “REVERSES” + </h2> +<p> +Ours is a very practical age, and no matter how skilfully a man play the +game of life, there is but one test of his ability,—did he win? If +this condition attend him, his actions meet charitable construction. His +doings are all favorably regarded; and while his capacity is extolled, +even his shortcomings are extenuated. We dread an unlucky man! There is a +kind of contagion in calamity, and we shun him as though he were +plague-stricken. But with what flatteries we greet the successful one! +That he reached the goal is the sure guarantee of his merits; and woe to +him who would canvass the rectitude of his progress! Defeat is such a +leveller! Genius and dulness, courage and pusillanimity, high-hearted hope +and wasting energy, are all confounded together by failure, and the world +would only smile at any effort to discriminate between them. Perhaps in +the main the system works well. Perhaps mankind, incapable of judging +motives, too impatient to investigate causes, is wise in adopting a short +cut for its decisions. Certain it is, the rule is absolute that proclaims +Success to be Desert! +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea was now about to experience this severe lesson, and not the +less heavily that she never anticipated it. After a wearisome journey the +Martins arrived in Dublin. The apartments secured to them, by a previous +letter, at Bilton's, were all in readiness for their reception. The +“Saunders” of the day duly chronicled their arrival; but there the great +event seemed to terminate. No message from her Ladyship's noble kinsman +greeted their coming; no kind note of welcome,—not even a visit from +Mr. Lawrence Belcour, the aide-de-camp in waiting. The greatest of all +moralists warns us against putting confidence in princes; and how doubly +truthful is the adage when extended to viceroys! Small as was the borough +of Oughterard, and insignificant as seemed the fact who should be its +representative, the result of the election was made a great matter at the +“Castle.” His Excellency was told that the Martins had mismanaged +everything. They had gone to work in the old Tory cut-and-thrust fashion +of former days—conciliated no interest, won over no antagonism; they +had acted “precisely as if there had been no Relief Bill,”—we steal +Colonel Massingbred's words,—and they were beaten—beaten in +their own town—in the person of one of their own family, and by a +stranger! The Viceroy was vexed. They had misconstrued every word of his +letter,—a letter that, as he said, any child might have understood,—and +there was a vote lost to his party. It was in vain that the Chief +Secretary assured his Excellency “Jack was a clever fellow, who 'd put all +to rights;” that with a little time and a little dexterity he 'd be able +to vote with the Ministry on every important division; the great fact +remained unatoned for,—his family, his own connections, “had done +nothing for him.” + </p> +<p> +The first day in town dragged its length slowly over. Martin was fatigued, +and did not go abroad, and no one came to visit him. To do him justice, he +was patient under the neglect; to say more, he was grateful for it. It was +so pleasant “to be let alone;” not even to be obliged to see Henderson, +nor to be consulted about “Road Sessions” or “Police Reports,” but to have +one's day in total unbroken listlessness; to have simply to say, “We 'll +dine at seven,” and “I'm out for every one.” Far otherwise fared it in my +“Lady's chamber.” All her plans had been based upon the attentions she was +so certain of receiving, but of which now not a sign gave token. She +passed the day in a state of almost feverish excitement, the more painful +from her effort to conceal and control it. Repton dined with them. He came +that day “because, of course, he could not expect to catch them disengaged +on any future occasion.” Her Ladyship was furious at the speech, but +smiled concurrence to it; while Martin carelessly remarked, “From all that +I see, we may enjoy the same pleasure very often.” Never was the old +lawyer so disagreeable when exerting himself to be the opposite. He had +come stored with all the doings of the capital,—its dinners and +evening parties, its <i>mots</i> and its gossip. From the political rumors +and the chit-chat of society, he went on to speak of the viceregal court +and its festivities. +</p> +<p> +“If there be anything I detest,” said her Ladyship, at last, “it is the +small circle of a very small metropolis. So long as you look at it +carelessly, it is not so offensive; but when you stoop to consider and +examine it with attention, it reminds you of the hideous spectacle of a +glass of water as seen through a magnifier,—you detect a miniature +world of monsters and deformities, all warring and worrying each other.” + And with this flattering exposition of her opinion, she arose speedily +after dinner, and, followed by Miss Henderson, retired. +</p> +<p> +“I perceive that we had not the ear of the Court for our argument,” said +Repton, as he resumed his place after conducting her to the door. Martin +sipped his wine in silence. “I never expected she'd like Dublin; it only +suits those who pass their lives in it; but I fancied that what with +Castle civilities—” + </p> +<p> +“There 's the rub,” broke in Martin, but in a voice subdued almost to a +whisper. “They 've taken no notice of us. For my own part, I 'm heartily +obliged to them; and if they 'd condescend to feel offended with us, I 'd +only be more grateful; but my Lady—” + </p> +<p> +A long, low whistle from Repton implied that he had fully appreciated the +“situation.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, I see it,” cried he; “and this explains the meaning of an article I +read this morning in the 'Evening Post,'—the Government organ,—wherein +it is suggested that country gentlemen would be more efficient supporters +of the administration if they lent themselves heartily to comprehend the +requirements of recent legislation, than by exacting heavy reprisals on +their tenants in moments of defeat and disappointment.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, it is rather hard,” said Martin, with more of energy than he +usually spoke in,—“it <i>is</i> hard! They first hounded us on to +contest the borough for them, and they now abuse us that we did not make a +compromise with the opposite party. And as to measures of severity, you +know well I never concurred in them; I never permitted them.” + </p> +<p> +“But they are mistaken, nevertheless. There are writs in preparation, and +executions about to issue over fourteen town-lands. There will be a +general clearance of the population at Kyle-a-Noe. You 'll not know a face +there when you go back, Martin!” + </p> +<p> +“Who can say that I 'll ever go back?” said he, mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, I trust you will. I hope to pass some pleasant days with you +there ere I die,” said Repton, cheer-ingly. “Indeed, until you are there +again, I 'll never go farther west than Athlone on my circuit. I 'd not +like to, look at the old place without you!” + </p> +<p> +Martin nodded as he raised his glass, as if to thank him, and then dropped +his head mournfully, and sat without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“Poor dear Mary!” said he, at last, with a heavy sigh. “Our desertion of +her is too bad. It's not keeping the pledge I made to Barry!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well, there's nothing easier than the remedy. A week or so will see +you settled in some city abroad,—Paris, or Brussels, perhaps. Let +her join you; I 'll be her escort. Egad! I'd like the excuse for the +excursion,” replied Repton, gayly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, Repton,” said the other, pursuing his own thoughts and not heeding +the interruption, “and <i>you</i> know what a brother he was. By Jove!” + cried he, aloud, “were Barry just to see what we 've done,—how we +'ve treated the place, the people, his daughter!—were he only to +know how I 've kept my word with him—Look, Repton,” added he, +grasping the other's arm as he spoke, “there's not as generous a fellow +breathing as Barry; this world has not his equal for an act of noble +self-devotion and sacrifice. His life!—he 'd not think twice of it +if I asked him to give it for me; but if he felt—if he could just +awaken to the conviction that he was unfairly dealt with, that when +believing he was sacrificing to affection and brotherly love he was made a +dupe and a fool of—” + </p> +<p> +“Be cautious, Martin; speak lower—remember where you are,” said +Repton, guardedly. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you this,” resumed the other, in a tone less loud but not less +forcible: “the very warmth of his nature—that same noble, generous +source that feeds every impulse of his life—would supply the force +of a torrent to his passion; he 'd be a tiger if you aroused him!” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you perceive, my dear friend,” said Repton, calmly, “how you are +exaggerating everything,—not alone <i>your own</i> culpability, but +his resentment! Grant that you ought not to have left Mary behind you,—I +'m sure I said everything I could against it,—what more easy than to +repair the wrong?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, Repton, you 're quite mistaken. Take my word for it, you don't +know that girl. She has taught herself to believe that her place is there,—that +it is her duty to live amongst the people. She may exaggerate to her own +mind the good she does; she may fancy a thousand things as to the benefit +she bestows; but she cannot, by any self-deception, over-estimate the +results upon her own heart, which she has educated to feel as only they do +who live amongst the poor! To take her away from this would be a cruel +sacrifice; and for what?—a world she would n't care for, couldn't +comprehend.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what was to have been done?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you, Repton; if it was <i>her</i> duty to stay there, it was +doubly <i>ours</i> to have remained also. When she married,” added he, +after a pause,—“when she had got a home of her own,—then, of +course, it would have been quite different! Heaven knows,” said he, +sighing, “we have little left to tie us to anything or anywhere; and as to +myself, it is a matter of the most perfect indifference whether I drag out +the year or two that may remain to me on the shores of Galway or beside +the Adriatic!” + </p> +<p> +“I can't bear this,” cried Repton, angrily. “If ever there was a man well +treated by fortune, you are he.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not complaining.” + </p> +<p> +“Not complaining! but, hang it, sir, that is not enough! You should be +overflowing with gratitude; your life ought to be active with benevolence; +you should be up and doing, wherever ample means and handsome +encouragement could assist merit or cheer despondency. I like your notion +that you don't complain! Why, if you did, what should be done by those who +really do travel the shady side of existence,—who are weighted with +debt, bowed down with daily difficulties, crippled with that penury that +eats into a man's nature till his very affections grow sordid, and his +very dreams are tormented with his duns! Think of the poor fellows with +ailing wives and sickly children, toiling daily, not to give them +luxuries,—not to supply them with what may alleviate weariness or +distract suffering, but bare sustenance,—coarse diet and coarser +dress! Ah, my dear Martin, that Romanist plan of fasting one day in the +week would n't be a bad institution were we to introduce it into our +social code. If you and I could have, every now and then, our feelings of +privation, just to teach us what others experience all the week through, +we 'd have, if not more sympathy with narrow fortune, at least more +thankfulness for its opposite.” + </p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship begs you will read this note, sir,” said a servant, +presenting an open letter to Martin. He took it, and having perused it, +handed it to Repton, who slowly read the following lines:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'The Lodge, Tuesday. + +“'Madam,—I have his Excellency's commands to inquire on +what day it will suit Mr. Martin and your Ladyship to favor +him with your company at dinner? His Excellency would +himself say Saturday, but any intermediate day more +convenient to yourself will be equally agreeable to him. + +“'I have the honor to remain, madam, + +“'With every consideration, yours, + +“'Lawrence Belcour, A.D.C.'” + </pre> +<p> +“'With every consideration'!” repeated Repton. “Confound the puppy, and +his Frenchified phraseology! Why is he not, as he ought to be, your +obedient servant?” + </p> +<p> +“It is a somewhat cold and formal invitation,” said Martin, slowly. “I 'll +just see what she thinks of it;” and he arose and left the room. His +absence was fully of twenty minutes' duration, and when he did return his +face betokened agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Here's more of it, Repton,” said he, filling and drinking off his glass. +“It 's all <i>my</i> fault, it seems. I ought to have gone out to the +'Lodge' this morning, or called on somebody, or done something; in fact, I +have been remiss, neglectful, deficient in proper respect—” + </p> +<p> +“So that you decline the invitation?” broke in Repton. +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it; we 're to accept it, man. That's what I cannot +comprehend. We are offended, almost outraged, but still we're to submit. +Ah, Repton, I'll be really rejoiced when we leave this,—get away +from all these petty annoyances and small intriguings, and live amongst +strangers!” + </p> +<p> +“Most patriotically spoken; but I'm not surprised at what you say. Have +you made any resolve as to whither you mean to go?” + </p> +<p> +“No; we have so many plans, that the chances are we take none of them. I +'m told—I know nothing of it myself—but I 'm told that we +shall easily find—and in any part of the Continent—the few +requirements we want; which are, an admirable climate, great cheapness, +and excellent society.” + </p> +<p> +There was a slight twinkle in Martin's eye as he spoke, as if he were in +reality relishing the absurdity of these expectations. +</p> +<p> +“Was it Kate Henderson who encouraged you to credit this flattering +picture?” + </p> +<p> +“No; these are my Lady's own experiences, derived from a residence there +'when George the Third was King.' As to Kate, the girl is by no means +deficient in common sense; she has the frivolity of a Frenchwoman, and +that light, superficial tone foreign education imparts; but take my word +for it, Repton, she has very fine faculties!” + </p> +<p> +“I will take your word for it, Martin. I think you do her no more than +justice,” said the old lawyer, sententiously. +</p> +<p> +“And I 'll tell you another quality she possesses,” said Martin, in a +lower and more cautious tone, as though dreading to be overheard,—“she +understands my Lady to perfection,—when to yield and when to oppose +her. The girl has an instinct about it, and does it admirably; and there +was poor dear Mary, with all her abilities, and she never could succeed in +this! How strange, for nobody would think of comparing the two girls!” + </p> +<p> +“Nobody!” dryly re-echoed Repton. +</p> +<p> +“I mean, of course, that nobody who knew the world could; for in all the +glitter and show-off of fashionable acquirement, poor Molly is the +inferior.” + </p> +<p> +Repton looked steadfastly at him for several seconds; he seemed as if +deliberating within himself whether or not he'd undeceive him at once, or +suffer him to dwell on an illusion so pleasant to believe. The latter +feeling prevailed, and he merely nodded slowly, and passed the decanter +across the table. +</p> +<p> +“Molly,” continued Martin, with all the fluency of a weak man when he +fancies he has got the better of an argument,—“Molly is her father +all over. The same resolution, the same warmth of heart, and that +readiness at an expedient which never failed poor Barry! What a clever +fellow he was! If he <i>had</i> a fault, it was just being too clever.” + </p> +<p> +“Too speculative, too sanguine,” interposed Repton. +</p> +<p> +“That, if you like to call it so,—the weakness of genius.” + </p> +<p> +Repton gave a long sigh, and crossing his arms, fell into a fit of musing, +and so they both sat for a considerable time. +</p> +<p> +“Harry is coming home, you said?” broke in Repton at last. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he is tired of India,—tired of soldiering, I believe. If he +can't manage an exchange into some regiment at home, I think he 'll sell +out.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove!” said the old lawyer, speaking to himself, but still aloud, “the +world has taken a strange turn of late. The men that used to have dash and +energy have become loungers and idlers, and the energy—the real +energy of the nation—has centred in the women,—the women and +the priests! If I'm not much mistaken, we shall see some rare specimens of +enthusiasm erelong. Such elements as these will not slumber nor sleep!” + </p> +<p> +While Martin was pondering over this speech, a servant entered to say that +Mr. Crow was without, and begged to know if he might pay his respects. +“Ay, by all means. Tell him to come in,” said Martin. And the words were +scarcely uttered when the artist made his appearance, in full dinner +costume, and with a certain unsteadiness in his gait, and a restless look +in his eyes, that indicated his having indulged freely, without, however, +having passed the barrier of sobriety. +</p> +<p> +“You heard of our arrival, then?” said Martin, after the other had paid +his respects, and assumed a seat. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. It was mentioned to-day at dinner, and so I resolved that, when +I could manage to step away, I'd just drop in and ask how her Ladyship and +yourself were.” + </p> +<p> +“Where did you dine, Crow?” + </p> +<p> +“At the Chief Secretary's, sir, in the Park,” replied Crow, with a mixture +of pride and bash fulness. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, indeed. Was your party a large one?” + </p> +<p> +“There were fourteen of us, sir, but I only knew three or four of the +number.” + </p> +<p> +“And who were they, Crow?” said Repton, whose curiosity on all such topics +was extreme. +</p> +<p> +“Young Nelligan was one. Indeed, it was through him I was asked myself. +Colonel Massingbred was good enough to come over and have a look at my +Moses,—a favor I humbly hope you 'll do me, gentlemen, any spare +morning; for it's a new conception altogether, and I make the light come +out of the bulrushes, just as Caravaggio did with his Lazarus.” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind Lazarus, Crow, but tell us of this dinner. Who were the +others?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, there was Nelligan and me,—that's one; and Tom Magennis,—two—” + </p> +<p> +“Our neighbor of Barnagheela?” exclaimed Martin, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“The same, sir. I left him there at the port wine, and my word for it, but +they 'll not get him away easily, though Father Rafferty will do his best—” + </p> +<p> +“And was the priest also of the party?” + </p> +<p> +“He was, sir; and sat at the Colonel's left, and was treated with every +honor and distinction.” + </p> +<p> +“Eh, Martin, am I a true prophet?—answer me that. Has Val Repton +foretold the course of events we are entering upon, or has he not?” + </p> +<p> +“But this is a regular outrage,—an open insult to us!” cried Martin. +“Here is a leading member of the Government entertaining the very men who +opposed and defeated us,—actually caressing the very party which +they enlisted us to crush?” + </p> +<p> +“This game is within every child's comprehension!” said Repton. “If <i>you</i>, +and men of your stamp and fortune, could have secured them a parliamentary +majority, they 'd have preferred you. You 'd be pleasanter to deal with, +less exacting, more gentlemanly in fact; but as you failed to do this,—as +it was plain and clear you had not the people with you,—why, they +'ve thrown you over without a scruple, and taken into their favor the men +who can and will serve them. I don't mean to say that the bargain is a +good one,—nay, I believe the price of such aid will be very costly; +but what do they care? It is one of the blessings of a representative +government that Tories have to pay Whig debts, and Whigs are heirs to Tory +defalcations.” + </p> +<p> +“Were politics discussed at table?” asked Martin, half impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“All manner of subjects. We had law, and the assizes, and the grand-jury +lists, and who ought to be high sheriffs, and who not. And young +Massingbred made a kind of a speech—” + </p> +<p> +“Was he there also?” + </p> +<p> +“That he was; and did the honors of the foot of the table, and made it the +pleasantest place too! The way he introduced a toast to the independent +and enlightened electors of Oughterard was as neat a thing as ever I +heard.” + </p> +<p> +“The devil take the whole batch of them!” cried Martin. “To think that I +'ve spent nearly three thousand pounds for such a set of scoundrels is +past endurance. I 'll never set foot amongst them again; as long as I live +I 'll never enter that town.” + </p> +<p> +“Father Neal's own words,” cried Crow. “'We done with Martin forever,' +said he. 'This election was his Waterloo. He may abdicate now!'” + </p> +<p> +“And that sentiment was listened to by the Chief Secretary?” exclaimed +Martin. +</p> +<p> +“If he wasn't deaf he couldn't help hearing it, for we all did; and when I +ventured to observe that a country was never the better for losing the +patrons of art, and the great families that could encourage a genius, +young Massingbred, said, 'Give up Moses, Mr. Crow,—give up Moses, +and paint Daniel O'Connell, and you 'll never want admirers and +supporters!' And they drowned me in a roar of laughter.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish my Lady could only hear all this,” said Rep ton, in a whisper to +Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Always provided that I were somewhere else!” answered Martin. “But to be +serious, Repton, I 'll hold no intercourse with men who treat us in this +fashion. It is absurd to suppose that the Secretary could receive at his +table this rabble,—this herd of low, vulgar—” + </p> +<p> +“Eh—what!” broke in Crow, with an expression of such truly comic +misery as made Repton shake with laughter. +</p> +<p> +“I didn't mean <i>you</i>, Crow—I never thought of including you in +such company,—but if these be Colonel Massingbred's guests, I 'll +swear that Godfrey Martin shall not be my Lord Reckington's!” And with +this bold resolve, uttered in a voice and manner of very unusual firmness, +Martin arose and left the room. +</p> +<p> +“On the whole, then, your party was a pleasant one?” said Repton, anxious +to lead Crow into some further details of the late dinner. +</p> +<p> +“Well, indeed it was, and it was not,” said the artist, hesitatingly. “It +was like a picture with some fine bits in it,—a dash of rich color +here and there,—but no keeping! no general effect! You understand? I +myself took no share in the talk. I never understood it; but I could see +that they who did were somehow at cross-purposes,—all standing in +adverse lights,—if I may use the expression. Whenever the Colonel +himself, or one of the 'swells' of the company, came out with a fine +sentiment about regenerated Ireland, happy and prosperous, and so forth, +Magennis was sure to break in with some violent denunciation of the +infernal miscreants, as he called the landlords, or the greatest curse of +the land,—the Law Church!” + </p> +<p> +“And how did Father Neal behave?” + </p> +<p> +“With great decorum,—the very greatest. He moderated all Tom's +violence, and repeatedly said that he accepted no participation in such +illiberal opinions. 'We have grievances, it is true,' said he, 'but we +live under a Government able and willing to redress them. It shall never +be said of us that we were either impatient or intolerant.' 'With such +support, no Government was ever weak!' said the Colonel, and they took +wine together.” + </p> +<p> +“That was very pleasant to see!” said Repton. +</p> +<p> +“So it was, sir,” rejoined Crow, innocently; “and I thought to myself, if +there was only an end of all their squabbling and fighting, they 'd have +time to cultivate the arts and cherish men of genius,—if they had +them!” added he, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“Father Neal, then, made a favorable impression, you 'd say?” asked +Repton, half carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“I'd say, very favorable,—very favorable, indeed. I remarked that he +always spoke so freely, so liberally. Twice or thrice, too, he said, 'If +the Papists do this, that, or t' other;' and when the Colonel asked +whether the Catholics of Ireland submitted implicitly to Rome in all +things, he laughed heartily, and said, 'About as much as we do to the Cham +of Tartary!' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'd like to examine our friend there before the Committee,' whispered +an old gentleman at the Colonel's right hand. +</p> +<p> +“'It was the very thing was passing through my own mind at the minute,' +said the Colonel. +</p> +<p> +“'That's exactly the kind of thing we want,' said the old gentleman again,—'a +bold, straightforward denial; something that would tell admirably with the +House! Present me to your friend, Massingbred!' And then the Chief +Secretary said, 'The Member for Strudeham—Mr. Crutch-ley—is +very desirous of being known to you, Mr. Rafferty.' And there was great +smiling, and bowing, and drinking wine together after that.” + </p> +<p> +Martin now re-entered the room, and taking his place at the table, sat for +some minutes in moody silence. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Repton, “what does my Lady think of your tidings?” + </p> +<p> +“She says she does n't believe it!” + </p> +<p> +“Does n't believe that these people dined with Massingbred; that Crow saw +them, heard them, dined with them?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no,—not that,” said Martin, gently, and laying his hand +familiarly on Crow's arm. “Don't mistake me; nor don't let Repton play the +lawyer with us, and pervert the evidence. Lady Dorothea can't believe that +her distinguished relative, the Viceroy, would ever countenance this game; +that—that—in fact, we're to dine there, Repton, and see for +ourselves! Though,” added he, after a brief pause, “what we are to see, or +what we are to do when we 've seen it, I wish anybody would tell me!” + </p> +<p> +“Then I 'll be that man!” said Repton, with a mock solemnity, and +imitating the tone and manner of a judge delivering sentence. “You 'll go +from this place to the Lodge, where you 'll be fed 'to the neck,' feasted +and flattered, and all your good resolves and high purposes will be cut +down, and your noble indignation buried within the precincts of your own +hearts!” + </p> +<p> +And, so saying, he arose from the table and extended his hand to take +leave, with all the gravity of a solemn farewell. +</p> +<p> +“If you could say a word to his Excellency about Moses,” muttered Crow, as +he was leaving the room, “it would be the making of me!” But Martin never +heeded the appeal; perhaps he never heard it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. DARKENING FORTUNES +</h2> +<p> +The Martins had always lived a life of haughty estrangement from their +neighbors; there were none of exactly their own rank and pretensions +within miles of them, and they were too proud to acknowledge the +acquaintance of a small squirearchy, which was all that the country around +could boast. Notwithstanding all the isolation of their existence, their +departure created a great void in the county, and their absence was +sensibly felt by every class around. The very requirements of a large +fortune suggest a species of life and vitality. The movement of servants, +the passing and repassing of carriages, the necessary intercourse with +market and post,—all impart a degree of bustle and movement, +terribly contrasted by the unbroken stillness of a deserted mansion. +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea had determined that there should be no ambiguity as to the +cause of their departure; she had given the most positive orders on this +head to every department of the household. To teach an ungrateful people +the sore consequences of their own ingratitude, the lesson should be read +in everything: in the little villages thrown out of work, in the silent +quarries, the closed schoolhouses, the model farm converted into +grass-land, even to the grand entrance, now built up by a wall of coarse +masonry, the haughty displeasure of the proud mistress revealed itself, +all proclaiming the sentiment of a deep, unforgiving vengeance. She had +tortured her ingenuity for details which should indicate her anger; nor +was she satisfied if her displeasure should not find its way into every +cabin and at every hearth. The small hamlet of Cro' Martin had possessed a +dispensary. A hard-working, patient, and skilful man had passed many years +of life there as the doctor, eking out the poor subsistence of that +unfavored lot, and supporting a family by a life of dreary toil. From this +her Ladyship's subscription—the half of all his salary—was now +to be withdrawn. She thought “Cloves was grown negligent; it might be age,—if +so, a younger man would be better; besides, if he could afford to dress +his three daughters in the manner he did, he surely could not require her +thirty pounds per annum.” The servants, too, complained that he constantly +mistook their complaints. In fact, judgment was recorded against Cloves, +and there was none to recommend him to mercy! +</p> +<p> +We have said that there was a little chapel within the bounds of the +demesne; it occupied a corner of a ruin which once had formed Cro' Martin +Abbey, and now served for the village church. It was very small, but still +large enough for its little congregation. The vicar of this humble +benefice was a very old man, a widower, and childless, though once the +father of a numerous family. Dr. Leslie had, some eighteen years back, +been unfortunate enough to incur her Ladyship's displeasure, and was +consequently never invited to the castle, nor recognized in any way, save +by the haughty salute that met him as he left the church. To save him, +however, a long and tedious walk on Sundays, he was permitted to make use +of a little private path to the church, which led through one of the +shrubberies adjoining his own house,—a concession of the more +consequence as he was too poor to keep a carriage of the humblest kind. +This was now ordered to be closed up, the gate removed, and a wall to +replace it. “The poor had got the habit of coming that way; it was never +intended for their use, but they had usurped it. To-morrow or next day we +should hear of its being claimed at law as a public right of passage. It +was better to do the thing in time. In short, it must be 'closed.'” By +some such reasoning as this Lady Dorothea persuaded herself to this +course; and who should gainsay her? Oh, if men would employ but one tenth +of all that casuistry by which they minister to their selfishness, in acts +of benevolence and good feeling,—if they would only use a little +sophistry, to induce them to do right,—what a world this might be! +</p> +<p> +Mary Martin knew nothing of these decisions; overwhelmed by the vast +changes on every side, almost crushed beneath the difficulties that +surrounded her, her first few weeks passed over like a disturbed dream. +Groups of idle, unemployed people saluted her in mournful silence as she +passed the roads. Interrupted works, half-executed plans met her eye at +every turn, and at every moment the same words rang in her ears—“Her +Ladyship's orders”—as the explanation of all. +</p> +<p> +Hitherto her life had been one of unceasing exertion and toil; from early +dawn to late night she had been employed; her fatigues, however, great as +they were, had been always allied with power. What she willed she could +execute. Means never failed her, no matter how costly the experiment, to +carry out her plans, and difficulty gave only zest to every undertaking. +There is nothing more captivating than this sense of uncontrolled ability +for action, especially when exercised by one of a warm and enthusiastic +nature. To feel herself the life and spring of every enterprise, to know +that she suggested and carried out each plan, that her ingenuity devised, +and her energy accomplished all the changes around her, was in itself a +great fascination; and now suddenly she was to awake from all this, and +find herself unoccupied and powerless. Willingly, without a regret, could +she abdicate from all the pomp and splendor of a great household; she saw +troops of servants depart, equipage sold, great apartments closed up +without a pang! To come down to the small conditions of narrow fortune in +her daily life cost her nothing, beyond a smile. It was odd, it was +strange; but it was no more! Far otherwise, however, did she feel the +circumstances of her impaired power. That hundreds of workmen were no +longer at her bidding, that whole families no longer looked up to her for +aid and comfort,—these were astounding facts, and came upon her with +an actual shock. +</p> +<p> +“For what am I left here?” cried she, passionately, to Henderson, as he +met each suggestion she made by the one cold word, “Impossible.” “Is it to +see destitution that I cannot relieve,—witness want that I am +powerless to alleviate? To what end or with what object do I remain?” + </p> +<p> +“I canna say, miss,” was the dry response. +</p> +<p> +“If it be to humiliate me by the spectacle of my own inefficiency, a day +or a week will suffice for that; years could not teach me more.” + </p> +<p> +Henderson bowed what possibly might mean an acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +“I don't speak of the estate,” cried she, earnestly; “but what 's to +become of the people?” + </p> +<p> +“Many o' them will emigrate, miss, I've no doubt,” said he, “when they see +there 's nothing to bide for.” + </p> +<p> +“You take it easily, sir. You see little hardships in men having to leave +home and country; but I tell you that home may be poor and country cruel, +and yet both very hard to part with.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's vara true, miss,” was the dry response. +</p> +<p> +“For anything there is now to be done here, you, sir, are to the full as +competent as I am. I ask again, To what end am I here?” + </p> +<p> +Giving to her question a very different significance from what she +intended, Henderson calmly said, “I thought, miss, it was just yer ain +wish, and for no other reason.” + </p> +<p> +Mary's cheek became crimson, and her eyes flashed with angry indignation; +but repressing the passion that was bursting within her, she walked +hastily up and down the room in silence. At length, opening a large +colored map of the estate which lay on the table, she stood attentively +considering it for some time. “The works at Carrigulone are stopped?” said +she, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, miss.” + </p> +<p> +“And the planting at Kyle's Wood?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, miss.” + </p> +<p> +“And even the thinning there,—is that stopped?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, miss; the bark is to be sold, and a' the produce of the wood for ten +years, to a contractor, a certain Mister—” + </p> +<p> +“I don't want his name, sir. What of the marble quarries?” + </p> +<p> +“My Lady thinks they're nae worth a' they cost, and won't hear o' their +being worked again.” + </p> +<p> +“And is the harbor at Kilkieran to be given up?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, miss, and the Osprey's Nest will be let. I think they 'll mak' an +inn or a public o' it.” + </p> +<p> +“And if the harbor is abandoned, what is to become of the fishermen? The +old quay is useless.” + </p> +<p> +“Vara true, miss; but there's a company goin' to take the royalties o' the +coast the whole way to Belmullet.” + </p> +<p> +“A Scotch company, Mr. Henderson?” said Mary, with a sly malice in her +look. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, miss,” said he, coloring slightly. “The house of M'Grotty and Co. is +at the head o' it.” + </p> +<p> +“And are they the same enterprising people who have proposed to take the +demesne on lease, provided the gardens be measured in as arable land?” + </p> +<p> +“They are, miss; they've signed the rough draught o' the lease this +morning.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” cried she, growing suddenly pale as death. “Are there any other +changes you can mention to me, since in the few days I have been ill so +much has occurred?” + </p> +<p> +“There 's nae muckle more to speak o', miss. James M'Grotty—he's the +younger brother—was here yesterday to try and see you about the +school. He wants the house for his steward; but if you object, he 'll just +take the doctor's.” + </p> +<p> +“Why—where is Dr. Cloves to go?” + </p> +<p> +“He does na ken exactly, miss. He thinks he 'll try Auckland, or some of +these new places in New Zealand.” + </p> +<p> +“But the dispensary must be continued; the people cannot be left without +medical advice.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. James says he 'll think aboot it when he comes over in summer. He's a +vara spirited young man, and when there's a meetin'-house built in the +village—” + </p> +<p> +“Enough of this, Henderson. Come over here tomorrow, for I 'm not strong +enough to hear more to-day, and let Mr. Scanlan know that I wish to see +him this evening.” + </p> +<p> +And Mary motioned with her hand that he should withdraw. Scarcely was the +door closed behind him than she burst into a torrent of tears; her long +pent-up agony utterly overpowered her, and she cried with all the +vehemence of a child's grief. Her heart once opened to sorrow, by a +hundred channels came tributaries to her affliction. Up to that moment her +uncle's departure had never seemed a cruelty; now it took all the form of +desertion. The bitterness of her forlorn condition had never struck her +till it came associated with all the sorrows of others. It is not +impossible that wounded self-love entered into her feelings. It is by no +means unlikely that the sense of her own impaired importance added +poignancy to her misery. Who shall anatomize motives, or who shall be +skilful enough to trace the springs of one human emotion? There was +assuredly enough outside of and above all personal consideration to +ennoble her grief and dignify her affliction. +</p> +<p> +Her first impulses led her to regard herself as utterly useless; her +occupation gone, and her whole career of duty annihilated. A second and a +better resolve whispered to her that she was more than ever needful to +those who without her would be left without a friend. “If I desert them, +who is to remain?” asked she. “It is true I am no more able to set in +motion the schemes by which their indigence was alleviated. I am +powerless, but not all worthless. I can still be their nurse, their +comforter, their schoolmistress. My very example may teach them how +altered fortune can be borne with fortitude and patience. They shall see +me reduced to a thousand privations, and perhaps even this may bear its +lesson.” Drying her tears, she began to feel within her some of the +courage she hoped to inspire in others; and anxious not to let old Catty +detect the trace of sorrow in her features, issued forth into the wood for +a walk. +</p> +<p> +As the deep shadows thickened around her, she grew calmer and more +meditative. The solemn stillness of the place, the deep, unbroken +quietude, imparted its own soothing influence to her thoughts; and as she +went, her heart beat freer, and her elastic temperament again arose to +cheer and sustain her. To confront the future boldly and well, it was +necessary that she should utterly forget the past. She could no longer +play the great part to which wealth and high station had raised her; she +must now descend to that humbler one,—all whose influence should be +derived from acts of kindness and words of comfort, unaided by the greater +benefits she had once dispensed. +</p> +<p> +The means placed at her disposal for her own expenditure had been +exceedingly limited. It was her own desire they should be so, and Lady +Dorothea had made no opposition to her wishes. Beyond this she had +nothing, save a sum of five thousand pounds payable at her uncle's death. +By strictest economy—privation, indeed—she thought that she +could save about a hundred pounds a year of this small income; but to do +so would require the sale of both her horses, retaining only the pony and +the little carriage, while her dress should be of the very simplest and +plainest. In what way she should best employ this sum was to be for after +consideration. The first thought was how to effect the saving without +giving to the act any unnecessary notoriety. She felt that her greatest +difficulty would be old Catty Broon. The venerable housekeeper had all her +life regarded her with an affection that was little short of worship. It +was not alone the winning graces of Mary's manner, nor the attractive +charms of her appearance that had so captivated old Catty; but that the +young girl, to her eyes, represented the great family whose name she bore, +and represented them so worthily. The title of the Princess, by which the +Country people knew her, seemed her just and rightful designation. Mary +realized to her the proud scion of a proud stock, who had ruled over a +territory rather than a mere estate; how, then, could she bear to behold +her in all the straits and difficulties of a reduced condition? There +seemed but one way to effect this, which was to give her new mode of life +the character of a caprice. “I must make old Catty believe it is one of my +wild and wilful fancies,—a sudden whim,—out of which a little +time will doubtless rally me. She is the last in the world to limit me in +the indulgence of a momentary notion; she will, therefore, concede +everything to my humor, patiently awaiting the time when it shall assume a +course the very opposite.” + </p> +<p> +Some one should, however, be intrusted with her secret,—without some +assistance it could not be carried into execution; and who should that be? +Alas, her choice was a very narrow one. It lay between Scanlan and +Henderson. The crafty attorney was not, indeed, much to Mary's liking. His +flippant vulgarity and pretension were qualities she could ill brook; but +she had known him do kind things. She had seen him on more than one +occasion temper the sharpness of some of her Ladyship's ukases, little +suspecting, indeed, how far the possible impression upon herself was the +motive that so guided him; she had, therefore, no difficulty in preferring +him to the steward, whose very accent and manner were enough to render him +hateful to her. Scanlan, besides, would necessarily have a great deal in +his power; he would be able to make many a concession to the poor people +on the estate, retard the cruel progress of the law, or give them time to +provide against its demands. Mary felt that she was in a position to +exercise a certain influence over him; and, conscious of the goodness of +the cause she would promote, never hesitated as to the means of employing +it. +</p> +<p> +Who shall say, too, that she had not noticed the deferential admiration by +which he always distinguished her? for there is a species of coquetry that +takes pleasure in a conquest where the profits of victory would be +thoroughly despised. We are not bold enough to say that such feelings +found their place in Mary's heart. We must leave its analysis to wiser and +more cunning anatomists. +</p> +<p> +Straying onwards ever in deep thought, and not remarking whither, she was +suddenly struck by the noise of masonry,—strange sounds in a spot +thus lonely and remote; and now walking quickly onward, she found herself +on the path by which the vicar on Sundays approached the church; and here, +at a little distance, descried workmen employed in walling up the little +gateway of the passage. +</p> +<p> +“By whose orders is this done?” cried Mary, to whose quick intelligence +the act revealed its whole meaning and motive. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Henderson, miss,” replied one of the men. “He said we were to work +all night at it, if we could n't be sure of getting it done before +Sunday.” + </p> +<p> +A burst of passionate indignation rose to her lips, but she turned away +without a word, and re-entered the wood in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” cried she, to herself, “it is, indeed, a new existence is opening +before me; let me strive so to control my temper, that I may view it +calmly and dispassionately, so that others may not suffer from the changes +in my fortune.” + </p> +<p> +She no sooner reached the house than she despatched a note to Mr. Scanlan, +requesting to see him as early as possible on the following morning. This +done, she set herself to devise her plans for the future,—speculations, +it must be owned, to which her own hopeful temperament gave a coloring +that a colder spirit and more calculating mind had never bestowed on them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. HOW MR. SCANLAN GIVES SCOPE TO A GENEROUS IMPULSE +</h2> +<p> +It is a remark of Wieland's, that although the life of man is measured by +the term of fourscore years and ten, yet that his ideal existence or, as +he calls it, his “unacted life,” meaning thereby his period of dreamy, +projective, and forecasting existence, would occupy a far wider space. And +he goes on to say that it is in this same imaginative longevity men differ +the most from each other, the poet standing to the ungifted peasant in the +ratio of centuries to years. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Maurice Scanlan would not appear a favorable subject by which to test +this theory. If not endowed with any of the higher and greater qualities +of intellect, he was equally removed from any deficiency on that score. +The world called him “a clever fellow,” and the world is rarely in fault +in such judgments. Where there is a question of the creative faculties, +where it is the divine essence itself is the matter of decision, the world +will occasionally be betrayed into mistakes, as fashion and a passing +enthusiasm may mislead it; but where it is the practical and the real, the +exercise of gifts by which men make themselves rich and powerful, then the +world makes no blunders. She knows them as a mother knows her children. +They are indeed the “World's own.” + </p> +<p> +We have come to these speculations by contemplating Mr. Scanlan as he sat +with Mary Martin's open letter before him. The note was couched in polite +terms, requesting Mr. Scanlan to favor the writer with a visit at his +earliest convenience, if possible early on the following morning. Had it +been a document of suspected authenticity, a forged acceptance, an +interpolated article in a deed, a newly discovered codicil to a will, he +could not have canvassed every syllable, scrutinized every letter, with +more searching zeal. It was hurriedly written; there was, therefore, some +emergency. It began, “Dear sir,” a style she had never employed before; +the letter “D” was blotted, and seemed to have been originally destined +for an “M,” as though she had commenced “Miss Martin requests,” etc., and +then suddenly adopted the more familiar address. The tone of command by +which he was habitually summoned to Cro' Martin was assuredly not there, +and Maurice was not the man to undervalue the smallest particle of +evidence. +</p> +<p> +“She has need of me,” cried he to himself; “she sees everything in a state +of subversion and chaos around her, and looks to me as the man to restore +order. The people are entreating her to stay law proceedings, to give them +time, to employ them; the poorest are all importuning her with stories of +their sufferings. She is powerless, and, what's worse, she does not know +what it is to be powerless to help them. She'll struggle and fret and +scheme, and plan fifty things, and when she has failed in them all, fall +back upon Maurice Scanlan for advice and counsel.” + </p> +<p> +It was a grave question with Scanlan how far he would suffer her +persecutions to proceed before he would come to her aid. “If I bring my +succor too early, she may never believe the emergency was critical; if I +delay it too long, she may abandon the field in despair, and set off to +join her uncle.” These were the two propositions which he placed before +himself for consideration. It was a case for very delicate management, +great skill, and great patience, but it was well worth all the cost. “If I +succeed,” said he to himself, “I'm a made man. Mary Martin Mrs. Scanlan, I +'m the agent for the whole estate, with Cro' Martin to live in, and all +the property at my discretion. If I fail,—that is, if I fail without +blundering,—I 'm just where I was. Well,” thought he, as he drove +into the demesne, “I never thought I'd have such a chance as this. All +gone, and she alone here by herself: none to advise, not one even to keep +her company! I'd have given a thousand pounds down just for this +opportunity, without counting all the advantages I have in my power from +my present position, for I can do what I like with the estate,—give +leases or break them. It will be four months at least before old Repton +comes down here, and in that time I'll have finished whatever I want to +do. And now to begin the game.” And with this he turned into the +stable-yard, and descended from his gig. Many men would have been struck +by the changed aspect of the place,—silence and desolation where +before there were movement and bustle; but Scanlan only read in the +altered appearances around the encouragement of his own ambitious hopes. +The easy swagger in which the attorney indulged while moving about the +stable-yard declined into a more becoming gait as he traversed the long +corridors, and finally became actually respectful as he drew nigh the +library, where he was informed Miss Martin awaited him, so powerful was +the influence of old habit over the more vulgar instincts of his nature. +He had intended to be very familiar and at his ease, and ere he turned the +handle of the door his courage failed him. +</p> +<p> +“This is very kind of you, Mr. Scanlan,” said she, advancing a few steps +towards him as he entered. “You must have started early from home.” + </p> +<p> +“At five, miss,” said he, bowing deferentially. +</p> +<p> +“And of course you have not breakfasted?” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, then, I only took a cup of coffee. I was anxious to be early. I +thought from your note that there might be something urgent.” + </p> +<p> +Mary half smiled at the mingled air of bashfulness and gallantry in which +he uttered these broken sentences; for without knowing it himself, while +he began in some confusion, he attained a kind of confidence as he went +on. +</p> +<p> +“Nor have I breakfasted, either,” said she; “and I beg, therefore, you +will join me.” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan's face actually glowed with pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“I have many things to consult you upon with regard to the estate, and I +am fully aware that there is nobody more competent to advise me.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor more ready and willing, miss,” said Maurice, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm perfectly certain of that, Mr. Scanlan. The confidence my uncle has +always reposed in you assures me on that head.” + </p> +<p> +“Was n't I right about the borough, Miss Mary?” broke he in. “I told you +how it would be, and that if you did n't make some sort of a compromise +with the Liberal party—” + </p> +<p> +“Let me interrupt you, Mr. Scanlan, and once for all assure you that there +is not one subject of all those which pertain to this county and its +people which has so little interest for me as the local squabbles of +party; and I 'm sure no success on either side is worth the broken +friendships and estranged affections it leaves behind it.” + </p> +<p> +“A beautiful sentiment, to which I respond with all my heart,” rejoined +Scanlan, with an energy that made her blush deeply. +</p> +<p> +“I only meant to say, sir,” added she, hastily, “that the borough and its +politics need never be discussed between us.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so, miss. We'll call on the next case,” said Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“My uncle's sudden departure, and a slight indisposition under which I +have labored for a week or so, have thrown me so far in arrear of all +knowledge of what has been done here, that I must first of all ask you, +not how the estate is to be managed in future, but does it any longer +belong to us?” + </p> +<p> +“What, miss?” cried Scanlan, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“I mean, sir, is it my uncle's determination to lease out everything,—even +to the demesne around the Castle; to sell the timber and dispose of the +royalties? If so, a mere residence here could have no object for <i>me</i>. +It seems strange, Mr. Scanlan, that I should have to ask such a question. +I own to you,—it is not without some sense of humiliation that I do +so,—I believed, I fancied I had understood my uncle's intentions. +Some of them he had even committed to writing, at my request; you shall +see them yourself. The excitement and confusion of his departure,—the +anxieties of leave-taking,—one thing or another, in short, gave me +little time to seek his counsel as to many points I wished to know; and, +in fact, I found myself suddenly alone before I was quite prepared for it, +and then I fell ill,—a mere passing attack, but enough to unfit me +for occupation.” + </p> +<p> +“Breakfast is served, miss,” said a maid-servant, at this conjuncture, +opening a door into a small room, where the table was spread. +</p> +<p> +“I'm quite ready, and so I hope is Mr. Scanlan,” said Mary, leading the +way. +</p> +<p> +No sooner seated at table than she proceeded to do the honors with an ease +that plainly told that all the subject of her late discourse was to be +left for the present in abeyance. In fact, the very tone of her voice was +changed, as she chatted away carelessly about the borough people and their +doings, what strangers had lately passed through the town, and the +prospects of the coming season at Kilkieran. +</p> +<p> +No theme could more readily have put Mr. Scanlan at his ease. He felt, or +fancied he felt, himself at that degree of social elevation above the +Oughterard people, which enabled him to talk with a species of +compassionate jocularity of their little dinners and evening parties. He +criticised toilet and manners and cookery, therefore, with much +self-complacency,—far more than had he suspected that Mary Martin's +amusement was more derived from the pretension of the speaker than the +matter which he discussed. +</p> +<p> +“That's what I think you'll find hardest of all, Miss Martin,” said he, at +the close of a florid description of the borough customs. “You can have no +society here.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet I mean to try,” said she, smiling; “at least, I have gone so far +as to ask Mrs. Nelligan to come and dine with me on Monday or Tuesday +next.” + </p> +<p> +“Mrs. Nelligan dine at Cro' Martin!” exclaimed he. +</p> +<p> +“If she will be good enough to come so far for so little!” + </p> +<p> +“She 'd go fifty miles on the same errand; and if I know old Dan himself, +he 'll be a prouder man that day than when his son gained the gold medal.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I'm sure <i>I</i>, at least, am perfectly requited,” said Mary. +</p> +<p> +“But are you certain, Miss, that such people will suit you?” said Scanlan, +half timidly. “They live in a very different style, and have other ways +than yours. I say nothing against Mrs. Nelligan; indeed, she comes of a +very respectable family; but sure she hasn't a thought nor an idea in +common with Miss Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect you are wrong there, Mr. Scanlan. My impression is, that Mrs. +Nelligan and I will find many topics to agree upon, and that we shall +understand each other perfectly; and if, as you suppose, there may be +certain things new and strange to me in <i>her</i> modes of thinking, I 'm +equally sure she 'll have to conquer many prejudices with regard to <i>me</i>. +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, miss!” was the sententious reply of +Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“Then there's our vicar!” broke in Mary. “Mr. Leslie will, I hope, take +pity on my solitude.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, I forgot him entirely. I don't think I ever saw him at Cro' +Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor I, either,” said Mary; “but he may concede from a sense of kindness +what he would decline to a mere point of etiquette. In a word, Mr. +Scanlan,” said she, after a pause, “all the troubles and misfortunes which +we have lately gone through—even to the destitution of the old house +here—have in a great measure had their origin in the studious +ignorance in which we have lived of our neighbors. I don't wish to enter +upon political topics, but I am sure that had we known the borough people, +and they us,—had we been in the habit of mingling and associating +together, however little,—had we interchanged the little civilities +that are the charities of social life,—we 'd have paused, either of +us, ere we gave pain to the other; we'd at least have made concessions on +each side, and so softened down the asperities of party. More than half +the enmities of the world are mere misconceptions.” + </p> +<p> +“That's true!” said Scanlan, gravely. But his thoughts had gone on a very +different errand from the theme in question, and were busily inquiring +what effect all these changes might have upon his own prospects. +</p> +<p> +“And now for a matter of business,” said Mary, rising and taking her place +at another table. “I shall want your assistance, Mr. Scanlan. There is a +small sum settled upon me, but not payable during my uncle's life. I wish +to raise a certain amount of this, by way of loan,—say a thousand +pounds. Will this be easily accomplished?” + </p> +<p> +“What's the amount of the settlement, miss?” said Scanlan, with more +eagerness than was quite disinterested. +</p> +<p> +“Five thousand pounds. There is the deed.” And she pushed a parchment +towards him. +</p> +<p> +Scanlan ran his practised eye rapidly over the document, and with the +quick craft of his calling saw it was all correct. “One or even two +thousand can be had upon this at once, miss. It 's charged upon Kelly's +farm and the mills—” + </p> +<p> +“All I want to know is, that I can have this sum at my disposal, and very +soon; at once, indeed.” + </p> +<p> +“Will next week suit you?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly. And now to another point. These are the few memoranda my uncle +left with me as to his wishes respecting the management of the estate. You +will see that, although he desires a considerable diminution of the sum to +be spent in wages, and a strict economy in all outlay, that he still never +contemplated throwing the people out of employment. The quarries were to +be worked as before,—the planting was to be continued,—the +gardens and ornamental grounds, indeed, were to be conducted with less +expense; but the harbor at Kilkieran and the new school-house at Ternagh +were to be completed; and if money could be spared for it, he gave me +leave to build a little hospital at the cross-roads, allowing forty pounds +additional salary to Dr. Cloves for his attendance. These are the chief +points; but you shall have the papers to read over at your leisure. We +talked over many other matters; indeed, we chatted away till long after +two o'clock the last night he was here, and I thought I understood +perfectly all he wished. Almost his last words to me at parting were, 'As +little change as possible, Molly. Let the poor people believe that I am +still, where my heart is, under the roof of Cro' Martin!'” + </p> +<p> +The recollection of the moment brought the tears to her eyes, and she +turned her head away in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Now,” said she, rallying, and speaking with renewed energy, “if what +Henderson says be correct, something later must have been issued than all +this; some directions which I have never seen,—not so much as heard +of. He tells me of works to be stopped, people discharged, schoolhouses +closed, tenants ejected; in fact, a whole catalogue of such changes as I +never could have courage to see, much less carry through. I know my dear +uncle well; he never would have imposed such a task upon me, nor have I +the resources within me for such an undertaking.” + </p> +<p> +“And have you received no letter from Mr. Martin, from Dublin?” asked +Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“None,—not a line; a note from my aunt—indeed, not from my +aunt, but by her orders, written by Kate Henderson—has reached me, +in which, however, there is no allusion to the property or the place.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet her Ladyship said that Mr. Martin would write to you himself, in +the course of the week, fully and explicitly.” + </p> +<p> +“To whom was this said, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“To myself, miss; there is the letter.” And Scanlan drew from his +pocket-book a very voluminous epistle, in Kate Henderson's hand. “This +contains the whole of her Ladyship's instructions. How all the works are +to be stopped,—roads, woods, and quarries; the townlands of +Carrigalone and Killybogue to be distrained; Kyle-a-Noe the same. If a +tenant can be got for the demesne, it is to be let, with the shooting over +the seven mountains, and the coast-fishing too. There's to be no more +charges for schools, hospital, or dispensary after next November; +everything is to be on the new plan, what they call 'Self-supporting.' I +'d like to know what that means. In fact, miss, by the time one half the +orders given in that same letter is carried out, there won't be such +another scene of misery and confusion in all Ireland as the estate of Cro' +Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“And this is sanctioned by my uncle?” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose we must conclude it is, for he says nothing to the contrary; +and Mr. Repton writes me what he calls 'my instructions,' in a way that +shows his own feeling of indignation about the whole business.” + </p> +<p> +Mary was silent; there was not a sentiment which could give pain that had +not then its place in her heart. Commiseration, deep pity for the sorrows +she was to witness unavailingly, wounded pride, insulted self-esteem,—all +were there! And she turned away to hide the emotions which overcame her. +For a moment the sense of self had the mastery, and she thought but of how +she was to endure all this humiliation. “Am I,” said she to her own heart,—“am +I to be insulted by the rivalry of Scotch stewards and gardeners, to be +thrust from my place of power by some low-born creature, not even of the +soil, but an alien?—to live here bereft of influence, representing +nothing save the decay of our fortunes?” The torrent of her passion ran +full and deep, and her bosom heaved in the agony of the moment. And then +as suddenly came the reaction. “How small a share is mine in all this +suffering, and how miserably selfish are even my sorrows! It is of others +I should think!—of those who must leave hearth and home to seek out +a new resting-place,—of the poor, who are to be friendless,—of +the suffering, to whom no comfort is to come,—of the old, who are to +die in distant lands,—and the young, whose hearts are never to warm +to the affections of a native country!” + </p> +<p> +While affecting to arrange the papers in his pocket-book, Scanlan watched +every passing shade of emotion in her face. Nor was it a study in which he +was ignorant; the habits of his calling had made him a very subtle +observer. Many a time had he framed his question to a witness by some +passing expression of the features. More than once had he penetrated the +heart through the eye! The elevation of sentiment had given its own +character to her handsome face; and as she stood proudly erect, with arms +folded on her breast, there was in her look and attitude all the calm +dignity of an antique statue. +</p> +<p> +Scanlan interpreted truthfully what passed within her, and rightly judged +that no small sentiment of condolence or sympathy would be appropriate to +the occasion. Nor was he altogether unprovided for the emergency. He had +seen a king's counsel warm up a jury to the boiling-point, and heard him +pour forth, with all the seeming vehemence of an honest conviction, the +wildest rhapsodies about desecrated hearths and blackened roof-trees,—talk +of the spoiler and the seducer,—and even shed a tear “over the widow +and the orphan!” + </p> +<p> +“What say you to all this, sir?” cried she. “Have you any counsel to give +me,—any advice?” + </p> +<p> +“It is just what I have not, miss,” said he, despondingly; “and, indeed, +it was uppermost in my heart this morning when I was writing my letter. +What 's all I 'm suffering compared to what Miss Martin must feel?” + </p> +<p> +“What letter do you allude to?” asked she, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“A letter I wrote to Mr. Repton, miss,” said he, with a deep sigh. “I told +him plainly my mind about everything; and I said, 'If it 's for +exterminating you are,—if you 're going to turn out families that +were on the land for centuries, and drive away over the seas, God knows +where, the poor people that thought the name of Martin a shield against +all the hardships of life, all I have to say is, you must look elsewhere +for help, since it is not Maurice Scanlan will aid you.'” + </p> +<p> +“You said all this, sir?” broke she in, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I did, miss. I told him I 'd hold the under-agency till he named some one +to succeed me; but that I 'd not put my hand to one act or deed to +distress the tenants. It 's giving up,” said I, “the best part of my means +of support; it's surrendering what I reckoned on to make me independent. +But a good conscience is better than money, miss; and if I must seek out a +new country, I 'll go at least without the weight of a cruel wrong over +me; and if I see one of our poor Western people beyond seas, I 'll not be +ashamed to meet him!” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that was noble,—that was truly noble conduct!” cried she, +grasping his hand in both her own. “How I thank you from my very heart for +this magnanimity!” + </p> +<p> +“If I ever suspected you 'd have said the half of this, Miss Mary, the +sacrifice would have been a cheap one, indeed. But, in truth, I never +meant to tell it. I intended to have kept my own secret; for I knew if any +one only imagined why it was I threw up the agency, matters would only be +worse on the estate.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, you are right,” said she, thoughtfully. “This was most considerate. +Such a censure would augment every difficulty.” + </p> +<p> +“I felt that, miss. What I said to myself was, 'My successor will neither +know the place nor the people; he 'll be cruel where he ought to have +mercy, and spare those that he ought to keep to their duty.' It isn't in a +day nor a week that a man learns the habits of a large tenantry, nor was +it without labor and pains that I acquired my present influence amongst +them.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true,” said she; but more as though following out her own +reflections than hearing his. +</p> +<p> +“They 'll have <i>you</i>, however,” said Scanlan,—“you, that are +better to them than all the agents that ever breathed; and the very sight +of you riding down amongst them will cheer their hearts in the darkest +moments of life. I turned back the whole townland of Terry Valley. They +were packing up to be off to America; but I told them, 'she 's not going,—she +'ll stay here, and never desert you.'” + </p> +<p> +“Nor will <i>you</i> either, sir,” cried Mary. “You will not desert them, +nor desert <i>me</i>. Recall your letter!” + </p> +<p> +“It's not gone off to the post yet. I was waiting to see you—” + </p> +<p> +“Better still. Oh, Mr. Scanlan, bethink you how much yet may be done for +these poor people, if we will but forget ourselves and what we think we +owe to self-esteem. If <i>you</i> will have sacrifices to make, believe +me, <i>I</i> shall not escape them also. It is nobler, too, and finer to +remain here bereft of influence, stripped of all power, to share their +sufferings and take part in their afflictions. Neither you nor I shall be +to them what we have been; but still, let us not abandon them. Tell me +this,—say that you will stay to counsel and advise me, to guide me +where I need guidance, and give me all the benefit of your experience and +your knowledge. Let it be a compact between us then; neither shall go +while the other remains!” + </p> +<p> +It was with difficulty Scanlan could restrain his delight at these words. +How flattering to his present vanity,—how suggestive were they of +the future! With all the solemnity of a vow he bound himself to stay; and +Mary thanked him with the fervor of true gratitude. +</p> +<p> +If there be few emotions so pleasurable as to be the object of +acknowledged gratitude for real services, it may well be doubted whether +the consciousness of not having merited this reward does not seriously +detract from this enjoyment. There are men, however, so constituted that a +successful scheme—no matter how unscrupulously achieved—is +always a triumph, and who cherish their self-love even in degradation! +Maurice Scanlan is before our reader, and whether he was one of this +number it is not for us to say; enough if we record that when he cantered +homeward on that day he sang many a snatch of a stray ballad, and none of +them were sad ones. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. A SUNDAY MORNING AT CRO' MARTIN +</h2> +<p> +Nothing is further from our intention than to enter upon the long-vexed +question as to the benefits of an Established Church for Ireland. Wiser +heads than ours have discussed it polemically, politically, socially, and +arithmetically; and there it is still, left to the judgment of each, as +his religion, his party, or his prejudices sway him. There is one view of +the subject, however, which no traveller in the country has ever failed to +be struck by; which is, that these settlements of Protestantism, dotted +through the land, are so many types of an advanced civilization, +suggesting, even to those of a different faith, respect and veneration for +the decorous observance of this Church, and the calm peace-fulness with +which they keep the Sabbath. +</p> +<p> +Priests may denounce and politicians declaim, but the Irish peasant, +nurtured with all the prejudices of race and religion, never throws off +his veneration for the little flock, who, like a brave garrison in a +besieged land, hold manfully together round the banner of their Faith! How +striking is this in remote parts of the country, where the reformed +religion has made little progress, and its followers are few in number! +</p> +<p> +It was Sunday; the gates of Cro' Martin Park were open to admit all who +might repair to the church. When the Martins were at home, Lady Dorothea +used to give to these occasions somewhat of the state of a procession. The +servants wore their dress liveries; two carriages were in waiting. She +herself appeared in a toilet that might have graced a court chapel; and a +formal ceremoniousness of speech and demeanor were ordained as the +becoming recognition of the holy day. Trained to these observances by many +a year, Mary could scarcely comprehend the strange sensation she felt as +she walked along to church, unattended and alone. It was a bright day of +early summer, with a soft wind stirring the leaves above, and rippling +pleasantly the waters of the lake. The perfume of the new hay floated +through the thin air, with the odor of the whitethorn and the +meadow-sweet; the birds were singing merrily; and through this gay carol +came the mellow sound of the little bell that summoned to prayer. There +was a delicious sense of repose in the stillness around, telling how, amid +the cares and contentions of life, its wealth seekings, and its petty +schemes there came moments when the better instincts were the victors, and +men, in all the diversities of their rank and station, could meet together +to kneel at one altar, and unite in one supplication. As she went, little +glimpses were caught by her of the distant country beyond the demesne; and +over all there reigned the same tranquillity; the sound of voices, far +away, adding to the effect, and making the silence more palpable. “How +peaceful it is,” thought she, “and how happy it might be! Could we but +bridle our own passions, restrain our mean jealousies, and curb the evil +promptings of our own hearts, what blessings might grow up amongst them! +But for objects not worth the attaining,—ambitions of no value when +won,—and my uncle might still be here, strolling along, perhaps, +with me at this very moment, and with me drinking in this calm repose and +soothing quietness.” + </p> +<p> +Before her, at some little distance on the path, went the three daughters +of the village doctor; and, though well and becomingly attired, there was +nothing in their appearance to warrant the reproach Lady Dorothea had cast +upon their style of dress. It was, indeed, scrupulously neat, but simple. +The eldest was a girl of about sixteen, with all the gravity of manner and +staid expression that belongs to those who stand in the light of mothers +to younger sisters. The housekeeper of her father's little home, the +manager of all within its humble household, his secretary, his companion, +Ellen Cloves had acquired, while little more than a child, the patient and +submissive temper that long worldly trial confers. They lived perfectly to +themselves; between the society of the castle and that of the farmers +around there was no intermediate territory, and thus they passed their +lives in a little circle of home duties and affections, which made up all +their world. +</p> +<p> +Mary Martin had often wished it in her power to show them some attentions; +she was attracted by their gentle faces and their calm and happy demeanor. +Had her aunt permitted, she would have frequently invited them to the +castle, lent them books and music, and sought companionship in their +intercourse. But Lady Dorothea would not have heard of such a project; her +theory was that familiarity with the peasant was so far safe that his +station was a safeguard against any undue intimacy; while your half-gentry +were truly perilous, for if you condescended to civility with them, they +invariably mistook it for a friendship. Dr. Cloves dined every +Christmas-day at the great house; but so did Mr. Scanlan and all the other +heads of departments. It was a very grand and solemn festival, where +neither host nor guest was happy; each felt that it was but the +acquaintance of an hour, and that with the moment of leave-taking came +back all the cold reserve of the day before. +</p> +<p> +“Good-morning, Miss Cloves; good-day, Jane, and little Bessy,” said Mary, +as she overtook them. +</p> +<p> +“Good-morning to you, Miss Martin,” said Ellen, blushing with surprise at +seeing her alone and on foot. +</p> +<p> +“I trust the doctor is not ill? I don't see him with you,” said Mary, +anxious to relieve her momentary embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +“Papa has been sent for to Knocktiernan, Miss Martin. They 're afraid that +a case of cholera has occurred there.” + </p> +<p> +“May God forbid!” ejaculated Mary, with deep emotion; “we have great +distress and poverty around us. I hope we may be spared this scourge.” + </p> +<p> +“It is what papa feared always,” rejoined Ellen, gravely; “that want and +destitution would bring on the malady.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you heard who it is is ill?” + </p> +<p> +“Simon Hanley, the carpenter, Miss Martin; he worked at the castle once—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes I remember him; he made me my first little garden-rake. Poor +fellow! And he has a large family. Your father will, I trust, have seen +him in time. Knocktiernan is but four miles of a good road.” + </p> +<p> +“Papa went by the Mills, Miss Martin, for shortness, for he was on foot.” + </p> +<p> +“Why did he not ride?” + </p> +<p> +“He has sold Bluebell,—the pony, I mean, Miss Martin.” + </p> +<p> +Mary's face became crimson with a blush that seemed to burn through the +forehead into her very brain, and she could only mutter,— +</p> +<p> +“I 'm sorry I did n't know; my carriage and pony were in the stable. If I +had but heard of this—” and was silent. +</p> +<p> +They had now reached the entrance to the little churchyard, where the few +members of the small flock lingered, awaiting the arrival of the +clergyman. Amidst many a respectful salutation and gaze of affectionate +interest, Mary walked to the end of the aisle, where, shrouded in heavy +curtains, soft-cushioned and high-panelled, stood the castle pew. +</p> +<p> +It must be, indeed, hard for the rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. +The very appliances of his piety are the offshoots of his voluptuous +habits; and that his heart should feel humble, his hassock must be of +down! It was not often that the words of the pastor were heard within that +solemn, small enclosure with the same reverent devotion. Mary was now +alone there; her mind no longer distracted by the petty incidents of their +coming, her proud station seemed to have vanished, and she felt herself +but as one of an humble flock, supplicating and in sorrow! +</p> +<p> +Dr. Leslie had heard of the terrible visitation which menaced them, and +made it the subject of his sermon. The fact of his own great age and fast +declining strength gave a deeper meaning to all he said, and imparted to +the faltering words of his benediction the solemnity of a farewell. +</p> +<p> +“You are a little fatigued to-day, doctor,” said Mary, as he came out of +church. “Will you allow me to offer you my arm?” + </p> +<p> +“Willingly, my dear Miss Mary. But this is not our road.” + </p> +<p> +“Why so?—this is the path to the vicarage.” + </p> +<p> +“They 've made some change, my dear; they 've altered the approach.” + </p> +<p> +“And you came round by the avenue,—a distance of two miles?” cried +she, deep crimson with shame. +</p> +<p> +“And kept you all waiting; but not very long, I trust,” said he, smiling +benevolently. “But come, talk to me of yourself, and when I am to come and +see you.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, my dear Dr. Leslie, you must not think that I—that my uncle—” + She stopped, and he pressed her hand gently, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Do not speak of it; do not give importance to things which are trifles, +if we have but good temper to leave them so. Is to-morrow a free day with +you; or when shall I hope to find you at leisure?” + </p> +<p> +“My dear doctor, every day will be so in future; all my functions have +ceased here. I am to be nothing in future.” + </p> +<p> +“I had heard something of that, and I said to myself, 'Now will Mary +Martin display her real character. No longer carried away by the mere +enthusiasm of her great power and her high station, not exalted to herself +by the flatteries around her, we shall see whether the sterling qualities +of her nature will not supply higher and greater resources than all the +credit at a banker's!' I never undervalued all you did here, Mary Martin; +I saw your noble purpose, even in failures; but I always felt that to make +these efforts react favorably on yourself, there should be something of +sacrifice. To do good was a luxury to you; and it was a luxury very easy +to purchase. You were rich, you were powerful; none controlled you. Your +benefits were acknowledged with all the enthusiasm of peasant gratitude. +Why should you not be beneficent? what other course of conduct could bring +you one half the pleasure? For the future, it is from another source you +must dispense wealth; but happily it is one which there is no exhausting, +for the heart exercised to charity has boundless stores. Let these be your +riches now. Go amongst the people; learn to know them,—rather their +friend than their benefactor,—and believe me that all the gold you +have scattered so generously will not have sown such seeds of goodness as +the meek example of your own noble submission to altered fortune. There, +my dear,” said he, smiling, “I 'll say no more, lest you should tell me +that I have preached half an hour already. And I may come to-morrow, you +say?” + </p> +<p> +“What a happiness it will be for me to speak to you!” said Mary, ardently. +“There are so many things I want to say,—so much on which I need +advice.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm but little practised in the ways of the world,” said he, with a +gentle sigh, “but I have ever found great wisdom in an honest purpose; and +then,” added he, more warmly, “it is a fine philosophy that secures us +against humiliation, even in defeat!” + </p> +<p> +They now walked along for some time without speaking, when a sudden angle +of the path brought them directly in front of the castle. They both halted +suddenly, struck, as it were, by the aspect of the spacious and splendid +structure, all silent and deserted. The doors were closed, the windows +shuttered,—not a living creature moved about the precincts,—and +the lone flagstaff on the tower unfurled no “banner to the breeze.” Even +the trimly kept parterres were beginning to show signs of neglect, and +tangled flowers fell across the gravel. +</p> +<p> +“What a lonely home for <i>her!</i>” muttered the old doctor to himself; +then suddenly exclaimed, “Here comes some one in search of you, Miss +Martin.” + </p> +<p> +And a servant approached and whispered a few words in her ear. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, immediately,” said she, in reply. +</p> +<p> +She entreated the old man to rest himself for a while ere he continued his +walk homeward; but he declined, and with an affectionate farewell they +parted,—he towards the vicarage, and she to re-enter the castle. +</p> +<p> +There is no need to practise mystery with our reader; and he who had just +arrived, and was eager to see Miss Martin, was only Maurice Scanlan! As +little use is there also in denying the fact that Mary was much annoyed at +his inopportune coming. She was in no mood of mind to meet either him or +such topics as he would certainly discuss. +</p> +<p> +However, she had, so to say, given him a permission to be admitted at all +times, and there was no help for it! +</p> +<p> +These same people that one “must see,” are very terrible inflictions +sometimes. They are ever present at the wrong time and the wrong place. +They come in moments when their presence is a discord to all our thoughts; +and what is to the full as bad, they don't know it,—or they will not +know it. They have an awful amount of self-esteem, and fancy that they +never can be but welcome. A type of this class was Maurice Scanlan. Thrust +forward by the accidents of life into situations for which nothing in his +own humble beginnings seemed to adapt him, he had, like all the other +Maurice Scanlans of the world, taken to suppose that he was really a very +necessary and important ingredient in all affairs. He found, too, that his +small cunning served to guide him, where really able men's wisdom failed +them,—for so it is, people won't take soundings when they think they +can see the bottom; and, finally, he conceived a very high opinion of his +faculties, and thought them equal to much higher purposes than they had +ever been engaged in. +</p> +<p> +Since his last interview with Mary Martin, he had never ceased to +congratulate himself on the glorious turn of his affairs. Though not +over-sanguine about others, Maurice was always hopeful of himself. It is +one of the characteristics of such men, and one of the greatest aids to +their activity, this ever-present belief in themselves. To secure the good +opinion he had already excited in his favor was now his great endeavor; +and nothing could so effectually contribute to this, as to show an ardent +zeal and devotion to her wishes. He had read somewhere of a certain envoy +who had accomplished his mission ere it was believed he had set out; and +he resolved to profit by the example. It was, then, in the full confidence +of success, that he presented himself on this occasion. +</p> +<p> +Mary received him calmly, almost coldly. His presence was not in harmony +with any thought that occupied her, and she deemed the task of admitting +him something like an infliction. +</p> +<p> +“I drove over, Miss Mary,” said he, rather disconcerted by her reserve,—“I +drove over to-day, though I know you don't like business on a Sunday, just +to say that I had completed that little matter you spoke of,—the +money affair. I did n't sleep on it, but went to work at once; and though +the papers won't be ready for some days, the cash is ready for you +whenever you like to draw it.” + </p> +<p> +“You have been very kind and very prompt, sir,” said she, thankfully, but +with a languor that showed she was not thinking of the subject. +</p> +<p> +“He said five per cent,” continued Scanlan, “and I made no objection; for, +to tell you the truth, I expected he'd have asked us six,—he's +generally a hard hand to deal with.” + </p> +<p> +It was evident that he hoped her curiosity might have inquired the name of +him thus alluded to; but she never did so, but heard the fact with a calm +indifference. +</p> +<p> +Scanlan was uneasy; his heaviest artillery had opened no breach. What +should be his next manouvre? +</p> +<p> +“The money-market is tight just now,” said he, speaking only to gain time +for further observation; “and there's worse times even before us.” + </p> +<p> +If Mary heard, she did not notice this gloomy speculation. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm sure it will be no easy job to get the last November rent paid up. +It was a bad crop; and now there 's sickness coming amongst them,” said +he, half as though to himself. “You'll have to excuse me to-day, Mr. +Scanlan,” said she, at last. “I find I can think of nothing; I am in one +of my idle moods.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure, why not, Miss Mary?” said he, evidently piqued at the +ill-success of all his zeal. “It was <i>I</i> made a mistake. I fancied, +somehow, you were anxious about this little matter; but another day will +do as well,—whenever it's your own convenience.” + </p> +<p> +“You are always considerate, always good-natured, Mr. Scanlan,” said she, +with a vagueness that showed she was scarcely conscious of what she +uttered. +</p> +<p> +“If <i>you</i> think so, Miss Mary, I 'm well repaid,” said he, with a +dash of gallantry in the tone; “nor is it by a trifle like this I'd like +to show my—my—my—devotion.” And the last word came out +with an effort that made his face crimson. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” muttered she, not hearing one word of his speech. +</p> +<p> +“So that I'll come over to-morrow, Miss Mary,” broke he in. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, to-morrow!” replied she, as still musing she turned to the +window, no more thinking of the luckless attorney than if he had been +miles away; and when at length she did look round, he was gone! It was +some minutes ere Mary could perfectly reconcile herself to the fact that +he had been there at all; but as to how and when and why he took his +leave, were mysteries of which she could make nothing. And yet Mr. Scanlan +had gone through a very ceremonious farewell. He had bowed, and sidled, +and simpered, and smirked, and sighed; had thrown himself into attitudes +pictorially devoted and despairing, looked unutterable things in various +styles, and finally made an exit, covered with as much shame and +discomfiture as so confident a spirit could well experience, muttering, as +he paced the corridor, certain prospective reprisals for this haughty +indifference, when a certain time should arrive, and a certain fair lady—But +we have no right to push his speculations further than he himself indulged +them; and on the present occasion Maurice was less sanguine than his wont. +</p> +<p> +“I fed the mare, sir,” said Barnes, as he held the stirrup for Scanlan to +mount. +</p> +<p> +“And gave her water, too,” said the attorney, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“Devil a drop, then,” resumed the other. “I just sprinkled the oats, no +more; that's Miss Mary's orders always.” + </p> +<p> +“She understands a stable well,” said Scanlan, half questioning. +</p> +<p> +“Does n't she?” said the other, with a sententious smack of the lip. “To +bit a horse or to back him, to tache him his paces and cure him of bad +tricks, to train him for harness, double and single, to show him the way +over a wall or a wide ditch, to make him rise light and come down easy, +she has n't a match on this island; and as for training,” added he, with +fresh breath, “did you see Sir Lucius?” + </p> +<p> +“No,” said Scanlan, with awakened interest. +</p> +<p> +“Wait till I bring him out, then. I'll show you a picture!” And Barnes +disappeared into the stable. In five minutes after, he returned, leading a +dark brown horse, who, even shrouded in all the covering of hood and +body-clothes, displayed in his long step and lounging gait the attributes +of a racer. +</p> +<p> +In a few minutes Barnes had unbuckled strap and surcingle, and sweeping +back the blankets dexterously over the croup, so as not to ruffle a hair +of the glossy coat, exhibited an animal of surpassing symmetry, in all the +pride of high condition. +</p> +<p> +“There's a beast,” said he, proudly, “without speck or spot, brand or +blemish about him! You 're a good judge of a horse, Mr. Scanlan; and tell +me when did you see his equal?” + </p> +<p> +“He's a nice horse!” said Scanlan, slowly, giving to each word a slow and +solemn significance; then, casting a keen glance all around and over him, +added, “There 's a splint on the off leg!” + </p> +<p> +“So there is, the least taste in life,” said Barnes, passing his hand +lightly over it; “and was there ever a horse—worth the name of a +horse—that hadn't a splint? Sure, they 're foaled with them! I +wanted Miss Mary to let me take that off with an ointment I have, but she +would n't. 'It's not in the way of the tendon,' says she. 'It will never +spoil his action, and we 'll not blemish him with a mark.' Them's her very +words.” + </p> +<p> +“He's a nice horse,” said Scanlan, once more, as if the very parsimony of +the praise was the highest testimony of the utterer; “and in rare +condition, too,” added he. +</p> +<p> +“In the very highest,” said Barnes. “He was as sure of that cup as I am +that my name 's Tim.” + </p> +<p> +“What cup?” asked Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“Kiltimmon,—the June race; he's entered and all; and now he's to be +sold,—them 's the orders I got yesterday; he's to be auctioned at +Dycer's on Saturday for whatever he'll bring!” + </p> +<p> +“And now, what do you expect for him, Barnes?” said Maurice, +confidentially. +</p> +<p> +“Sorrow one o' me knows. He might go for fifty,—he might go for two +hundred and fifty! and cheap he'd be of it. He has racing speed over a +flat course, and steeplechase action for his fences. With eleven stone on +his back—one that can ride, I mean, of course—he 'd challenge +all Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/418.jpg" width="100%" alt="418 " /> +</div> +<p> +“I would n't mind making a bid for him myself,” said Scanlan, hesitating +between his jockeyism and the far deeper game which he was playing. +</p> +<p> +“Do then, sir, and don't draw him for the race, for he 'll win it as sure +as I 'm here. 'T is Jemmy was to ride him; and Miss Mary would n't object +to give you the boy, jacket and all, her own colors,—blue, with +white sleeves.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think so, Barnes? Do you think she'd let me run him in the Martin +colors?” cried Scanlan, to whom the project now had suddenly assumed a +most fascinating aspect. +</p> +<p> +“What would you give for him?” asked Barnes, in a business-like voice. +</p> +<p> +“A hundred,—a hundred and fifty,—two hundred, if I was sure of +what you say.” + </p> +<p> +“Leave it to me, sir,—leave it all to <i>me</i>,” said Barnes, with +the gravity of a diplomatist who understood his mission. “Where can I see +you to-morrow?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll be here about ten o'clock!” + </p> +<p> +“That will do,—enough said!” And Barnes, replacing the horse-sheet, +slowly re-entered the stable; while Scanlan, putting spurs to his nag, +dashed hurriedly away, his thoughts outstripping in their speed the pace +he went, and traversing space with a rapidity that neither “blood” nor +training ever vied with. +</p> +<h4> +END OF VOL. 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