Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/florencemacarthyOOmorg LADY MORGAN 129SS0R COLLIDE UBRAB cassniur hill, massJ , NEW YORK: t Si D. & J. SADLIER & CO.. ft \ 31 BARCLAY STREET. ,f r; 4 ^** C ?*7J £ [^'ILLIAJA' RQSUNOM-t, FLORENCE MACARTHY A NATIONAL TALE. BY LADY MORGAN/'' Autiior of “ O Donnell,” “ Tin-: Wild Irish Girl,” «&c., &c. NEW YORK: D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 31 BARCLAY STREET, BOSTON '.—128 FEDERAL STREET. MONTREAL J — COB. NOTRH PAMK AND £T. FRANCIS XAVIER STS. 1865. BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY CHESTNUT HILL, MASS, PR 50 o'? , A/3 33 " / 84929 FLORENCE MACARTHY. CHAPTER I. Whom when I asked, from what place he came, And how he hight himself, he did y-cleep The Shepherd of the Ocean, by name, And said he came far from the main sea deep. Colin ClouVs come home again . — Spenser. Early in the nineteenth century, in an autumnal month, a corvette (a light-built Spanish vessel) passed the Bar of Dublin, and, with all her canvas crowded, rode gallantly into the bay, after having weathered, for a period of five days, one of those tremendous gales which occasionally agitate the Irish seas. A southern port of Ireland had been her original destination. Stress of weather had driven her up the Channel; and the injury she had received in her unequal con- test with the elements, rendered it necessary that she should undergo repair before she proceeded on her coasting voyage. On her stern she bore the name of u II Librador and, though now unarmed, and the property of a private individual, she had evidently been a sloop of war in some foreign service. * The Liberator. 6 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. The dawn was breaking in tints of gold and crim- son as the corvette cut her way through the bright- ening waves ; and the happiest aspect of the Irish coast presented itself to the view of two persons who stood in silence at the helm ; — who had stood there since the first pale flush of light had thrown its silvery line along the eastern horizon. The elder of the two was the master of the vessel, lie was still in the very prime of life and flower of manhood; and as each lovely feature of the Irish shore gradually developed itself, and arose bright and fresh from the mists of the morning upon his eager gaze, he presented, in his own person, an image that denoted the intention of the Creator, when he made man supreme above all, to reign over His fair creation. He stood erect, his arms so folded as to give to his square chest and shoulders a peculiar muscularity and breadth of outline. His fine bust, indicating extraor- dinary strength, would have been almost dispropor- tioned to his stature, which rose not much above the middle height, but that the loftiness of his air, and the freedom of his carriage, conferred an artificial eleva- tion on his figure, and corrected what might be deemed imperfect in his actual structure. His large eyes were rather deep set than protuberant; and their glances, rather sidelong than direct, flashed from beneath his dark impending brows, like the lightnings which fringe the massive vapors of a tropical atmosphere. His mouth had a physiognomy of its own — it was what the eye is to other laces — and the workings of the nether lip, in moments of emotion, indicated the influence of vehement pas- sions, habitually combated, though rarely subdued. FLORENCE MACARTTIY. 7 The expression of his countenance was more intel- lectual than gracious ; and was calculated to strike rather than to please. But his rare and singular smile (a smile so bland, it might well have become even a woman’s lip) wholly changed its character; and the full-displayed teeth, of splendid whiteness, produced perhaps even too strong a contrast with a complexion, which southern suns, and climes of scorching ardor, had bronzed into a dark, deep, but transparent olive. No tint, no hue warmed or varied this gloomy paleness, save when the tide of passion, rushing impetuously from the heart, colored for a moment, with a burning crimson, the livid cheek ; and then, as promptly ebbing back to its source, left all cold and dark as before. F rom his accent or manner, it would have been difficult to assign him to any particular country. He seemed rather to belong to the world ; — one of those creatures formed out of the common mould, whom nature and circumstances combine to lit for deeds of general import and universal interest. Neither could the term “ gentility” be appropriately applied to an appearance which had a character beyond it. He might have been above or below heraldic notices, and genealogical distinctions ; but he was evidently inde- pendent of them. His mate, an old but hale man, with whom he conversed in Spanish (but who had English enough to work the ship, and sufficient know- ledge of the Irish seas to steer it with skill,) respect- fully addressed him by the title of “ the Commodore and the crew (a few English sailors, to whom he seemed, even by name, a stranger) adopted the same appellation. But he issued Ids clear, prompt orders, 8 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. with the air and decision of one to whom higher titles of command were familiar, lie was a good sailor, fearless in danger, calm and sell-possessed in diffi- culty ; and, to the only passenger who accompanied him (one courteously and accidentally admitted on board his ship), he spoke of himself as a man fond of the sea from boyhood, making voyages of pleasure when he could, and now uniting an old habit of re- creation with the urgency of pressing business. He was on his way from a West India island, on a secret mission, of importance to himself; but he neither mentioned his own name, nor inquired that of the young passenger, whom he had taken out of a wherry in Plymouth Sound, — the port whence he had last sailed, and where the stranger had vainly sought the passage now granted him to Ireland, by the com- mander of II Librador. The appearance of this person, who ha 1 voluntarily announced himself by the name of De Vere, though infinitely interesting, was perhaps less striking than that of the Commodore. It was also of a more defi- nite stamp and character; more assignable to a class, a cast, a country. Though there was little of con- ventional mannerism about him, — though his elegant and thorough-bred air was wffiolly unmarked by the overcharged fashioning of any country, — yet, to those acquainted with the first class of British distinction, he was easily cognizable in accent, dress, air, and physiognomy, as an Englishman of rank and fashion, the liomnu comme il faut of the highest circles. There was, however, in the countenance and modes of this distinguished young stranger, something more than the mere characteristics of country and rank — FLORENCE MACARTHY. 9 a sort of fantastic pensiveness, a real or affected ab- straction, a something imaginative and ideal in his maniere d'etre , that indicated a great eccentricity, if not peculiarity of mind. He seemed a compound of fancy and fashion ; a medium between the conscious- ness of rank, and the assumption and possession of genius, placing him out of the common muster-roll of society : — a being vain of standing aloof ; untractable to the world’s laws, and therefore believing himself beyond them. In his conversations with the Com- modore, he spoke in parodox, had systems out of the common scale, and theories of alembicated refine- ment. An idealist, in the fullest sense of the word, in his philosophy he talked as one who believed that “ nothing is, but thinking makes it so :” and occupied by an “ ideal presence,” he affected to live distinct and independent of all human interests. The structure of his fine head was such as physiog- nomists assign to superior intellect ; and the precise arrangement of its glossy auburn curls left it difficult to decide whether its fanciful and fashionable posses- sor was more fop or philosopher, dandy or poet. His valet-de-chambre, a Frenchman, presided with in- variable punctuality at his toilette, twice a day, when the uncivil elements did- not interfere with such ar- rangements; and the rest of his time was spent in musing, reading Spenser’s “Faery Queen,” and “ State of Ireland,” and occasionally conversing with the commander of the vessel, who seemed to inspire him with sentiments of curiosity and admiration, not usual to his ordinary habits of feeling. Mr. De Yere, after a long silence, usually preserved, addressed his com- panion, by observing : 10 FLORENCE MACARTHT. * There is to me a singular attraction in the aspect of an unknown firmament ; for it tells of distance from scenes, and objects long marked by sameness, and distinguished only by satiety.” “ It tells, too,” replied the Commodore, “ of remote- ness from objects, precious by interest or habit. The * Cross of the south,’ first seen in tropical climates, draws tears to the eyes of the Spanish seaman ; its image recalling remembrances of his distant country.” “ Remembrances of country, however, are usually the finger-posts to ennui. One wears out everything in one’s own country, before one leaves it; and, there- fore, it is left. Country ! all countries are alike : little masses of earth and water ; where some swarms of human ants are destined to creep through their span of ephemeral existence : coming, they know not whence; going they know not where.” “ These little masses of earth and water,” said the * Commodore, “ are therefore precious and important to the ants that creep on them; and each little hill is dear to the swarm that inhabits it, as much from that very ignorance as from interest.” After a short pause, Mr. De Yere resumed: “ Can you not credit then the existence of a creature placed by nature or circumstances beyond the ordi- nary pale of humanity, shaking off 1 his poor estate of man,’ scarcely looking upon that spot, called earth, with human eyes, nor herding with his species in * human sympathy — one so organized, so worked on by events, so thwarted in feelings, and blasted in his bud of life, as to stand alone in creation, matchless, or at least unmatched — one, whose joys, whose woes, whose sentiments, whose passions, are not those of other FLORENCE MACARTHY. 11 men, but all his own ; beyond the reach of affection, or the delusions of hope ?” “ A being, thus constituted,” rejoined the Commo- dore, “ could not be man. lie, who wants the appe- tites and passions common to all men, with the sym- pathies and affections that spring from them, is some- thing better or worse, angel or demon, but he is not man.” “You deny then the possibility of such an exist- ence ?” “ Nay — madmen may fancy such a combination, poets feign it, or vain men affect it ; but it has no real existence in nature or society. Man is always man; and he who pretends to be more, is rarely placed by nature at the head of his species — he is in fact usually less.” Before Mr. De Yere could reply, a question from a sailor interrupted the conversation, which was one of many held in the same tone and spirit. The Commo- dore was the next moment busied in giving orders for tacking. lie addressed his mate in pure Spanish, chided the French valet out of his way in good French, and fell foul of a lubberly sailor in broad nau- tical English. “There is somewhere,” said Mr. De Yere, turning over the pages of Spenser’s Ireland, and resuming his conversation with the commander of the vessel, as he returned to his station at the helm — “ there is some- where, through the quaint pages of Spenser, an ad- mirable description of the natural advantages of Ire- land, which I cannot find.” “Look around you,” answered the Commodore: “ you will find them here.” 12 FLORENCE MACAUTHY. “ I prefer looking through the spectacles of books. I like the prismatic hues thrown by authorship upon places and facts.” “ Indeed ! that is strange ! But in viewing Ireland through Spenser’s pages, you will see it, as children do an eclipse through a smoked glass. He was one of those, whose policy it was to revile the country lie preyed upon, — to spoil, and then to vituperate. No Englishman can fairly estimate this island who cornea not unshackled by his own interests. Spenser, the deputy of a deputy, the secretary, whose servile flat- tery of the viceroy, his master, was rewarded with a principality (soon lost indeed, but most unfairly won), is no author for impartiality to judge by; and when he stoops to eulogize the ‘dreadless might’ of his ferocious patron, Grey, one of Ireland’s Herods — when he defines power to be 1 The right hand of Justice truly hight,’ however he may please as a poet, he is contemptible as an historian, and infamous as a politician.” “ Oh ! as an historian or politician I give him up, because both characters are equally ridiculous : the politician always guided by prejudice and interest, the historian always immersed in ignorance and error. Time discovers and shames both : and thus it is with all that bears upon human facts. The imagination alone is always right ; its visions are alone imperishable. The Faery Queen of Spenser will thus survive, when his State of Ireland shall be wholly forgotten : and, for my own part, so much do I prefer the visions of his fancy to the historical relations of any period con- nected with the history of men, that I would go a FLORENCE MACARTHT. 13 thousand miles to visit the ruins of his Irish Kilcole - man * where once 1 He sat, as was his trade, Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar/ where * Allured by his pipe's delight, Whose pleasing soundly-shrilled far about, the gallant Raleigh found him. But I am not sure that I would turn one point out of my way to tread upon the sj)ot where legitimate despotism signed the fiat of its own destruction, and gave Magna Charta to an emancipated nation.” The vessel at that moment touched the pier. The Commodore had sprung upon land ; and he stood for a moment on the spot that had received the first pressure of his footstep. To judge by the dark- ling of his eye, and the motion of his lip, some strong and powerful feeling occupied his mind ; but it was of brief duration. Emotions unconnected with ac- tion seemed not made for him : by the tossing back of his head he appeared to give thought to the winds, and plunged into all the bustle and activity of the circumstances in which he was placed. The Holyhead packet was not yet visible ; and the * Originally the principality of the Macarthies More ; aftei> wards the Palatinate of the Fitzgeralds, Earls of Desmond ; forfeited by them and given to new spoliators, among whom was the thriftless adventurer Raleigh, who in Ireland acted the part of a freebooter. The spoils which fell to the poet Spenser, as secretary to Lord Arthur Grey (the “ Sir Artigall ” of his dreary legend of that name), were three thousand acres of rich land in the county of Cork, with the beautiful Castle of Kilcoleman, the seat of the Earl of Desmond. 14 FLORENCE MACARTHY. earliness of the hour still left the pier in quietude. The land-waiter had been called to go through tho necessary forms ; and of him the Commodore asked some questions, with eager curiosity, clearness, and rapidity of utterance, as if life were too short to suffer one moment to pass by unoccupied or unin- structed ; then, as if impatient of the drawling replies, and anticipating the answers, he started new inqui- ries of local reference. Meantime Mr. De Yere had landed ; but wholly abstracted from the noise and activity that surrounded him, he stood, turning over the leaves of his Spenser, while the valet was receiv- ing parcels, portmanteaux, and portfolios from a sailor, who was flinging them on shore, and exclaim- ing, as he appropriated, or rejected each several article, “ C'es: a nous” — “ Ce n'est pas a nous” With the exception of “got dam,” the Frenchman had not yet acquired a single word of English. But with this small portion of the language, and his own very expressive gesticulations, he had succeeded so well, as almost to think with Figaro, that this em- phatic imprecation was the basis of the tongue ; and that with it “ on ne manque de ricn , nulle part” “ Will I step in for a jingle for your honor ?” de- manded a voice, in the broad languid drawling of the genuine patois of Dublin, addressing the full force of its brogue to the delicate ears of Mr. De Yere. “ Will I, plaze your honor, sir ?” This question, several times repeated, at last ob- tained notice by its reiteration. The young stranger ' raised his eyes for a moment to the face of him who thus unceremoniously proffered his services, but he withdrew them again in disgust. The object of this i FLORENCE MACARTHY. 15 ungracious glance had stood its inquiry with great coolness. He was leaning, and had been leaning, since the dawn, against one of the posts of the pier, and had watched the approach of It Librudor idly and patiently, for more than an hour, partly for the gratification of his curiosity, and partly in the hope of earning some trifle by going for a vehicle, or by carrying into the town some luggage for the passen- gers. There is scarcely any place so lonely, or hour so unseasonable, at which some one of these genuine lazzaroni of the Irish metropolis may not be found lounging away time, between hope and idleness, in the enjoyment of doing nothing, or in the vague ex- pectation of having something to do. Miserably clad, squalid, meagre, and famished, the petitioner for employment had yet humor in his eye, and observation in his countenance. Occasionally ready to assist, and always prompt to flatter, he did neither gratuitously. Taunt and invective seemed the natural expression of his habit : for though dcbasingly acquiescent to a destiny which left him without mo- tive for industry, in a country where industry is no refuge from distress, he yet preserved the vindictive- ness of conscious degradation ; and there was a deep- seated sincerity in his freqrent curse, which was some- times wanting to his purchased benediction. Idleness had become the custom of his necessity ; and his wants were so few, that a trifling exertion could supply them. Yet he sought early and late for employment; and he had probably wants more urgent than his own to satisfy. This unfortunate representative of his class had hi- therto lolled on the pier, a listless spectator of the 16 FLORENCE MACARTHT. scene which was going forward, muttering at intervals a shrewd observation, laughing deridingly as he threw his eyes over the French valet, whose foreign air and dress were peculiarly notable ; and again composing his sharp features into a look of respectful deference, as he reiterated his question to him whom he sup- posed the master. “ Will I step in for a jingle, your honor ? will I, sir ?” “ Step in !” at last repeated Mr. De Yere, struck, perhaps, by the calm, steady perse- verance of his intrusion — “ step in where, friend ?” “Step into Dublin, plaze your honor, for a jingle, sir, or a hackney !” “ Is Dublin so near, then?” “ It is, plaze your honor, hard by, sir, quite conva- nient : yez won’t miss me, your honor, till I’m back wid ye.” “If Dublin is so near,” said Mr. De Yere, closing his book, and addressing the Commodore, who now, with his rapid step, approached him, after having given his orders to his mate and men — “ if Dublin is so near, I should prefer walking, to trusting to any filthy ve- hicle we may be able to procure at this unseasonable hour.” “ I meant to propose it,” was the reply ; and the active, animated speaker, taking a rich pelisse from his mate, which he drew over his ship dress, and ex- changing his cap for a round hat, gave some addi- tional orders in Spanish, and desired the sailor, who stood beside him with a large valise on his shoulder and writing-case in his hand, to follow him to Dublin. The two gentlemen then proceeded, arm-in-arm, to town, furnished by the officers of the customs with a card of one of the many hotels in the patrician streets FLORENCE MCCARTHY. 17 of Dublin, the former mansions of the banished no- bility. Mr. De Yere, to whom the vulgar exertions of every-day life were all unknown, and even unguessed at, had left everything to a valet as helpless as him- self. For the first time since he had come into his master’s service, he was deprived of the assistance of a certain Portuguese lackey, one who spoke all lan- guages, performed all services, and united all the in- trigue, roguery, and ingenuity of the Pedrillos and Lazarillos of the Spanish comedy. This man had been dismissed for malpractices at the moment his master was leaving the port of Lisbon for that of Plymouth ; and since that period the Frenchman had acted with- out deputy or interpreter. But as almost the whole of the interval had been passed at sea (for his master had remained a few hours only at Plymouth), he had but slightly felt the inconvenience. Now, however, left to act, not only for his master but for himself, he remained standing on the pier, in all the embarrass- ment of books, parcels, and the splendid neccssaire of the portable toilette. He had alternately taken up and laid down a valise, a dressing-box, and a pocket edition of Zamora’s Spanish Plays; accompanying each movement with a “ sacre ,” u diantre” or “ jieste de mon ame ,” slowly rolled forth from between his closed teeth ; when the English sailor, jerking his own load on his shoulders, exclaimed, “ Come, come, mounseer, know your own mind ; either wait till we sends a coach for you and your trumpery, or get some un to help you.” “ Shure I’ll carry in them portmantles to town for you, mounseer, and the leather box to boot, for a 18 FLORENCE MACARTHY. trifle,” observed the Irishman, who, disappointed in the commission he had sought, had remained motion- less and silent till the hope of his services being again accepted suggested itself; and he repeated his pro- posal three several times, each louder than the other, as if the louder he vociferated, the better chance he had of being understood by the foreigner. “ Do you hear me now, mounseer ?” he screamed close in the Frenchman’s ear, who, stamping his feet with anger, exclaimed, “ Paix ! paix /” “ Pay, pay,” reiterated the Irishman : “ I’ll engage you will, dear, and well.” Then, without further ce- remony, hoisting the valise on his shoulders, taking a portfolio under his arm, and carrying the dressing- box by its handle, he nodded his head to the parcel of books, which were enclosed in a leather strap, ob- serving, “ Now, mounseer, I’ll throuble you just to take them bits of books in your daddle ; and what would ail us, but we’d take in th’ other trifles of things betwixt us aisy enough, plaze God; I’ll engage we will. So now, my lad,” (addressing the sailor,) “ follow me, and I’ll show you the road.” The Frenchman comprehended the arrangements of the Irishman better than his language, grinned ap- plause, muttered a good-humored “go* dam” in token of approbation, and, taking up the books, these three singular representatives of the three nations pro- ceeded towards Dublin, following close on the steps of the gentlemen who had inquired their route and were some paces in advance. The Irish lounger, no lounger now, stepped on lightly with his burden, in that short quick trot with which the lower Irish perform long journeys, and FLORENCE MACARTHY. 19 frequently addressing his companions with a sort of sly, indirect curiosity. “ I’ll engage, mounseer,” he observed, first attack- ing the Frenchman, “yez was never in ould Ireland afore, far as you’ve travelled ; and yez 1 May travel the wide world over, And sail from France to Balm-robe.’ as the song says, afore ye’ll see the likes of it again, anyway.” “ Bon , bon," returned the Frenchman, supposing that he communicated the joyful intelligence of their speedy arrival. li Bon, fen suis charmi “ Why then it will charmy ye more every step ye take — for there isn’t her match, by say or land, with her beautiful eye there, like a unicorn’s, in the front of her forehead,* and her Hill of Ilowth like a mole on her cheek ; and see there forenent yez, aerass the bay, there, there’s the sheds of Clontarf, and the green groves of Marino, the great Earl of Charle- mont’s sate, and ould Ballvbough, the creatur ! to the fore this day, as when Bryan Borugh lost his crown, and his harp on it (the sowl), in the Musaum of Trinity.”! “ Comment done ?” demanded the Frenchman, de- noting his ignorance of this detailed description by the perplexity of his looks. “ Och bother,” returned the Irishman, out of all patience at what appeared to him obstinate stupidity. * Ireland’s Eye — a rock at the entrance of the bay. t A harp is shown in the Museum of Trinity College, said to have belonged to the Irish monarch : it was found on the plains of Clontarf, where he fought his last famous battle against the Danes, and lost his life. 20 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ Bodere, bodere,” reiterated the Frenchman, indig- nant at what lie saw was intended for insult.” “ Com- ment done 1 bode re'! gueux que tu es ?” “ Cut away yourself,” replied the Irishman, laugh- ling good humoredly, or troth, you’ll be in too late for the fair, honey !” The Frenchman, supposing that these words, and the conciliating laugh which accompanied them, indi- cated an apology, took off his hat with great polite- ness, and accepted the fancied excuses*, with “mats voila ) mon ami , qui est Hen? “ Och, your humble servant to command, mo un- seer,” returned the Irishman dropping his load to make an imitative bow : “ troth you do your dancing-mas- ter every justice, whoever he was.” The English sailor, much amused by this inter- change of civility in his two companions, observed, “ aye, aye, sir, let the moun seers alone for bowing and scraping, and the likes. Never a dancing dog at Bartlemy fair will beat them at that, I’ll warrant.” “Why then I’ll engage,” replied the Irishman, “ that yellow, swarthy, portly gentleman there, your captain, wouldn’t be a Frenchman, with his elegant surtout, for all he has a Frenchified air about him.” “ What, he ; Lord help your heart, not he — no more a Frenchman nor I am, lad.” “ Och ! he’d be very sorry, I’ll engage ; though he has an outlandish look with him, for all that.” “ Why, aye sure, because he corned from the Hin- dies, d’ye see; the West Ilindies, — or Spanish Am- erica'. It’s all one for that ; come from where he will, he’s a hearty true blue, every bit of him.” FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 21 “ And is yourself come all the ways with him, dear, from the Western Indies?” “ Not I. I was lying in dock; for it is not now all as one as formerly — all goes by luck and fashion now. Somehow, one hears no more of the Howes, and the Hothams, and the Nelsons, and the wooden walls of old England. The jacket, the old true blue’s worn out, sir. So this ere gem’man, who owns that tight bit of timber, every splinter of her, himself', it seems, put into our Plymouth Sound, three weeks ago, bound from Demerara, and sent back his Spanish crew in a Cadiz merchantman, (excepting old Grim Groudy, the mate), and paid ’em like a prince. So then he set sail for London, aloft on the mail; and when he came back, he manned this little vessel with a handful of us Plymouth boys, and we heaved anchor six days agone for Ireland ; and this I’ll say for him, a better commander never stepped on forecastle, or walked the quarter-deck.” “ See that now,” replied the Irishman, quietly, “ and hasn’t he a mild look with him, then, for all that ; only mighty stern. He wouldn’t be a slave driven from the Western Indies, sir, I suppose?” “ What, he ! not he, bless the heart of him ; no more nor I bees; not but he’s hard enough some- times, and hates a lubber as he hates poison; but goes our halves in hard work.” “ See that, now, sir : och, he has a fine look with him, and mighty portly ; and has a great name upon him, if a body knew it, I’ll engage.” “ Can’t tell ye that, though,” replied the sailor, “ because why, I don’t know it myself. They called’n 1 the Don’ at the King’s Arms in Plymouth — 22 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the Spanish don, though he speaks as good English as the best. And then, when one asks a question of Grim Groudy, whs knows all about him, he only an- swers one in his d — d lingo.” “And that tail slinder young man, dear, with his head in the clouds, as if he’d snuff the moon, fairly— he’s his comrade, I’ll engage.” “ What, yon fair weather, fresh water bird there, mounseer’s master ? — Oh, I knows nothing of he, nor Commodore, nor mate neither, for the matter o’ that ; he’s a bird of passage, lad, a God send, d’y see. Why, just as we had given Edystone lighthouse the go-by, out comes old Jack Andrews’s wherry, the Shark, rowing at the race of ten knots an hour ; and when it came alongside the Librador, yon spark, there, stands bolt upright, and begs a passage for his self and our mounseer here, to Ireland, palavering about no packets plying from Plymouth to Dublin, and being in haste to get there. So the Commodore has him hauled up, and gives him the state cabin ; a cabin fit for an Eng- lish Admiral ; and so they’ve gone on well enough, yard arm and yard arm, jawing together, fore and aft, first in one lingo, and then in another ; and what with mounseer there, that has not a word of English to throw to a dog, and the Spanish mate, who has bare sufficient to work the ship, why the vessel’s like to the town of Babylon. But wdiat’s most oddest, is, that for all mounseer and Grim Groudy’s gibberish- ing it so with their own masters, shiver me if they understand one another a bit. Ha ! ha ! ha !” “ Why, then,” returned the Irishman, “ it’s mighty odd, and very remarkable ; for if foreigners won’t un- derstand one another, who do they expect will, I FLORENCE MACARTHY. 28 wonder. And so yez are all going to put up in Dublin? Why, then, yez are in great luck.” “ Luck ! no such luck neither ; but needs must when the old one drives. Why, sir, we have been pelted about this little basin of dirty water these five days, and last night were fairly driven up the Channel, blown to shivers, tattered to rags, and must now put into dock here, till all’s made right and tight ; and then, we’re under orders to weigh anchor with old Grim Groudy, and sail for Dungarvan.” “ Troth, then, if yez will take a fool’s advice, yez will stay where ye are ; for yez may go farther and fare worse than stopping in Dublin; only maybe, your business doesn’t lie here, sir.” “ Why, for business, I don’t believe we have much business here ; only just a voyage of pleasure. Why that’s all the go now. The agreeablest trip I ever made was with a young Irish lord to the Medi- terranean, just for sport like ; round the world for sport.” “ Why, then, it’s purty sport that gives a man the say-sickness. But its ill wind blows nobody good ; and only for it, sorrow bit of Ringsend yez had seen this day, and here it is.” The two gentlemen in advance had at this moment halted at the entrance of one of the most wretched suburbs that ever deformed or disgraced the metro- polis of any country; and the Commodore, whose quick and often back-glancing eye had long since dis- cerned the reinforcement obtained to the party, by the addition of the lounger at the pier, now called, and desired him to lead the way. “ I will, plaze your honor,” he replied, trotting briskly on, while the 24 FLORENCE MACARTHY, wearied Frenchman “ toiled after him in vain;” and even the sailor made an exertion to keep pace with him. “ 111 only just step in, sir, by your leave, to get my morning, for I hasn’t broke my fast yet, sir.” “ Broke his fast !” reiterated the Commodore, shrug- ging his shoulders, as he observed his newly consti- tuted guide “ step in” to a little shop, whose gaudy placard of “ licensed to sell spirituous liquors” was further illustrated by a range of glasses on the coun- ter, filled with whiskey. The guide tossed one off, observing to the dirty, lazy-looking woman, who stood wiping a jug with her apron, “ I’ll pay you when I come back, Mrs. Hurley, dear.” With this assurance from her wretched, but well known customer, Mrs. Hurley appeared satisfied; aware from expe- rience, that, in his instance, punctuality was guaran- teed by self-interest. “ Break his fast ?” repeated the Commodore : “ what a mode of breaking fast!” “As good as any,” replied Mr. DeVere: “it all comes to the same thing in the end. Habit and cir- cumstances determine the mode and means, without our consent or will ; and gin, or glory, ‘ Leads but to the grave.’ ” The two travellers now followed their guide with difficulty through collected heaps of mud and filth. The very air they breathed was infected by noxious vapors, which the morning sun drew up from piles of putrid matter. The houses, between which they passed, were in ruins; the sashless windows were stuffed with straw; the unhinged doors exposed the dark and dirty stairs, leading to dens still more dun FLORENCE MACARTHY. 25 and foul. Here, if “lonely misery retired to die,” living wretchedness could scarcely find a shelter. Yet many an haggard face, many an attenuated form, marked by the squalor of indigence, and by the harsh- ness of vice, evinced that even here was a crowded, superabundant population. The guide, who, as he proceeded through this wretched suburb, saluted several among those whose idle curiosity had drawn them from their holes, betrayed a courtesy of manner curiously contrasted with his own appearance, and with that of the persons he addressed. Everybody was “ Sir,” or “ Ma’am and the children were either “ Miss,” or “ Master,” or were saluted with epithets of endearment and familiarity. “Morrow, Dennis, dear, how is it with you?” “ Morrow, kindly, Mrs. Flanagan : I hope I see you well, Ma’am.” “ Oh, you’re up with the day, Mr. Geratty. How’s the woman that owns you ?” “ Here’s a fine morning, Miss Costello, God bless it : is your mother bravely, Miss ?” “ Eh ! then Paddy, you little garlagh, why isn’t it after the cockles ye are the day, and the tide on the turn ?” While, however, he seemed occupied with “ an un- wearied spirit of doing courtesies,” he occasionally threw his shrewd, but sunken eye, over the persons he was conducting; and faithfully translating the ex- pression of the Commodore’s looks, he observed : “ Och ! it's a poor place, sir, sure enough, and no poorer room-keepers, your honor, than the Rings* end’s, God help ’em, not even in the vaults, sir.” “ The vaults ?” “ Och ! yes, indeed, the vaults under the fine new streets, sir, that isn’t built, where there’s nothing to 26 FLORENCE MACARTHY. pay; only in respect of being mighty damp. Wait a taste, your honor, till yez get an, sir, and yez ‘ill see them swarm out in great style, the craturs !” “ And sure it is a most beautiful and sweet coun- try,” read aloud Mr. De Yere, who had now found out the passage he had hitherto vainly sought in Spen- ser, and was treading a clear pathway as they left the miserable outlets of Ringsend and Irishtown behind them. “ A most beautiful and sweet country as any under heaven, being stored throughout with many goodly rivers, with all sorts of fish, most abundantly sprinkled with many very sweet islands, and goodly lakes, like little inland seas, that will carry even shippes upon their waters, adorned with goodly woods, even fit for building houses and shippes, so commodiously, as that if som£ princes in the world had them, they would soon hope to be lords of all the seas, and ere long of all the world — also full of very good ports and havens, opening into England, as inviting us to come into them, to see what excellent commodities that country can afford. Besides, the soyle itself, most fertile, fit to yield all kinds of fruit that shall be committed thereunto; and lastly, the heavens, most mild, though somewhat more moist than the parts towards the west.” “ So much for the Natural State of Ireland,” said the Commodore, as the peripatetic student closed his book, to which the guide had given a very humorous attention. So much for the natural state. Behold the groupings of its social, its political condition.” As he spoke, they entered one of those long laid-out streets, whose houses, in the course of many years, had not advanced beyond the foundations. From the *^STON GGLLE^l 3HJCSTJNUT HILI kL FLORENCE MACARTHY. 27 vaults, the thick smoke of burning straw or rubbish was emitted through holes, perforated in the pave- ment ; while hordes of wretched and filthy creatures crept from beneath the dark roofs of their earthly dwellings, to solicit the charity of those who passed above them. One from among the number, who had been less alert in picking up some scattered small change, flung among them by the gentlemen, conti- nued to run beside them, begging for a “ halfpenny to buy bread.” It was a little shivering, half-naked girl, pretty but filthy and emaciated. As the guide came up she retreated, and a significant glance passed between them, which drove her at once back to her den ; but not before she had picked up a silver six- pence flung after her. “ God bless your honor,” said the guide, in a tre- mulous voice ; “ that is a greater charity than you i think, sir.” “ This is all very bad,” said Mr. De Vere, “ dis- gustingly bad. Short of actual offensive disgust, affecting the health and organs, I have, myselx, no positive objection to suburban wretchedness. There is sometimes a sort of poetical misery in such scenes, very effective to contemplate ; not altogether so coarse and squalid as Crabbe’s Borough Scenery, but a species of picturesque wretchedness, that has its merit — rags well draped, misery well chiselled, afford- ing a study for the painter’s pencil, or a model to the poet’s eye.” “ But who,” asked the Commodore with emphasis, “ can see such wretchedness as this, with a man’s eye, and not feel it with a man’s heart ? The mind starts beyond the mere impulse of sympathy here ; it rushes 28 FLORENCE MACARTHY. at once from the effect to the cause. Indignation usurps the seat of pity, and the spirit rests upon those who have afflicted, not on those who suffer.” “ Yes, but even so, you go but half-way. All is evil in political institutes ; because all is bad in moral, as all is disgusting in physical nature. All realities are evil, and the whole system, as we know it, but a fortuitous combination of corrupting particles : the brightest specks, the most lucent points, are but the shining glitter of putresceney, and even ‘ The brave o’erkanging firmament. The majestic roof, fretted with golden fires, A foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.’ ” “ This is Merrion Square, plaze your honor,” inter- rupted the guide, coming forward, “ where the quality lives. And there’s Sir John’s* fountain, your honor, so beautiful ! and cost a power ! and wouldn’t get lave to build a taste of it, only he declared to God, and upon his honor, he never would allow a thimble- ful of water to come out of it, in respect of a sup never going in. And there it is to this day, a great job, by Jagurs ; why wouldn’t it ?” The gentlemen, in their way to the hotel, in Sack- ville street, now passed through that line of the Irish metropolis, which brings within the compass of a coup cPoril some as noble public edifices and spacious streets as are to be found in the most leading cities * Sir J.. afterwards Lord de B , the anecdote is a fact. It is curious to observe, that the lowest classes of the popula- tion of Dublin are perfectly acquainted with the jobbing sys- tems under which all public transactions are effected in that metropolis : they also discuss them with a mixture of humor and anger that is extremely characteristic. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 29 of Europe. All, however, was still, silent, and void. The guide, walking parallel to the travellers, with his eyes furtively glancing on them, evidently watched the effect which the beauty of his native city (a beauty of which he was singularly proud) made upon their minds ; and when they had reached that im- posing area, which includes so much of the architec- tural elegance and social bustle of Dublin, (the area flanked by its silent senate-house, and commanded by its venerable university,) he paused, as if from weari- ness, leaned his burthen against the college ballus- trade, and drew upon the attention of the strangers (who also voluntarily halted to look around them), by observing, as he pointed to the right, “ That’s the ould parliament-house, sir. Why, then, there was grate work going on there oncet, quiet and aisy as it stands now, the cratur ! grate work, shure enough ! and there’s the very lamp-post I climbed up the night of the Union. Och ! then you’d think the murther of the world was in it; and so it was, shure enough, — that of Ireland, your honor ; God help her ! And there we were, from light to light, and long after, watching, ay, and praying too; and grate pelting, shurely, when they came out, the thieves, that sould us fairly. And troth, if we’d have known as much as we know now, it isn’t that a- way they’d have got off. And never throve from that hour, nor cared to cry ‘ the Freeman with the parliament debates not in it, nor Counsellor Grattan. Och, the trade was ruined entirely ; and from that day to this, never hawked * The Freeman’s Journal . one of the most spirited, popular and best conducted papers in the empire. | The number of newspapers has, however, much increased. 30 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. the bit of paper, nor could raise a tinpenny, only just on arrands, long life to your honors ; and that’s what the Union has brought us to ; and sorrow paper they need print at all, at all, now, only in respect of the paving board, and Counsellor Gallagher’s illigant speeches.”! “ And what use is made of that magnificent build- ing ?” asked Mr. De Yere, who stood gazing upon it with evident admiration. “ What use is it they make of it, your honor ? Why, then, sorrow a use in life, only a bank, sir ; the Bank of Ireland ; w r hat less use could they make of it ? And for all that,” added the guide significantly, “ it cost a power to make it what it is.” “ It is a beautiful thing of its kind,” said De Yere, rather apostrophizing the building than addressing his companion, who stood silent and self-wrapped. “ Beautiful even now, entire and perfect in all its parts — what will it be centuries hence, when its co- lumns, touched by the consecrating hand of time, shall lie prostrate, and its pediments and architraves be broken and moss-grown — when all around it shall be silence and desolation ? Then, haply, some strife of elements may conduct the enterprising spirit of remote philosophy to these coasts ; may cast some future Volney of the Ohio or Susquehannah upon the shores of this little Palmyra, when he may surmise and wonder, may dream his theories, and calculate his probabilities ; and, bending over these ruins, may see the future in the past, and apostrophize the in- evitable fate of existing empires.” “ Or an American freeman,” observed the Commo- dore, “ the descendant of some Irish exile, may 31 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. voluntarily seek the bright green shores of his fathers, and, in this mouldering structure, behold the monument of their former degradation.” “ Why, then, long life to your honors,” added the guide, who, with the subtility incident to his class and country, drew ingenious, and sometimes exact conclusions, from very scanty premises ; and who now believed that the strangers were predicting the ruin of Ireland from the event of the Union (an event exe- crated by all the lower orders of the country). “Why, then, long life to your honors, it’s true for you; and was said long ago, that after the Union, the grass would grow high in Dublin streets; and would this day, plaze God, only in respect of the paving board, that keeps rippin’ up the streets, and layin’ down the streets, from June to January, just for the job, by Jagurs !” “Well, there is ould Trinity,” he continued, turn- ( ing towards the college, as he again raised his load upon his shoulders : “ the boys that used to bate the world before them oncet with their fun and their laming, are now down, like the rest — and doesn’t know one of them myself now, barrin Collagian Barrett.” “By the by,” said Mr. De Yere, “is not this Irish College Smart’s ‘ Temple of Dulness,’ in the eyes of, whose learned doctors Swift and Goldsmith could find no favor ? I have little respect myself for incor- porated learning, or for literature and taste acquired by act of parliament.” “Intellectual illumination,” replied the Commo- dore, “like other things, would, perhaps, best find its maximum when independent of legislative inter- 32 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ference. There is an education belonging to the spirit of the age and carried on by its influence, far beyond the rules of these worn-out monastic institutions.' ” “ Och ! it’s an ould place, shure enough,' 5 g&id the guide, “ and least said about it is soonest mended. Now, plaze your honors, I'm finely rested, many thanks to yez, and so is mounseer too, and will attind you, and lafe ould nosey there to put on; for they’ve begun to deck the lad, early as it is.” As he spoke, he directed the observation of the gentlemen to the equestrian statue of King William the Third, which two men were now busily engaged in decorating with orange and blue ribbons.* “ What does it mean?’ 5 demanded Mr. De Yere. “ What does it mane ? why it manes to vex the papists sore, your honor, shure that’s the ascendancy, sir; only for it, and the likes of it, wouldn't we be this day hand and glove, orange and green, sorrow one color you’d know from the other. Och ! but that wouldn’t do — where would the ascendancy be ? — only all Irishmen then.” * This ludicrous and offensive spectacle is exhibited at the expense of the civil magistrate, on the anniversary of events connected with the triumph of the revolution party, and the downfall of the Jacobites. To the Catholics, who behold in this outward sign a token of their political annihilation, and an insulting arrogation of the supremacy of the minority over the majority, it is a source of heart-burnings, and an incentive to discord. As, however, its continued exhibition is a proof of narrow intellect and bad feelings in the individuals who per- sist in repeating it, the oppressed party would do well to turn the laugh against their enemies, by ridiculing the taste, and mocking the vanity which finds pleasure in thus disfiguring the statue. FLORENCE MACAXITHY. 33 The gentlemen at length reached their hotel, which might have been taken for, what it had once been, the splendid mansion of a resident nobleman, but for the show-board, which designated its present public use and object. Several idle persons stood lounging about the door of the hotel. The only person whom the guests wished to see (the master), did not appear; and they had to wait some time before the head waiter could be found, to tell them whether they could be accom- modated. What is called the dead time of the year, is usually that in which Ireland is most visited by curious strangers (who choose that period as the best for visiting Killarney and the Giant’s Causeway), and by necessitous absentees, who, driven to look for their rents, or to canvass their county, select that time for their penance, which they cannot well employ else- where, and make a snatch at Ireland in the interval between the London and watering-place seasons. While the gentlemen walked up and down the hall, with every symptom of impatience, the guide applied for payment to the exhausted Frenchman, who was now lying full length on a bench, uttering many ex- clamations of annoyance and fatigue. When he un- derstood the meaning of the Irishman’s extended hand, he gave him what he considered a sufficient re- ward for his services. But as this sum was barely what the Irishman expected, he returned it carelessly, with “ Here, mounseer ! I’ll make you a present of it.” “ Mats , comment done , mon ami , qidest ce que tfest ?” “What is it I say , is it? Why then, it’s what I say, I wouldn’t dirty my fingers with it.” “ Then,” said one of the waiters, impatient to £et 34 FLORENCE MACARTHY. him out of the hall, and snatching the portmanteau out of his hand, “ I say, that if you won’t take that, I’d give you nothing.” “ Wouldn’t you, Mr. Connolly?” he replied coolly. “ Why then, faith, it’s often you gave us that. Mister Connolly, and will again, plaze God.” The laugh which this observation excited in the by- standers raised Mr. Connolly’s choler, and he now en- deavored to hustle the guide out of the hall ; but he stood his ground firmly, exclaiming with great cool- ness, “ I won’t go till I’m ped, Mr. Connolly ; not a foot, sir, nor wouldn’t quit, if your master was in it hingdelf.” The Commodore now came forward to learn the cause of the scuffle, and having heard both parties, he turned abruptly to the guide, and demanded, “ What employment are you fit for ?” “What employment am I fit for? every employ- ment in life, sir, good or bad.” “ Would you like to go into service ?” “ Is it into the reglar sarvice, your honor ? Och,. then, I never favored that much.” “ Will you go on board ship ?” “Is it on board ship, sir?” (rubbing round his shoulders and smiling), “ Och, plaze your honor, I oncet went a long voyage sir, and the say sickness didn’t agree with me.” “Well,” said the Commodore, impatiently, “if there was one inclined to be of service to you, to enable you to get some more certain mode of subsistence than that you pursue, what line of life would you prefer ?” “ Why, then, long life to your honor, I pray God* FLORENCE MACARTHY. 85 and if there was a gentleman would have the great kindness to lind me a trifle to get my rags out of pledge, that I might go back to the trade nate and dacent, as my ould father did afore me, I would choose, } bove all the employments in life, sir, to stand at the post-office and cry the Freeman's Journal , plaze your honor.” “And what sum will do this for him?” asked the Commodore of the head waiter, who now appeared. “ God bless you, sir, a pound note would make his fortune ; and I would be his banker, and see it laid out to advantage.” The Commodore silently presented the pound note, and was moving away, when the guide, following him a few steps, dropped on his knees, and seizing the skirts of his pelisse, remained for a moment struggling for utterance, while the tears stood in his hollow eyes. “ Should I return to Dublin,” observed the Commo- dore, touched, perhaps, by the silent emotion of feel- ings so prompt and ardent, so opposed to the poor man’s former gay and jocose acuteness, “ should I re- turn, I will inquire for you here ; and if I find you have given up breaking your fast with whiskey ” “ My fast, your honor, that’s all for the whole day, sir, mate or drink, and the rest goes — Plaze your honor, the little bit of a naked girl, at the vault, that’s my child, sir, and four of them — only dacency, your honor, and a bit of pride, and the childre, and the pound note, sir ; oh ! its too much goodness intirely.’ The Commodore drew back from his grasp, and motioning him to rise, added, “In that case, — four children you say.” He then gave another note, and walked rapidly away. 86 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ God bless you, sir,” said the waiter, who ran be- fore, and conducted the gentlemen up stairs. “ You have made one poor man happy this morning, at all events.” “ You have had a scena ,” observed Mr. De Yere, languidly. “ Almost,” he replied, with a deep sigh. “ Absen- tee ! yes, well may they be absentees that can ! what is that degree of enjoyment and individual happiness, which a man may procure, who is liable every day to behold such misery as we have witnessed, within the last short hour ; or who is led to reflect for a moment on the train of misrule, of the collision of interests, prejudices, and feelings, which have produced such a state of society in this fine country ?” This speech was pronounced after they had entered a handsome drawing-room, and wdtile each took pos- session of a lounge. The waiter then began a long string of apologies. “ Dressing-rooms would be got ready in a few minutes, as soon as the Marquis of In- chigeela and his son, Lord Dun man a way, were gone ; and his lordship’s travelling carriage was at that moment at the door: but the house was -so full; a number of persons from England arrived by the last packet : others about to depart for Holyhead ;” and he added, in an “ aside” whisper, “ the elderly gentle- woman would be off in a jiffy, as her pocliay wa- ordered, and she had only stepped into the best draws ing-room to write a letter.” He then added aloud, that he would just run down himself and introduce the French valet to the French cook, store the gen- tlemen’s things in the dressing-room, and order break- fast. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 37 The waiter then shuffled off, impressed with a high opinion of the consequence of the strangers, from the petulance of the one, and the haughty look of the other ; and believing them well worth attending to from the extraordinary liberality of the Commodore, who, by an act well adapted to Irish feelings, had bought golden opinions from all who had witnessed it. The mention made by the waiter of the “ elderly gentlewoman,” was the first intimation the strangers received that such a person was present. They now threw their eyes round the spacious room, and a figure, which answered to the description, appeared seated in one of its remote corners at a Tvriting table. They turned their eyes instantly away, to a very fine map of Ireland which hung on the wall, and near to which they sat. The Commodore took it down, and began to trace his route with a pencil, while Mr. De Yere followed his track with his eye, as he looked over his shoulder. Meantime the gentlewoman resembled, as she sat, one of those wax-work figures, which, at once gro- tesque and natural, are colored to the life, yet inani- mate as death. For she remained, for a considerable time after the strangers had entered the room, with her eyes riveted on their persons, and her pen sus- pended above the paper upon which she had been writing. There was an intensity in her fixed look, that implied something more than mere idle curiosity. In whatever manner their sudden appearance had af- fected her, they seemed to hold her senses in suspen- sion: and many minutes had elapsed, the strangers had travelled, on paper, over the whole province of 38 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Munster, before she resumed, with a long-drawn sigh, her interrupted occupation. In her person this elderly gentlewoman was low and somewhat bulky ; her head-dress was a tete, with side curls powdered, surmounted by a small high crowned beaver hat, laid fiat upon the head. She vfore a black crape veil, so fastened up in the centre as to expose a very red nose, and a very large pair of dark green spectacles ; her chin was sunk in her cra- vat, whose long fringed ends belonged to other epochs of fashion than the present. The immense chitterling of her habit shirt appeared through her single-breasted, long-waisted, brass-buttoned, camblet Joseph. Her whole appearance, though most risibly singular, was such as would have been scarcely deemed extraordi- nary in the remote counties of Ireland, twenty or thirty years back, when old fashions and old habits remained in full force among the provincial gentry, who pre- served the faith, principles and costume of their an- cestors alike unchanged. Even still such figures are occasionally seen in the middle ranks of rural life, riding on a pillion to Mass on a holiday, or making one of a congregation of ten in some remote and soli- tary church, whose parish, though it bring a large revenue to its non-resident incumbent, may not con- sist of as many Protestant families.* The impatience of the travellers for the refresh- ment of the toilette and the breakfast table was now considerably abated by the occupation which the map afforded them. The Commodore had traced with his pencil the great Munster road as far as Cashel ; then * It will be recollected that a quarter of a century has passed since this was written. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 39 diverged by cross ways towards the Galtee Moun- tains to the towns of Doneraile and Buttevant. From this point he was proceeding towards Kerry when his companion interrupted him by observing : “ I perceive we are proceeding by the same route as far as Buttevant; I am going to the south and shall halt at Kilcolman — the reposoir , where, in the course of my pilgrimage through this Island of Saints, my imagination will do homage to the memory of Spenser. If you have not any objection I should like much to accompany you so far, but you will reject the proposal with the same frankness it is made, if it is the least gene to you.” “ On the contrary, I shall accept it with pleasure, as far as Buttevant; but from thence my uncertain route, through a wild country, will be passed on horseback; and the business of an ardent research would leave me no time for the enjoyment of your society, from which I have already derived so much. But,” he added, after an abrupt pause, and suddenly speaking in Spanish, “ you are ignorant of my name and situation. You may dislike this equivocal posi- tion, in which I am necessarily thrown ; for it would not suit my views or my convenience to reveal either. To the title, however, of Commodore, given me by my crew, I have a right ; for the rest you must take me as I am and upon trust.” ^ “ I take you upon your own terms,” rwas the reply, “ and I adopt them as my own : to confess the truth I like the mystery and romance of our connexion. It is foreign to the established forms of the world’s cal- culated ties ; and, whether or no, when we part, we ever meet again, I shall look upon the accident which 40 FLORENCE MACARTHY. brought me acquainted with the Commander of 11 Librador as among the pleasantest events of my life, I am weary of the stale forms of what is falsely called civilized society ; and he who picks me up unknown, unnamed, in the middle of the ocean r receiving me between sky and sea, a wanderer in the elements — giving me the rites, of hospitality, communicating with me frankly, cherishing no suspicion, seeking no confidence, nor obtruding any, connects himself, in my imagination, with a state of things, often dreamed of but rarely realized. Ties, formed under such cir- cumstances, are precious as they are rare; and by me, at least, are valued accordingly.” “ And I,” said the Commodore, wuth his splendid smile brightening the severity of his singular counte- nance, “ have just romance enough to enter into your feeling ; for I once made a friendship in swimming down the Oronoko, which influenced the fortune and bent of my future life.”] They then agreed to leave Dublin in two hours ; and Mr. De Yere asked, “What do you do with your servant ?” “ I have none but my Spanish mate, whom I leave to take the command of my vessel when she is ready for sea.” “ Then I also will leave my ridiculous Frenchman behind me till I arrive at my place of destination ; a period ^ still hanging in the stars.’ The master of this hotel will take care of him, I suppose, if well paid, as he would of my grey parrot, green monkey, or any other exotic animal I might consign to him. I have not the least idea, though, how I shall do with- out a servant ; but the situation will be new, and so far, good.” Florence macarthv. 41 Here the waiter entered, and inquired of the “ el- derly gentlewoman,” as if merely to make an excuse to get her out of the room, “ Have you any luggage. Ma’am, to nut up ?” To this question she replied angrily, and interrupting her reassumed letter, which, by the motion of her hand, appeared to consist of characters complex as the ancient Ogham. “ Have I any luggage ! have I ? Then do you take me for a snail, why ! with all my goods on my back ?” The rich round Munster brogue in which this question was asked, the guttural accentuation of the “ you” and the “ why,” peculiar to that province, and the sharp key in which it was uttered, made the gentle- men start; while the impertinent waiter took no pains to conceal his ready laughter. “ You are mighty pert, sir,” said the old lady, toss- ing a black wafer about her mouth, and sealing and soiling the ill-folded letter with it : she then gathered up her papers (some printed tracts which lay on the table), and corking her ink-horn, which dropped into her capacious pocket, as a pebble falls into the bot- tom of a deep well, she lowered her veil, resumed a black silk, rabbit-skinjined cardinal cloak, and wad- dling to the door, turned full round, and made a formal courtesy to the gentlemen; the gentlemen bowed, and she retired. The French valet had now prepared the apparatus for the toilette : but before the gentlemen adjourned to their dressing-rooms, the waiter returned and pre- sented a note, illegibly written upon a dirty card, which Mr. He Yere took between his finger and thumb, and read, first eagerly to himself, and then 42 FLORENCE MACAKTHY. aloud, with a look of disgust, amounting almost to nausea ; it ran as follows : “ Mistress Magillicuddy presents her respects, on her way to Munster, would make a third in a chay, as far as Tipperary town, if agreeable. N. B. no luggage to signify, foreby a portmantle and bandbox, also a magpie and cage, would hang outside, if not agreeable within : would prefer the gentlemen if serious : begs your acceptance of a religious tract, and am, gentle- men, Yours, &c., Molly Magillicuddy.” The waiter chuckled, and observed : “ The lady says she forgot to mention the bird and bandbox are to be taken up in Thomas street.” Mr. De Yere tossed the note on the table, and went to his dressing- room ; and the Commodore, with more good breed- ing, or,* rather, with more good nature, desired the waiter to say that previous arrangements obliged them to decline the honor intended them by Mrs. Magillicuddy. This singular-looking lady had come by the Holy- head packet the night before, and had ordered a chaise previous to the arrival of the gentlemen. The freedom with which they had discussed their route before her had probably suggested the idea of economizing her travelling expenses by joining them. She might also have had some more important views than those which were prudently directed to their purses; for her inquiry as to their being “ serious” (a technical term in a particular new light), indicated her calling ; and it was possible she believed herself the elected agent of salvation to them, as to many others — the Krudner or Johanna Southcote of some Munster vil- lage, to which she might now be returning, laden witli FLORENCE MACARTHY. 48 sectarian tracts, and Irish snuff, bohea tea, and into- lerance. When the waiter delivered a negative answer to her card, she shook her head, and said : “ In their blindness they know not what they reject, why ! but the sickle will go forth, and the harvest will yet be reaped.” She shortly after set off for Naas, accusing the waiters of sauciness and extravagant charges, talking Irish with the driver, and lecturing the beggars on the sin of idleness. She accompanied her admonition with some small change ; at the same time accounting selfishly for her donation by observing, “ He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.” “ O ! I en gage,” said the waiter as he drove off, “ it's little you’d give, if you didn't expect it back with interest tenfold — and that’s, now, what the likes of her calls charity? It’s the charity that begins at home, ay, and ends there too. Commend me to the gentleman above stairs that gave his two pound notes, and never canted nor preached about it. That’s the real charity, long life to him !” To this ejaculation an “ amen” was repeated by all present, who had witnessed the liberality of the Com- modore, and heard the departing apostrophe of the “ elderly gentlewoman.”' CHAPTER H. Oh ! quel homme sup^rieur ! quel grand genie, que ce Poco- curante ! Rien ne pent lui plaire. Voltaire. The two distinguished strangers, whom chance had so singularly united, and who had mutually chosen, from caprice or prudence, to hang the veil of mystery over their respective situations, appeared to touch on the extremes of human character. But there was, notwithstanding, an obvious dove-tailing in their dis- similitudes ; and their moral disagreements, like some musical discords, produced a combination more gra- cious than the utmost perfection of a complete and blended harmony could effect. The one seemed a brilliant illustration of physical and intellectual en- ergy, thrown into perpetual activity; the other a personification of moral abstraction, originating inge- nious reveries, which, though sometimes founded in fact, were generally inapplicable in practice. The fortunes of life seemed to have formed the one, and to have spoiled the other. The one thought, sympa- thized, and acted; the other mused, dreamed, and was passive. Their first half-hour’s communication, however, on board ship, was a reciprocation of mutual good will. Each felt he was associated with a gentleman ; and in that confidence had suffered in- timacy to grow with a rapidity disproportioned to its FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 45 duration. But though opinions were freely discussed, and almost always opposed ; though sentiments were broadly debated, and principles vehemently canvass- ed; yet in the conversations held by the midnight moon, or the day’s preclusive dawn, no circumstance of personal communication had ever passed between them : mutually in possession of each other’s leading opinions, and features of character, they were igno- rant of all else beside. Both gentlemen spoke Spanish and French fluently; but the Commodore had a foreign pronunciation of some particular English words, which denoted him to have been long absent from the countries where English is the vernacular tongue. The reading of the younger stranger seemed stupendous. It included the classics, ancient and modern, with the whole belles lettres of European and Oriental literature. The studies of the Commodore were evidently more con- fined to the exact sciences ; and, with the exception of Shakspeare, Milton, and Ossian, and of some old quaint English prose writers (the chroniclers of Ire- land’s hapless story, the Campions, Spencers, and Hanmers), his course of English reading seemed cir- cumscribed. The conversation of the one, therefore, was more elegant, ornamented, and detailed ; that of the other more original, energetic, and concise. The one spoke in epic, the other in epigram. They had both travelled much, and far ; the one, it should seem, from choice; the other from necessity: and the re- sult appeared to be that the one had stored his mind with images, the other strengthened his judgment by observations. Such as they were, they were both evidently “ out of the common roll of men” — and 46 FLORENCE MACARTHY. alike distinguished by personal and mental supe- riority. The Commodore had dressed, breakfasted, made the necessary arrangements for their journey to Mun- ster, and gone abroad, before his fellow-traveller had gotten half-way through his toilette, even with the assistance of monsieur, his valet. Mr. De Yere had indeed but just sat down to his coffee, and his “ Faery Queen,” when the elder stranger returned, after an absence of near two hours. “ Have you seen much of Dublin ?” asked the younger traveller, laying down his book. “ Yes, I believe I have been half through it.” “What impression does it give you upon the whole ?” “ Why, with its extremes of poverty and splendor, the wretchedness of a great part of its inhabitants, and the magnificence of its buildings, it is to me a Grecian temple turned into a lazaretto. One-third of its population are in an actual state of pauperism : one-half of its trading streets exhibits as many bank- rupt sales as open shops ; the best houses are to be let, and the debtor’s prisons are overflowing.” “ Have you then had time to visit the prisons ?” “ Business brought me to one ; business w r ith the high sheriff of a county, who has delivered himself up for the purpose of a 4 whitewashing’ under the insol- vency act, as he termed it.” “ Ha ! ha ! ha ! an high sheriff in prison — that’s sin- gular enough.” 1 Hot so singular in Ireland; for two other sheriffs were confined in the same room with him, and for the same purposes.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 47 “ The laws must he well administered. But doubt- less they are all honorable men.” “ They are loyal men (as my friend the sheriff told me), though under a little present difficulty.” “You have purchased a pocket telescope, I per- ceive.” “Yes, and a little information from the intelligent optician from whom I bought it. I went into his shop as the tax-gatherer was carrying out of it several articles, which he had seized for non-payment. The -owner was looking on calmly, and to some observa- tion of mine, he replied, 1 1 have not the money sir • ^ there’s no use in talking : when government have got all, we shall be at rest ; we cannot be worse.’ To my remark on the supposed tendency of the Union, so often vaunted in newspapers, and in debate, that it would bring English capital into Irish trade, he answered, ‘ The effect of the Union is ruin to Ireland :* since that epoch, her debt has increased, her resources diminished, her taxes augmented, her manufactures languishing, her gentry self exiled, her peasantry tur- bulent from distress, and her tradesmen, like myself, drained to the last farthing, and sighing to remove to that country, where they will not be obliged to pay a large rent to the government for leave to live — to America.! But all cannot do this.’ I note these ob- servations as being curious from one of his class.” “It is a pity,” said the younger stranger, “that * The natural sentiment of a bankrupt Dublin tradesman ; for the worst changes consequent on that event have been in- cident to the retail trade of that eity. f America is considered as the land of Canaan by the lower ranks of Irish : the peasantry emphaticaliy call it “ the Land.” 48 FLORENCE MACARTHY. these Americans are &o baroques ; for they are, politi- cally speaking, a great people ; they are, however, so prosperous, that they can never be interesting : they are beyond the reach of prose or verse : we may say of their national, as of Darby and Joan’s conjugal felicity, 4 They eat, and drink, and sleep, — what then? Why sleep, and drink, and eat again. 7 77 The waiter now entered, presented the bill, and an- nouncer] that all was ready for their departure. The landlord, who in his communication with Mr. De Yere on the subject of his valet, had decided at once that he was a man of rank and fashion, now attended, and did the honors of his house in the usual style of Irish hyperbole. “ Upon my credit, gentlemen, I’m heartily sorry we’re losing the honor of your company so soon ; and think I could make the place plazing to you, if you would do me the honor, on your return from the Lakes (for supposes it is to them you’re going), and am sorry you make such a short stay, without seeing the Rotunda, and the College, and the Dublin Society House, and the statues.” “Statues! what statues?” demanded the younger stranger, catching at the sound, and stopping short. “ The statues, sir, at our society house, that’s kept in the greatest style, and gets a touch up whenever the place is painted. That’s by order, as we say, in the society house.” “ By what order ?” was demand- ed, with a smile. “ By order of the committee of fine arts ; and myself was one, until business came on me so thick, and took up my attention ; and has a FLORENCE MACARTHY. 49 brother that 1 shows’ at the exhibition every year, a great artist. Indeed, I think you’d be plazed, gentle- men, if you were to stop and see the exhibition this saison, and portrait No. 2, full length of Mr. Roger O’Rafferty, of the Back-lane division, auxiliary yeo- manry corps, in full regimentals, standing quite quiet, and a cannon going off in the Phanix ;* that’s by my brother, sir.” This detailed statement of the cogno- scente landlord to prove the flourishing state of the arts in Ireland, the country which has given to the English school of painting a Barry, a Shee, and a Tresham,f seemed quite sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the strangers, who passed on, through files of beggars, to their carriage : they threw some silver among them, and hastily drew up the windows, to exclude the infected air, as they drove away. “ Pa !” said the finer gentleman of the two, “ this is breathing pestilence.” “ And witnessing its causes in all their most shock- ing details : look, what a splendid scene for such a grouping ! what a noble street, and what a mendicant population !” As they passed through the southern suburb, the Commodore demanded of the postillion the name and purposes of an immense building on the opposite side of the water. “ Is it that forenent us, plaze your honor, acrass the Liffey ? Oh that’s the Royal barracks ; and them * The Phoenix Park near Dublin, the seat of reviews and military evolutions. This beautiful tract, to which Lord Ches- terfield gave its epithet of Phoenix, is also the site of the Vice regal Villa, and'the residence of the chief official persons. t And since then a Maclise. — E d. 50 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. there’s the Richmond barracks ; and if your honor could see behind you, sir, you'd see the Porto Bello barracks, and there afore you is Island Bridge bar- racks, and the barracks in the town ; and musha, my- self doesn’t know the half o’ them. You might travel in the county Dublin mountains, rising there on your lift, from barrack to barrack, and never get sight of inn, or house, man or baste, only sogers, sir.” “ From this sample,” said the Commodore, address- ing his companion, “ we might suppose the whole country to be one great fortress, as it was in Eliza- beth’s day, when the population was divided into the 1 English rebel,’ and the 1 Irish enemy.’ What an expense this army of occupation must prove to an impoverished country !” “I have myself,” returned Mr. De Yere, “no ob- jection to a military government : ’tis at least pictur- esque : it affords something to look at, and to de- scribe. I like military architecture, battlements and ramparts, watch-towers and bastions. The military costume, too ! the helm and hauberk, and warlike sounds * 1 Of trumpets loud, and clarions . 7 77 “ England is hastening fast to this ; but she will always want appropriate scenery.” “ And I trust an appropriate spirit too ! Look at Turkey !” “ Why, yes, there is something to look at in Tur- key. But next to a military, I should prefer an eccle- siastical government, the despotism of some dark bigotry, some religion ‘ Full of pomp and gold, With devils to adore for deities , 7 FLORENCE MACARTHY. 51 familiars and inquisitors for ministers of state, and auto-da-fes for national festivals.” “ Spain, for example ? for though your fertile imagi- nation invent, as it may, sources of oppression and degradation to man, there are still governments in Europe to leave mere fahle far behind.” “Well, after all, call governments by what name you will, they all alike leave man as they find him, feeble and selfish.” “Yes, because he is man. But in following the natural order of things, you at least make him all he is capable of being. Nature is the great legislator. In creating man free, she commanded him to remain so : and reaction, sooner or later, follows the violation of this her first great edict.” “ This is Naas, your honor,” observed the postillion, addressing himself to the Commodore, at the end of more than an hour’s silence, interrupted only by oc- casional questions, addressed to the driver, relative to the surrounding objects — 4 and there is more bar- racks, sir;” and he pointed to a handsome square building, in itself almost a town: and there’s the jail, sir, an iligant fine building, and a croppy’s head spiked on the top of it. I’ll engage,” he added, opening the door (for Naas was their first stage); “I’ll engage he’ll rue the day he saw Vinegar-hill, anyhow, wherever he is, poor lad.” The Commodore, as he alighted, raised his eyes to Ithe point at which the postillion’s whip was directed, land beheld a human head, bleached and shining in (the noon-day sunbeam. Turning away his eyes in disgust, he passed under the fine arch of a ruined monastery of Dominicans ; as if it were relief to his 52 FLORENCE MACARTHY. feelings to associate with less frightful images of death in its retired cemetery, than to behold them connect- ed with such horrific associations, exposed in the high road of a public thoroughfare, a frightful landmark for an unfortunate country. The travellers proceeded on their journey towards the province of Munster, a province peculiarly inter- esting for its historical recollections, and for those scenes, alternately wild and picturesque, which attract to its site the footsteps of taste and curiosity, and furnish to foreign artists so many combinations of scenic loveliness. Conversation had been frequently dropped and renewed ; and the travellers had again remained silent for some miles, when they overtook a chaise, from which Mrs. Magillicuddy formally saluted them. The elder stranger, recognizing the green spectacles and chitterling (the most conspicuous parts of her figure), answered her salutation with a bow ; the younger turned away his head in disgust. “ An ounce of civet would not sweeten my imagi- nation,” he observed, “ from the infection communi- cated to it by the idea of that horrible old Irishwoman, shut up in this chaise with her and her magpie ! ! Do you know, this image has haunted me ever since she made the frightful proposal.” The smile of his companion indicated his conscious- ness of this avowed prejudice ; and the attention of the travellers became again engaged with the passing scene. The various objects which presented them- selves to their view, both moral and physical, were seen by each through such mediums as their respect- ive peculiarity, taste, and temperament, were likely to produce. The one, rapid in perception, instinctively FLORENCE MACARTHY. 53 just in inference, quick, curious, active, inquiring, di- rected the whole force of his acute, prompt observa- tion, to the people and their localities, as both ap- peared upon the surface. He turned his eyes to the peasant’s hut : it was the model of the “ mere Irish- man’s” hovel, as it rose amidst scenes of desolation during the civil wars of Elizabeth’s reign. It was the same described by William Lithgow, the Scotch pil- grim, the noted traveller of that remote day. “A fabric erected in a single frame of smoke-torn straw, green, long-pricked turf, and rain-dropping wattles; where, in foul weather, its master can scarcely f nd a dry place to repose his sky-baptized head upon.” He beheld the tenant of this miserable dwelling working on the roads, toiling in the ditches, laboring in the fields, with an expression of lifeless activity marking his exertions, the result of their deepfelt in- adequacy : his gaunt, athletic frame was meagre and fleshless, his color livid, his features sharpened : his countenance, though readily brightening into smiles of gaiety or derision, expressed the habitual influence of strong dark passions. The quick intelligence of his careless glances mingled with the lurking slyness of distrust — the instinctive self-defence of conscious degradation. He beheld multitudes of half-naked children, the loveliness of their age disfigured by squalid want, and by the filthy drapery of extreme poverty, — idle and joyless, loitering before the cabin door, or following in the train of a mendicant mother. Her partner in misery had haply gone to seek employ- ment from the English harvest, where his hire would be paid with the smile of derision; and where he would be expected to excite laughter by his blunders, 54 FLORENCE MACARTHY. who might well command tears by his wretchedness. In the proclaimed districts, the misery of the peas- ant population was most conspicuous. For he to whom •* The world was no friend, nor the world’s law.” might well set both at defiance. The forfeit of life could be deemed but a small penalty to him, who in preserving it “ showeth a greater necessity he hath to live, than any pleasure he can have in living.” The few vehicles, public or private, observable on the high roads, and the total absence of a respectable yeomanry, marked the scantiness of a resident gentry, ana the want of that independent class, “ a country’s boast and pride.” Yet many stately edifices, the monuments of ancient splendor, or of modern taste, rose along the way ; the former in ruins, the latter al- most invariably unfinished. The castle of the ancient chief, and the mansion of the existing landlord, were alike desolated and deserted. Town succeeding town, marked the influence and power of the great English palatines, who drew their wealth and luxury from a land to which, like their forefathers, for generations back, they were strangers ; and the name and arms of the English nobility, suspended over inns, embla- zoned over court-houses, and fixed in the walls of churches, or shining above their altars, called atten- tion to the extensive territories of these descendants of the undertakers, and grantees of the Elizabeths, the Jameses, and the Charleses. The surface of the country contained the leading facts of its history, and those who ran might read. He who now read, stu- died (not without a comment) that text, whose spirit and whose letter were misrule and oppression. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 55 The young stranger saw with other eyes, and by the illusory lights of a sleepless imagination. But his philosophy, though cynical, was not the cynicism of experience ; it was the satiety of early excited and promptly exhausted sensations. Man, with him, was everywhere as well off as he deserved to be, because nowhere did “ man delight” him : all references came home to his own enjoyment, and were appreciated, as they extended or curtailed its sphere. He looked only to that which could gratify the dominant faculty of his existence ; and while he found “ Nature wanted stuff, To vie strange forms with fancy,” he sought in the combinations of art, as formed under various epochs of society, for such objects and images as embodying events long passed, were consecrated, and preserved in memory and imagination alone. He had induced his companion to lengthen and diverge from their route by visiting the town of Kildare, once a city of historical and monastic im- portance; because, there, his road-book told him, were still visible some remains of the “ Firehouse” — a Christian temple, where the nuns of St. Bridget, like the heathen priestesses of Vesta, kept watch over the sacred flame, which was afterwards extin- guished by the English bishop, Henri de Londres (2). He found a little town, ruinous and wretched, with many symptoms of poverty, and few of antiquity; and he hurried from it in disappointment and dislike He insisted on stopping the first night at Kilkenny, f >r the purpose of viewing its feudal castle of the Butlers and the splendid ruins of its abbeys. But, 56 FLORENCE MACARTHY. even here, imagination had got the start of fact; and, though a busy fancy peopled the silent aisles of St. Francis and St. John’s with “ eremites and friars, White, black and grey, with all their trumpery ; ” though he garrisoned the ramparts with “ Irish kernes and galloglaces,” imagination ever left possi- bility behind. Disappointment hung like a noxious vapor upon his steps ; and he everywhere found rea- son, or sought it, to scoff at the folly and feebleness of man, who, under all stages of society, he esteemed the victim of a blindness, beyond his power to dis- pel : alternately tyrant or slave, impostor or dupe — neither by his own free will Views thus opposed, and sentiments thus contrast- ed, naturally begot frequent and long-protracted dis- cussions, as fresh objects afforded themes for obser- vation or reflection. The travellers had passed the boundaries of the frequently-proclaimed county of Tipperary, without interruption to their debate or any impediment to their journey (such as have been supposed the inevitable concomitants of Irish post- ing), when the postillion, alighting to lead his horses over a bad step, startled them by exclaiming aloud— “ Why, then, the curse of Cromwell on ye Longford- pass, for you’ve joulted the very life out of me so you have then, having desired his horses to “ get along out of that,” he dropped back, and, laying his hand upon the carriage window, entered into conver- sation with the gentlemen, by strongly advising them , to give up the iday of making Thurles their sleeping stage : first, becaise it was the same to his employer whether they went a few miles one way or t’other ; FLORENCE MACARTHY. 57 and, secondly, becaise that Thurles town would be full of tlf army, in respect of changing quarters ; two regiments marching to Cork and Kerry to be sprin- kled among the towns and mountain barracks ; and there will be grate billetting the night, and the inn taken up entirely with the officers; and what matter? Shure Holycross was but a (V,ny* bit further, and wouldn’t make an hour’s differ. There was a new opposition inn in the neighborhood, set up against Thurles, and kept by the maister’s cousin-germain, Mr. Dooly, where everything was nate. and clane, and quiet. “ Is Holycross a town?” demanded Mr. De Yere, caught by the religious romance of its name (3). “ It is, your honor ; that is, not a town, sir, only a township and chapelry; and blessed ground every foot of it, and well it may be. Isn’t there a great big piece of the holy cross itself, the wood of life, buried in the fine ancient ould abbey there, that the travel- lers do be coming to see, far and near? And its that, why, plaze your honors, that of all places in the world round, the devil (Christ save us !) daren’t show the track of his hoof near that township : and troth, gentlemen dear, it would be worth while to go ten mile round any time to see it, only in respect of the lovely fine tomb of th’ ould king that’s in it, my namesake, Donogh O Brien, King of Limerick. Which road shall I take, sir? There, lies the turn to Thurles, and there, to Holycross, your honor.” “I think the quiet inn, the ruined abbey, and O'Brien s tomb, decide it,” said the Commodore. “ Unquestionably,” replied his companion ; and the * Ddny, small — so used by Spenser. 58 FLORENCE MACARTHY. driver received his orders for Holycross. As he turned his horses’ heads, a chaise passed before them, taking the Thurles road ; and the spectacles, tele , and high crowned hat of Mrs. Magillicuddy, appeared above the magpie’s cage, which was suspended at the side of one of the windows. u Raison de plus ” said Mr. De Vere, sinking back in the carriage. “ I would rather fall in with a legion of marching regiments, than come in the way of that horrible old woman, and a renewal of her terrifying proposition.” The Commodore smiled. He was amused to observe that Mrs. Magillicuddy and her magpie had taken possession of his companion’s susceptible im- agination; that the idea of an intimate association with her had become as much the “ chimcera dire” of his fancy, as her actual presence would have been the annoyance of his senses, and the destruction of his- ease and comfort ; he had more than once alluded to the disgust of an atmosphere of Irish snuff and mar- row pomatum, to the uninviting images of spectacles and pocket handkerchiefs, pious tracts and fusty bird cages. The accident of her going the same route, and her being enabled to keep pace with them, by their delay at Kildare and Kilkenny (for till the last stage they had travelled with four horses), were con- jured into nothing less than a fatality; and even her innocent magpie was considered as an oiseau de mauvais augure . “You are certain,” said the younger traveller, ad- dressing the driver, and pointing to the route taken by the old lady’s chaise, “that that road leads to Thurles V FLORENCE MACARTHV, 59 <( Shure and sartin, your honor, straight on fore- went, and a turn in it to the lift, that lades to the nunnery, sir.” “What nunnery? Are there nunneries in this country ?” “ Is it nunneries, sir ? There is— plenty : there is one there, off to the left, between Thurles road and Holycross, that’s the convent of Our Lady of the An- nunciation.” He now jumped upon the wooden bar, which served him as a seat, and giving his horses the whip, proceeded at a rapid pace. As the travellers approached the miserable little village of Holycross, the sun’s last rays had with- drawn from the horizon, in all the mild and melan- choly gloom of an autumnal evening. The grey tints of the clouded atmosphere were reflected in shadows on the bosom of the Suir, along whose banks arose the stately ruins of the abbey. The inn, recommended by the driver, the only inn, was a small house leading to the village, and bearing the sign of the Mitre and Crozier, as appropriate to its site. The approach of a chaise was evidently no common event ; for the landlord, his wife, a ragged old waiter, with a bare-footed girl (the bar-maid, house-maid, and kitchen-maid of the establishment), had stood at the door for some time, eagerly watching its approach. All were instantly in employment, carrying in the portmanteaux, conducting the travellers to their room, and knocking their heads together, in a confusion, increased by their efforts to do the honors to such unusual guests. The travellers perceived that they were also the only guests ; and they were not dis- pleased by a circumstance which ensured not only 60 FLORENCE MACARTmf. their quietude, but their accommodation : in Ireland, inns are good in proportion as they are unfrequented. The humble innkeeper of Holycross had recently fitted up a couple of bedrooms in what had lately been a mere shebeen house (4), and dignified with the name of inn the little building, which had been for half a century a noted baiting place for foot and horse travellers, and for such pious pilgrims (and they were not few) as still came to visit the shrine of the holy relic. A few inquiries, and the ordering of a late dinner, took up a quarter of an hour ; after which the travel- lers proceeded to visit the abbey. The twilight was thickening into darkness, but the air was fresh and balmy; and motion and activity were positive enjoy- ments to those who had for many hours suffered the cramping restraint and fatiguing dislocation of an Irish post-chaise. The inn lay half a mile from the abbey, to which they passed over a bridge, thrown across the river Suir, which formed a communication between the village and the abbey grounds. The ruins covered a considerable tract, and were contrasted in their im- posing magnitude by a few wretched hovels construct- ed out of their fragments. This consecrated pile is among the few interesting monuments of antiquity now extant in a country that, according to the state- ments of the biographer of St. Rumoldi, once con- tained some of the most magnificent religious edifices of Europe. Raised by the piety and power of an Irish provin- cial prince, Donagh Carbraigh O’Brien, for monks of the Cistercian order, and consecrated to the Holy FLORENCE MACARTHY. 61 Cross, St. Mary, and St. Benedict, it owed its princi- pal consequence to the relic of the cross incased in gold and precious stones, given by Pope Paschal II. to Mac Morragh, the predecessor of Carbraigh. The charms of the beautiful architecture must, in days so rude, have contributed not a little to its fame ; and the devotion paid to the relic it enshrined has been declared by an*English minister* to have been univer- sal throughout the island. The strangers contemplated for a considerable time the broken mass of its dark exterior, and the high steeple, supported by beautiful Gothic arches. They entered the broad nave, but, like the rest of the ruin, it was wrapt in one undistinguishable hue ; and the majesty of darkness succeeded to the deep and misty forms of twilight. “ Darkness,” said the younger stranger, after a silence of some minutes, “ is decidedly the source of the true sublime.” “ And light,” replied the Commodore, “ of beauty : light is life, the source of forms and motions ; dark- ness is death : I abhor it.” “And I love it. I love the uncertainty of this mysterious ' dimness (for instance), where everything is guessed and nothing known ; where at every doubt- ful step, ‘ Solemn and slow the shadows blacker fail, And all is awful listening gloom around.’ ” A deep sigh, heard near and distinct, answered as he spoke. “ Did you sigh ?” he asked quickly. * See Sir Henry Sidney’s State Papers. 62 FLORENCE MACARTHYr “ No : did not yon?” was the reply. “ Not I. Yet some one sighed most assuredly. 57 “ ’Tis the wind among the ruins,” said the Com- modore, carelessly. “ No, the air is breathless. It was a human, per- haps a superhuman respiration.” “ That is physically impossible : respiration is or- ganization : spirits have none. But do you believe in superhuman agency ?” “ I believe, and I deny nothing. I resign myself passively to events, moral and physical, as they oc- cur. This, I fancy, was the original intention of pro- vidence with respect to man, when it made him dark, and left him so ; — -the child of ignorance, and its victim.” “ Then why endow him with faculties, which impel him to inquiry, and force him into action, which lead him to dispel his darkness, and rise above his nature ?” 11 Hush f there again ! I am certain I heard the heavings of a short convulsive respiration. ’Tis most singular !” “ The place affects you. We will return, and view it by daylight.” “ No,” said Mr. De Vere, seating himself on a frag- ment of the ruin ; “ this is to me positive enjoy- ment.” As he spoke, the dispersion of a dense cloud, which had long scowled over the darkened landscape, and which now breaking into fleecy vapor, displayed the broad bright moon, as it rose in splendor above the roofless ruin. A sheet of light fell upon the nave, which the strangers occupied, leaving in shadow the FLORENCE MACARTHY. 63 lateral aisles, that formed a pillared arcade on either side. Parts of the ruin remained black and massive, while the shrine of the holy relic stood illuminated ; and broken rays and silvered points glittered on the projected tracery of the arches and twisted pillars, which supported the canopy of the royal tomb. Both travellers had been some moments silent, when suddenly the younger spoke. He sighed pro- foundly, and asked : “ Is not this the twenty-fifth of August ?” “ I believe so,” was the reply. “ ’Tis a curious coincidence : on this day, at this hour, seven years ago (my birthday, too, the day I came of age), being in Galicia in Spain, chance led me to the site of a Moorish ruin, adjoin- ing the cloisters of the church of the convent of Nuestra Senora de las Angustius.* I passed, musing on the course of things, from the fragments of Ara bic taste and Mahometan superstition, into the tern pie of Christian rites. Vespers were just celebrated t A few stragglers, who had remained after service, gradually disappeared. I was still examining monu- ments, gazing on pictures, and numbering columns, when darkness fell around me. The different ave- nues of entrance were closed, all save one, which led to what had once been a Moorish orangeries this formed a part of the pleasure-grounds and cemetery of the adjoining convent. While I looked round for some means of egress (twilight rendering ail objects dim and uncertain), sounds that seemed to come from heaven met my ear : the next moment my eye fell upon the minstrel. By the white veil and rosary, * Our Lady of Sorrow. 64 FLORENCE MACARTHY. it was an unprofessed novice : she was seated on the fragment of a Moorish bath, leaning her cheek close to the lute, from which she had drawn such enchant- • » mg harmony ; as if she were childishly, yet prettily charmed with the sound herself had made.” “ It is a pretty image, altogether,” said his auditor, seating himself beside him, among the ruins, “ and it reminds me of a famous picture by Rosso Florentine, of a seraph listening to its own lute.” “ The resemblance was so great,” returned the nar- rator, “ that I had that design copied on this box, with the little alteration of substituting the novice’s veil for the wing of the cherub, and the head of a lovely woman for that of a seraph.” As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a superb gold box, surmounted with the picture he had de- scribed, done in enamel. The moonlight fell full upon its surface ; and in the position in which the Commodore held it, it was distinctly visible. “ Is this head a portrait ?” he demanded. “Not exactly. It was done from the idea I gave the artist ; an idea in every sense ; for though the form and outline of the fair original, her fairy step- ping, her aerial motions, became too soon well known, yet the features which that envious veil concealed were never but dimly seen, half shrouded, half re- vealed, pale in the moon’s uncertain light, dark under the shadows of the monumental cypress. In the stolen and dangerous interviews which followed the first accidental meeting, amidst scenes of silence, mystery, and death, that face was never fully revealed. Oh ! there was in that sweet, pure, and short-lived communion, a fanciful and unearthly charm, which I Florence macarthy. 65 have often since vainly sought. It was associated with scenes impressive on the imagination : it was pure as a spirit’s love : no sordid view nor selfish feeling polluted the bright spring of genuine passion. I was loved for myself; nor knew I the name of my concealed mistress, save that which the Church had given her— the Sister Benedicta.” “ Then you wooed, and won this mysterious saint ?” asked the Commodore, impatiently. “Wooed! yes; wooed, and weaned the soul of this consecrated being from her heavenly spouse, ‘ her spouse in vain ;’ but my conquest stopped there. I proposed to carry my young novice to South America ; and in some of the Eden clifts of the cloud-embosomed Cordilleras, to lead with her that blessed life of free, unfettered passion, which nature dictated to the first created pair. Pride, and bigotry, which she doubtless digni- fied with the name of virtue, triumphed over love. We parted: I found her innocent, I left her so; I found her happy too, at least contented and deceived ; and it is not long since I ordered a Spanish friend to erect a cenotaph to her memory, in the cemetery of her convent, with this device — a lily fading beneath a sunbeam ; and with this motto, 1 Sic me Phoebus amat .’ ” “ You know then that she died, and think ’twas of a broken heart ?” asked his auditor. “ I cannot doubt it ; though I have never heard from the friend to whom I trusted my sad commis- sion ; and to tell you the truth, the conviction still haunts my imagination, with a melancholy force, that grows with what it feeds on.” 66 FLORENCE MACARTfif. “ Oh ! your imagination !” repeated the Commo- dore, significantly, as he returned the box. “ Yes,” continued the narrator; “ and in sketching the story, which I have given to the world anony- mously, the description of her death-bed scene almost drove me mad.” A short wild laugh now rang through the ruins, as if some malignant fiend had formed a part of the au- dience, and scoffed at the fantastic folly of human vanity, the short-lived influence of human passion. The strangers both started, and remained for a moment silent and motionless. “ We have been overheard,” said the elder. “ I should say by nothing human,” replied his com- panion. “ Look round you : see, we are alone : all is now silence and solitude.” “Now, perhaps, but not a moment back. Look there, something is in motion.” They both darted forward. The moon had sunk in clouds, the stars were few, the pavement broken, and their steps uncertain. Still the Commodore at- tained the object of his pursuit. It was an old mule grazing on the scanty herbage which sprang up among the ruins. “ This is a most ludicrous adventure !” said the Commodore ; “ and we had better terminate it by returning to our inn and our supper.” CHAPTER III. Bocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, And shades of death. All monstrous, All prodigious things ! Milton. Butteyant was the last stage which the travellers had agreed to pass together ; and whether a feeling of regret attended this conviction, or other causes se- cretly operated to protract their departure, they left Holycross at an hour comparatively iate, to begin a journey of some distance, through one of the wildest mountain tracts, and least frequented cross roads, in the province of Munster^ Their next stage, however, was excellent : it was only to Cashel; and to judge from the group of sturdy fellows who lurked about the door of the inn, to which the travellers were driven, that town 'was not without its due portion of idlers — a natural cir- cumstance in the capital of a grazing county. As the chaise stopped, the gentlemen were looking over their travelling map. They had marked out their route by the road-book, and had chosen the most pic- turesque, rather, perhaps, than the best line of pro- gress. To cross the elevated chain of the Galtees, they had selected the road by Gaul Bally (the town of the Gauls or Celts), with its monastic ruins, in pre- ference to the Glen of Agherlow, a valley on the op- 68 FLORENCE MACARTHY. posite side of the mountains, which, though it would have lengthened their route, would have presented a more beaten track. Whichever way they took, the driver assured them that they would reach Buttevant by sunset, “ God'willing, and barring accident.” As they descended, therefore, from their carriage, they ordered a chaise and horses for Gaul Bally, to be ready against their return from the Rock.* “ Certainly, sir,” said the landlord,! slightly touch- ing his hat, and resuming his conversation with a man-of-business-looking person, who was talking to him at the door. “ Barney, a chaise on to Gaul Bally.” Barney, having taken due time to consume a por- tion of tobacco, called out in his turn to a driver near him, “Tim, honey, just call out a chay to Gaul Bally.” Tim, who was seated on the steps of a horse-post, playing with a large dog, addressed himself to a blind beggar, with “ Step into the yard, and tell Corney Doolin a chay’s wanting to Gaul Bally.” “ What is the distance to Gaul Bally ?” asked the Commodore, who, as well as his fellow-traveller, had observed the progress of these deputed orders with impatience and irritation. “ What is the distance to Gaul Bally ?” returned the landlord with sang-froid, as he now first observed them : “ upon my word and reputation, sir, I can’t * The Rock of Cashel, the romantic site of its cathedral. f As inns, in common with the royal caravanseras of the east- ern apologue, are subject to a frequent change of masters, it is probable that some such revolution has occurred at the inn at Cashel since these events took place : at least, the author has no reason to charge its present occupants with incivility. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 69 Bay — -that is really, — Gaul Bally. Barney, can you answer these gentlemen ?” “ Och, sir, shure you don’t post to Gaul Bally at all, at all : there’s no posting there, sir, nor wasn’t many a year. If the gentlemen bes going to Doneraile or Buttevant, they’d best go the low road, and take the Glen of Agherlow to Mitchelstown.” “ We are resolved not to take any road but that we’ve fixed on ; and I suppose we can have a chaise and horses to what stage and place we choose, no matter where, if we pay for them.” This observation, made with haughtiness and petu- lance by Mr. De Yere, induced the landlord to un- cover his head, and to reply : “ Certainly, sir : if you indemnify me, sir, I can let you have every accom- modation in life ; up to the top of Mangerton, if you please ; only there is no posting, I give you my word, gentlemen, on these cross roads in Munster : that is, I don’t send out my cattle by the mile ; but you can have them by the job, or day, and welcome.” “ Why, then, job or day,” said Barney, with a sig- nificant look at his master, “ if the chay goes by Gaul Bally, it’s on a low-backed car it will come back.” “ Shure enough,” said Tim, rubbing round his shoulders, “ and wouldn’t care to be the driver, bar- ring I was well ped, and left my throat behind me, specially near Kilbalogue, the thieves’ wood, down there below.” “ I came that way in my gig from Kilfinnon ,” said the man of business, “ and found it good enough, and two dragoons with me.” “ Och, then, it behoves you, and the likes of you, Mr. Fogarty,” said Tim, “to look to that, sir; for the 70 FLORENCE MACARTHT. times never ran so hard against the excise as now : in respect of bringing down the military, and the grate still-hunting, and fining the townlands to ruina- tion. ” “ Will you take the chay on to Buttevant, gentle- men ?” asked the innkeeper. “ To Buttevant, certainly — perhaps further,” re- plied the younger traveller. “ I don’t think I could give it under seven or eight guineas a day,” he returned, musing ; “ but I’ll let you know in a minute ;” and he entered the house, followed by Tim, Barney, and the exciseman, to hold a council. “ Eight guineas a day ! sorrow send it to you, Mr. Collogon ! — eight guineas ! Dioul ! !” This apostrophe was made by a person who leaned against the back of the strangers chaise. He was wrapped in a huge frieze coat, wore a slouched hat over a grey wig, and stood slashing a long cutting ■whip against the pavement. When, however, he perceived the travellers proceeded towards the Rock of Cashel without noticing him, he followed them, touched his hat, and said, “ I’ll drive your honors to Buttevant, and that to your hearts’ contint, for half the money, and has as illigant a chay, and as nate a pair of mountain cattle as any in Condon’s country ; and keeps myself, your honor, hard by, convanient to Buttevant, near Kilcolman, sir, and runs my ga- rans on my own account, and came with a fare to Cashel, the day before yesterday, and was waiting for a return, your honor, which would sarve me en- tirely, sir.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 71 “ Do you know the route well through the Galtees ?” “Do I, is it, sir? Och! maybe I don’t, and would go it my lone blindfold from Galtimore to Mizen- head; and from Knockmelldown to the Reeks in Killarney ; and that’s a brave step, sir.” “ I should like to disappoint that nonchalant host of the Star, and his imposing driver,” said the elder traveller. “ And this man residing near Kilcolman,” said the younger, “ has a classical interest with me. I shall probably engage him while I reside in the neighbor- hood of Spenser’s fairy ground.” The bargain was instantly made, and the chaise ordered to be at the inn-door in half an hour, the time assigned to visit King Cormac’s Chapel. . Mean- time, the master of the Kilcolman chaise undertook to inform the host of the Star that his horses would not be wanting; and when the travellers returned from their antiquarian visit they found all ready for their departure. While the light luggage was removing into the new vehicle, the appearance of that vehicle, its horses and driver, was a source of affected entertain- ment to the disappointed landlord and his satellites. “ Barney, that’s a nate article of a chay,” observed Tim. “Troth, I would not wonder if it was ould Cormac MacColeman’s travelling landau when he went the pilgrimage to Holycross.” “ Faith, Tim, lad, you’re not much out, I believe ; for there’s a crown on it, shure enough, which shows, it belonged to th’ ould kings of Munster, anyhow King Fiann or Brian Borru, maybe.” 72 FLORENCE MACARTHT, “ Why, then, for all that, Barney, I wisht I had all the chickens that ever was hatched in it, grand as it is. And look at the garans* sir ; och ! but they’re grate bastes and warranted not to draw. I’ll engage they’d rather die than run, and no ways skittish, that’s certain, anyway.” The owner of this equipage, against which so many sarcasms were launched, was hitherto coolly rubbing down his horses with a wisp of straw, and singing, or rather humming, “ I’m a rake and a rambling boy, My lodgings ’tis near Aughnaghcloy.” He now paused, however, to observe, “ The cattle’s shurely not so fine as them was shot in the mail, near Kihvorth, Mr. Barney Hefiernan, but they are good mountain cattle, for all that, and will take the gentle- men better through the Galtees, and safer too, than handsomer bastes, plaze Jasus !” The former part of this observation had caused a very obvious revulsion in the color of Mr. Hefiernan’s face, who, drawing some straws from between the wheels of the chaise, said, in a conciliating voice, “ I’m glad to see you about the world again, Owny— when did you set up driver ?” “A little after the tithe-proctor’s business in the murdering glen below, in the county of Waterford,” replied Owny, significantly. Barney Hefiernan slunk away, and no further sar- casm was launched against Owny’s “ set-out ,” which both the gentlemen stood for some minutes examin- ing with curiosity ; the Commodore wiping with his * Poor hack horses. FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 73 handkerchief the dust from the panel on which the coronet, alluded to by the drivers, was visible, sur- mounting a defaced crest and armorial bearing. The chaise was indeed of a very singular and antique build; low, angular, with a projecting roof. The large windows, which once perhaps entitled it to the appellation of a glass coach, were now partly filled up with wooden panels ; and through the rents of the coarse check modern lining, remnants of crimson velvet, and rich, but threadbare, livery lace, spoke its former gentility. The travellers had proceeded some miles from Cashel, in a silence which the younger seemed little inclined to break, when the* falling down of an old green silk blind roused him from his reverie. “ This curious old vehicle,” he observed, “ doubtless belonged to some noble family. Did you perceive a baron’s coronet on the side panel, and a crest beneath it?” Yes, a dexter arm, issuing out of a cloud, and holding a naked sword, all proper, with the motto, Vigueur de dessus — the cognizance and motto of some N orman adventurer, who formerly ravished this coun- try, and who, like more modern victors, took the sanction of heaven for their deeds of violence, and believed, or affected to believe, that, “Dim est toujour s 'pour les gros bataillons .” “ It is the motto and crest of the Fitzadelm family, of the present Marquis of Dunore, the representative of that family,” said de Vere. A silence of a few minutes followed this observa- tion, and the Commodore then carelessly added — “ The Fitzadelms ! a branch of the far-spreading 74 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Geraldines? Yes, they got their portion of this fair province by grant from Henry the Second, to whom they were sewers, as the Ormond family were butlers ; and shared with Hamo de Valois, Philip of Wor- cester, William de Barri, and other Norman adven- turers, the princely palatinates of the Macarthies More, once chiefs or kings of Desmond.” “ It is in the order of things,” said de Vere coolly. “ Oh ! exactly ; the 1 vigueur de dessusj which may be translated c might, not right,’ has been the same in all ages ; but it is peculiarly prominent in the con- quest of Ireland ; the causes of Ireland’s misfortunes ’are so deep-seated, that every page in her history is a palliation of her faults : for the gravest errors of the people will be found in the misrule of her gov- ernment.” “ Better governed, she would be more prosperous,” said the young traveller, “ and less interesting and less amusing. As it is, she is c melancholy and gen- tlemanlike,’ a thing to make one laugh and cry in a breath.” “ Them is the Galtees, plaze your honor,” said the driver, “ among the clouds. There, sir, not a moun- tain in the province will bate them, anyhow, let alone Mangerton.” “ They are, indeed, truly respectable mountains for this little island,” said the young traveller, directing his glance to a range of bold, romantic, perpendicular acclivities, whose conic pinnacles were lost in the clouds, and whose dark stupendous range might have formed a natural and impregnable boundary be- tween rival and contending states. At the village of Gaul Bally they found only the FLORENCE MACARTHY. 75 ruins of some religious houses, a barrack, and a little shebeen house, where the driver stopped for a few minutes to refresh his horses and himself. They soon recommenced their mountain journey, doubling a formidable ridge, and ascending a gentle acclivity, while the driver, almost throwing the reins upon the horses’ necks, sat with his arms folded, and recom- menced, for the twentieth time since they had left Cashel, “ The groves of Blarney, they are so charming.” “ This will never do,” said the Commodore, letting down the front glass. “ Why, my friend, your horses seem tired already.” “ They do, plaze yer honor,” was the cool reply. “And do you know the raison of that same, sir? Why, then, it’s because they’re on level ground, sir, sorrow a fhing else ails them. Och ! the craturs are kind andHazy, like myself, and quite untractable to a smooth level plain ; but w r ait till, yez gets up among the glens and precipices. It’s then, sir, you w r ill see them bate the reg’lar posters, why ! entirely ; for they knows the wa rs of the place, and little fear for the chay being left in smithereens,* on the top of a rock, there, or at the bottom of that hollow, down in the Divil’s Glin to your lift, sir.” “ It’s very evident,” said the Commodore, “that this fellow r is as untractable as his horses. There is a dogged indifference about him, a good-humored per- tinacity of manner, with wdiich it would clearly be in vain to contend ; it were best, therefore, to leave him to his song and his waywardness.” * Smithereens ; i. e* fragments. 76 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ Oh ! I hold no contention with travelling contin- gencies,” replied De Yere; “ through life, as through a journey, the 1 Laissez-aller' is my device. Who would take the trouble, if even willing, when a pebble under your chaise wheel may set volition at nought ? Who would contend with accidents and events, un- certain and incalculable as the elements on which they so often depend ?” “ This is a fine road, your honors,” said the driver, breaking off his song abruptly, and applying his re- mark to a rude, rough, narrow acclivity, moss-grown and torrent-worn, and becoming every moment more difficult of ascent. “ Balleagh-na-Tierna ’tis called, in respect of being cut across the side of the Galtees by the Tierna-Dhu, that is the Black Baron, as they named him in his own country here below.” “ Black Baron !” said De Yere; “that sounds w^ell among these wild scenes. Does the Black Baron live in these mountains, friend ?” “ He does, sir ; that’s he did, but he’s dead, sir, and doing bravely these twenty years and more, and so is his brother Tierna-Ruadh, the Red Baron, that fol- lowed him, whose son is now the Marquis Dunore ! divil set his foot after them all, for it’s little good ever they did the country yet, them Fitzadelms !” (5.) The two travellers, as if moved by the same mecha- nical impulse, started, leaned forward, and then sunk back in the chaise — “ At least,” said the elder, “ it was doing good to cut a road through this wild region, friend.” “Sorrow much then, sir, anyhow; in respect of never finishing it, no more nor that inn there, fore- nent you to the left.” Here the driver pointed to the FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 77 ruins of some dreary walls, whicli added to the deso- lateness of the scene. “ This Balleagh, I heard tell, was to join the low road, and was made in a great hurry, to have a short cut for the Lord Lieutenant, and the quality that came down in oceans from Dublin to the stage plays at Court Fitzadelm ; and the inn was to bait at ; for, barring Lis-na-sleugh, sorrow baiting place in the Galtees at all, at all ; and that was no place for quality to stop in.” “ What an heterogeneous association of images !” said the Commodore; “ mountain regions and private theatricals ! A poor Irish lord beginning a work fit for an emperor, and leaving it unfinished, a monu- ment of his uncalculating extravagance, of that wild- ness and refinement, that uncivilized dissipation, which characterized the provincial nobility of Ireland fifty years back, and arose from the degradation in which they were held.” “ Oh, it’s delicious !” replied De Yere. “I should like to know how the descendant or representative of these noble Fitzadelms would feel, in thus acci- dentally hearing what we have now heard, and seeing what we see.” “ If he was a vain man, flattered and spoiled by fortune,” replied the Commodore, emphatically, “ he would feel deep mortification ; but if he were” he paused abruptly, and demanded of the driver : “Does Court Fitzadelm lie in the neighborhood of these mountains ?” “ It does, sir, fifteen miles off, in the valley, down below, between the Galtees and Gotroes, and the Bal- li-Howries, cribbed round with them, and the beauti- 78 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ful Avon Florae, or ‘ fair water,’ running under the castle bawn, — that's all that’s left of it, sir. For sure after the lord’s death, it was broken up into smithe- reens, and scarce a skreed* of it left to the fore.” “ And who has carried it away ?” asked De Vere. “ Why, Darby Crawley has, sir, and his father be- fore him, ould Pat ; and hasn’t left a taste, but what’s in their own hands this day. And the chay your honor’s driving in, shure it was from him ’twas bought, at the auction. Troth, and if the young lord that got the title, or his brother was in it, they’d be entirely amazed to see their crown and arms running the road this day, that’s the Galtees, sir.” To this observation the travellers made no rejoinder. The horses now toiled slowly and painfully up a road which every moment became more steep and laborious. On either side, the mountain scenery opened into in- creasing wildness and sublimity. Innumerable defiles boldly diverged to ascending regions, while altitudes still greater, blue, misty, and cloud-capped, terminated these natural vistas. The ascent had now become so steep and dangerous, that the travellers had not only alighted, but were frequently obliged to assist in lift- ing the chaise over deep ruts, cut by the torrents, but which the driver simply called “ sore bits.” He fre- quently assured them that a little further on, a small quarter of a mile, the lord’s Balleagh would come down upon the Cloghniah-Cluain, the “ lurking place of the noisy water” (a torrent he affected every mo- ment to hear), and then they would be upon the low road, which would bring them on the high posting road to Doneraile and Buttevant. ♦ Skreed, a rag or morsel. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 79 Obliged to pin their faith upon a guide of whom they now began to entertain seme suspicion, the travellers beheld one small quarter of a mile succeed to another, and heard and lost repeatedly the fall of many dashing torrents, until, as they ascended among the romantic elevations of the Galtees, they lost sight of the inconvenience and tediousness of their journey, in admiration of the scenery. They even permitted the horses to halt in a narrow glen, while they pro- ceeded to examine regions, where nature reigned in all her wildest magnificence ; and they ascended from one commanding altitude to another, till th$ whole stupendous chain of mountains broke gradually upon them, spreading far and wide in bold fantastic forms, and in the utmost freedom of outline. As the travellers stood thus occupied at the point of a bold cliff, they suddenly perceived a shadow thrown from their precipitous station, intercepting the blood red beams of the now setting sun, and turning quickly round, they observed a man so close to them, that by a single effort he might have hurled the incautious wanderers down the abyss they had, a moment before, shuddered to contemplate. He had a bold, strongly defined, but light and flexible figure, not much set off by a ragged frieze jacket : his neck was scarcely covered by a loosely tied red handker- chief. In his countenance there was a look of min- gled carelessness and intrepidity, of gaiety and acute- ness, which is so often discernible in the Irish physiog- nomy. His hat worn gallantly on one side, his light arch blue eye and curly hair, gave to his whole ap- pearance something of rustic foppery, mingled \rifh an hardy daringness, that was peculiarly chara$Pms- 80 FLORENCE MACARTHY. tic. This unexpected apparition in a scene so lonely, amazed without alarming the travellers. When the man asked, with a sort of triumphant laugh, “ Doesn’t your honors know me, then? Shure, a’nt I your driver, sirs, that drove you from Cashel in the Kil- coleman chay, below, in the hollow there.” This information rather increased than lessened the surprise his appearance excited. “ Only,” he conti- nued, “ that I threw off my cotamore* in regard of the heat and wishing to climb the mountain after you, I changed my old wig and caubeen for this bit of a straw hat, sir, that I keeps under the chay sate for warm weather, why.” “ But with such a profusion of hair, why do you wear a wig ?” asked the Commodore. “ Och ! becaise, your honor, it was my ould father’s before me, sir,f — God rest him” — and he crossed him- self devoutly. This mode of accounting for a disguise, more of air and manner, even than of dress, amused, but by no means satisfied the travellers ; and secretly con- vinced that he had some motive for concealing his person in Cashel, they accompanied him in silence back to the spot where he had left the chaise and horses. As they descended the declivities, De Yere observed, “ This is what Shakespeare calls 1 a fine, gay, bold-faced villain:’ I should like to know his object in bewildering us in these mountains.” * Great coat. The cotaigh was the upper garment anciently. f This reason the author has often heard assigned by the young Irish for covering their natural locks with an old scratch wig. Fine hair, however, is a national beauty, and an article commerce. The females exchange their tresses with peddlers for trinkets and ribbons. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 81 partly from impatience of delay in such a place, and at such a time. u Why then, murther alive, -what’s this for ?” ex- claimed the driver, scratching his head ; “ the fore wheel oft^ and not a bit of a nail for a lineh pin ; and the spring broke, too, and not a taste of rope to tie it up with.” “ This is a pleasant adventure,” said the younger traveller, throwing himself back in the chaise ; while the elder jumping out, examined into the accident : — the spring was broken, the wheel was off. “ This is no accident,” he'said, turning abruptly to- the driver : “ the Finch pin of this wheel has been drawn out purposely.” “ It has, sir?” he reiterated with simplicity. “ See that, now ! why then, I wonder who would be after doing that same ; if it wouldn’t be your honors, out of sport, sir. But sorrow much matter, anyhow ; I'd as soon drive your honors with three wheels as four, and did from Cork to Kil worth : that’s Father Mur- phy, sir; and the wheel will just slip in the front of the chay, fair and aisy, I’ll be bound. “ But that’s not the worst of it,” he continued coolly, endeavoring to force the wheel into the chaise on one side, while Mr, Be Vere jumped out at the other; FLORENCE MACARTHY. I « we've taken the wrong turn, it seems, entirely ; for that Cloghnaigh bates the world, in respect of con- trariness ; and when I thought we were in on it, isnit it here the ‘ wolf’s track’ we’ve slipped into ? Dioul !” “ You are to remember,” said the Commodore, ^vhile his companion was enjoying a rapid combina- tim of every real, fancied, or possible danger, “ you I aid us you were well acquainted with the road ?” And if I wasn’t, your honor, how would I know that this is the wolfs track ? Och, musha ! the likes of this never happened to me before. Ochone ! here’s your purse, sir, dear, dropped in the hay and he carelessly threw the purse, weighty from contain- ing some golden Spanish coin, into the traveller’s hand; he then continued his lamentation over his mis- take, at the same Lime endeavoring to thrust the fore wheel of the chaise through one of its doors. From his tone of voice, peculiarity of manner, and the care- lessness with which he restored a purse, that in all probability would not have been missed, every suspi- | cion of sinister intention was hushed in the mind of i the Commodore. The younger traveller, however, saw only in the latter circumstance some ruse, beyond the ordinary stratagem of a common robber; and whether he was to be enrolled among a band of Shan- 1 avests, or stripped and plundered for the benefit of the Caravats, were circumstances debated in his mind, under the influence of many romantic associations ap- propriate to the scene and hour. Meantime, as the driver assured them, that though they had not taken the best or the shortest road, they were still making their way out of the mountains, they continued to walk in advance of the chaise, without further re- 84 FLORENCE MACARTHt. proach ; while the driver, leading his horses, reconi- f menced his song, which he only interrupted to point "cmt a stone cross under the cliff, that he called the “ Hag’s Bed;” and to notice some other features in the scene, characteristic of its wildness; thus evincing 9 that his boasted acquaintance with the mountains f was not an unfounded vaunt. With that sudden change of temperature incident® to mountain regions, the air had become intensely cold ; and through the increasing darkness of the evtki- ing, they hailed with pleasure a long level ray iof light, which assured them of their approximation to some human abode; perhaps a forge, where they might have their chaise wheel reinstated ; and they suggested this possibility to the driver. “ A forge,” he replied, “ then that’s the great luck, for if there’s a forge, ye can put the night over at Lis-na-sleugh : there’s not a forge in the Galtees round, barring the forge of Lis-na-sleugh, where there’s the best of fine entertainment, as I hear tell, that’s if the chay can’t be mended, and yez don't care to get on by moonlight to Buttevant, which yez may after all, plaze God.” As they proceeded, the light had frequently ap- peared and disappeared ; but as their descent became less rapid, and they advanced more deeply into the valley, it assumed a more steady beam ; and the out- line of a small building became visible, amidst a mass of darkly defined objects. On approaching they per- ceived it was a little sash window, which emitted the red light of a blazing turf fire ; and a volume pf white curling smoke, issuing from an aperture in the roof, stained the deep dark blue of the atmosphere with fleecy forms. The moon just showed her edge above FLORENCE MACARTHY. 85 the horizon, and more strongly defined the position of the building, which occupied part of a little plain, f forming a point of termination to four cross-roads, ^ branching off round the base of the mountains. Those they had crossed appeared to rise almost to the clouds f behind them; and of the many waterfalls which dashed from the neighboring rocks, one fell close to ^he rear of the cottage, dwindling into a rill, and forming a little horse-pool in its front. A light under a shed at a short distance showed some horses feed- ing. A bunch of mountain heather suspended over the door, but, above all, a post-chaise drawn up be- fore it (which seemed, by its position, to have re- cently arrived by one of the low roads), designated this wild and remote edifice as an inn. This idea was confirmed by a smar^ crack of the whip, with which the driver brought up his weary horses, and by his taking off his hat to the gentlemen, and exclaiming, with a courteous bow : “ Why, then, long life to yez ! yez are welcome to Lis-na-sleugh !” “ So,” said De Yere, “I thought so. This, how- ever, is wizard scenery, and one may compound for a little inconvenience or even danger to enjoy it.” The approach of the carriage had brought out from the ahed, which served as a stable, a lame beggar, who officiated as hostler, and a ragged boy, who ap- peared as the substitute for a waiter. “ Here, baccah mavourneen,”* said the driver, who was now once more muffled in his cotamore, his wig, and old caubeen. “Take off them cattle for me, * Baccah, a cripple. All lame and deformed beggars are called baccahs in Ireland. 86 FLORENCE MACARTHY, while I show the gentleman into the place. Comey my gasso.on, lend me the rush,” and he snatched the light out of the boy’s hand. “ This way, your ho- nors ; take care of the sow, sir ; there’s a bit of a strame, sir. Widow Gaffney, Ma’am, where are you agrah ? Oh ! here’s the mistress herself. I’ll trouble. Ma’am, to look after the gentlemen, while I give a squint at th’ other bastes.” The hostess took the light from him, and he joined the driver of the newly-arrived chaise, who was ad- journing from the house to the stable. The Widow ♦ Gaffney, with many smiles and courtesies, led the guests from the dark little stone passage, which sepa- rated the kitchen clouded with smoke from another small room distinguished by its plank flooring, ex- claiming, as she moved before them, “ Och ! but your honors is welcome, sirs. It’s a sharp night to cross the mountains, and will have a sod kindled in the chimbley, sirs, if yez are going to stay past the cattle’s taking their lock of hay, gintlemin.” * As she spoke she lighted, or endeavored to light, a miserable candle, which stood in a dirty brass candle- stick on a shelf over the chimney. While thus en- gaged, the yellow flickering light fell full on her face, and drew her sharp, but handsome features, her deep sallow complexion, and black bright eyes, into strong relief. A red kerchief was tied round her head in the Munster fashion ; and the rest of her tall, slight, bony form was hidden in shade.* The strangers withdrew their eyes from the figure of the landlady to the apartment into which she had * The old Irish head-kerchief is almost universally worn by the female peasantry of Munster. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 8 ? ushered them. Its whitewashed walls were partially covered with those pious prints which are hawked about for sale in the remotest parts of Ireland. The history of many a saint, the sufferings of many a martyr, were here detailed in bright vermilion and yellow ochre ; and angels and devils, hymns and homilies, were mingled promiscuously with the ama- tory history of “ Cool endas ,’ “ Croothenamcc the “ Connaught daisy,” bloody and barbarous murders, and a favorite song, called “ JMa chere amie ,” as sung by Mrs. Billington. A deal table in the centre of the room was still covered with some little pewter vessels, and two glasses with wooden bottoms. The hearth was stuff- ed with withered heath ; and the atmosphere of the room, from which all ventilation was excluded, was impregnated with the fumes of whiskey. The younger traveller, holding his perfumed handkerchief to his nose, asked if there was no other apartment they could occupy, while their horses were feeding, and their chaise mending* “Och! blessed Virgin,” said the hostess, wiping down the tabic with her apron, “ this is the con- trariest day ever rose on me ! Weeks we’d be, God help us, and not a chay, or sign of quality come the road ; and now, becaise it's the fair of Kiltish, and the world’s in on upon us, here’s two po-chaises, and not a sowl to help me, only the baccah, and my own little garlagh of a boy.” “ We should be glad to go anywhere, where there’s a fire,” said the Commodore, “the kitchen for in- stance.” “Qch! your honor, that would be a poor place for 88 FLORENCE MAC ARTSY. the likes of you ; but if you would demean yourself to step into it, while I kindle a sod here, and ready the place, and takes down these brusheens .” As she now began to raise a very unpleasant dust by removing the bushes from the hearth, the gentle- men walked at once to the kitchen. The little inn of Lis-na-sleugh, or the house of the mountain, was the genuine type of all such inns in the remote cross-roads, or mountain ways in Ireland ; and the kitchen, as is usual in such places, was equally the receptacle of the guest and the beggar ; of those who could, and those who could not, pay for a temporary shelter. The earthen floor of this hospitable apart- ment was undulating and broken : a low mud wall, with an aperture in it to see through, screened the fire- place from the door ; and the capacious hearth, lined with a stone bench, afforded a comfortable retreat to the chilled or wearied traveller. It was now occupied by a haggard, worn-out looking person, who repeat- edly drank from a noggin of water beside him. Above the bright clear fire of mountain turf, built upon the floor, hung suspended an immense iron caldron filled with potatoes, not boiling, but boiled, and drying (5). In an angle of the kitchen, over a three-legged table and a little pewter vessel filled with whiskey, sat two travellers; one of them, by the pack which lay at his feet, a peddler ; the other, ill-looking and poorly clad : both were earnestly conversing in Irish. Beside the fire, on an old settle, were seated two females: one with her long Irish frieze cloak, and the hood drawn over her face, exhibited her warmly mittened hands to the fire, towards which she was turned. The other, stately and erect, her round figure covered in an old- FLORENCE MACAItTHIf, 89 i* fashioned travelling cloak, and her head enveloped in that curious coeffure , made and called after the head of a French carriage, and not many years back worn in Ireland under the name of a calesh. From the super- iority of their appearance, they were assigned by the strangers to the chaise, which stood at the door on their arrival, and seemed just to have preceded them. As the gentlemen stood before the fire conversing in Spanish on the incidents of their journey, calculat- ing upon the probabilities of the future, and making observations on all that surrounded them, the widow having lighted a fire in the best room, returned to await the dispersion of the smoke it occasioned. She leaned indolently over a table, with her hands wrapped in her apron, or, as she called it, her praskeen ; and she cast a glance of curiosity, directed alternately at her guests, in anxious hope that they would call for some refreshment. None, however, was demanded, until the entrance of Owney, the driver, broke the spell; for he addressed her with— “You wouldn’t have such a thing as a cuppan * of parliament in the house, Mrs. Gaffney ?'’ “ Och ! then, if I w^ould not have that, what would I have, sir ? when I souled the bed from under me to pay the license ; and would be sorry to see the barony fined, after the murther we had in the mountains about old Sullivan’s still, last week, and the waylaying of the exciseman, and two men and one soger kilt in the action. Since the attempt at a rescue made for the Rabragh, never was known the likes in the province of Ulster, many a day.” Mrs. Gaffney was helping the driver to a little ves- * Cuppan, a little cup.— Parliament, that is, licensed whiskey. 90 FLORENCE MACARTST. gel of licensed whiskey, which he had termed a dtp* pan of parliament, when the ill-looking man, who sat tlte-'14Me with the peddler, asked : “ What’s gone of the Rabragh, I wonder.?” ■ “ Och ! sir, he’s about the world agaki, I hear tell,” replied the landlady, “ though never saw him, ’bove all the boys of the county. They say the Ban-Tierna* had him released from prison last assizes twelve- month, and went herself to the judges at Tipperary, in regard of her being his foster-sister.” “ Long may she reign,” exclaimed the ill-looking man : “ for she’s a fine woman, and the poor man’s friend. Here’s may she live a thousand years,” and he tossed off a glass of spirits. “ Amen,” said the driver, moving his hat reveren- tially as he pledged the to&st, in a voice tremulous with emotion. “I drink to her in water, wishing it was wine,” said the poor man in the chimney corner : “ for I come from the land where her forefathers reigned. “ Here’s to the Countess of Clancare.” “ Why, then, if this were the last drop I had in the world,” said the driver, drawing his hat over his face, as he advanced in the light, “ you shall go my halves in it and he presented what remained in his cuppan to the water-drinker, who, swallowing it eagerly, observed : “ That’s the first bit or sup passed my lips the day, barring a dry potato and a draught of water; and came all the ways from the barony of Dunkerron, * Ban-Tierna, the female chief ; literally, the woman of the chief, or noblewoman. This epithet is occasionally applied to the female representative of a noble house. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 91 district of Clancare in Kerry, over bog and moun- tain, to sell my little bit of an hobby* at the fair of Kiltishy to pay the rent of the shed I break my heart under.” “ Why, then, is that hobby with the saddle yours, sir ?” asked the driver. “ She is,” said the poor man, sighing, “ to my sor- row : and a finer bit of a baste for bog or mountain journey doesn’t breathe, for all I m carrying her back with me this night ; and offered her for a thirty shilling Cork note and a pair of brogues to a hawker this morning.” “ Why, then, sir, see here,” said the driver, in a voice full of compassion — u If I had the money my- self, I’d take her off your hands the night, if it was only to hire her out by the job to travellers, and to sarve you into the bargain, God help you.” “ Then purchase her for me,” said the Commodore, who, with his companion, had stood listening to this local and desultory conversation, uttered in an accent so strange to their ears as not always to be compre- hended. p The bargain was soon struck, and the owner of the hobby, with eyes streaming with joy, and a tongue profuse in gratitude, received a small sum over the price he had demanded. “ I believe,” said the elder stranger, addressing him as he counted out his money, “ at least I have read or heard, that your barony of Dunkerron was famous for this small breed of horses ?” B * The little hobbies of this country are the most proper to travel through it ; and a man must abandon himself entirely to their guidance, which will answer much better than if one should strive to manage and direct their steps. 92 FLORENCE MACARTHY. u And is so, yonr honor, to this day ; and that’s all it is famous for now, barring St. Crohan’s Cell, the patron saint of the barony, hewn out of the solid rock with his own hands.” The Commodore leant his head eagerly forward, and in a peculiar tone of voice, said, “ And under the hill of Kilcrohan there stands — there did stand, a small, ancient building, commanding the bay of Ken- * mare, once a friary.” “I know it well, your honor; the chapelry of Glinsky, the school-house of Terence Oge O’Leary, and is there to this hour, troth.” “ To this hour ?” repeated the Commodore in emo- tion. “ That’s the ruins of it, your honor. After Measter O’Leary quit the place, nobody cared to take up in it ; and somehow, the times doesn’t favor laming now in Kerry as formerly ; and besides, there was an odd story went about the school-house. I disremember me what now ; and was a slip of a boy then, and went higher up into Clancare — that’s twenty years ago, ay, faith, twenty-two years, since Terence Oge quit the place.” “ And more,” said the lame beggar, who was filling a sieve with some oats out of a sort of chest near the hearth. “ I've good right to remember it well, for I was the very man that brought the young lord, that would have been, from Court Fitzadelm to Terence Oge O’Leary’s house, who was his foster-father, and gave him all the learning he got, young gentleman.” “ Did you ?” said the Commodore, raising his up- raised arm; then suddenly letting it drop, he asked m FLORENCE MACARTHY. 93 an altered tone, “ Did you send for a smith to look to our chaise ?” “ I did, your honor, and is at it this moment ; and troth I didn’t see that same chaise drive up the night with a dry eye ; for,” he added, turning to the Kerry- man, u it was in that very chaise w T hich my lord brought his elegant bride in, that I afterwards car- ried her son after her death down to Dunkerron to Measter O Leary’s, from whence he never returned, dead or alive.” “ That’s the young lord was drowned off the bay of Kenmare, in his own bit of a corragh , and they say haunts the chapelry of Glensky to this hour?” de- manded the Kerryman. “ Och ! to my heavy sorrow,” said the mendicant, dropping the vessel he was measuring the corn with, and leaning over the chest, “ that was a sore day for me, sir, for if he was in it this hour it isn’t in this condition I’d be, ould and lame, poor and desolate, and so I tould Measter O Leary last week, who dropt salt tears when he saw me.” “ Last week !” reiterated the stranger ; then, with a change of voice, he added, “ Were you in Kerry last week, in Dunkerron ? I am travelling that way, and should like to know the state of the roads.” “ I was not, sir, in Kerry, and never put my foot in it since I left the young gentleman there, that's the honorable De Montenay Fitzadelm.” “ You said you saw O’Leary there, I thought ?” “ It was down in the Peninsula I saw Mr. Terence Oge O’Leary, your honor, and am but just come from it this day.” 94 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ The Peninsula !” repeated the Commodore “ where is that ?” “ The Peninsula of Dunore, sir, on the other side of the Boggra Mountains, where the Marquis’s Castle is, on the seaside, at the bottom of the country, a lovely fine place.” “ I suppose the castle is in ruins ?” observed Mr. De Yere, carelessly — “I mean Dunore Castle.” “ Not at all, your honor, but as good as the day it w T as built, every stone of it ; ay, faith, and better ; for sure it was getting ready two years back for the young mad Marquis; but the workmen have been stopped, since he went beside himself: and it would have been his cousin’s that was drowned only for the villainy of the world that banished the cratur to the wilds of Kerry, as Mr. O’Leary says; and no luck could follow them after that, great as they are now.” “ I remember that O’Leary when he w T as out of his mind himself,” said the landlady, “ and I a bit of a slip of a girl : he used to be wandering in the moun- ’•%. tains here, and bothering the world with the Macar- thies and the Fitzadelms, and looking for their ould castles in ould places.” “ Och, then, he’s brave and hearty now, Mrs. Gaff- ney,” returned the lame hostler, “ and has a fine school in the preceptory of Monaster-ni-oriel. Many thanks to friar Denis O’Sullivan, the superior; for it was he who took him upland preached the devil out of him (for they say he was possessed), and set him down there, snug and aisy, in the friary ; and allows him to let his own apartment to bathers that come to the salt wather when himself s not in it; and, troth, you wouldn’t think, the day, he had put more FLORENCE MACARTHY, 95 than fifty years over his head, that's Mr. O’Leary, though he’s sixty right out ; for it’s thirty-four years since his wife got the nursing at Count Fitzadelm, and Terence was twenty-six good then, and a brave lump of a poor scholar, when he missed his vocation,* and married Soosheen O’Callaghan.” “They say it was laming cracked his brain,” ob- served the landlady. “No, troth! but grief for the loss of his foster- child ; and to this day, when he isn’t going on with his skancios of the Macarthies More, it’s of him he bees talking, in spite of the Crawleys.” The mendi- cant hostler now raised the sieve of oats on his head and hobbled back to the stables. “ Och ! but it’s a pity of him, the cratur,” said Mrs. Gaffney, whose evident love of gossipping was much gratified by the conversation which had accidentally arisen — ■“ poor and lame as he is now, a baccah, beg- ging his bit through the country, and betimes doing a turn here for us, — why, then, he has seen great days formerly, and was whipper-in to Lord Fitzadelm, that’s the Black Baron, and often called in to sing ‘ the Hunt of Kilruddery’ for my lord and the qual- ity, in the great parlor after dinner ; and at last lent him even his trifle of wages, and sold his bit of a place to raise money for him, and got his lameness by being thrown off in his service ; and there you are now, Fineen McCrehan, without a rag to kiver you, or a shed to lay your head under, or a bit of a bed to die on, or as much as would buy a pipe to wake you with this night. Ah ! then, nothing ever thriv with * Vocation — to tlie priesthood. To miss vocation always means to fall in love. 96 FLORENCE MACARTHY, them Fitzadelms ; they had the black drop in them, for all they were the portliest men in the country (though I never see them, barring in pictures), and to this day it’s a saying in the country, 1 comely and wicked like a Fitzadelm.,’ Well, there’s the last stick and stone of the court to be sold next week. We had orders to stick up the bill, sirs, here, from Mr. Crawley’s land baily of Dunore, who passed through the mountains yesterday.” “ Then the devil set his foot after him wherever he goes, and that he may never come back, I pray Christ,” said the driver, as he drew his cotamore round him, and went forth to look after the equipage. To this pious adjuration a very general “ amen’ was returned ; while both the travellers, as if moved by the same impulse of curiosity, advanced to read the advertisement hung over the chimney, by the rushlight which was fastened in a cleft stick near it. This paper indicated that the old castle and mansion of Court Fitzadelm, beautifully situate in a valley, watered by the Avon Fienne, and sheltered by the Galtees and Ballyhowry mountains, were to be put up for sale on a certain day, or might be purchased by private contract. The materials were strongly re- commended to any gentleman who was building ; and a few acres of meadow land, with the liberties of a. certain portion of the salmon fishery on the Avon Fienne, were to be sold or leased. References were to be made to Darby Crawley, Esq., Newtown, Mount Crawley, Dunore, or at his house, Merrion Square, Dublin. “ I should like to see this Court Fitzadelm,” said the Commodore, addressing Mr. Do Vere in Spanish. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 97 “ Perhaps I may be induced to purchase it, The fishery of a fine river is a strong inducement, and my future destiny is, I hope, to reside in this country.” “ I should like to see it also, and will accompany you. By its vicinity to the Ballyhowry mountains, it can’t be far from Buttevant,” replied De Yere. On inquiries made from the landlady, and partly answered by the ill-looking man at the three-legged table, they found that Court Fitzadelm lay due south of the Ballyhowry mountains. “Then,” said the Commodore, “ I can take it en chemin faisant to the peninsula of Dunore.” “ Dunore !” repeated the younger traveller ; “ I thought you were proceeding to Kerry ?” “Not immediately,” was the careless reply; and the next moment the Commodore, observing that he would endeavor to expedite their journey, left the house. De Yere meantime took out his Spenser, and threw himself upon the settle, in the place of the fe- male in the frieze cloak, to whom the landlady was serving out some milk in another part of the kitchen ; when his neighbor in the calesh, jerking the skirt of her riding cloak forward, which he had incautiously sat upon, observed — “I’d trouble you to move off: you were not so ready to put your comether * on me when you refused me making a third in the chay, why ! from Dublin to Cashel.” Startled at this half-remembered accent, De Yere raised his eyes fearfully, and under the yawning cavity of the calesh, beheld the red nose and green spectacles of Mrs. Magillicuddy. He sprung from his seat and left the house. “ For heaven’s sake,” he * “ Comether ” — officious intrusiveness. FLORENCE MA.CARTHY. exclaimed, as with rapid strides he advanced to his fellow-traveller, who stood talking near the door to the baccah and the Kerry horsedealer, “ for heaven’s sake let us be off directly, with or without a wheel. Who do you think one of the two females at the fire may be ?” “ Not your nightmare, I hope,” said the Commo- dore, smiling — “ not Mrs. Magillicuddy.” “ My nightmare, indeed !” he reiterated, shrug- ging his shoulders : “ this is being fairly hag-ridden.” “ Magillicuddy !” repeated the driver of the first- arrived chaise, who was putting to his horses. ■“ Is that the ould lady’s name, your honor ? Why, then, troth, she’s a gentlewoman every taste of her, and pays finely ; and for that same, I bate your chay fair- ly, and got in half an hour before yez.” “ Where did you start from !” asked Ow r ny, com- ; ing forward. “ From Cashel ; and came the low road ; and wonder yez would take to the mountains ; only it’s what I believe you lost your way, sir,” he replied. “ And where are you going to now V asked De Vere, evidently interested in the question. “ We are going on to one side of Doneraile, sir: and if we can’t make that before ten o’clock, we are to stop at the New Inn; for th’ ould lady doesn't care to be on the road after the moon goes dowm, ; though from this to Doneraile is as beautiful as a bowling-green.” “ I think,” said Mr. De Vere, “I should be well contented to remain here to-night, if there was a chance of clean beds, or even of fresh hether: we could then proceed to Court Fitzadeim early to-mor- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 99 row, instead of having to tread back onr steps by going to Buttevant first” This was addressed to tho Commodore. “ Och, then, not better beds you’ll get in the barony than at the little back-room at Lis-na-sleugh,” ob- served Owny, who" appeared to listen with attention ; and I carried two gentlemen here who slept in them last week, and one of them a priest, that’s Friar ^O’Sullivan, on his way to Cork.” “ Then we will endeavor to make our arrangements accordingly,” said De Vere, turning sharp round, and coming in contact with the whalebone of Mrs. Magil- licuddy’s calesh ; for she had stood for the last few minutes behind them. “ Why, then, man,” she exclaimed to her driver, u will you lave off your gossip, and not keep us here till midnight, why !” To this remonstrance, made in a most stentorian ! voice, the man replied by opening the chaise door, letting down the steps, and letting in the infirm Mrs. ! Magillicuddy and her more youthful attendant, who sprung lightly into the chaise after her: they im- mediately drove away. “ I told you,” said the younger traveller, “ we were fated to remain at this miserable little mountain inn.” “ The fatality lies in your prepossessions,” replied the Commodore, “ or, if you will, in the superhuman influence of Mrs. Magillicuddy; and yet, she is a woman.” “ A woman ! Sex hath but one age : that passed, | there is neither man nor woman. Who would assign | to such a thing as that a gender, with her lungs and 100 FLORENCE MACARTHY. her bulk, her natural defects and artificial disgusts, her Bardolph’s nose, and tower of horse hair. A woman ! gracious heaven ! ’Tis altogether another species, made of other elements, and composed of other organs !” As he thus stood “ chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies,” in apostrophizing all that was lovely, and all that had ceased to be so, in the sex, his more active, more vigilant fellow-traveller, was occupied in providing for their night’s accommodation. He had also inquired for the driver, to inform him of their new arrangements, and learned from the lame hostler that he was gone behind the other chaise, as far as the smith’s forge, for an iron pin, which was wanting to the complete reinstatement of the broken machine- ry of their own cra^y carriage. The circumstance of two such guests . remaining for the night at Lis-na-sleugh produced a business and bustle most unusual beneath its humble roof. Skaneen * the boy, was employed in catching, killing, and plucking a fowl, which had (reckless of the fate that awaited it) taken up its roost on the rafter of the kitchen. The baccali was occupied in preparing such a table equipage for supper as the house afforded ; and the hostess herself gave her attention to the little bedroom. This apartment, which communicated by a few steps with the parlor, contained two small, old-fashioned bedsteads, with patchwork quilts (the accumulated fragments of half a century), and check curtains of transparent texture. Though poor and mean, it was cleanly and cheerful; and was just such a sleeping * Shaneen — Little John — Jack. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 101 apartment as is to be found in every inn in Ireland, that lies in a road but little frequented. When the strangers returned to the house, from a short refreshing walk among the moonlight glens, the house was cleared of its guests, silent and tranquil. A clean cloth was spread upon the parlor table, the turf fire blazed brightly ; and though there was no wine to be had, and they had not yet made up their palates to what Peter the Great called “Irish wine,” yet the clear spring that gushed from the neighboring rock was pure falernian to thirsty and temperate travellers. The supper prepared, by their cordial hostess, though homely, was all fri ndise to appetites sharpened by the mountain air, and placed beyond the delicacy of fastidiousness by long fast. Owny, who had returned from the forge, inquired carelessly “ if they had now the place to themselves, barring the gentlemen,” and being answered in the affirmative (for the three guests in the kitchen, the horsedealer, the peddler, and his companion, had all departed under favor of the moonlight), he immedi- ately threw off his cotamore, caubeen, and wig. Light, alert, and diligent, he now officiated as valet to the gentlemen, and as coadjutor to Mrs. Gaffney’s estab- lishment ; and his services added considerably to the little sum of comfort and accommodation which the travellers could naturally expect, in this improved imitation of a Spanish Posada. Meantime the Irish cead mille faltha* shone in every eye, and beamed its welcome on the strangers. The obvious good will of all compensated for the defi- Hundred thousand welcomes. 102 FLORENCE MACARTHY cieney of ability but too obvious; and even the younger, and less easily satisfied guest, was led to ob- serve of the little shebeen of Lis-na-sleugh, as the French philosopher did of the world, “ Si tout n-y est pas bien tout est passable CHAPTER IV. This Eden, this demi-paradise, This dear, dear land is now leased out Like to a tenement, or pelting farm. Shakespeare. What harmony is this 7 Marvellous, sweet music ; Give us kind keepers, heaven. Ibid. Were such things here as we do speak about 7 or have we eaten of the insane root that takes the reason prisoner 7 Ibid. There is scarcely any cabaret in the remote parts of Ireland, over whose door is exhibited the usual adver- tisement of “ Good entertainment for man and beast,” where a tolerable breakfast may not be procured; the abundance and freshness of the milk, butter, and eggs, usually compensating for the indifferent quality of that far-fetched and vivifying herb, which the Widow Gaffney assured her guests as they seated themselves at her breakfast table, after the refreshing repose of the night, was “ illigant tay from Cork.” Luckily, they were just then in a temper of mind to take much upon faith, and to be pleased on very scanty premises. There was a novelty, a romantic singu- larity in their actual position, which lent it a peculiar charm (at least to the younger traveller, to whom it was evident that whatever was new was good) : while it was obvious to both, that even the wildest 104 FLORENCE MACARTHY. parts of Ireland afforded that security to the stranger’s wandering, which is refused only to the local, official oppressor. The travellers left the inn of Lis-na-sleugh, followed by the blessings of its inhabitants, excited by their liberality. Had the younger of them been capable of observing anything, in which he was not himself per- sonally concerned, he might have noticed that, pre- vious to their departure, his mysterious companion had been engaged in a conference with the lame hostler, which lasted a considerable time : for while Owny was putting to the horses, and arranging the portmanteaux, the Commodore, with arms folded, brows compressed, and eyes full of eager listening curiosity, remained silently attentive to some narra- tion, which seemed circumstantially detailed by the baccah. As they both stood under the shadow of an impending cliff (the bold figure of the Commodore in deep shade, and darkly defined, — the bending form of the cripple supported by his crutch, and tinged by the light of a straggling sunbeam), they seemed ap- propriate figures for the wild scenery that surrounded them. In this point of view only they were con- sidered by the tasteful observer, who stood looking at them through his half-closed eyes, and who simply noted the effect of their picturesque grouping, with- out one surmise as to its cause. The mountains the travellers had crossed, and the glen in which they had passed the night, soon re- ceded from their view : their journey lay along a comparatively good road, among a long chain of hills, which fenced within their undulating boundaries many a lovely glen and romantic valley, brightening FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 105 in the morning sunshine. Acclivity rose above acclivity, lifting their bleak bare heads to the clouds in wild and savage magnificence : those to the west, forming the boundaries of the county of Kerry ; those to the north and east, the Ballyhowry and Nagle mountains, enclosing the classical scenery of Spenser ; his own “ Mole” rising conspicuously above all. In the bosom of this wild and fantastic region, after a journey of twelve miles, the valley of Glen- fionne, or the Fair Valley, was announced by the driver; and the old woods and towers of Court Fitz- adelxn were discovered in the distance, crowning a rocky summit, which seemed to hang perpendicularly over the winding waters of the Avon Fienne. The demesne of this fine old seat was accessible by many mountain ravines from the south ; but the design of its late lord, who had cut a road across a branch of the Galtees, to shorten the way from Dublin, though inadequately executed, was judiciously conceived. On that side, its situation had been inaccessible, re- mote, and romantic. The extensive stone wall, which ran round the north of the demesne, was in many places dismantled and broken down; and through its frequent breaches, it exhibited the result of that pernicious and exhausting system of farming resorted to in such places. The ci-devant agent, now the actual but absent master, had let out the beauti- ful demesne in what is called jobbing farms, whose tillage rarely extends beyond the growing of pota- toes ; for which purpose the ground is uncalculatingly burned, to produce one good crop to its temporary possessor. Here and there, vestiges of wretched 106 FLORENCE MACARTHY. crops of grass and oats showed the land to he utterly exhausted ; and, ^n many places it was abandoned to the wild growth of weeds and briers. Almost every- where the old meadow and pasture grounds were covered with furze, broom and rushes, which, though now yellow and rich to the eye, were still but “ un- profit ably gay.” The subdivisions of petty property were marked by rude meerings ; and each temporary tenant had secured his own rood of ground with unplanted mounds, w T hose occasional gaps were stopped with brambles and heath bushes. This coarse and rude system of farming added much to the desolate and neglected aspect of a naturally lovely scene, which, in its present state, formed an apt epitome of the abandoned dwellings of the Irish absentees. The scanty and miserable population which ap- peared in the neighborhood of the once princely Court Fitzadelm, was appropriately wretched and neglected. From a few mud-built huts, raised against the park wall, occasionally issued a child, or a pig ; while the head of its squalid mistress appeared for a moment through the cloud of smoke streaming through the door, and then suddenly retreated. The long and broken road, winding round the wall, seemed to lengthen as the travellers proceeded • and they stopped to inquire the way to the nearest approach of a poor man who was driving a lamb with a straw rope round its leg. The man pointed to a winding in the road, and directed them to the- ruined gates of the principal entrance ; he then took up the wearied lamb on his shoulders, an serving : “Well, who knows but we may meet in heaven yet ; little chance as there seems for some of us now, why ! for we’ve met often enough in this world any- how, and may again when least expected. And it’s little yez thought when ye refused me a third in your chay to Tipperary, that I’d be showing you Court Fitzadelm ; and is as much mistress here as the lady, if she was in it, and will be till it fall into better hands, plaze God. Why, then, yez had great luck ? gentlemen, not to go in the chay from Dublin ; for it’s in it, shure, I got one of my rheumatrix fits, all down the face and head of me. And it was the Lord’s will I should be overturned last night, coming here, and broke my nose, why ! W ell, what matter, Shure 111 be worse afore I’m better ; for whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth. Is my strength the strength of stone, or is my flesh of brass ? No, troth ! And so this young man here tells me yez want to see the consarn. Why, then, it’s a sad place now; a watch-tower in the wilderness. And little ever I thought to see the likes of yez in it again, though many of your sort frequented it formerly.” “ Of our sort ? Why what do you take us for ?” asked the Commodore in some surprise, tinctured with seeming uneasiness. “ For two rakes of quality, dear, going about the in- nocent country, seeking whom yez may devour, like the old one, why !” The gentlemen both smiled; and even De Yere seemed not displeased at the definition given of his FLORENCE MACARTHY. 115 appearance by the formidable Mrs. Magillicuddy, alias “ Protestant Moll.” Still, however, he hung back, and looked upon her with disgust and apprehension. “ I understand,” said the Commodore, “ that this old mansion, with a few acres of the ancient demesne, is to be sold; and I wish to examine the premises, before I apply for the terms to Mr. Crawley, to whose seat I am now proceeding.” “ As to the house,” said Mrs. Magillicuddy, “ it is an house of clay now,” (and she waddled before them towards the theatre, the door of which she threw open) ; “ an house of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, and which is crushed before the moth. There ! — there’s the devil’s tabernacle.” Curiosity now got the better of prejudice ; and Mr. De Vere approached to examine this monument of former dissipation and refinement, in scenes so inap- propriate to its site. Most of the decorations, and nearly all the seats and scenery, had been removed. But fragments of scarlet cloth remained upon a bench which had not been taken away. A cut wood scene still occupied the stage ; and some ornamental paint- ing and gilding were visible on the ceiling and cornice. “This was a box fitted up for the lord lieutenant,” said Mrs. Magillicuddy, seating herself on the soli- tary bench, “ and when the bishop’s lady came here to see me, after my wonderful conversion (and it was Miss Crawley that delivered me from the workings of iniquity), and found the Rev. Mr. Scare’um sitting with me in this very place (for he came to visit this benighted district, and to take under his protection the perishing sinners of the hill country), says the 116 FLORENCE MACARTHY. bishop’s lady to me (for my conversion made a great noise, far and near), — no, says Mr. Scare’um to Miss Crawley, it is curious to see, says he, by what great strides Molly Magillicuddy has made her way out of Babylon. Uponwdiich the bishop’s lady remarked — ” “ I cannot stand this,” cried De Yere to the Com- modore in Spanish. “ I will walk down to the river, while you examine the house, if you really think there is anything worth seeing.” Mrs. Magillicuddy now rose with surprising alert- ness, and observed : “ Maybe yez w mild like to see the ould family pictures which will go with the house, being worth nothing now, barring the frames, the best being gone.” The family pictures counteracted the effect of even Mrs. Magillicuddy’s egotistical jargon, who seemed to trade upon the history of her conversion, and to sup- pose, with pious vanity, that it interested her audit- ors as much as herself. The gentlemen followed her up the hall, while she continued her recital with — “ So, as I was saying, the bishop’s lady, thinking me a mira- cle of grace (though, Lord help me, I was then but a babe in knowledge, never having mansod hardly to Mr. Scare’um, nor lived with the teisdoo), she says to me, ‘ Molly,’ says she ” “ This is a curious apartment,” interrupted the Com- modore, as he threw open the door of the room, which Mrs. Magillicuddy announced as the presence chamber. “ Ay, curious enough !” said she. “ Here it was that the royal idolater, James the Second, held a court, in his way through Munster, and was attended by all the papist lords, the ‘ recusants,’ as Miss Crawley tells FLORENCE MACARTHY. 117 me. Oh ! she’s a great scholar and was here in her way to Dublin, just afore I went to England for that legacy left me by the pious Mr. Scare’um two months ago — for the Fitzadelms,” she continued in her digres- sive way, “ was then Romans themselves ; until, by abandoning the scarlet lady of Babylon, they secured their lands and rights ; and the king, when he looked out at this window (called the king’s casement ever since), started back, wondering much at the great height of the house above the river.” She threw open the window as she spoke ; and the precipitous declivity beneath seemed to justify the royal astonishment.* But the strangers were little attracted by the bold and beautiful views without, nor by the fine friezesTwithin, which were painted by the Franchinis, two Italian artists, who visited Ireland a century back, and were employed in ornamenting its noble mansions. The few pictures, which mouldered in their tarnished frames upon the oaken wainscot, seemed to fix their most earnest attention; for the greater number were portraits of the most eminent characters of Charles the Second’s court. The beauties, the wits, and the warriors of that day, were in a large proportion Irish ; and while the pic- tures of the Hamiltons, the Butlers, the Yillierses, the Fitzgeralds, the Talbots, the Muskerries the Taafes, and the Burkes, are sketched for immortality in the delightful Memoirs of Grammont, their less durable portraits by Lilly and Kneller have been copied ad in- * A similar apartment and window are shown at Lismore Castle, one of the Duke of Devonshire’s seats, as distinguished for its romantic beauty, as the inhabitants of its immediate neigh- borhood are for their courtesy, elegance, and hospitality. 118 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. finitum* in Ireland, and are still to be found in many of the deserted mansions of the long-absent great. Many of these faded representatives of what was once lovely and animated, lay upon the ground ; and the dilettante traveller soon detected “ la plus jolie taille du mon^y of the coquettish Countess of Chester- field,! stopping a broken window. “ La Muskerry\ faile comrne la plupart des riches heritieres ,” skreening out the ungrated hearth of a capacious chimney-piece ; while the fair Hamilton, “ grande et gracieuse dons les moindres de ses moubements hung in a most maudlin state out of her frame ; and “ la belle Stuart ” lay un- distinguished in a corner with “ la blonde Blague now literally U plus jau7ie qiCun coingP “ And are these pictures to go with the rest of the premises ?” asked the Commodore. “It’s little matter where they go,” returned Mrs. Magillicuddy, indignantly, “ or if they went with them they liken ; — a parcel of rakes and harlots ! as Miss Crawley tells me; they are paying for their scarlet and fine linen now, I warrant ; for they that plow iniquity, and sow wickedness, reap the same. Fie upon such shameless Jezebels ! say I, who look full of nought but worldly vanity and fleshly ease.” * Some by Souillerd, a French artist, brought to Ireland by Lord Muskerry, to paint his castle of Lixnaw, in Munster, after the cartoons of Raphael ; some too by Gandy, who came over with his patron, the great Duke of Ormond, and who seems to have furnished half the great houses in Munster with the royal harem ; and many also by other inferior and nameless artists. j* Lady Elizabeth Butler, daughter of the Duke of Ormond, and second wife of the Earl of Chesterfield : she died 1666. ! Lady Margaret Burke, daughter and heiress of Ulic Burke, fifth Earl of Clanrickard, wife to Lord Charles Muskerry, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 119 “Fleshly ease, indeed!” repeated De Vere, gazing earnestly upon the picture of the beautiful Duchess of Cleveland.* “ There is something in the swimming eyes and thick lips of the beauties of those times, a charming unidea’ d sameness of physiognomy, that is now lost in the female face.” “ Mental cultivation most diversifies the counten- ance,” replied the Commodore. “ In barbarous nations there is but one physiognomy for a tribe : where there is little intellect, there can be but little variety of ex- pression.” “ I hate intellect in women,” said De Vere ; “ and what is most delicious in the harem of that happy satrap, Charles, is, that they all look such pretty idiots, so fond and foolish, as if they were of that sect which once flourished in Spain, the Embevecidos , whose life and faith were made up of love.” “ Love, indeed ! love ! when hearts were purchased with French ribbons; and perfumed gloves went on successful embassies to ladies’ affections. Oh ! trust me, your royal satraps have more of laziness than of love in their engagements; and nothing is further from passion than their idle saunterings ‘ in ladies’ chambers.’ ” “ ’Tis all abomination ! all vanity and vexation of spirit !” said Mrs. Magillicuddy, interrupting the Commodore, indignantly. “ I didn’t think so once, * Lady Barbara Villiers, daughter and heiress of William Vil- liers, Lord Grandison : she was a native of the scenes here de- scribed, and spent the innocent and early part of her life in her father’s castle of Dromana, on the lovely banks of the Black- water, now the seat of Tier descendant Villiers Stewart, Esquire. Part of the summer of 1817 was delightfully spent by the author amidst these delicious scenes. 120 FLORENCE MACARTHY God help me ! For I walked in utter darkness till I was thirty ; and did not wrestle with the ould one till I was forty good. My conversion made a great noise far and near. The bishop’s lady came to me, and said — - — ■” Mr. De Vere was again retreating, when the old woman hobbled to a door at the further end of the apartment, and throwing it open, said, “ There, that’s the drawing-room;” then flinging herself upon a broken chair, the only article of furniture in the room, except an antique japanned chest, she continued, pointing to two pictures — “ There, gentlemen, there are the pic- tures of the two brothers ; that is half brothers by blood, but whole brothers in iniquity. I always took the dark one in robes to be the Prince of Orange, and the red-headed one to be the Pretender, till Miss Crawley, when she came here for the Indy cabinet, informed me that they were the two last Lord Fitza- delms, the Dhu and the Ruadg, the black and the red. Well, that’s all that remains of them now; the ould one had a fine lob of them both. He that would have wrestled for their salvation was not walking this benighted country when they were in it, and so they were left to go to the devil their own way, why !” During this charitable speech the eyes of the tra- vellers were fixed upon the pictures, pointed out by their pious Cicerone. The elder brother stood in his parliamentary robes, by a table, on which his coronet was placed : his countenance expressed haughtiness, something mingled with indecision; and traces of wild ill-regulated passions, contrasted with a look of feebleness and dependence, gave indication of a mind endowed with some natural character, but which had FLORENCE MACARTHY. 121 been spoiled by circumstances and education ; as if the natural force, which might have gone to the strengthening of his intellect, served but to irritate his passions and temper. He was of a dark and satur- nine complexion ; but intemperance had so bloated his features, and impurpled his naturally sallow hue, that even the painter’s art could scarcely recall the beauty for which he had once been celebrated. This picture, by the date, was done above thirty years back ; the name of the artist was so obscure, and the execution so inferior, that it was probably the effort of some itinerant painter, who worked by the square foot. The younger brother was a true Geraldine in color- ing and feature; the light, curled, and golden hair, the full blue eye, and fair complexion were there, which distinguished almost every branch of that illus- trious family, particularly the southern Geraldines: but there was an expression of licentiousness and cun- ning mingled in the countenance of Gerald Fitzadelm, which belonged not to the physiognomy of his family. He had a foreign air, was habited in a Venetian domino, and held a black mask so near his face, that he seemed but in the very act of removing it. The picture was dated V enice ; the name of the artist was Italian ; and a label hanging from it, with orders how it was to be laid in the case, which was placed near it, indicated that it was about to be removed. On the case, in large letters, was painted, “For the most noble the Marchioness Dowager of Dunore, Dunore Castle. ’ “ Ay,” said Mrs. Magillicuddy, reading this address, “ay, to the Marchioness Dowager: well, careful as she is of the picture, it’s little she valued the reality, 122 FLORENCE MACARTHY. why ! It's from her, they say, the madness got into the Fitzadelm family. For till the Baron Gerald mar- ried that hoity-toity Englishwoman (though, as I’m tould, they were foolish enough, and wicked enough before), none of them was ever lunatic, until the two young lords, her sons, went mad lately.” “ What, both mad ?” asked the Commodore, while his companion turned round, and fixed his eyes with a very singular expression on the narrator. a Ay, sir, both as mad as March hares: the eldest being mad by nature, and t’other chap from pride, why ! But shure the sins of the fathers must be visited on the childer, as Miss Crawley says : afflic- tion cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trou- ble come out of the ground, why ! There is the young Marquis in a madhouse, and there is Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, his. brother, wandering the world wide, they say, looking for something, he doesn’t know what, like a prince in the story-book ; while his mother, the ould policizing Marchioness, is setting him up for the borough of Glannacrime here. But, mark my words, she needn't trouble herself ; it isn’t himself will git it, with the Fitzadelm name, and the Dunore interest to boot.” “No?” said the younger traveller, for the first time addressing this formidable person. “ No, sir, its meat for his betters, why.” “Indeed!” returned De Yere, with an ironical laugh ; “ and who may they be, pray ?” “ Councillor Con is, dear,” said Mrs. Magillicuddy, coming up close to him with an air of confidential familiarity, while he retreated before her advances ; “ that’s Councillor Conway Townshend Crawley, ne- FLORENCE MACARTHY« 123 phew to Miss Crawley, and son to Portreeve of Dunore. Qch ! that’s the young man will prosper, why ! Mark my words, and you’ll see them come to pass yet,” While this short dialogue was carrying on, the eyes of the Commodore were glancing rapidly from the features of the late baron to the face and figure of his young companion; but when De Vere turned round to him, he abruptly averted them, and took up a parchment label which hung from one of the mas- sive brass handles of the antiquated japan chest : the inscription on it was curious, and ran as follows : •“This travelling chest was presented by his most sacred Majesty Charles the Second to Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, who bequeathed it at her death in 1691 to her kinswoman, the Lady Geraldine Fitz- adelm; she married in 1701 Thomas, Marquis of Dunore, her uterine cousin, and died, leaving issue an only daughter, 1730.” “ I wonder this most valuable relic is suffered to remain here,” observed the Commodore. “ Och !” said Mrs. Magillicuddy, who seemed all care and eye to everything that was said and looked, “och, when everything went to sixes and sevens, why ! and all was ruination, the Black Baron dying in a garret in Dublin, and his brother that came to the title abroad, it was little regard was paid to the likes of that. But it is now to go by favor of Mr. Crawley, who owns all, to Dunore as a present to the Marchioness, whenever she comes over : there’s the matting to pack it. They say it was in it was found the family tree, which proved the ruined Fitzadelms to be the heirs in the female line, in default of male 124 FLORENCE MACARTHY. issue, to the title and estate of Dunore ; and to this day there is some curious papers in it. Perhaps, gen- tlemen, yez would like to see them ?” “ Oh very much 1” was the instantaneous reply of both. Mrs. Magillicuddy now foraged to the very | bottom of her capacious pockets for the keys, crying : * “ Weary on them for keys, they are always missing when wanting;” then suddenly recollecting she had ; hung them in a closet, she scudded off to fetch them. The strangers again turned their observation to the portraits of the Lords Fitzadelms : but Mrs. Magilli- cuddy had been scarcely more than two or three mi- nutes gone, when a female voice, with all the flute- j like sweetness of the tones of youth, breathed a few clear melodious notes on their ear, as if some skilful musician was running a preclusive division with equal taste and judgment : but the sounds, prolonged for a I minute or two, were as abruptly dropped as begun, j and all was silence. The rude war-cry of the Fitz- adelms, or the howl of the long-extirpated Irish wolf, would have excited less amazement in the minds of the auditors than these sweet and most musical strains. By their expressive looks they seemed al- most to doubt their own senses; and they remained j for a considerable time silent, and in the attitude of eager and expecting attention. Nearly a quarter of an hour thus elapsed, yet all remained silent. “ Did ever mortal mixture of earth’s mould breathe forth such sweet enchanting harmony ?” asked De Vere, entranced. “ It seemed to come in a direct line from behind that fragment of tapestry,” observed the Commodore; and he immediately raised the remains of what once FLORENCE MACARTHY. 125 had been a handsome specimen of the Gobelin manu- facture. It had concealed a small iron door, above which was written “ Evidence Chamber.” The strangers both looked alternately, and for a consider- able time through the spacious keyhole, and dis- covered a small rude chamber, dimly lighted by a loophole, and perfectly empty. After some time they looked out of the window, which Mrs. Magilli- cuddy had called King James’s, and found that this Evidence Chamber formed part of the original build- ing called Desmond’s Tower. Their joint thought . was to leap out of the window, and to examine this tower, which appeared to lie open, and to be partly in ruins. But the steepness of the rocks rendered such an attempt impossible. The shortest and surest way to discover the mys- tery (for a mystery of the most romantic nature it was asserted to be by De Vere) was to make inqui- ries of the old housekeeper relative to the songstress of these ruined towers. But Mrs. Magillicuddy, though twenty minutes had elapsed, had not returned ; and when they went to seek her, to their amazement and consternation they found the door locked or bolted, and beyond their power to open or force. De Vere threw himself on the broken chair lately oc- cupied by the housekeeper in an ecstacy of emotion ; his companion, on the contrary, displeased, annoyed, and irritated as much as astonished, sought round the room for some mode of egress in impatience and per- turbation. A door on one side opened into a dark closet ; two windows opposite to the king’s casement he tried with considerable strength, but they were nailed down. A third, more manageable, was opened 126 FLORENCE MACARTHY, with difficulty, for the pullies were broken. It was, however, at length opened, and supported by a broken picture-frame. It communicated with one of the ruined terraces hanging over the river, and cut out of the rock. The height, which was considerable, was easily cleared ; but the way to the front of the house was intricate, and not easily found. The nar- row irregular path was choked with briers, with the stumps of old trees recently cut down, and lying at full length, and with fragments of the original ruined building, which had fallen in abundance. As they proceeded through the entangled screen of underwood and briers, they caught a view of a man seated in a cot (6), on the river near a salmon weir, whose curious construction, with the picturesque appearance of the patient fisherman himself, would at any other time have attracted their attention. It was now, however, chiefly given to their obstructed and difficult pathway, by which they at last reached the front of this irregular and stupendous mansion. To their increased amazement, they found the hall- door again barred up. Every mode of ingress seemed closed, as when they had first approached it. Their chaise and its driver had alike disappeared; and the little Kerry horse, with the Commodore’s valise strapped on his back, was fastened to a tree, and stood peaceably grazing within the length of his bridle ; while the portmanteau of De Yere was placed near it, on a clump of rock. The travellers remained for a moment looking at each other in silence, till De Vere burst into a fit of laughter, anything rather than the ebullition of gaiety. It was almost hysterical, and the pure effect of over- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 127 excitement ; when it had in some degree subsided, he said — “ So, this is indeed the delightful 1 land of faery, which Spenser has described, in which he wrote, in which he was inspired. Here his Gloriana seems still to fling about her spells ; and new adventures appear in ready preparation for other Sir Calidores and Sir Tristrams, than those of his creation.” “ Had we not better,” said the Commodore, who for the moment was stunned by the event, which, though not of superhuman agency, appeared in his mind scarcely less comprehensible ; “ had we not better go to the porter’s lodge, and make some inqui- ries there ?” “ Oh ! certainly. But you must not be surprised if the lodge, the portress, and the idiot, are all vanished, together with Mrs. Magillicuddy, Mr. Owny, and the chaise and horses.” The lodge, the portress, and the idiot, remained, however, as they left them. The old woman was seated upright in her wretched bed, with a red petti- coat over her shoulders, and employed in knitting. To the repeated questions of the travellers, she re- plied, “ Nil gaelig a” I have no English* Nor could either of them obtain the least information from her. The idiot, when they approached her, laughed and fled.. Hopeless of information, they walked back to the spot where the horse and their light luggage had been left. There was something peculiarly singular, and almost laughably pantomimic, in this adventure, which amused, though it almost provoked the Com- * Literally the language of the stranger. 128 FLORENCE MACARTHY. modore ; while it defied conjecture to detect the cause of its occurrence. He had reason to believe that his name person, and very existence, were un- known in Ireland ; yet the league of the old woman and driver could not be without object, nor the whole event without motive : it was evidently unconnected with any sordid or dishonest view. The housekeeper had not been remunerated for her trouble, nor the driver for his horses or attendance. Rapid in his silent cogitations, and quick in his decisions, he at once determined that the object of this farcial im- broglio was the fanciful and accomplished idealist, with whom he was accidentally connected ; and giving further conjecture to the winds, after a few minutes’ reverie, he proposed that they should hail the fisher- man at the weir, engage him to convey the younger traveller down the river, as near as he could to Done- raile or Buttevant : for himself as the day advanced, and time pressed, he determined to mount his Kerry steed, and proceed by the mountain route he had ob- tained from Owny to Dunore. To all these arrangements De Yere passively as- sented ; and while the Commodore, with the activity of boyhood, bounded down the precipitous rocks to beckon the fisherman towards the shore, his compa- nion, with folded arms, and eyes fixed upon vacuity, stood the image of one, whom “ Function is smothered in surprise, And nothing is hut what is not.” The events of his journey had combined them- selves in his mind under the influence of the most morbid imagination, and the most inordinate self-love. His vanity and his fancy had worked out a series of FLORENCE MACARTHY. 129 associations and conjectures most favorable to the character of both. Every event, every object, how- ever unimportant in itself, was by him wrought into a miracle, or meditated into a mystery, through the medium of his singularly organized mind. From trifles “ light as air,” he had the unhappy power of constructing fabrications of ideal pain and pleasure, of flattering or mortifying importance, which render- ed him the victim of delusion, and covered the pros- perous realities of his life with shadows, alike illusory and unsubstantial. The perverseness of his journey from Dublin, the counteraction of his intentions with respect to his route, the impish laugh in the ruins of Holycross, his unintentional visit to Court Fitzadelm, the invisible musician of the Evidence Chamber, his reiterated contact with the formidable Mrs. Magilli- cuddy, the youthful figure of the female associated with her at Lis-na-sleugh, the masquerading mystery of the driver, and above all, the league evidently sub- I sisting between the old woman and Owny, and their I sudden disappearance from Court Fitzadelm, unre- munerated for their respective services ; all these in- cidents so strange, so unexpected, combined them- selves in his meditations, till he believed himself caught in a thraldom, like that “ Dove in clolce pri- gione , Rinaldo stassi ,” the object of some deep-laid project, of some romantic design, in which there 'would be little to mortify his vanity, or to disappoint his feelings. He had resolved, in his own mind, to take up his residence in the neighborhood of the Court, and there await the issue of an adventure of which he alone could be the object. Notwithstanding his very 180 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ardent admiration for his companion, and the personal distinction, and almost heroical cast of character and physiognomy of the extraordinary stranger, it never once suggested itself that he also might have had some share in this extraordinary event. He himself was alone the hero of his own thoughts ; and, with the hypochondriacal egotism of Rousseau, he believed himself an object of occupation, of amity or enmity to the whole world. This train of thought was, however, soon broken,, by the return of the Commodore, followed by the fisherman,, who took charge of his valise, and stowed it in his little boat. He had engaged to row the younger traveller down the river, to its confluence wdth the Avonheg, which ran by Doneraile, and which was the oft-celebrated Mulla of Spenser, where “ On each willow hung a muse’s lyre.” But the the curiosity and interest excited by Kiieole- man, the Mole, and the Mulla, were now absorbed in feelings of a profounder emotion ; and his approxima- tion to the shrine of his pilgrimage no longer awakened transports in the mind of the fanciful pilgrim. As the travellers walked together to the river’s side, the elder observed, “T have been making in- quiries from the fisherman; and it appears that an old woman, who had the epithet of Protestant Moll,* and kept the mansion, where there is nothing to tempt to depredation, has been dead for some weeks. The house is unoccupied, and the approach by which we entered is the least frequented, there being sev- eral others, all open. Mrs. Magillicuddy is, therefore,, some Ariel 1 correspondent command,’ of a concealed Prospero*” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 131 “ Ariel!” reiterated De Vere; “ the foul witch Sy- corax, rather.” “Now, plaze your honor,” said the boatman, as he drew up his boat close to a ruin, which he called the battery. With some difficulty, De Vere was placed in the cot, which was one of the smallest construction known by that name. The boatman, with his spoon- shaped paddle fixed against a jutting rock, for a point d'appui , was pushing offi from the muddy shore, the figure of the Commodore was thrown into muscular exertion in endeavoring to assist, and the cot was just afloat, as he seized the extended hand of his un- known fellow-traveller. “We part,” said De Vere, in a tone of emotion, “ almost as we met.” “ Almost,” replied the Commodore, returning the strong pressure of his hand, with a grasp still stronger, but in a tone not firmer. “Farewell, farewell!” repeated De Vere, as the boat cleared the banks ; and he moved his hat, with an air of almost affectionate respect, half repressed by habitual apathy. “ Farewell !” r earned the Commodore, with a mingled expression of courteousness and cordiality, returning the salute. The little bark glided into the centre of the sunny stream. He whom it left behind in scenes so dreary ascended the point of a rock, which commanded the winding of the river : his eye pursued the cot, as its paddles threw up the sparkling waters, and as it ap- peared and disappeared amongst the projecting cliffs, or glided under the shady alders, fringing the lovely shores of the Avon-Fienne. It soon became a black 1S2 FLORENCE MACARTST. speck in the water, and finally disappeared in a bend of the river. The Commodore, with a short involuntary sigh, turned away his dazzled gaze. The gloomy, desolate demesne of Court Fitzadelm spread around him — he the sole occupant. “ Alone !” he exclaimed aloud — - “ once more alone, and where ?” He glanced eagerly, anxiously, almost wildly round him. His respiration was short : emotions, long repressed, seemed to find vent : he threw up his eyes to heaven, and clasped his hands, almost convulsively : years and scenes of distance and remoteness passed, in thick coming visions before his coming; then by a sudden effort of volition, as one “ Not framed upon the torture of the mind To lie in restless ecstacy,” he changed at once his mode of thought, and elevated position; and descending rapidly from the rock, sprung upon his horse, galloped towards the dis- mantled park wall, cleared it at a leap, and proceeded on his way to the Peninsula of Dunore. Whatever was the mission of this mysterious visit- ant, to a country for which he evinced so deep an in- terest, he seemed to forbid time’s anticipation of his views ; and in all things, and upon all occasions, ap- peared habitually to act as one who thought “ The flighty purpose never is o’ertook, Unless the deed go with it,” CHAPTER V. I never may believe these antique fables, These fairy toys. Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. But I have cause to pry into this pendant. Taming of the Shrew. The Commodore pursued his solitary way to the Peninsula of Dunore with as much rapidity as the nature of this mountainous road would admit. He had inquired the route both from the baccah and the driver ; and to their various, and not always accord- ant instructions, clearly arranged in his memory, he added his own judgment, and such information as he could occasionally glean from the passengers he acci- dentally met. These, however, were few ; for as he proceeded among the mountains, by roads only pas- sable during the autumn, the population was so scanty, that in the course of many miles, ambled over by his admirable little steed, he met only with three indivi- duals ; a boy carrying a couple of chickens for sale to a distant market, a woman with a few hanks of yarn, proceeding to the same rustic emporium, and a priest, bearing the viaticum to a dying penitent, whose temptations to err, amid scenes of such privation, could not have been very numerous. The priest courteously joined, and accompanied the lonely traveller on his route ; and might have been deemed an acceptable cicerone in a region which, 134 FLORENCE MACARTHY* however rude and savage, was not wholly destitute of something like classic interest. In the dialect and accent of the province, intermingled with a few French and a few Latin words, he pointed out, here a Cromlech, and there a cairne, a Danish fort, or a monastic ruin ; and added such scraps of antiquarian tradition as are to be found, even in the remotest places in Ireland. The legend of St. Gian’s cap was repeated, as a distant view was caught of St. Gian’s Abbey. Its miraculous efficacy, still acknowledged by the peasantry, and the belief of its having returned of itself to the spot whence (though composed of an immense hollow stone) it had been removed, were circumstantially recorded. One of the defile castles of the great Maearthies, The Fairie’s Rock, or Carig- na-Souky, was pointed out, in the distance, on the summit of a cliff, which hung above the ravine it guarded. The ruins of St. Gobnate’s Church, rather guessed at than clearly distinguished, introduced the legend of that fair saint, with the episode of the his- tory of the stone cross, still extant among its ruins y where a far-famed rood of the Virgin was once kept, and where still a stone, fixed near it in the earth, exhibits the impression of many a penitent pilgrim’s bended knee. For the rest, the communicative and courteous priest gave the Commodore some excellent instruc- tions as to his future route, and lamented that he had not taken a road, which, though more circuitous by nearly a day’s journey, was far less intricate than the one he had chosen. This he asserted to be a bird’s flight route from the north to the south of the coun- try, a bridle- way or car-track, cut, time immemorial, I FLORENCE MACAKTHY 135 by the mountaineers, for the purposes of rural econo- my, and communicating among the neighboring dis- tricts. At the conjunction of four of these mountain defiles, marked by a large stone cross, placed over a holy well hung with ragged offerings, the priest departed, with a cordial benedicite , and a bow learned in his French college, some thirty years before, but not yet forgotten in the wild scenes, where his laborious and ill-requited calling placed him. The traveller, again left alone, proceeded by the direction of the priest to a little mountainous village, called the Town of the Beloved, in Irish, Bally-na- vourna. It was silent and solitary, and seemed to sleep in the noontide sunshine, as if placed there only to form a pretty feature in the romantic scenery. Its inhabitants were all abroad in a neighboring valley, getting in their scanty harvest. When the Commo- dore, after resting and bating his horse at a little public house, lost sight of its moss-covered roofs and curling smoke, no further vestige of human habita- tion cheered his sight for many hours. Meantime his road became every moment more rugged, wild and difficult. The extraordinary instinct of the little ani- mal upon which he was mounted (and which seemed as peculiarly organized for the region it occupied as is the camel for the desert, or the reindeer for the snows of Lapland), excited an admiration not unmixed with gratitude and respect. The traveller, rather abandoning himself to its guidance, than attempting to direct its steps, fearlessly permitted it to climb among the rugged rocks, to skim over trembling bogs and sloughy morasses : it still preserved its pleasant 136 FLORENCE MACARTHt. ambling pace, where other horses would have sunk knee-deep, and was able to proceed where they would have perished. The sun was now hastening to its goal ; the few birds of prey which inhabit these elevated regions were returning to their eyries among the rocks. The traveller had still to seek the landmarks, which the priest had described as designating his descent to the Peninsula of Dunore. He indeed caught glimpses of the Atlantic ocean, through the interstices of the mountains ; but the evening shadows were gathering in vapors beneath his feet, as he descended, and yet he approached not the mountain’s base. That he had missed his way, and might be benighted in a region so desolate, had suggested itself as a possibility ; and he alighted for the purpose of ascending a high cliff, which seemed to command a vast extent Of prospect, to ascertain his exact position. As he was in the act of fastening his' horse’s bridle to th£ stump of a furze bush, sounds, measured and mechanical, met his ear, and spoke of human prox- imity ; they came from a little glen, near whose en- trance he stood. A narrow bridle-way, leading through a deep ravine, presented itself : on the sum- mit of a stupendous rock, some fragments of a ruin were visible; and beneath, seated in a sort of dry dyke, appeared a man occupied in scraping away with a sharp flint the lichens and mosses which incrusted a large angular stone, in order to decipher an inscrip- tion which he was endeavoring to copy. The char- acters were Irish, and beneath appeared a translation, in not very pure Latin, intimating that “ near to this FLORENCE MACARTHY. 187 PLACE, AT THE CASTLE OE MACARTHY, THE STRANGER WILL RECEIVE AN HUNDRED THOUSAND WELCOMES.”* The person who was engaged in this antiquarian occupation was so intent upon his task, that the ap- proach of a stranger was unobserved : the Commo- dore stood gazing upon him with a look of singular and marked expression, as if he too was penetrating through the veil of time, and gradually recalling traces and deciphering lineaments, which its moulder- ing finger had touched with decay, but not wholly defaced. There was an emotion of tenderness soften- ing his countenance, as he gazed, foreign to its habitual expression ; and when, leaning forward, he read aloud the Latin, and added the comment of — “ I believe there is a false concord in that sentence,” his full deep voice wanted its usual tone of firmness and decision. As he spoke, the flint dropped from the hand of the solitary sage, and he remained for a moment in the motionless position of surprise, tinctured with appre- hension, as if some “ airy voice, that syllables men’s names,” had suddenly addressed his unexpecting ear. The traveller saw the effect he had produced, and endeavored to counteract its consequences by as- suming a careless and familiar tone. * “ I beg your pardon,” he said, “ for this intrusion on your learned researches : I am a stranger in this country, and I fear have lost my way ; I wish to reach the town of Dunore before nightfall, and you will ren- der me a service by pointing out to me the nearest road.” * A similar inscription was found in a ditch near the ruined castle of the Macswines in Munster, I 138 FLORENCE MACARTHY. This speech, evidently, recalled courage and confi- dence iii him to whom it was addressed; and he slowly arose, putting the flint into his pocket, a cork into the ink-horn pendant from his button-hole, and fastening a roll of paper and a pen into the cord of his hat^ while he repeated : “ A false concord, sure enough;— a stranger in the country !” He was now on his feet: the Commodore stood opposite to him, with his back to the setting sun, his figure cutting darkly against its brightness ; his face and features in deep shadow. The yellow light of the illuminated horizon bronzed the grotesque figure of him on whom he gazed. This person was of a low and clumsy stature ; but, though evidently passed the middle age of life, was still strong and hale ; the deep crimson of health burned on his slightly furrowed cheek ; and his countenance gave indications of mingled simplicity and acuteness. There was also a certain in- describable, quaint, solemn, dogmatizing importance in his look, and a wandering wildness in his eye, which were curiously and strongly contrasted; while his costume added to the characteristic peculiarity of his person. A very small wig of goat’s hair surmounted a few thick, bushy gray locks, which curled round his short neck, for his shirt collar was thrown open, and three coats of frieze, of various colors, excluded, like the cloak of the fabulist, both wind and sun. As he now stood, affecting to button up these coats, one after the other, he was, in fact, earnestly engaged in endeavoring to make out the traveller’s features, on which his eyes were intently fixed. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 139 “ It’s long,” lie at last observed, “ since your honor was in these parts.” u I never have been in this district before,” was the reply. “ Haven’t you, sir ? then I renag e* my remark, and requist your honor’s pardon. I’ll show you the way to Dunore, sir. I’m going it every rood myself, and lives a donny taste beyont it.” As he spoke, he shifted his position, with the inten- tion of obtaining a better view of the stranger’s face ; but apparently, in order to draw forth a ragged colt from a rocky shed : the Commodore at the same mo- ment shifted his, and led forward his Kerry steed. “ That’s a reyal Asturiones ,” observed his new com- panion, “ and comes of a breed of jennets, brought over by us from Spain, on our way from Phoenicia : they are named Hobillers by Paulus J ovius, and Auto- mates by Toumefort: they are of pace aisy, and in ambling wondrous swift. It’s little the English Ed- ward would have done at the seige of Calais but for them same Irish Hoblers. Not that we were be* holden to the likes of them, having our war steeds and our chariots, • Infroenant alii currus aut corpora saltu Subjiciunt in equos.’ ” He was now mounted on the back of his own steed ; and his eyes were turned with a fixed look on the Commodore’s marked profile, who rode with his head somewhat averted beside him; the view he thus obtained was dim and uncertain ; but still it seemed to fix his attention. There was, as he gazed, an un- certainty in his look ; a something of slow, doubtful, * Renage, revoke, recall. 140 FLORENCE MACARTHY. vague recognition, as if the faint and indistinct re- semblance of some features, once known, were cross- ing his apprehension, — now lost, now caught, — deter- mined by a light, a shadow, or a motion ; and flitting as soon as seized. As they descended into the deep- ening twilight of the glen, the obscurity of half-for- gotten traits thickened into darkness ; the clue of as- sociation was lost, and the hitherto silent spectator withdrew his eyes, with the simple observation : “ I could swear upon my soul’s savetie, that I had seen your honor afore, sir : I disremembers me where; but that cometh of my memory, which faileth me for present things, — forgetting by times that my own name is Terence Oge O’Leary, which is remarkable.” “ O’Leary !” re-echoed the Commodore, in a voice of almost boyish softness and extreme emotion. “ Who calls ?” exclaimed O’Leary, wildly, and sud- denly checking his horse : “ Who calls ?” he repeated, turning full round, and throwing his strained and wandering eye in every direction. “•It was I who repeated the name you announced to me, Mr. O’Leary,” said the Commodore, in an al- tered and careless tone. “Was it, your honor?” resumed O’Leary, after a pause, and a deep inspiration. “ I thought it sound- ed like a voice I sometimes hear close in my ear, sir, when I am alone in the mountains. They tell me ’tis my fetch ;* but I have heard it these twenty years, and am to the fore still — it’s no fetch,” he added with a deep sigh : “ it’s only an ould remembrance.” * It is a common superstition in Ireland to believe that a mysterious voice heard in lonely places gives notice of approach- ’ ing death — it is called a fetch. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 141 His head sunk upon his breast, and they proceeded in silence to the edge of the glen, which terminated abruptly in a sloping surface of rich and mossy turf : beyond, the sea-bathed track of land, called the Peninsula of Dunore, spread at the mountain’s foot, extending to the ocean, undulating with green slopes intermingled with rocky elevations, and combining many views of maritime and inland scenery, eminent- ly beautiful and romantic. The descent, however, was so ste^p, and so difficult from its smoothness, that the travellers alighted and led their horses. “ There, forenent you, lieth Dunore, as it is called now,” said O'Leary, with emphasis ; “ one of the tongues of land on the coast of Munster, so named by one Mr. Camden, a Saxon churl. But its true and ancient name is Danganny-Carthy, the fastness of the Macarthies, the kings of the country round, of the Coriandri and the Desmondii, and blood relations to the Tyrian Hercules, every mother’s son of them.” “ Indeed ! that is an illustrious descent.” “ Troth, and deed ; for was not Malech-Cartha the King of Tyre, says ould Bochart ; which manes Malacchi Macarthy ; that’s plain, I believe, anyhow : and defies Geraldus Cambrensis, Dr. Ledwich, and Sir Richard Musgrave, with ould Saxo Grammaticus to boot, to deny that : and would have been kings of Desmond to this very hour, if right was afore might ; and only for the enticing bates of the English to en- trap them in their politics, their plots, and their com- plots — their playing fast and loose, their English earldoms and English patents, their grantees, and protectees, and governorships, until the Macarthies degenerated with the rest, from their ancestors, and 142 FLORENCE MACAETHY. never rose to great power from that day forth — that’s Florence Macarthy I mane, the Fogh-na-gall , the Englishman’s hate,* elected to the style and authority of Macarthy More, 1599, even after he descended to be made Earl Clancare, anno 1565, Elizab. Reginse sex.” “ Florence ?” said the Commodore, dwelling with a peculiar expression on the name. “ Florence then is a name given both to the males and females of this illlustrious family ?” “ It is, plaze your honor, and comes from the Span- ish name Florianus, which the Macarthies brought with them on their way from Scythia, as also the O’Sullivan Bears.” V “ It is an Italian name also ; and one Florianus del Campo has, I believe, written on this country,” said the Commodore. “He has, sir, — belied the land, like the rest of them,” replied O’Leary. “ The Macarthies followed the fortunes of the House of Stuart, I believe, Mr. O’Leary ; at least I have somewhere read so.” “ They did, sir, to their great moan. Of all the re- giments after the surrender of Conde, Maearthy’s alone refused entering the Spanish service, till their colonel got his dismissal in France, from the ra’al King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland.” “ They have, however, since distinguished them- selves in the service of Spain ; and even in the popu- lar cause of South America.” “ They have, sir, and everywhere but at home, God help ’em, for a raison they have.” * The foe of the stranger. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 143 “Do any of the family now remain in this country ?” “None at all,” said O’Leary; and then, after a pause, added “ barring the Bhan-Tierna , who isn't in it at this present.” “ Ha ! I have heard that epithet, accompanied by blessings in the mountains of the Galtees : to whom does it belong?” “ To whom does it belong, is it ? — why, to whom should it, but to the great, ould, ancient Countess of Clancare, anno 1565, Elizabeth® 6. But sure what signifies talking about them now. You may see it all in my Geneaological History of the Macarthy More, written in the Phoenician tongue, vulgo vocato Irish, it being more precise and copious than the English, and other barbarous dialects ; also sharp and senten- tious, offering great occasion to quick apothegm, and proper allusion ; the only pure dialect remaining of the seventy-two languages of Babel, introduced into Ireland by Finiusa Tarsa, the son of Magog, King of Scythia, from his own seminary of Magh-Seanair, near Athens ; and is to this day the ould language spoken by Hannibal, Hamilcar, Asdrubal, and the Macarthies More of county Cork and Kerry, anciently Desmond — and taught in my seminary in the ould preceptory of Monaster-ny-Oriel, according to the Bethluisnion-* na-Ogma, with Latin and Greek, and other modern dialects.” “And yet,” said the Commodore, with an half-re- pressed smile, “ there are some skeptics of opinion that there has always existed a certain identity be- tween the Irish and the Anglo-Saxon ; that in fact the Irish received their ancient alphabet from the Britons; and that their pretensions to an Eastern origin is a 144 FLORENCE HACARTIIY. groundless notion, generated in ignorance, and idly cherished by a mistaken patriotism, which might bo better directed.” “ Oh murther !” exclaimed O’Leary, clasping his hands : “ the thieves of the world !” 0 tribus Anticyris caput insanabile !” Then suddenly mounting his horse, with a look of mingled indignation and pity, directed at his unknown companion, he added, pointing to a road which wound down a woody hill, “ there’s your vray, sir, to Dunore town. If you crass the river at Bally dab bridge, you can’t miss it.” He was trotting off, muttering to himself some broken exclamations in Irish, when the Commodore, who also had resumed his horse, followed him, and said . “ In detailing the opinions of others, I do not give them to you, Mr. O’Leary, as my own : you are to ob- serve, I speak not to dictate, but to learn.” “ Why, then, sir,” said O’Leary, soothed by this conciliatory observation, “I’d be loath to see the likes of you, or any gentleman, enticed by them traitors of the world, who come as espials on the land, and go forth to defame it; for sorrow one of them English but hate Ireland in their hearts ; and there’s an ould saying in Irish, which manes, ‘ keep clear of an Eng- lishman, for he is on the watch to deceive you.’ I wouldn’t give a testoon* for the whole boiling of them, troth, I wouldn’t. The Irish not brought over by our Celtic Scythian ancestors ! Bachal essu /f * An old Spanish coin, once current in Ireland. fThe name of the celebrated staff of St. Patrick. An usual exclamation. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 145 they might as well take St. Patrick from us, and deny that the potato is the plant of the soil .' 5 “ I am afraid, Mr. O Leary, they would go near to do both.” “ Oh ! very well, sir : I see you are one of them that would go ould Strabo on us, and Saxo Gramma- ticus, and Dr. Ledwich.” “ Nay, I speak as one ignorant of the subject, and desirous to obtain information. If there were now, as formerly, such seminaries to study in as the school of Ross Alethri,* or such sages to study under as those sought for by the learned Monk Ealfrith, who came from Britain for that purpose, I should like to become his disciple.” “ To say nothing,” said O’Leary, “ of Agelbert, bishop of the west Saxons, Alfred, king of Northum- berland, and the blessed father Egbert, and the saintly brother Wiglert, who, for the love of the celestial isle, quit their kin and country, and retired to Ireland to study.” • “But what cell,” asked the Commodore with emphasis, “ what preceptory, what academy is there now open to the lover of Irish antiquities, where learning and retirement could for an adequate com- pensation be obtained together by a stranger, who thirsts for both ?” “ There is,” said O’Leary, after a short pause, and in a voice full of importance, as he drew up close to his companion, “ there is, plaze your honor, a place called the Monaster-ny-Oriel — an old ruin, but a larned retreat. And if there was a gentleman who, for the love of Ireland, would put up with homely fare, and * Tlie Field of Pilgrimage. 346 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. be satisfied to be housel’d with an old Senachy, or genealogist, why, then— — ” “ O’Leary,” said the Commodore, laying his hand familiarly on his shoulder, and eagerly interrupting him, “ should you receive me as your guest and dis- ciple, you wnll find me not difticult to accommodate. My ostensible business in this barony is with a certain Mr. Crawley, but— — ” “ With who ?” asked O’Leary, recoiling in horror : “ with one Crawley, did you say ?” “ With Mr. Crawley, of Mount Crawley.” “ With him, the land pirate ! Then, sir, you cannot housel with me, and so I wish you luck !” With these w~ords, O’Leary, spurring on his little nag, trotted abruptly down a craggy glen, and disap- peared. The Commodore stood looking after him till he was out of sight, and marked the path he had taken; then, with a deep-drawn inspiration (as one who, after some enforced restraint, breathes freely), and with a smile almost characterized by sadness, he bent his course towards the town of Dunore. As the descent of the mountain softened into an undulating valley, th£ approach to this town became extremely picturesque. The conjunction of many mountain streams formed a considerable river, which flowed under the single arch of an antique bridge, covered with ivy, and standing at the entrance of the poor but pretty village, announced by a turf-carrier (in answer to the Commodore’s question) to be Bally- dab. A rude bleak mountain, which overshadowed this village, and projected into the sea, formed a bold headland. At the distance of two Irish miles, the road joined FLORENCE MACARTHY. 147 the high road from Cork and Dublin, and wound to the left of a group of new, unfinished houses, the em- bryo of some rising town, haply intended to eclipse the fading glory of the decaying and ancient village of Ballydab. Within a mile of Dunore, the road pro- ceeded by the edge of the bay, at the head of which the town stood, and then appeared to wind along the coast. The town itself (once of note, and of histori- cal interest) was approached by a stately avenue of trees. Its ancient but well-preserved castle termi- nated its narrow street, and presented a striking fea- ture in a scene then tinted by the silvery rays of a cloudless moon. The castle casements were lighted with a fairy illumination by its beams; and the rip- pling tide, tinged with the same coloring, gave a gen- tle motion to a few fishing vessels, which alone occu- pied a port once of considerable trade with the oppo- site shores of Spain, Portugal and Italy. As the Commodore rode up the street, it was already still and noiseless, save the barking of a dog, which the echo of the horse's feet had roused. Two lanterns in the front of two opposite houses marked the site of the rival inns. That to the right had a new and gaudy sign flaunting in the breeze; and under a profusion of gilding, yellow ochre and white- lead, was written “ The New Dunore Arms.” The faded sign of its inferior competitor exhibited a dancing bear, scarcely distinguishable, under which was written in large, fresh black letters, “ This is the real ould Marquis of Dunore.” The Commodore chose the real old Marquis; and a tolerable supper, and a clean bed, left him nothing to repent of his election. 148 FLORENCE MACARTHY. The next morning, fatigued by his mountain ride, he rose late, and was surprised to find upon his breakfast-table a note, directed “ To his honor, the gentleman at the ould Bear, who arrived last night, these.” He opened and read as follows : Right Honorable, According to the advisement of my better judg- ment, I herein complie with your requist this tyme, in regard of the lodgement in the Friar’s room ; vi- delicet Fra Denis O'Sullivan, Superior of the Order, now in Portugal, via Cork, where he bides at this present writing, pending the visitation; he being likely to put the autumn over in foreign parts. The place thereby being vaquent, the fioor clean sanded, and the stone belted window giving on the sea-coast, ill-befitting your honor, howsomever, or your likes, being righte worthie of Dunore Castle, which is no- thing to nobody, sithe your honor think it fit. Touchinge the pintion thereof, should your honor consent to housel with me, it shall be left to your honor’s liberalities ; the lucre of gain, but little weighing ; and if there be juste cause of complaynte touchinge ye unruiiness of my scholars, or any rab- blement on the part of them young but larned runa- gates, they shall, on your honor’s so deposing before me, their plagosus Orbilius, undergoe chastisement in due austeritie : so praying an answer forthwith I remaine, With humble commendations, Your honor’s dutiful servant, Terentixjs 0/se O’Leary. From my Freccptory , Monaster -ny- Oriel . FLORENCE MACARTHY. 149 Whatever might have caused this sudden revolu- tion in the sentiments of Mr. O'Leary, it evidently excited much pleasure in the person in whose favor it had occurred ; and, on learning that one of O'Lea- ry’s academicians, or “ larned runagates,'’ awaited an answer, he sent hack a verbal one, intimating his intention of riding over immediately to the Precep- tory of Monaster-ny-Oriel after he had taken his breakfast. On passing through the town, on his way to O'Leary’s, the Commodore was struck not only with the antiquity, but with the Spanish character of its architecture. The castle, raised on a rocky elevation, and look- ing down upon the town, had, in the course of cen- turies, lost nothing of its feudal character. Massive and heavy, this ancient edifice formed a perfect pa- rallelogram, with five flankers ; its battlements, belt- ings and coigmes, were of hewn stone; and its strength and magnitude were, as far back as Eliza- beth, so formidable, that the queen was induced to think it too considerable a hold to belong to any Irish subject. The castle, town and manor of Dunore, were given to Hildebrand, first Viscount of Dunore, (a connexion of the great Lord Boyle’s,) by grant of James the First. The English lord completed the ramparts, which, under his jurisdiction, were no longer causes of jealousy. He also planned the ancient bawn,* made a stately avenue of trees from the town to its * The bawn was an inclosed piece of ground, reserved for the purposes of recreation and exercise. Swift’s Hamilton’s bawn was one of these Irish vergers . 150 FLORENCE MACARTHY. portals, and placed above the arch of its entrance, in letters cut in stone, and still perfectly legible — “ God s providence Is my inheritance . 77 He had also expelled the friars of Monaster-ny- Oriel, one of the communities which, like many others still subsisting in Ireland, had never been sup- pressed; and he devoted its revenue for the pin- money of his daughter-in-law ;* but still from time to time some of the Order were found congregating among the ruins of the building, in obedience to the rules of the Order, forbidding the entire dispersion of its members. One of his descendants, William, second Earl of Dunore, had visited the castle, on a tour to the south, which he made during his viceregency of Ireland. The present marquis, the eldest of two twin brothers, had early in life suffered his susceptible imagination to dwell on some affecting and curious relations of the ancient and actual state of Ireland. Impressions thus received wrought on his mind with an influence pro- portioned to the unhappy malady, which now first betrayed itself in many symptoms : of these his sym- pathy for Ireland, and his determination to reside in what he perpetually called “his beautiful castle,” were deemed by his mother and friends among the strongest. With the uncalculating impetuosity of his disease, he had ordered immense sums of money to be ex- pended in repairing and ft tting what had become al- most a ruin. Furniture, the most sumptuous and ap- * A similar act was committed by Bo}de, Earl of Cork, and for the same purpose. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 151 propriate, had been sent from England ; and even wine and plate had arrived, and been stowed in the long-unused cellars and buttery of the castle. Its lord and suite had been daily expected, when his dis- ease declared itself so unequivocally that the promis- ing but unfortunate young nobleman w^as placed in close confinement. Two years had elapsed since that event; and his mother, the Marchioness Dowager of Dunore, his sole guardian, and in whom centred the wdiole interest and influence of the Dunore property, had recently proposed visiting the castle, in order to set up her second son, Lord Adelm, to represent the neighboring borough of Glannacrime : but on some I representations from her agent, Mr. Crawley, and from his son, Councillor Conway Townsend Crawley, she had suddenly given up the intention. The castle, therefore, remained in statu quo , antique, superb, and desolate, such as may be found in- every province in Ireland — the ancient residence of Irish chiefs, the quondam possession of English lords of the I 1 - pale, the property of more recent patentees, or the in- heritance of English-Irish absentees, known only by name to the tenants they have never visited. The traveller paused a few moments before its I walls, threw his eyes rapidly over the stately edifice, and then proceeded under its once fortified terrace, s along the strand, to the monastic retreat of the learned I O’Leary. Monaster-ny-Oriel was one of those ecclesiastical ruins in which the South of Ireland abounds ; it was once of great extent, and was (in the terms of its charter) given to God and to St. John the Evangelist by one of the chiefs of the Macarthy family. The 152 FLORENCE MACARTHY. windows and arches, still in preservation, were of beautiful Gothic architecture : the walls of the choir remained, but it was roofless: and in the newly- thatched chauntry of the Blessed Virgin, G Leary held his academy, literally imaging Shakspeare’s de- scription of a pedant keeping a school in a church. A tower on the verge of the ruins (once a small house for novices) hanging over the coast, was now called the Friary of St. John, where the Order of the Do- minicans was still kept up ;* it was also the tenement now at O’Leary’s disposal, through the kindness of its absent proprietor. Everywhere among the ruins, the tombs of rival chiefs were visible, through the wild shrubs and furze that half concealed them. Here, a “ Gloria in Excel- sis Deo” was raised for an English Boyle or Petty ; there, a “ Giste ici — Dieu de son ame ait merci,’ for some Norman de Barri or de Grosse ; and above all rose the high gray stone, that in the ancient Irish character pointed to the resting-place of Conal Ma- carthy More, “ the swift-footed,” reposing in the midst of those who had opposed, or those who had betrayed him. This scene, so solemn even when tinged with the cheery lustre of the morning light, was most incon- gruously disturbed by the hum of confused and nasal murmurings, resembling the discord of an ill-tuned bagpipe. The ear of the traveller seemed to recog- nize this sound, once perhaps well known to him ; and directing his steps towards the chauntry of the * There are many friaries in Ireland thus preserved by the re- sidence of one or two of the Order among the ruins of their an- cient houses. FLORENCE MAC A RTIIY. 153 Blessed Virgin, be perceived several students stretched upon the rank grass before its high-arched Saxon doorway : thus reviving the picture of an Irish school, given by Campion, in Queen Elizabeth’s day. The ardent but barefooted disciples of the muses now (as then) “ grovelling on the earth, their books at their noses, themselves lying prostrate, and so chaunting out their lessons piecemeal. - ’ The breaking up of the academy took place as the Commodore approached it ; a bevy of rough-headed students, with books as ragged as their habiliments, rushed forth at the sound of the horse’s feet, and with hands shading their uncovered faces from the sun, stood gazing in earnest surprise at the unexpected visitant ; last of this singular group followed O'Leary himself, in learned dishabille (his customary suit), an old great-coat fastened with a wooden skewer at his breast, the sleeves hanging unoccupied, “Spanish- wise,” as he termed it ; his wig laid aside, the shaven crown of his head resembling the clerical tonsure ; a tattered Homer in one hand, and a slip of sallow in the other, with which he had been lately distributing some well-earned pandies to his pupils : thus exhibit- ing, in appearance, and in the important expression of his countenance, an epitome of that order of per- sons once so numerous, and still far from extinct in Ireland, the hedge schoolmaster. O’Leary was learned in the antiquities and genealo- gies of the great Irish families as an ancient Senachy* * This Seanachaiahe* were antiquaries, genealogists, and his- torians ; they recorded remarkable events and preserved the genealogies of their patron in a kind of poetical stanza. Each province prince, or chief, had a senacha : and we will venture to 154 FLORENCE MACARTHY. (an order of which he believed himself to be the sole representative) ; credulous of her fables, and jealous of her ancient glory ; ardent in his feelings, fixed in his prejudices; hating the Bodei Sassoni , of English churls, in proportion as he distrusted them. Living only in the past, contemptuous of the present, and hopeless of the future, all his national learning and national vanity were employed on his history of the Maoarthies More, to whom he deemed himself here- ditary senachy. All his early associations and affec- tions were not the less occupied with the Fitzadelm family; to an heir of which he had not only been foster-father, but, by a singular chain of occurrences, tutor and host. Thus there existed an incongruity between his prejudices and affections, that added con- siderably to the natural incoherence of his wild, un- regulated, ideal character. He had as much Greek and Latin as generally falls to the lot of the inferior Irish priesthood, an order to which he had been ori- ginally destined. He spoke Irish, as his native tongue, with great fluency; and English, with but little vaiia- tion, as it might have been spoken in the days of James or Elizabeth ; for English was with him acquired by study, at no early period of life, and principally conjecture, that in each province there was a repository, for the collections of the different Seanachaiahe belonging to it, with, the care of which an Ollamh-le-Seanacha was charged ; the an- cient college of arms of Ulster is still maintained. — JFalker's His- tory of Irish Bards . * The very common word, says General Valency, is peculiar to Ireland ; it is, indeed, daily used in the corruption of Shanaas * Och! he has fine old Shanaos , or old talk, is frequently applied to family history, (fee. FLORENCE MACARTIIF. 155 obtained from such books as came within the black letter plan of his antiquarian pursuits. O’Leary now advanced to meet his visitant with a countenance radiant with an expression of compla- cency and satisfaction, not unmingled with pride and importance, as he threw his eyes round on his numer- ous disciples. To one of these the Commodore gave his horse; and drawing his hat over his eyes, as if to shade them from the sun, he placed himself under the shadow of the Saxon arch, observing : “You see, Mr. O’Leary, I very eagerly avail my- self of your invitation ; but I fear I have interrupted your learned avocation.” “Not a taste, your honor, and am going to give my classes a holiday, in respect of the turf, sir.* What do’s yez all crowd round the gentleman for ? Did never yez see a raal gentleman afore ? I’d trouble yez to consider yourselves as temporary. There’s great scholars among them ragged runagates, your honor, poor as they look ; for though in these degen- dered times you v/on’t get the childre, as formerly, to talk the dead languages afore they can spake, when, says Campion, they had Latin like a vulgar tongue, conning in their schools of leechcraft the aphorisms of Hippocrates, and the civil institutes of the facul- ties, yet there are as fine scholars and good philoso- phers still, sir, to be found in my seminary, as in Trinity College, Dublin. Now, step forward here, you Homers. ‘ Keklute meu Troes, kai Dardanoi, ed’ epikouroi.’ ” Half a dozen overgrown boys, with bare heads and naked feet, hustled forward. * i. c. Getting in that useful inflammable. 356 FLORENCE MACARTHIf, “ Them’s my first class, plaze your honor ; sorrow one of them gossoons hut would throw you off a page of Homer into Irish while he’d be clamping a turf stack. Come forward here, Padreen Mahony, you^ little mitcher, ye. Have ye no better courtesy than that, Padreen ? Fie upon your manners. Then for all that, sir, he’s my head philosopher, and I’m get- ting him up for Maynooth. Och ! then, I wouldn’t ax better than to pit him against the provost of Tri- nity College this day, for all his ould small clothes, sir, the cratur ! troth he’d puzzle him, great as he is, aye, and bate him too ; that’s at the humanities, sir. Padreen, my man, if the pig’s sould at Dunore mar- ket to-morrow, tell your daddy, dear, I'll expect the pintion. Is that your bow, Padreen, with your head under your arm like a roasting hen? Upon my word I take shame for your manners. There, your honor, them’s my Cordaries, the little Leprehauns,* with their cathah\ heads and their burned shins ; I think your honor would be divarted to hear them parsing a chapter. Well, now dismiss, lads, jewel — - off with yez, extemplo , like a piper out of a tent ; away with yez to the turf ; and mind me well, ye Homers ye, I’ll expect Hector and Andromache to-morrow without fail ; observe me well, I’ll take no excuse for the classics, barring the bog, in respect of the wea- ther’s being dry ; dismiss, I say.” The learned disciples of this Irish sage, pulling down the front lock of their hair to designate the bow they would have made, if they had possessed hats to move, now scampered off, leaping over tomb- * Leprehauns, one of the inferior order of Irish Demonology, t Cathah— curly or matted. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 157 stones and clearing racks; while O’Leary observed, shaking his head, and looking after them, “Not one of them but is sharp-witted, and has a ganius for poethry, if there was any encouragement for laming in these degendered times.” Having gratified his pedagogue pride, and excused the “ looped and windowed raggedness” of his pupils, by extolling that which passeth show, he now turned his whole attentfon on his guest, who stood shadowed by the deep-arched doorcase, waiting till the last of the boys had disappeared. O’Leary led the way be- fore him into the interior of the chauntry, which was divided into the schoolroom and his own abode; then laying down his Homer and ferule, and shutting the door almost to the exclusion of the light, and wiping down a seat with his wig, which lay on the desk, and which he afterwards placed on his head, he respectfully motioned his visitor to be seated. A si- lence for a moment ensued ; when O’Leary, fixing his eyes into a look of expressive significance, observed, in a low cautious tone : “ I ax your lordship’s pardon for the great liberty I took in calling you, sir, my lord ; thinking it due discretion so to do before my scholars ; in respect of your intention of biding here in casu incognito .” “ Indeed !” said the Commodore, starting on his feet ; “ for whom, then, do you take- me ?” “For who you are — noble by blood, by birth, and by descent; and, though no Irishman, but of Norman breed, a true Geraldine. And though the Fitzadelms are nothing to me, now, for I have shook the dust of my feet at their threshold, and threw my ©uld couran * * An Irish shoe or brogue, made without heels. 158 FLORENCE MACAKTHY. over the head of the last of the race that shall ever give my heart a beat, or my eye a tear, yet I’d be sorry that it was to say that a branch of the ould tree wanted a sheltering place when I, Terence Oge O'Leary, the last Irish fosterer of the family, had a shed to ho ns el him under.” “ For whom, then,” repeated the Commodore, in a calmer tone than he had before asked the question, “ for whom do you take me ?” “ For Lord Adelm Fitzadelm,” replied O’Leary, with a respectful bow, “ the cadet of the twin sons of Gerald Baron Fitzadelm, commonly called the Red Baron; himself the cadet of the father of the son, and heir that would have been if O’Leary paused : his voice faltered ; and after a mo- ment’s silence, the Commodore observed : “Tt is strange that you should take me for the Lord Fitzadelm. For what purpose should he come incog- nito into this neighborhood ?” “ For every purpose in life, your honor, and the best of purposes, to circumvent them land pirates, them plot-hunters, them trianglers! them — them Crawley thieves, Bachal Essu ! only let me live to see that day, and then doesn’t care how soon I'm carried feet fore- most to the berring ground of the pobble O’Leary,, near St. Crohan’s, county Kerry : for it’s little else is left for me now to live for, but to die,” “ And for this strange tissue of improbability, what grounds have you, O’Leary ? Why should Lord Fitzadelm come over in disguise to circumvent, as you call it, his mother’s agent ?” “ If you don’t believe me, your honor,” interrupted O’Leary, losing the supposed identity of the person he FLORENCE MACARTHY, 159 was addressing, in the incoherency of his always con- fused ideas, “ will you believe your own eyes, sir ; that’s my lord, I mane ?” He drew forth a letter from his pocket as he spoke, and the Commodore took it to the little casement, and read as follows : “ A distinguished looking stranger will shortly pre- sent himself to the learned and sagacious Terence Oge O’Leary : should he propose himself as a tenant for the Reverend Mr. O Sullivan’s vacant apartments, he will do well to accept him. Terence Oge O’Leary may have heard that Lord Adelm Fitzadelm will shortly be in the Peninsula of Dunore, to circumvent the machinations of the Crawley fiction, and will there be incognito. None but the well-wishers of the Crawleys would refuse to assist Lord Adelm in a tem- porary concealment, necessary for the effecting of his laudable purposes.” After a frequent and amazed perusal of this billet, the Commodore demanded how this strange letter reached O'Leary. “I found it,” he replied, “ after the dawn of day.” “ Found it ?” “ Aye, did I, troth, and marvelled much to see it fixed in the latch of the outside door of the chauntry ; and was mighty loth to break the sale,* and didn’t, only just skimmed round it. The Commodore, on examining the seal, found it bore the figure of a child, plucking the thorns from a rose, with the motto : Sou utile ainda que Bricando,*}’ * Seal. t I am useful in sportiveness. 160 FLORENCE MACARTHt. “And have you no idea from whom this letter comes ?” asked the Commodore, after another pause, and some evident perplexity of idea. “ I have, plaze your honor, that’s your lordship, I mane; every iday in life — it comes from the good people — ’Often they do the likes of that kind turn by their pets — ‘that’s the fairies, my lord.” “ In this instance, however,” returned the Commo- dore, smiling, “ they have done you an ill turn ; for if they mean to impress you with an idea that I am Lord Adelxn Fitzadelm, they most certainly deceive you.” “ Oh ! very well, sir,” returned O’Leary, with a most obstinate look of incredulity, “ as your lordship will- eth, that’s your honor, I mane, now, sir, if it’s sir you plaze to be.” “ Supposing,” said the Commodore, “ that even if it were Lord Adehn who sought concealment under your roof, surely you would not defeat his intentions by persisting in giving him a title which would at once reveal his rank, or at least awaken suspicion ?” “ Is it me ! och ! I’d be very sorry ! and will be bound I’ll never call your lordship my lord, if you was in it till the day of judgment, only when w^e are alone, sir, and nobody by, barring our two selves, and can pass you as a tinnant come to bathe in the salt w r ater, sir, and need never name your honor at all, sir, only pass you for my lodger.” “ You will then pass me for what I am anxious to become, O’Leary ; I w T ill therefore look at the apart- ment you mean me to occupy. You shall name your own terms ; and I dare say you have some old dame, FLORENCE MACA&THt. 101 who is wont to boil a chicken, and make coffee for Friar O’Sullivan, who would undertake^- — ” “ Aye,' 7 interrupted O’Leary, eagerly, “ and who can toss up an omelette, and fry a bit of fish on maigre days, your honor, and was taught by Fra Denis him- self, who has a mighty pretty taste that way. Och ! I’ll engage we’ll table your honor well. Here, Mo* riagh machree, throw me the keys of the friary.” As he spoke, O’Leary rapped at a little blind win- dow in the wall, which was instantly opened, and dis* covered at once the interior of his kitchen, and an old woman employed in carding* “ That’s my Giiieen,” said O’Leary, taking a bunch of keys from her, and opening a door opposite to that which led from the road to the chauntry. The host and his new lodger proceeded across a sort of grass-grown court, sur- rounded by a range of cloister, still in high preserva- tion, and bent their steps towards the friary. An old, and apparently very feeble eagle, with a leather collar round his leg, and fastened by a chain to a fragment of the ruin, attracted the stranger’s attention. O’Leary paused also, clasped his hands, and sighed, exclaiming : “You are not long for this world, my Cumhal ) honey, and leaves your bit of food for the sparrows, my poor bird, that daren’t come near you oncet, my king of the mountains.” “ He looks very sick, and I think dying.” “ Oh ! musha, the pity of him ! He’s ould and de- solate like myself. It’s twenty years and more since he came home to me in Dunkerron ; and when he came in, with his looks all on fire, as he was wont after being out all day, Terence, my ould lad, says he, for that’s a way he had of calling me, that’s he that 162 FLORENCE MACARTHY. brought me the eagle, sir, he that had the eye of an eagle, and the spirit of an eagle,— Terence, my old lad, I have brought you another pet, says he. Do you mind, your honor, marking the word 1 another,’ and maneing himself to be one, the sowl ! Have you, j my lord, says I, for though he was then left to perish * by his own kin, and was sharing my bit and sup, in ] the wilds of Kerry, I always called him my lord, as he was, or would have been ; and did so that day j ’bove all others, for he had scarcely a skreed of his ould red jacket left on him; and called him my lord, in regard of the jacket. Have you, my lord, says I ; and Terence, says he, you’ll be kind to this eaglet (and it was fluttering on his left arm, with its blue bill and golden eye), you will be kind to it for my sake, and I’ll tell you why, Terence, says he, leaning his right arm on mine and looking with his smile, his mother s smile, in my face. The poor bird has been driven from its parent’s nest, says he : I found it flut- tering on a bare rock exposed and perishing. For it is the nature of the eagle to chase away its young, ’ when unable to supply its own wants. Want, j Terence, says he, may overcome even a parent’s love. The tears stood in his eyes as he spoke, for it was his own story, plaze your honor, and it wasn’t with a dry : cheek I heard him. And yet, says he, cheering up and placing the fine young eaglet on the ground, the eagle is a noble bird, Terence, and even this poor fel- 1 low may yet soar high; though it isn’t under a parent s wing, he’ll imp his flight. Them were his words, if I was dying, and that was great speaking for a boy of twelve years old. But he ‘had Homer and Ossian at his finger’s ends, to say nothing of Don FLORENCE MACARTHY. 163 Bellianis of Greece, the Seven Wise Maisters, and Plae racca na Rourke.”* While O’Leary was giving this history, the Com- modore seemed shaken by some deep feeling, which, however, was unobserved by O’Leary, whose atten- tion was wholly occupied in striving to make the bird feed, while he described its first appearance under his roof. The Commdore asked, “ Of whom do you speak, O’Leary ?” “Of whom do I speak, your honor?” said O’Leary, raising his head loftily; “it’s of the Honorable de Montenay Fitzadelm I speak, that would have been Marquis of Dunore, if he were in it the day, the only son and heir of Walter Baron Fitzadelm ; it’s of your father’s nephew I speak, my lord,” said O’Leary, with inveteracy, and raising his voice, “his only nephew, sir ; and such a nephew ! and nothing to be got by it but a poor bit of a title in distant reversion ! not a I scrubai in money at the time, not a cantred of land then ; it was for a sound, a breath, he sowld his sowl. But the curses that fell that day — ” abided he, closing his hands, and grinding his teeth, while he still seemed to struggle with feelings which were giving the ve- hemence of insanity to his voice, nnd its wildness to his look ; when the Commodore, taking off his hat, as if to give coolness to his fervid brow, fixed his eye on I him. O’Leary tottered back a few steps : his color faded, his countenance lost its expression of fierce- ness ; he several times drew his hand across his eyes, as if to clear their vision ; then stood gazing in si- * The celebrated song of the Irish bard, humorously trans- lated by Dean Swift. 164 FLORENCE MACARTHY. lence for many minutes on the face of the stranger, which he now first beheld fairly revealed. “You do not wish that the crimes of the father should bring curses on his children, O'Leary,” said the Commodore, in a tranquil voice, “ if indeed the late Baron Fitzadelm has been guilty of crimes which merit execration ?” O’Leary remained silent : his mind seemed in abey- ance : every other sense was condensed in one : his lips moved, but he uttered no sound : he stood mo- tionless, till his eyes, dazzled by the intensity of their gaze, obliged him to press his lingers on their aching lids. “ But,” continued the Commodore, putting on his hat, and losing much of the character of his face by concealing its finest features, “ but, O’Leary, if you persist in believing me to be Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, say, is the son a well-chosen confidant of his father’s misdeeds ? or if you cannot keep the secret of your own indignant feelings, how may I expect you will keep my secret ? that is, supposing I were the Lord Adelm, or any other person, O Learv, whose interest it is to keep his real name unknown, till certain pur- poses be effected. The absence of discretion, O’Leary, may render even the zeal of affection abortive. But come, time wears, and time is precious : I will leave the arrangement of the friary to your care : I must now away to Mr. Crawley's. My host of Dunore tells me that it will be difficult to obtain an interview with your powerful portreeve after twelve ; you shall show me the way to Mount Crawley, and we will talk of the great Macarthies More as we walk along, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 165 the descendants of the Tyrian Hercules, the powerful chiefs of Desmond.’ 5 The spirits of O’Leary rallied at this watchword of the imagination : he looked round as one suddenly awakened from some strange vision of the night, and mechanically followed the stranger across the chauntry into the cemetry of St. John’s, where the boy, to whose care he had delivered his horse, was still lead- ing it about. “ Bring your master his hat,” said the Commodore, taking the reins of his horse. “You shall walk a mile of the way with me, O’Leary, and then return to your business, to which I must and am resolved not to be an hindrance.” The boy returned with the hat, which O’Leary suf- fered him to put over his little wig, now all awry. Plunged once more in deep cogitation, he walked si- lently beside his new tenant, snatching at intervals an eager glance at his person, and then shaking his head, debating, as it were, some point within himself ; and at last clasping his hands behind his back, and ex- claiming aloud, as he paced on heavily — “ Sure kin may liken* kin ; and no marvel in that, anyhow ; only it alllies in the upper part of the face : and that was his mother’s. The dark eyes, Milesian born. The great O’Sullivan Bear’s daughter coming from the Luceni in Spain, of Scythian origin, and died of a broken heart, in the ‘ sorrowful chamber,’ so called to this day, only fallen to ruin, why wouldn't she, the cratur ! and her own child first turning out to be Judy Lallan’s ; and then, when that wouldn’t do, the coun- i try being well insensedf to the contrary, reported to * Resemble. | Aware, acquainted. 166 FLORENCE MACARTHY. be dead, and taken from her : and a hard case it was, as she said to my wife on her death-bed, God rest her : for they’d ail desarted the court, barring the bailiffs for the execution, laving her to die with only the child’s nurse to wet her lips. 4 And a hard case it is to lose one’s child, Susheen,’ said she, as she gave the prayer-book that had the certificate of Mr. De Montenay’s birth and marriage in it, that’s her own marriage with my lord, thinking, God help her, that it might be of use to the child one day (which it never will), and sending it to the friar Denis O’Sulli- van Finn, her own kinsman at Dunkerron, for my lady was a Catholic by birth, and — — ” “ O’Sullivan,” interrupted the Commodore, “ is still in Cork, I suppose ; but the book of course lost, if that were of any consequence now.” u He is in Cork, sir, and will be till the visitation i8 over, and then will be in Portugal ; and the prayer- book’s safe. I saw it with him the day he departed ; but what matter is it ? Sure there is nothing to prove, but that he was murthered fairly, that’s drowned by force, vi et armis. I never will believe that he sunk when his boat was overturned. Is it he that dived and swam like a duck ? and often saw him, when no- body would venture out, cut his way through the wild waves that bate the great Skelegs, and his cot overset, and a thousand ullalues raised from the shore, j and rise like a barnacle from the waves, and gain the land, and 1 scale the stone of pain,’ as it’s called, and reach the spindle, the pilgrim’s last station (a bit of rock projecting over the raging sea), the storm bating wildly round him. Och ! that was a great sight. Above the world he looked, and above his own lot, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 167 , 1 Auditque ruentes Sub pedibus ventos, et rauca tonitrua calcat.’ ” “ And he to be drowned on a fine, calm, moonlight night, when he went out to chase the porpoises (for that was great sport to him), and to fight the sae- calves in the caves, under the headlands of Kerry.” He paused and again looked earnestly in the Com- i modore’s face ; who, musing, rather than listening to this apostrophe of O’Leary, was walking on in a slack- ened pace, with the reins of his horse rolled round . his folded arms, when he suddenly asked : “ And where does Mr. O’Sullivan live in Cork?” “ At the Franciscan Friary,” said O’Leary : and then continued, with a deep sigh, “It’s marvellous; and doesn’t know where the likeness is with the hat on. Only it’s the Fitzadelm mouth, anyhow — why wouldn’t, it ? and minds me of the Maearthies More, and Ma- carthies Reagh of Carberry, who were kin by blood as by descent, marrying through other, evermore, and preserving the family mouth always.” “ Oh ! by-the-bye,” said the Commodore, abruptly, and throwing off his air of abstraction, “ did not this district, of Dunore belong anciently to the Macar- thies ?” “ Did it ? Is it Dunore ? — The Maearthies, kings of the Coriandri, of the ancient Desmonds, the whole province of Munster, late tyranni ! See there, plaze your honor, behind you; that’s Dunore Castle, the Dangan-ni-Carthie, the ancient fortress of the Macar- thies ; now an English pale castle, as I may say ; and look there to your left, near the sae, at the brow of ould Clotnottyjoy ; do you see a fine ancient ould castle ? Well, that’s Castle McCarthy, hanging over 168 FLORENCE MACARTHY. its depindency, the village of Ballydab, oncet a bishop- [ ric and borough. The castle on a rock, an ellipti- cal conoid, defended by a barbican to the right, and the hall underneath, where Donagh Macarthy held his last court-baron, and his tributaries resorted to him for suit and service, the pobble O’Keefe and the pobble O’Leary.” “ I see nothing but a small square building on the mountain’s brow,” replied his companion, in vain straining his eyes to view the features of feudal strength described by O'Leary, who saw only in the mind’s eye, who now, with all the associations of mem- ory and imagination awakened, and with his wonted incoherence, launched into his favorite theme, for the moment forgetful of every other. “ There is the very gabbion which Florence Ma- carthy stood on when he saw the cannon planted j against his only son, then in the Lord President’s power, sending the warder word that they kept him I as a fair mark to bestow their shot upon. But the constable returned answer, 1 the fear of the boy’s life j should not make them abandon their country and its cause.’ Then the Lord President of Munster and his men intrenched themselves between the river here to the left and the castle forenent you, and planted be- " fore it two demi-cannons and one sacre. Then, sir, begins the battery to play from the ramparts of the castle ; and a breach is made, by a cave under the great hall. Gal-readh-aboo,* cries the FitzadelmsI who were in the English army below, encouraging ’ their men, that appeared on the ramparts above; * “ The cause of the red stranger;” the war-cry of many of the N-orman families in Ireland. FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 169 Lambh-laidre-aboo,* shouts Macarthy More, from the postern, like a flame of fire, bearing down all before him;— the English retreat: the war-horn of the Ma- carthies is heard through the mountains ; the Macar- thies carry the day. Hurra ! Hurra ! Hurra !” O’Leary was now waving his hat in the air triumph- antly, and transported beyond the present moment, when “ the vile squeaking of a wry-necked fife,” and the roll of a drum, broke the thread of his ideas; and to the fancied engagements of the Irish and English cohorts of Queen Elizabeth’s day, the gallow-glasses of the Macarthies, and the bowmen of St. Leger, suc- ceeded the New-Town Mount Crawley supplement- ary auxiliary yeomanry legion, a corps newly raised by Mr. Crawley, which stepped along the pathway of a very narrow road, it nearly occupied, to the tune of “ The Protestant Boys,” which, on the ap- pearance of O’Leary, was instantly changed to “ Croppies Lie Down.” To judge by the appearance of this evidently new-raised corps, their leader, like Falstaff, had “ Misused the king’s press most d nably and whether it were, or were not, made up of “ re- volted tapsters,” and “ hostlers trade-fallen,” its mem- bers presented a most unsoldier-like appearance. There gleamed, however, through their awkward gait and clumsy carriage a consciousness of superior- ity, perhaps, both religious and military, which gave the last finish of ridicule to their exhibition: take them altogether, “ No eye had seen such scarecrows.” * “ The cause of the strong hand the war-cry of the Macar- thies. 170 FLORENCE MACARTHY. The manner in which they had hustled O’Leary off the pathway, the well-known tune, and its well-known meaning, operated like a spell upon his agitated mind ; he stopped short till they had marched by ; and then, wholly disenchanted from his splendid dreams, the Irish Macarthies and the Norman Fitza- delms vanished from his thoughts, and a third epoch in the history of his country was recalled to his re- collection ; this little image of local power and petty ascendency changed the current of his ideas, and, with a deep sigh, he added, “ And now ’tis the reign of the Crawleys.” “ Then let us hasten to their court baron,” returned the Commodore, smiling, “ or we may be too late for an audience, O’Leary.” The idea that the stranger was the brother of the Marquis of Dunore had taken possession of O’Leary’s mind with all the pertinacity incidental to his former malady ; and persuaded that the ruin of the Crawley faction, as he termed it, was at hand, he neither spe- culated nor reasoned upon the probable means by which that event was to be consummated. His ha- tred of that family had its source in the strongest feelings and most fixed prejudices of his nature; and, like the rest of his countrymen, of his own class, his revenge was proportionate to his devotion and fidelity. A few words, dropped at intervals, made up the conversation during the rest of their walk. He spoke of the stranger looking older than be ought, of his being “ mighty tanned by foreign parts;” he asked if Mr. Crawley had seen him when in London, which, being answered in the negative, he expressed FLORENCE MACARTHY. 171 his fear that a family likeness might be traced, and his hope that Torney Crawley would be caught by his lordship in all his glory : for this was one of his great days, when people came to him from all parts of the county for law, justice and money. “ There is New-Town Mount Crawley, plaze your honor,” said O’Leary, pointing to a few slightly-built red brick houses : “ sorrow call there was, at all at all, for them slips of card buildings, only to crush the ancient city of Ballydab, handy by. And there’s the new barracks, and the mail-coach road that is to be. Och ! musha, English barracks and a mail-coach road in Dangan-na-Carthy ! when, in Florence McCarthy’s time, the sheriff daren’t set his foot in the place but the country round rose to oppose him ; and all this now in respect of the jobs, and the patronage, and the protectees, taxing the country : and before that road is finished, which it never will, many a false oath will be sworn, and many a sowl lost, and many a poor man’s cattle be driven ; and for all that, I remember me the Protreeve's father, ould Paddy Crawley, herd to M c Carthy, of Castle McCarthy, there beyont, that’s the late ould titular Earl of Clancare. And now, there’s Mount Crawley, plaze your lordship, on the top of that green sod hill, once called the Thane’s Heap,* in regard of a Macarthy was slain there, in an engagement between them and the Fitzadelms, about taking a prey of cattle, — that’s when the Macarthies’ greatness overshadowed all the southern chiefs ; and they made that day an elegant retrait through the pass of Mashanaglass, there below, to their own castle, as will be seen in my genealogical history. Sorrow * Cairn© Tierna. 172 FLORENCE MACARTHY. much the retrait of Xenophon was in comparaisment to that Mashanaglass ; but now, Dioul ! its the reign of the Crawleys.” At the gates of the .principal entrance to Mount Crawley O'Leary took his leave, observing that he had made a vow in the year of the rebellion never to cross the threshold of a Crawley, “ till they had no longer a threshold to cross, plaze your lordship.” At the word “ lordship,” the Commodore put his fore- finger to his lips, and O'Leary, recovering himself, added, “ your honor, I mane.” He then retreated, leaving him, whom he persisted in believing Lord Adelm, persuaded that, among his virtues, the “ ex- cellent quality of discretion” could not be numbered; and that this affectionate, but inconsiderate person, was the last to be trusted with a secret, in which his own strong and ungoverned feelings had an interest. He had in the course of his desultory and incoherent conversation betrayed circumstances detrimental to the family honor of the Fitzadelms, and which had long slept in oblivion,— that Baron Fitzadelm had been reduced by his distress, and influenced by his brother, to conceal the existence of his son, in order to raise money on the little that was left of his estate, — that he had afterwards yielded to the story suggested by his brother, of this unfortunate boy not being his son, but the substituted child of his first nurse, to whom O’Leary’s wife had succeeded, — that the boy had afterwards been sent to the wilds of Kerry, to his foster-father, to be kept for some sinister purpose out of the way, — that immediately after his father’s death he was drowned by accident (though some told a different tale) —that the herald’s office had, for some FLORENCE MACARTHY. 173 years after the death of the father and son, refused to grant Gerald Fitzadelm the title of Baron Fitzadelm. All these circumstances, once the common topic of conversation in the province, had now died away, with the greater part of the generation who had wit- nessed them ; and the details were only known to the few persons still surviving who were interested in their occurrence : these were the superior of the friars of St. John’s, the old baccah of Lis-na-sleugh, and, above all, the fosterer of the deserted and persecuted heir of Fitzadelm, Terence Oge O’Leary. CHAPTER YI. Having both the keys Of officer and office, set all hearts i’ the state To what tune pleased his ear. Tempest. Rampant et mediocre, et 1* on parvient a tout. Beaumarchais. The Commodore had insisted on O’Leary’s riding back his horse, and had left the arrangement of his future residence at the friary entirely to his direction. He then ascended, alone, the steep hill, which, bleak, bare, and fringed only by a few scanty and ill-thriven plantations, led to the new-raised mansion of Mount Crawley. The house was a large, square, lantern- like building, all wyat windows and green verandas ; it was unsheltered and unadorned, save by a cum- brous Grecian portico, an evident afterthought of the architect, who seemed to have consulted rather the genius of the owner than of the place ; for all was ex- pense without taste, and show without comfort. It was a levee day with Mr. Crawley, who, from an open window of his office, usually transacted, at the same time, the opposite and multifarious business of agent, magistrate, county treasurer, land jobber, road maker, landlord, and attorney-at-law, captain of the Dunore Volunteers, and commandant of the New- Town Mount Crawley supplementary-auxiliary volun- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 175 teer legion, which he had just raised, and clothed at the expense of the — county. At this window, the object of many an anxious eye, which had watched its opening from the day’s earliest dawn, now stood Mr. Crawley, m robe de chambre , et bonnet de nuit ; his shaving-box in one hand, and his shaving-brush in the other, which was applied to his already half-lathered face. A clerk was seated writing at a table by his side, disputing and wrangling with the crowd of suitors who occupied the gravel- walk in front of the window, and who had come from all parts to solicit law, redress, protection, interference, work, alleviation, or a long day for the rent they were wholly unable to pay. On the other side, and close to the window, with hard features, and looks full of petty importance, were to be seen jobbers, drivers, land bailiffs, constables, and over- seers, surrounded by petitioning, whining, w r retched cotters, road makers, and laborers. In this group also stood two resolute, determined-looking men, manacled, and in custody. They had been taken up on the preceding night as “Padreen Gar’s boys, ’ — a real or supposed association, less formidable to go- vernment than to Mr. Crawley's peace of mind, and serving him as the groundwork of many well-got up plots, as the preamble of many proposed bills, sug- gested by him to the Irish government, for multiply- ing dependants, increasing influence, and depressing, galling, harassing, and insulting, the beggared and Catholic peasantry. These men were now waiting to go through the form of an examination, previous to their committal to the county jail ; where, guilty or innocent, they 176 FLORENCE MACARTHY. were destined to wear out their lives, in all likelihood, in incarceration, vice, and misery, under a form of law, known only in Ireland, called a Rule of Bail. Under the portico, with a table and some refresh- ments before them, sat a few of the more substantial tenants of the Dunore estate, who had just paid in their rents. In the front of the house were drawn up the Mount Crawley legion, regaling the ears of this Catholic multitude with the (alternately performed) tunes of “ The Protestant Boys,” and u Croppies Lie Down.” A crowd of idle people stood a short dis- tance outside a little gate, which opened on the lawn ; and among these, the candidate tenant for Court Fitzadelm had placed himself out of the view of the “ great man” of this characteristic Irish scene. Meantime Jemmy Bryan, ci-devant driver (8), but now the right-hand man of Mr. Crawley, was endea- voring to establish order among some persons, who, from curiosity, were led to examine the new scarlet jackets and worsted plumage of the legion, more 'closely than was deemed respectful to the sacredness of their military calling. He was laying about his staff of office pretty actively, with “ Quit, quit, I say ! Will yez let his honor get a sight of his own legion, and he going to man-yeuvre them ?” Mr. Crawley now placed himself at his window, brandishing not his sword, but his razor ; and hold- ing his nose obliquely with his left hand, he exclaimed authoritatively, “ Jemmy Bryan, make an era for the legion to go through their involutions in*. Rare rank, take close order : mighty well. Where are your re- gimental gaiters, Corporal Costello ? Oh, now while I think of it, Sargeant Kelly, apropos to my corde- FLORENCE MCCARTHY. 177 roys, if you don’t finisli them the night, I’ll send to Dublin for a pair; and that’s the way you sarve me for encouraging the manufactory of the country, Mr. Kelly.” “ Plaze your honor, in regard of the Kew-Town Mount Crawley legion,” said Sergeant Kelly (a tailor by trade), stepping up with a military salute to the window, and an apologetic look, indicating that his new vocation had “ raised his soul above buttons.” “Well, Mr. Sargeant Kelly, you must saiwe the government first; but that’s no raison nor rhyme either that I’m to want my small-clothes ; and now fugle me those haroes through all them system of tic- tacs I sent you down from Lord Rosbrin in a castle frank last week, his own tictacs for the Kil-Rosbrin corps, from the secretary’s office.” “ I shaul, your honor ; that’s eyes right and eyes left, sir ; and is eligant marchers at a quick step, plaze your honor, captain.” “ W ell then, Sargeant Kelly, march me them through a little circuitous cut to Paddy Scanlan’s potato ridge ; but have a care of my meadow : do you mind, Sargeant Kelly ?” “ I shaul, sir. Quick march,” cried the sergeant, while “ The Protestant Boys” struck up, and the legion went shambling off in a contrary direction to that intended by Mr. Crawley, w T ho, with that half of his face which was not covered with soap-suds, purple with rage, called after them : “ Come back here, you scampering sons of guns ! Halt, I say ! don’t you see my invisible fence, there, before your eyes, you buzzards, and goes headfore- most rollicking over it ? Halt, I say.” 178 FLORENCE MAC ARTS If. Halt was now repeated by an hundred voices to the inattentive ears of the Mount Crawley heroes, who, stunned by the noise of the drum and fife, and de- lighted with their exhibition before , their less conse- quential countrymen, were deaf to the orders of their captain-commandant, and went, as he termed it, “ rol- licking on,” till overtaken by Jemmy Bryan, who brought them back in confusion, while Mr. Crawley vociferated : “Is it to Jericho ye are marching, ye shambling thieves, flopping over my hay ?” “No, plaze yer honor,” replied Sergeant Kelly, “ only to Ballydab, captain, to be ready against the ruction at the fair, sir, to keep the King’s pace, ac- cording to your honor’s orders, and the young sheriff’s, sir.” “ And did I bid you go without your new colors, worked for you on elegant orange silk by Miss Craw- ley, Sargeant Kelly ?” “ You did not, plaze your honor.” “ Then draw up in a square hollow, according to Lord Rosbrin’s tictacs, under the virandow of her room, and she’ll hand them out to yez. Order a tre- vailly to be bate to give her notice.” The sergeant drew up his men, the reveillee was beat, the window opened, and Miss Crawley, the maiden sister of the captain-commandant, appeared with a lit- tle flag at the veranda, which she lowered to Sergeant Kelly, observing, as she resigned it : “ In presenting to brave men the standard that is to lead them to victory or death ” “ Och, murther !” interrupted Mr. Crawley, stretch- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 179 ing out of his own window, and looking up at his sis- ter’s with a look of humorous surprise. “In presenting to brave men,” continued Miss Crawley, “ the standard which is to lead them to vic- tory or to death, I feel myself placed in a situation out of my sphere, and inimical to my feelings, which are those of peace and good will to all men. But Judith did not disdain an act of courage in her coun- try’s cause ; nor should I have shrunk from a Judith’s part, had that Holofernes visited this devoted land, that great leviathan, who has threatened to swallow us all up.” The intimidated legion expressed by their looks how little they would have relished being swallowed up, while Mr. Crawley, between jest and earnest, and much amused by the unexpected eloquence of his sister, exclaimed : “ There ! there’s a haro in petticoats for you !” “ Go,” continued Miss Crawley, emphatically, “ and may heaven crown your arms with meekly-borne success !” The “ go” of the redoubtable Miss Crawley, the deputy lady of the manor, as her brother was the deputy lord, was as commanding to the Mount Crawley legion as the “ march” of their sergeant, who now led them forth to Ballydab, full of their own superior influence, and the ascendency appertaining both to their political and military relations. Ani- mated also by a little whiskey, ordered by Mr. Craw- ley to steep their colors in, they proceeded to oppose prejudice and ignorance armed with power, to prejudice and ignorance in subjection; and, most probably (as is the usual case upon such occasions in 180 FLORENCE MACARTHt. Ireland), to breed and foment the disturbance they were sent to anticipate, or to quell, by tunes, colors, and speeches, long devoted to popular execration. Mr. Crawley dismissed himself and his legion to- gether ; his clerk took his place at the window, and he retired to finish the duties of the toilette, which his military avocations had interrupted. Not so Miss Crawley : she indeed had retired, but retired only to return to her veranda with a green watering-pot, and a sort of shepherdess’s hat added to the quaker-like simplicity of her dress. Her quick eye had lighted upon the Commodore, who stood mingled but not con- founded with the plebeian crowd ; and she now re- turned, under the plea of watering her geraniums, to follow up her reconnoitre, with a tactical skill, better understood and practiced than Lord Rosbrin’s system by the New-Town Mount Crawley legion. Meantime the Commodore, unconsciously “ biding the keen encounter of the eye,” walked towards the por- tico, and demanded of a servant, who stood lounging at the door, if Mr. Crawley was at home. The ser- vant said he would “try;” and, after the delay of a few minutes, returned, not with a direct answer to the inquiry, but with, “ If you please to step in for a minute, I’ll try if my master’s at home, sir. What name, sir, shall I say ?” “ My name is of no consequence : merely say a gentleman, a stranger, requests the pleasure of seeing Mr. Crawley.” “ I shall, sir. Walk this way, if you please, sir.” The unknown visitor followed the liveried cicerone through two spacious and splendidly furnished rooms, where the windows, closely blinded, and the hearth, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 181 closely skreened, accounted for the chill and fusty atmosphere which pervaded them. Two slovenly housemaids were uncovering the furniture of the drawing-room ; the butler was occupied in laying out a gorgeous sideboard of plate in the dining parlor ; and the arrangements everywhere spoke preparations for a formal country dinner party, that epitome of all competition, tedium and ennui. In that official class of Irish life to which Mr. Crawley belonged, the acquisition of fortune, not purchased by honest, prosperous industry, but accu- mulated by servile arts, political delinquency, and fraudulent intrigue, is usually too rapid to admit of a gradual acquaintance with every-day comforts, found equally among the first and middling classes of soci- ety. A place under government uniting wealth to influence, when suddenly obtained, strikes the roots; cf ostentation deep, before the w r ant of comfort and accommodation is felt by those whose original posi- tion was destitute of both. In such establishments, penury combines with display, discomfort with ex- pense ; and while a competition is excited with those to whom splendor is an inheritance and a habit, the less obvious and more enjoyable elegances of life are wanting and neglected. Of this, the cold, fine, formal apartments of Mount Crawdey (like the habits of life of its occupants) w^ere striking illustrations. The suite, intended to be imposing, terminated in a little room, into which the footman ushered the Commodore, and then went out by an opposite door. Though close, unaired and slovenly, this apartment had an air of pretension about it, marking it as the retreat of some slip shod muse. Soiled muslin 182 FLORENCE MACARTHY. draperies, vases of dead flowers, an unfinished draw- ing of New-Town Mount Crawley, with Dulce Do- mum written under it, on an easel, together with much literary lumber, and similar traces of vulgar sentimentality in every direction, would have decided at once the vocation of its proprietor, if pious books, strewed upon the tables, and evangelical tracts cover- ing the sofas, had not indicated another calling than that of the muse. Piles of bibles, filling every corner, suggested that this coquettish boudoir, and holy oratory, belonged to one of those persons who give books where they should give bread, and lavish dog- mas and credenda to those who want the means of ^existence,. The Commodore, in the ennui and impatience of idle waiting, took up one book after another ; but though all were not sectarian and polemical, none were to his taste. This Olio Podria of sacred and profane literature consisted of namby-pamby verses and religious calls ; sentimental letters and Methodist tracts ; short cuts to learning of every description ; summary views and meagre abridgments ; elegant ex- tracts ; alphabetical citations ; and rhyming, biographi- cal, geographical, scriptural, historical, and astrono- mical dictionaries of every calibre. Here, “ Philoso- phy, for the Use of Ladies,” lay with “ The True Reli- gion of a Gentlewoman “ The Wanderings of a Water Wagtail in the Sixteenth Century” with “Ser- monettinos, or Religious Bagatelles “ Shreds of Fancy, or Literary Patchwork,” with “An Alarm to the Unconverted;’ “Delicate Crimes, or Sin, Sor- row, and Sensibility,” a religious novel, with “ A Cal the Unrepenting, or Milk for Babes, and Strong 1 FLORENCE MACARTHY. 183 Meat for Men ;” a duodecimo “ Beauties of all the Poets, or Pocket Inspiration,” with “ The History of a Child who knew not the Lord before her fifth year, and who died converted to the true faith at seven.” Controversial tracts upon all the new lights were min- gled with quarterly, monthly, and evangelical reviews; “ Elegant Extracts for the Flageolet,” with u Hints for the Tambourine and Triangle;” “A Method for Tuning the Harp without an Ear ;” “ Mnemonic Sys- tems for learning Languages without study, and with a mode of playing three Piano-fortes at once with two hands.” This catalogue raisonne, or rather ds- raisonn * , might be taken as epitomizing the perver- sion of human intellect, and as evincing a successful circulation of the folly, hypocrisy, and imposition of the day, no less than the shallowness, bad taste, and pretension of the presiding mistress of such a sanctum sanctorum. The Commodore had just taken up, and was about to throw down, in its turn, an historical work for youth, in the title-page of which appeared “ Stories from the History of England, by Conway Townsend Crawley, Esq., Barrister- at-Law, dedicated to her who 4 taught his young idea how to shoot,’ to Anne Clot- worthy Crawley, by her nephew :” but finding that this History of England omitted the trifling events of Magna Charta and the Revolution as Jacobinical, and as tending to teach the young idea how to shoot in a direction unfavorable to the orthodox dictation of the day, the circumstance amused him, and he sat down to glance his eye over its pages. They contained an abridgment of doctrines which he was yet ignorant had been broached in Great Britain, under the special 184 FLORENCE MACARTHY. protection of the constituted authorities ; (doctrines which, if accredited, defeat the claims of the reigning family to the throne, and place its august members on a line with the mushroom kings of the by-gone day.) He was thus occupied when the door opened, and entered, not, as he expected, Mr. Crawley, but Mr. Crawley’s sister ; with her chapeau de bergere in one hand, her watering-pot in the other, and exhibiting a marked primitiveness in her dress, and a mincing, Ian- guid, affected air in her whole gait and movement. She commenced with a little start of surprise at find- ing her boudoir so occupied, then approached full of smiles, graces, and graciousness, or what she meant to be such : she begged the gentleman to be seated, let down the muslin blinds, to exclude, as she said, the too propitious kindness of Sol, and then took her seat near the sofa, which she pointed out to the stranger. Whatever impression his manly and dis- tinguished figure had made upon Miss Crawley, as he was seen leaning over the paddock-gate, that impres- sion was now improved into boundless and enthusi- astic admiration by the singularity of his fine counte- nance, the extreme ease of his address, by that disen- gaged air which the world only gives, and, above all, by a bow, whose foreign grace she placed at once to the account of supreme English bon-ton. It was Miss Crawley who had reoeived the Com- modore’s message, who had told the footman that she would receive him, until her brother was at leisure to attend his summons ; and in so doing, she believed that she was paying attention to some man of rank, bearing letters' of introduction from the Marchioness FLORENCE MACARTHY. 185 of Dunore, or some other person of distinction, whom, by her laborious exertion, she had placed on the list of those she called “ her kind great friends. 5 ’ Miss Crawley, after a few sidelong looks and ser- pentine motions, now opened the conversation by apologizing for her brother’s absence, enumerating the variety of his official, political, and professional engage- ments. She stated the coincidence of the assizes, and the Glannacrime election, as an additional cause for the hurry of business; and introduced episodical sketches of the family importance in general, — of her second brother being a sergeant-at-law ; her third, a first commissioner ; her eldest nephew that year sheriff of the county ; her next, a major in the army (a peninsula hero, covered with orders); and the amiable cadet, she added, “ the Magnus Apollo 5 ’ of the age and country, a young barrister of great poet- ical, political, and diplomatic promise — her eleve, and, i as the poet said, “ darling without end.*’ Encouraged by the silent attention and occasional inclination of the Commodore’s head, Miss Crawley added to this information some slight notices of herself ; and, in apologizing for what she called “the literary litter” of her boudoir, she referred to habits that had be- come second nature, and that, to be broken, required ’an almost regenerated spirit, a superhuman interven- tion. She sighed, and then threw up her eyes, adding, with an air half primitive, half dramatic — “ It was my good fortune— or should I not rather say my ill fortune ? — -early in life to be distinguished, by the celebrated Lady Clotworthy, of Bath, whose prize poems— — * Here the Commodore involuntarily took up his hat; 186 FLORENCE MACARTHY, and Miss Crawley suspecting that she was bestowing more of “ her tediousness” on him than might suit with his previous arrangements, observed : “ I have obtruded this family sketch upon you, in the expectation of presenting to you the originals; for we hold a family congress here to-day, and whe- ther your visit to Dunore be a pilgrimage of taste, or of mere amusement, my brother will be happy to do the honors of these romantic scenes in the absence of their lord, whom, he represents.” “My visit, madam, has not been destitute of the gratification of taste ; but it is not a pilgrimage made merely in pursuit of amusement ; business of a more serious nature.” The word “ serious” fell like an electric spark upon the imagination of Miss Crawley ; and the first self- created vision she had conjured up, vanished before another of equal interest and importance. She was now led to believe that herself, and not her brother, was the object of this visit; that what she had taken for temporal distinction was “ the beauty of holiness ;” and that she saw before her, not, as she had supposed, a mere idle elegant English tourist of fashion, but one of a higher calling, who might unite worldly elevation to that w'hich is above the world’s giving or taking away. Miss Crawley was of that undefined age which is occasionally found to vibrate between th folly and sdsceptibility of youth, and the despondence and ex- jDerience of disappointed senility ; that drowning age in which female celibacy catches at every straw held out by hope, or offered by vanity, and which, with the illusive chemistry of self-love, converts every circuin- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 187 stance of the day’s ordinary routine into the chance of that change so devoutly wished. She had long sighed for a fellow-laborer in the cause : which, like all other causes of heaven, is best carried on among mortals, with the auxiliary of rank, fortune, or per- sonal advantage.* The object might now stand be- fore her, her hour might have arrived ; and the sud- den hopes kindled by this visit, for a moment stunned and deprived her of her wonted, elegant, graceful, picturesque presence of mind. She repeated his words in a certain soft solemnity of voice : “ A more serious nature ! May I add my ardent wishes to my sanguine hopes, that whatever may be the purport of your visit here, success the most per- fect may attend it ?” The Commodore bowed low, and even in some lit- tle confusion, but looked to the door for the momen- tarily expected entrance of Mr. Crawley. “ You may, perhaps, have known,” said Miss Craw- ley, “ the late celebrated Zachariah Scare’um, of pious memory.” “ I have heard of him,” replied the Commodore, with the conversion of the mysterious Mrs. Magilli- cuddy full in his memory, and again taking his hat. “ You have heard of him,” said Miss Crawley, “ of course : disciples of every sect have heard of him, though all do not agree with him. His gladiatorial wrestle with many of the ramifying and heterodox divergencies of the only true and infallible light has gained him a worldly distinction he craves not ; his sturdy and zealous opposition to the Sublapsarians, the Baxterians, Necessarians, Antinomians, Sabala- * “ A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.” 188 FLORENCE MACARTHF. rians, Swedenborgians, Independents, Universalists, Destructionists, Hutchins onians, Millenarians, Shakers, Jumpers, Hunkers, Fifth-Monarchy men, and Mug- gletonians ” Here Miss Crawley’s breath and the Commodore's patience failed together. She paused for inspiration, and he rose to interrupt her tirade of sectarian pe- dantry, by demanding if he had any chance of seeing Mr. Crawley that morning. With a look vibrating between doubt and disappointment, Miss Crawley rose and rang the bell ; but to her inquiries for her brother, the answer, as she expected, was, that he had driven out in his curricle to Glannaerime, and would not return till dinner. “ This is unfortunate,” said the Commodore, “ for I am obliged to leave Dunore early to-morrow morn- ing.” Miss Crawley grew pale with disappointment. Such guests were not always to be had in the coun- try — such persons were rare everywhere ; and to prevent the chance of the desirable acquisition escap- ing from the list of her “ kind great friends,” she po- litely and warmly pressed on him an invitation to dinner for that day. Presiding in her brother’s house, who was a widower, her privileges and immu- nities were unlimited ; and she now pressed her invi- tation with the air of one who had a right to give it, and the ardor of one who had ah interest in its being accepted. This conviction struck the apprehension of her quick-sighted guest ; and corresponding with the exi- gencies of his own situation and business, it at once decided him, and he yielded to solicitations, which, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 189 coming from a woman, even from such a woman, he was not, perhaps, of a character to reject. With that peculiar frankness which characterized his man- ners, after the pause and hesitation of a moment, he said : “Well, madam, I shall avail myself of your polite invitation. The few words I have to say to Mr. Crawley can be dispatched over our coffee ; and time, precious to both, may thus be spared.” He now took his leave, and the bow with which he departed finished the impression his first appearance had made. lie had been gone near twenty minutes, and Miss Crawley still remained lounging on the sofa, in the attitude of one absorbed in a pleasant .reverie, when suddenly recollecting that she had neither asked the name nor address of the person she had invited, and that he had not himself volunteered it, she rose and rung the bell to make some inquiries among the ser- vants, when the arrival of two barouches and four with out-riders, called off, for the present, her atten- tion. These handsome and showy equipages contained nearly the whole of the family congress alluded to by Miss Crawley. The one brought Sergeant and Mrs. Crawley and their four daughters ; and the other, Mr. and Mrs. Commissioner Crawley, with a pretty daugh- ter of the latter by a former marriage. The first par- ties were on their way to Killarney, and stopped by special invitation for a few days at Mr. Crawley’s. The latter had come to take possession of an estate purchased for him by his eldest brother, the attorney, 190 FLORENCE MACARTHY. in the neighborhood of Dunore : they were to pro- ceed on a visit to the bishop of the diocese. If ever there was a period in the history of a coun- try when it might be said that “ Crime gave wealth, and wealth gave impudence,” it was that period in the history of Ireland, when re- bellion, excited for the purpose of effecting an un- welcome union, called forth all the worst passions of humanity, and armed petty power with the rod of extermination. The wealth, influence and impor- tance of the Crawley family took their date from that memorable and frightful epoch in the tragedy of Irish history, which produced both moral and political ruin to a long-devoted country, under every form of degradation of which civilized society is sus- ceptible. Previous to that period the three brothers had remained buried in the obscurity which belonged to their social and intellectual mediocrity. The eld- est, Darby Crawley, the country attorney, found his highest dignity in being the factotum of the two Barons Fitzadelm, the agent of their embarrassed property, on which he lent them money saved by his father in their service, until the little that remained of the estate fell into his hands. Through the inter- est of his employer he had been put into the commis- sion of the peace; the year 1798 found him a magis- trate, and fortune and his merits had done the rest. The second brother, whose gravity was mistaken for ability by his father, (the illiterate land-bailiff of the Fitzadelms,) was made a gentleman by the pa- tent of a college education, and the legal degree of barrister-at-law. He had plied in the courts with an FLORENCE MACARTHY. 191 empty green bag, and more empty head, year after year, with fruitless vigilance, till his energy, in the melancholy prosecutions produced by the rebellion, obtained him notice, patronage, place, and a silk gown. , The third brother, at once pompous and officious, servile and oppressive, and formed alike to tyrannize or cringe, had been placed as clerk in a government office, where, by his pliancy and industry, he made himself useful to a personage of shallow endowment and official importance, whose political views ai*d flimsy attainments rendered agents thus qualified ne- cessary to his purposes. The dull but zealous com- missioner, who could not be daunted because he i could not feel, was deemed a proper person to re- present a government borough in the Union Parlia- ment; and, having effected “his most filthy bargain,” was rewarded with the place of first commissioner of a particular board, instituted and perpetuated for the purpose of paying such debts to such creditors as the members of the Crawley family. Mr. Commissioner, like his elder brothers, charac- teristically represented the Bureaucratic , or office tyranny, by which Ireland has been for so long go- verned; whose members, arrogating to themselves exclusively the virtue of loyalty, and boldly assuming its insignia and device, have become formidable and oppressive to all who thwarted their career, or insi- nuated that their loyalty lies more in their places than their principles. The elder brother Darby was 1 inferior in acquirements, and destitute of that educa- tion which his father’s increasing prosperity had en- abled him to bestow upon his younger sons ; his sue- 192 FLORENCE MACARTHY. cess, however, was equal to theirs, and his places and avocations were still more numerous. He had been a crown solicitor, at a moment when that place was the most inordinately lucrative ; he was treasurer of a county, and he united to these trustworthy situa- tions those three capacities, whose unity is named in the country parts of Ireland “ the triple tyranny of the land;” he was agent to an absentee nobleman, an active magistrate, and captain of a yeomanry corps. As agent he kept off the landlord by misrepresent- ; ations of the political and local state of the country ; and he worried the tenants by obliging them to labor for his own personal benefit. As a magistrate, and the representative of his em- ployer, he packed juries, domineered at sessions, cor- responded with the state secretaries, became an organ ; of intelligence to the Irish government, and obtained the name of the most loyal man in his country. As captain of yeomanry, he clubbed his own tenants and laborers of the dominant persuasion, made his returns full to the government, distributed some of the money at his own discretion, pocketed the sur- plus, kept the neighborhood in terror, and apprehended and committed to prison whom he pleased, and with ij more regard to prejudice and private feeling than to justice or the public peace ; for he was a man of con- j stitutional timidity; and, believing himself an object of popular execration, he acted as if he was its victim. Though in his magnificent house in Dublin, and his seat at Mount Crawley, he received and entertained persons of the first distinction, the Society he fre- 1 quented, the circle in which he moved, had produced no influence on his mind or manners. The stubborn, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 193 intractable, incorrigible vulgarity which distinguished both, was accompanied by a sort of low native humor, giving a peculiar expression to his shrewd, leering eye, and screwed up puckered mouth. Though all re- finement, all mental illumination were placed beyond j the possibility of his acquirement, he had still that ) species of natural sagacity, that subtilty of littleness, • which, operating like instinct, in small circles, attains to a precision proportionate to its circumscription, — which has been so well styled by Bacon a “ left-handed wisdom.” He possessed a faculty, too, a certain cheer- fulness of temperament, a constitutional hilarity, which hid out the darker qualities of his character and ren- i dered even the contempt he inspired free from the as- J perity of fixed aversion — in those, at least, who were : not the perpetual victims of his cruel malversations. ! The laughter he excited blinded many to the injuries he had committed ; his blunders and humor kept his designs out of sight; and his ridicules were so prom- inent, and stood so broadly on the surface, that if they I did not conceal his vices, they gave, even to his arts, j the air of simplicity. At the period when the genius and worth of Ire- land, combining with all that remained of public spirit, stood forward in the cause of its independence,* when the Irish parliament and the Irish law courts shone j with a splendor, soon eclipsed, but never surpassed, it was the fashion of the ruling party to turn loose upon i the scene of legal or senatorial action some ruffianly humorist, some professional buffoon, whose vulgarity might overbear, and whose unfeeling impudence might elude, the wit and the argument it could neither van- * In tlie year 1782. 194 FLORENCE MACARTHY. quish nor refute. Low jest, coarseness that passed the bounds of decency, blunders that bordered on fatuity, (sometimes the genuine products of intellect- ual confusion, more commonly the results of a long- sighted affectation,) were then put in requisition, along with many other debasing schemes, for vitiating public taste, for corrupting principles, blunting feelings, and subduing the spirit of a regenerating and awakening people. In this school, and at this period, Darby Crawley had studied deeply. He estimated everything by its success. Genius and patriotism (or, according to his own accentuation, gianius and pathretism) with him meant folly and disloyalty. But while his experience taught him the danger of possessing the one, or of cherishing the other, he had a high and reverential ap- probation for purchased acquirements, for that edu- cation which wealth can obtain. Education had made gentlemen of his brothers ; education had made a fine lady of his sister; education had made his sons wiser than their father ; and want of education had left himself upon the last degree of the family scale, whom nature had allotted to the first. To .supply his early deficiencies, he became therefore a close copyist of the sentimental jargon and foreign slip-slop of his sister ; and even attempted the fluent verbosity and college pedantry of his youngest and most admired son. But the double treachery of a bad memory and a false ear plunged him into inaccuracies and mis- takes, which the reprehension of those two leading members of his family were in vain applied to correct. It was, however, curious to observe his natural sagacity, and the intuitive ability of his low, creeping, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 195 sordid self-interest, occasionally assuming their supe- riority over the flimsy attainments of his brothers and children ; whose accomplishment he was wont to admire, and who, in return, while they reverenced his success in life, and availed themselves of its advan- tage, blushed, and looked down on the ignorance and vulgarity by which it was accompanied, A wet evening in the country, during the long vaca- tion, would frequently afford him an opportunity of displaying his intuitive views of advancement in life, for the benefit of those who stood indebted to educa- tion alone for their distinctions. Then, released from the necessity of representation, and indulging to its full extent his natural vulgarity, he might, as he sat seated over what he called his “ sup of hot,” (a tum- bler of punch,) be said to be truly in his element. Then, surrounded by his family, his sister presiding at the tea-table,— his three sons lounging in different parts of the room, — his intellect quickened by his potations, — his feelings softened into maudlin tender- ness,— his eyes half closed, — his punch half drank, — his hands half clasped, — and his thumbs in twirling motion, he would begin his customary exhortations to his sons. These domestic lectures usually commenced with drinking the health of his children, to call their atten- tion ; then reproving, then advising, and at last be- coming pathetic as he grew fuddled, he usually con- cluded with his own death and the family ruin, which must ensue if his advice was neglected and forgotten. “ Tim, Con, Thady, your healths ! Anne Clotworthy, my sarvice to you! Well then, Clotty dear, will never you send away that water bewitched ? It’s lit- 196 FLORENCE MACARTHY. tie the tay ever your mother drank at your age, though she got to be the taydrinkingist sowl in the barony before she died, poor woman. Why then, Tim dear, have you nothing to do but to lie stretched on the broad of your back along my new hair-bottoms, with your arm dangling down, and surprising them inno- cent animals of flies on the carpet, that's strewn with their corpses? Upon my word, Tim, it would be fitter for you to be raiding the 1 Hints for a Magis- trate,’ or 1 MacNally’s Justice of Pace;’ you that will be in the commission, and high sheriif of the county, by promise since the Union. I wonder, Tim, but you’d send them game to the bishop you brought home last night, instead of giving them to your crony, the surveyor; and the bishop, brother to a minister! and he that likes a bit of grouse above the world. There is nothing better bestowed than that which we give to them that want nothing; mind my words, Tim. Why then, captain, I wish you’d quit with your rattan against my illigant Northumberland table, and get off it mtirely. What use is the cheers but to sit on ? and if you had gone, as I bid you, to make your compliments to the Gineral of the district the day, you wouldn’t be playing your devil’s tattoo, and spoiling my Northumberland. I’ve often told you the Gineral might make a man of you with the Duke of York. Is it by whistling and rapping my stick against the table for the length of a wet evening, that I got on in the world ? No ; but night and day, wet or dry, summer or winter, watching the main chance, Thady ; and when I hadn't as much for myself as ( cuddy would you taste,’ I had still always a bit of a dewshure for the great, a Wicklow pebble, or a lump FLORENCE MACARTHY. 197 of Irish diamond, or an hundred of Puldoody oysters, or a cask of Waterford sprats, or some sort of a pretty bougie for my friends.” “ Bijou” interrupted .Miss Crawley. “ Well, bijou, then. But apropos de bot , Thady, in regard of your flopping fat Miss O’Flaherty of Dunore on your fine mare, and riding her round the country, when you couldn’t plaze the Gineral’s lady more than giving her that very mare, which only just lies here doing nothing at all hut aiting my hay , and corn, while you are with your regiment eleven months in the year; for the great likes a present every man Jack of them; and fat Miss O’Flahertv’s a papist, and was a marked man in the rebellion, that’s her father ; and her brother this day in America : and is it by lending a mare to fat Miss O’Flaherty I got your ensigncy from the secretary of war, and made a captain of you, over the heads of them might be your father ? No, faith, it was the Puldoodies that did it, and being a good friend to government through thick and thin. What is it you’re writing there in them short lines, Conway Townshend? Is it rhymes? Why, then, I wish you’d lave off with your poethry and your gianius : mind my words, Con dear, your gianius will play you a dirty trick yet ; for sorrow good gianius ever did for man or beast. What was it brought the country into jeopardy, and bull-veasied the government in the year ’82 ? — Why, gianius. What was it that set the world wild with the Irish volunteers, the free trade, and the Catholic bill, and Counsellor Curran, and ould Lord Charlemont, with his statues, and his pictures, and his popularity ; and Mr. Grattan, with his people, and his Irish eloquence ? 198 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Why, wasn’t it gianius ? Och ! sir, times is changed since then, since a man should talk eloquence and pathretism, and all that Gally-my-jaw, as the French call it, to get on in the world.” “ Galimathias ,” lisped Miss Crawley. “ Well, Gally-msftchaw, then; and not all as one as now, Con, when a man has only to follow his nose, and walk into place or pension, just by sticking to the main chance. Och, sir, the Irish bar is another thing since them days. Tell me, Con dear, is it inde- pendence will get you a silk gown ? Will gianius make you first counsel to the Commissioners, with your eight thousand a year for doing nothing at all at all ? Will it make you a deputy remembrancer, with your nate four thousand, which is the true re- membrancer? Or would gianius, poethry, and pa- thretism, with the aristocracy at their head (that is, barring the Union Lords), get you at this moment to be one of the thirty-one county session chairmen, all made since the year eighty-nine, for the encourage- ment of the rising young barristers ; or even a magis- trate of police, or a seneschal of the Dublin liberties, or a missionary to explore disturbed districts ? Troth and faith, they wouldn’t ! And could do more this day myself for you than the whole boiling of them, in respect to pushing you up the stick, Con, at the bar ; that’s if you’ll lave off bothering us with your poethry. For see here, the thing’s as plain as pais (peas). Sure, there’s spectacles for all ages, as well as wigs and gowns. Thanks to him that served the country well when he was in it, and does to this day, for all he butters them up with the Catholic question, and votes on it with his tongue in his cheek ; and its FLORENCE MACARTHY. 199 on]y for him, the Crawleys wouldn’t be where they are the day. And there’s a little bone-bush in store for you all round, if you will just be aisy and mind your hits, and drive on the ball when it comes to you, and be ready for your turn. For there is two hundred of yez, great and small, ould and young, walking the hall, with your wigs and your bags, and there is three hundred places to divide among yez — make money of that, Con ; and not one of you but may be a loyal man, and an enfant trouve of govern- ment, as the French say, if he plazes.” “ Enfant cherif interrupted Miss Crawley. “Well, enfant cherry, if yez will just mind your P’s and Q’s ; and so now you know the ways of the place ; there’s neither twining nor turning, but straight forward. So let’s have no more of your rhymes and your gianius, and your satirical perigrams, Counsellor Con.” “ Epigrams, my dear Darby.” “ W ell, epigrams, then ; but ” “ Can’t you mind what I think, and not what I say ? for you’re not beholden to them, Con, with your col- lege education, and your speaking French like a Na- bob. Now, just ask yourself, is the Chief Baron a gianius ? or the Counsel to the Commissioners a gianius ? or was it poethry made a sergeant of your uncle? — No; but wigging* all the chancellors that ever were created, and offering to kick a Catho- lic barrister, which he didn’t after all, for a raison' he had ; but the will, sir, was taken for the deed. So come to your tay, Con, and be aisy with your poethry.” * Ear-wigging, i. e. whispering. 200 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “Well, boys, dear, 111 see the4lay yet, when Tm dead and buried, God help mej and in my new moleseum in Dunore Church, when my words will come to pass, and you will be thinking of your ould father, Darby Crawley, when some of ye z may have titles, which, if ever there comes another rebellion, as I expect there will, plaze God — but that’s neither here nor there — only, just as I was saying, when I am dead and buried, and Clotty there places an epithet over me, from his affectionate sister, and the pew hung with black, like the Dunore s, I’ll see my words come to pass, and you’ll remember your poor father that worked night and day to make gentlemen and loyal men of you; foj; we must all die, boys, honey, great as we are. Momenti mori , as the tomb- stone says, and the yeomanry corps fire over us, the Lord help us; for dirt we are, and to dirt we must return; the Crawleys like the rest.” As this compound idea of death and supremacy rounded off the admonitory peroration of Mr. Craw- ley, snuff and punch had usually wound up his whin- ing sensibility to its utmost excitement ; and the tears which he shed for his own death were commonly fol- io w r ed by that profound sleep which images it. On the three hopeful disciples of this worldly doc- trine, though its letter made but little impression, its spirit sunk deep ; and the characters of the three younger Messrs. Crawley were but modifications, in various degrees and proportions, of the moral quali- ties of the three elders. Timothy Ilarcourt, the high sheriff, the true representative of the class contempt- uously designated by the peasantry as “the Squiranty,” was dull, overbearing, vulgar, and profligate. At the FLORENCE MACARTHY. 201 bead of a party association in the country, gambling deeply at the clubs in Dublin, he everywhere as- sumed airs of importance on the strength of the fa- mily relations with the government, and affected a fashionable libertinism in his morals, with a violent outcry in favor of church and state. Still, however, he preferred a cock-fight at Dunore, or a carousal at the Dunore Arms with his friends, the port surveyor and the sub-sheriff, to the higher class of society, which he occasionally commanded, but never enjoyed. The lower classes, whom he oppressed, hated him to abhorrence ; the middle classes in the country feared and avoided him; and the higher circles won his money, and admitted him to their drinking parties, where his intemperance passed for joviality, and his vulgarity for humor. Major Thaddeus Windham Crawley (for it is the fashion among the Crawley class in Ireland to tack the names of viceroys and secretaries to their bap- tismal appellations) called himself a dasher ; and was a fair illustration of that term, as applied in Ireland. He was handsome, good-humored, vulgar, and self- sufficient. He had seen a little service in America, a good deal in the Peninsula ; and though his residence in other countries had cleared away many of his local prejudices and littleness, it had not added to the stock of his original ideas, and took nothing from the purity of bis original brogue. His phrases were all broadly idiomatical ; his conversation enriched with regimental technicalities and Irish slang; and when he talked of bivouacking and wigwams, of making the ould one come down with the pipeclay, sung “ I am the Man for the Leedies,” and described the Prince 202 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Regent’s levee (commencing every phrase with “ I’ll give you my honor”), he had gone through the whole menage of his intellectual capabilities. The rest of his existence was made up with whistling, humming, drawing up his cravat, to make a sensation on the ap- pearance of a stranger, reading the army-list, and beating his rattan against his father’s Northumber- land table. The character of the barrister, Conway Townsend Crawley, the literary idol of his aunt, and usually called Counsellor Con by his father, seemed to have its foundation more particularly in temperament, and to be of a more definite and distinct class than that of his brothers. It was obvious that both its merits and its defects originated in physical infirmity beyond his control. Called by his father his posthumous son, because his mother died in giving him life, his inaus- picious birth seemed to have entailed on him a bilious, saturnine constitution. Even his talent, if talent it might be called, was but the result of disease. No “ overflowing of the pancreatic juices” had influenced the system of Conway Crawley, even in that age when the blood is balm. The dark bile, which from childhood sallowed his cheek, dimmed his eye, and tinged the spirits of youth with the causticity of age, continued, through adolescence and manhood, to communicate its bitterness to all his views ; turning his words to sarcasm, his ink to gall, and his pen to a stiletto. Combining with an education whose object was pretension, and whose principle was arrogance, it made him at once a thing fearful and pitiable, at war with its species and itself, ready to crush in man- hood as to sting in the cradle, and leading his over- ELORENCE MACARTHY. 203 weening ambition to pursue its object by ways dark and hidden, — safe from the penalty of crime, and ex- posed only to the obloquy which he laughed to scorn : opinion has no punishment for the base. If there ever was a man formed alike by nature and education to betray the land that gave him birth, and to act openly as the pander of political corruption, or secretly as the agent of defamation, who would stoop to seek his fortune by effecting the fall of a frail wo- man, or would strive to advance it by stabbing the character of an honest one, who could crush aspiring merit behind the ambuscade of anonymous security, while he came forward openly in the defence of the vileness which rank sanctified and influence protected, that man was Conway Crawley. He was yet young ; but belonging to the day and the country in which he first raised his hiss and shed his venom, success already beckoned him, through the distant vista, towards her, with a smile of encouragement and a leer of contempt. Prompt, pert, and shameless, he had already, both at the bar and in society, evinced a well-managed talent for display and for evasion, a fluency that bore down where it could not convince, and an insolence which humility could not soften, nor power browbeat. Lampoons, which he solemnly denied, had been brought home to him, and obtained a sort of local notoriety, while they evinced talents which were to pave his way to distinctions more solid, by means more ingeniously despicable than he had as yet been called on to exer- cise. In every pursuit, “ wisely shunning the broad- way and the green,” his paths were paths of darkness ; and had he been found guilty of one good, one gen- erous action, he would “ have blushed to find it fame.” 204 FLORENCE MACARTHYo It was by another species of reputation that the gates of promotion and wealth were to be opened to the ambition of Conway Townsend Crawley. He was now going the Munster circuit, and took his father’s house in his way between two assize towns. He did, however, but little in his profession, notwith- standing that his father had procured him several crown prosecutions, and had made him counsel to two boards. His views were higher than thus to creep through professional places, offices, and sinecures, such as are now reserved for the Irish bar. He was deeply interested in the Glannacrime election, and was law agent for the absent candidate, Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, whom he had never seen, but whose character he particularly disliked. To his mother, the Dowager Marchioness, he was personally known ; and to her, while at the Temple, he had paid most obsequious at- tention. His fluency, his light literature, poetical scraps, and critical discussions, had passed upon this capricious and powerful woman of fashion, of talent, wit, and erudition; pretension, in this, as in every other instance, succeeded, when it amalgamated with her the well- whipped froth of courtly sense. At the head of the females of the Crawley genus, with all the characteristics of the family, stood Miss Anne Clotworthy Crawley; Anne, after her humble mother, Nancy Malone, a brogue-maker’s daughter of Done- raile; and Clotworthy, from a certain Lady Clot- worthy, who distributed poetical prizes at Bath, and to whom Miss Crawley had rendered herself both useful and agreeable, during a six months’ residence in that city, where she had gone, at a late period in life for such purposes, to finish her education. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 205 Her first simple name she had received at her chris- tening in the steward's room at Court Fitzadelm, forty-five years back ; the second she had adopted at her confirmation at Bath twenty years after. This mature re-naming she called her “ sentimental regene- ration and she heard with horror a name so distin- guished, so dear to the Muses, (at least to the Bath muses,) as Clotworthy, curtailed by the fraternal familiarity of her brother Darby into the endearing, but ill-sounding, diminutive of Clotty . Against this abbreviation Miss Crawley had vainly remonstrated : it had seized both the imagination and the affections of her brother ; and with this good-humored but cho- leric relation, she dared only to go certain lengths. Placed at the head of his sumptuous establishment, her alternative was living in a boarding-house, on a legacy left by Lady Clotworthy ; for as a resident in the house of her brother, the sergeant, or in that of the commissioner, her two sisters-in-law had shut the door against her. To live with the great, to be noticed by the great, to influence and render herself necessary to the great, was the ambition and object of Miss Crawley’s existence. For this purpose she took the only paths open to her, pretension and flat- tery ; pretension, arising out of a few flimsy, shallow, commonplace acquirements, the produce of every vulgar boarding-school, — and flattery, as consonant to the grovelling, time-serving spirit of her family, and to the smooth, silky, insinuating, serpentizing temper of her own character. At once feeble and vain, deficient and ambitious, her original endowments were below mediocrity, and her stock of literary and sentimental ideas, like the contents of her boudoir and 206 FLORENCE MACAKTHY. library, was made up of scraps and fragments ; ber sensibility was gleaned from sentimental novels, her critical judgments were borrowed from reviews, jour- nals, and the oft-copied opinions of orthodox autho- rity ; and her musical talents consisted of a few got- up songs, sung in such tune as it pleased heaven, in two airs on the harp, one on the Spanish guitar, and four waltzes on the piano-forte. To these higher endowments she united other little “ useful uselessnesses,” which enabled her to supply the wants of her great friends, which she herself first created. Cloth fruit and fillagree baskets, daubed velvet and paper card-racks, French mottoes and English devices, with all the industrious arts which bad taste supplies to unoccupied mediocrity, were devoted to the drawing-rooms and boudoirs of the great and shallow persons who admitted her as their inmate. With that cunning which invariably belongs to intellectual inferiority, she rapidly obtained the secret of a dominant weakness or a master-passion ; and she administered to both with an address worthy of higher views and better objects. She had little, valueless, appropriate offerings for every one; and from an evangelical tract, or a society Bible, down to sugar sweetmeats or paper dolls, her adroitness ad- ministered (and cheaply administered) to the passions, prejudices and infirmities of all ages, characters and classes. There were instances, however., where even flattery failed ; and, there, Miss Crawley sought the dernier resort of bold, pushing, presumptuous intrusion, which no delicacy checked, no pride restrained. Many a coroneted dame has in public felt the pressure of Miss FLORENCE MACARTHY, 207 Crawley’s arm on hers with the half-stifled swell of provoked indignation, mortified at her own good- natured weakness, which could not resist the impu- dent request of protection made in the whining tone of humble supplication. With all this, Miss Crawley got on; and though admired but by few, laughed at by many, and pro- gressively found out by all, she contrived to obtain a place in society which modest genius could scarcely hope for, and which proud independence would scornfully reject. Her success, like that of her nephews, belonged to the day, and the circle, and the family in which she lived. During the first thirty-five years of Miss Crawley’s life, she had professed herself devoted to friendship and the muse ; but she by no means suited the action to the word. Other altars than those of Minerva had received her adoration ; and she had long coquet- ted (from the bench in her brother’s (the attorney’s) office, to the bench of the Common Pleas and Ex- chequer), until a platonic engagement and senti- mental correspondence with a certain Counsellor O’Rafferty induced her to render her legal flirtations “ moins bannales .” This correspondence, fed by the tenderest hopes, did not prevent other views from being cultivated. Rank was her object; but in failure of her vaulting ambition, which might o’erleap itself, Counsellor O’Rafferty, whom she called the “ soft green of her soul,” was kept in quiet reserve, until Counsellor O’Rafferty, unexpectedly elevated to the bench, pro- nounced a verdict so little favorable to Miss Crawley’s 208 FLORENCE MACARTHY. pending cause, that she saw herself, at forty, the victim of a too-confiding heart, and found “ What dust we doat on when ’tis man we love.” The delicate line which is said to divide coquetry from devotion was now broken ; and an introduction at this period to some serious ladies of rank, (who in Dublin preside over faith and tent-stitch, and dictate creeds while they cut out shirts, for the benefit of poor sempstresses and expected converts,) together with the influence of an itinerant evangelical preacher, the celebrated Zachariah Seare’um, awakened her to a vocation which induced her to give to heaven all that had once been Counsellor O'Rafferty’s. Still, however, she coquetted with religion as she had co- quetted with the bar; and roused many a sturdy polemic, as she had excited many a promising lawyer. She had ran in rapid succession through all the shades of the sectarian prism, successively reflecting old lights, new lights, broadlights and twilights, until finally deciding that she should never stand in her own light, she brought her love of rank, power and ascendency to quadrate with her religious system, and settled down into a High Church Methodist. The former fantastic frippery of her dress was then changed into that coquettish simplicity, adopted by ladies who advertise to the world their inward su- periority by the outward and visible signs of the toilette,— who pin up their faith with their top-knot, indicate their piety by the cut of their bonnet, and look upon the bright hues and rich tints of heaven and nature as symptoms of sin and badges of iniquity ; but who nevertheless bestow upon their ostentatious reserve of costume, a care, a precision, a singularity, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 2C9 which attracts the eye to their studied appearance, and might put the recherche- taste of a finished Paris- ian milliner to the blush of inferiority. At the head of these pious petites mattresses stood Miss Crawley, eminently primitive in all the exterior forms of her calling ; looking upon celestial rosy red with eyes averse, doubting the faith which pranked itself in azure, — heaven’s own proper dye,”— giving yellow to the devil, and placing coquelicot beyond the pale of salvation; while her own greys, fawns, puces, and snuff colors, “ breathing a browner horror” over her swarthy complexion, were chosen with all the delicacy and selection belonging to the studied faste of the sectarian wardrobe. Mrs. Sergeant, and Mrs. Commissioner Crawley, were less marked by peculiarity than their sister-in- law, at whom they laughed, — not in contempt, but in envy : for they gave her credit for all she assumed, and hated her for her success, as much as if she had merited it. Mrs. Sergeant Crawley, half Irish, half East Indian, with the brogue of one country and the hue of the other, prided herself upon the fortune she brought her husband, on the size of her house, and the accomplishments of her four exhibiting daughters. To those grounds of self-satisfaction she added the honor and eternal boast of her intimacy with Lady Kilgobbin, an old lady of rank arid local consideration, who had been left a solitary straggler on the Irish red bench, after the dispersion of the nobility by the Union. Pew-fellow, card-player, and newsmonger in ordinary to Lady Kilgobbin ; Lady Kilgobbin was with Mrs. Sergeant the beginning and the end of all things. 210 FLORENCE MACARTHY. With Mrs. Commissioner Crawley, on the contrary, the Lady Lieutenant was the alpha and omega of special reference. Her life had, however, furnished her with other sources of pride. She had once been the yoimg widow of an old bishop ; and when, with an unprovided daughter, and a portion of an hundred a year, she accepted the hand of the court-favored commissioner, she had endeavored to perpetuate the recollection of her former rank and connexion by per- petual references to the memory of her “ dear late lord.’' Cold, arrogant, and supercilious, she mistook a dogmatizing spirit for cleverness, affected to despise accomplishments, because she was too indifferent and too negligent of her daughter to give her any, and fancied herself a woman of fashion, because people ofj rank came to her expensive parties, though they laughed at her for the pains she took to induce their visits. It was impossible for any daughter to be less like her mother, or less like the daughter of a bishop, than Miss Kate Lesley. Her education had been founded by the maid, who had taught her to read ; and was finished by the footman, with whom she giggled at the carriage window, while her precise mother was paying morning visits. Not yet “ come out,” she was fat, fair, slovenly, and fifteen, with her sleeves hang- ing off her shoulders, her comb out of her hair, and her slipshod shoes off her feet, she was, in everything, a striking contrast to the four wouskydooking, slight, sallow, overdressed Miss Crawleys, who had been presented at the Irish court, went to parties, and played, sung, and waltzed, for any one who had the kindness to listen, or the benevolence to look at them. CHAPTER VII. What hempen homespun knaves have we swaggering here 1 . Shakspeare. He gives the bastinado with his tongue : Our cars are cudgelled with it. Ibid. In addition to the Crawley family, which a six o’clock dinner-bell assembled at Mount Crawley, were a few guests supplied by the situation of the country, and the circumstances of the neighborhood. They con- sisted of two barristers, friends and (in their respect- ive ways) toadies of the young counsellor ; two pro- tectees of Mr. Crawley, senior, bearing the official dignities of sub-sheriff and port surveyor ; two coun- try gentlemen, tenants of the Marquis of Dunore ; and the brigade-major of the district, who, from his strict adherence to the prudent rule of never dancing with the daughter where he had not dined with the father, had obtained from the wits of Dunore the so- briquet of the “ cut-mutton-jig major.” Of the two barristers, the elder was one of that class termed in London, Old Bailey counsel. He | piqued himself principally upon the vulgarity of his humor, and the coarseness of his address ; he wore a coat well powdered and ill brushed* and laughed at l the legal coxcombs who sought to get rid of the dust of the courts before they sat down to a circuit dinner. He might, however, be said rather to enter- 212 FLORENCE MACARTHY. tain the bar than to practise at it ; and to pick up on the circuit more jokes than briefs; He was now a sort of hanger-on — a proneur titre f of Mr. Conway Crawley ; and was always contented to swallow the insolent superiority of the son, so long as he was per- mitted to swallow with it the claret of the father. The other barrister, more timid and more gentleman- like, followed in the track of the young legal Bobadil from genuine admiration, and with a firm resolve to adopt his course, and to trace his steps to promotion, whatever path he might take ; indolently reposed on his higher genius for his own future fortunes, and catered applause for talents he emulated, the jackal of another’s vanity. The two country gentlemen were simply country gentlemen, such as they are found in Munster. Gay, cordial, courteous, hospitable at home, and convivial abroad ; but a little out of their natural element in Mr. Crawley’s circle, where the business of signing leases alone had detained them. The sub-sheriff and surveyor owed everything to the Crawley interest ; and full of gratitude for favors yet to come, they looked up to Mr. Crawley, of Mount Crawley, with a deference, evinced in proportion to their expectations. The applause which this gentleman usually extorted from both, by a significant wink of the eye, whenever he chose to be witty, or was inclined to be humorous, was generally paid by the sub-sheriff* in the formula of “ That’s nate !” which the surveyor constantly con- firmed by the echo of “ Mighty nate !” Such were the party assembled in the best draw- ing-room of Mount Crawley, when the commissioner, observing that no verbal announcement of dinner fol- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 213 lowed the summons of the bell, turned to Mr. Craw- ley impatiently, and asked : “ Who do we wait for ? Do you expect any one to dinner, Darby ?” “Not a Christian, 55 returned Mr. Crawley. “Thady dear, give the bell a touch, and bid them dish.” “You forget, brother Crawley,” said his sister, anxiously, “ that I told you, when you came home, if you would have listened to me, or to any one but Jemmy Bryan, that I had asked a gentleman to din- ner, a very distinguished person, who called on you this morning, after you were gone to Glannacrime.” “ Oh, very well, he’ll be here while dinner’s dishing, I’ll engage. Did he lave his name ?” “ I cannot tell you his name,” said Miss Crawley, with a smile, “because I really forgot to ask it. ‘ But what’s in a name ?’ as Romeo says. This I however can tell you : he is not only the most distinguished, but the most poetical-looking person, as dear Lady Clotworthy would have said.” “You know, Anne Clotworthy, I am always rather a stiptic to your descriptions,” said Mr. Crawley, winking to the sub-sheriff, “ ever since you tould me that that Methodist preacher, who came to us on a visit of two days, and staid three months, was an angel without wings. He was without wings sure enough, but it was a scarecrow without wings he was the very moral of.” “ That’s nate !” said the sub-sheriff. “ Mighty nate !” replied the surveyor. “When I spoke of the angelic properties of the Rev. Jeremiah Judd, I alluded to the inward man, and I was induced to-day to believe for a moment 214 FLORENCE MACARTHY. that this gentleman had brought letters from him; but though he avowed that his mission into this coun- try was of a serious nature ” “ Then I’ll tell you once for all, Miss Crawley,” in- terrupted her brother in a passion, “ I will not have my house made a Magdalen Asylum to a parcel of canting Methodistical thieves, who are of no use but to set aside the simple lethargy of the church service, and to substitute the errors of the Presbyterians for those of the established faith. With your missions and missionaries, conversions and perversions, have you left me a tinpenny in my pocket, to give to my own poor in New-Town Mount Crawley? And pray, what’s gone of my one pound note that w^as to make Christians of the black negroes? Never saw a single sowl of them set foot in a church yet, barring Mrs. Casey’s little black boy, that carries her prayer- book to early service. And I’d trouble you for my eleven and fourpence halfpenny,* Miss Crawley, that you made me give to get King Pomarre, of the Ota- heitee Islands, to let himself be baptized; though faith I believe it was king of the Mummers, that’s king of the hummers he was. And ’bove all, where’s my six- teen and threepence, carried off by your 1 angel with- out wings,’ for ‘lighting up the dark villages and my elegant surtout , that was stolen out of the hall in Merrion square, by your converted Jew, that was waiting for your 1 Guide to the Land of Promise ?’ I wish you had given the devil his Jew (due), and left me my great-coat ; that’s all, Miss Crawley.” “ That’s nate !” cried the sub-sheriff, looking to the surveyor. * A half-guinea of the old Irish currency, now no more. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 215 “ Mighty nate !” echoed the surveyor, nodding his head ; while Mr. Crawley, having punned himself into good humor, as the man in the Guardian punned him- self out of a fever, and observing the rest of the party much amused at this attack upon the evangelical and dictatorial Miss Crawley, continued, in a milder tone : “ Now, Clotty dear, I tould you before that I never would let one of your angels without wings roost in my house to the day of my death, since Mr. Judd’s visitation, who did nothing but preach and ate from morning to night, frightening the life out of me, and abusing the cook. I’d rather see the devil come into my house than a Methodist preacher, Lord forgive me ! And thinks when there’s a religion by law established, which qualifies a man for every place in the state, it may serve our turn, as well as our betters. If this gentleman then is one of the sarious, one of your missionaries ” “ Here he is, to speak for himself; here at least is one of the Dunore hack chaises driving up the ap- proach, so I’ll ring for dinner,” observed the commis- sioner. “ Oh ! a hack chaise,” said his wife superciliously, and letting fall her spy-glass. “Is it a hack chaise?” asked Miss Crawley in a tone of mortification ; but before any other observa- tion could be made, the door was opened, and the stranger, unannounced, appeared. He was in full dress; and the air. with which he entered the room, and walked to the place occupied by Miss Crawley, was marked by a certain disengaged freedom, be- yond what is merely acquired in society — the ease of conscious, careless superiority. 216 FLORENCE MACARTTTY. While he stood paying his respects, and offering apologies for his late arrival to Miss Crawley, every countenance in the room had changed its expression. Some who had risen even forgot to sit down; others eyed him with curiosity; the four Miss Crawleys paused for a moment in their flirtation with the barristers and brigade-major; and Miss Kate Lesley left her shoe in the middle of the room, where it had been thrown by Major Crawley, whose manual gallantries she had in vain resisted, with “ Quit now ! behave, Thady Windham, or I will complain to your - aunt — I will, upon my honor;” to which the major only replied by twitching off her slipshod shoe, and reiterating “ Ton your honor !” The two Mesdames Crawley looked mortified at their demi-toilette, as- sumed for a family dinner ; and Miss Crawley’s coun- tenance was radiant with triumph, in spite of the Du- nore hack chaise. _ Mr. Crawley, who loved company when he was prepared for it, who liked his plate to be seen when he took the trouble of displaying it, whose^ favorite aphorism on a company-day was, if there’s enough for ten there’s enough for twelve, and who now felt satisfied that his guest was not a Methodist, advanced to receive him with his wonted overcharged civility ; j but when that guest appeared, his head uncovered, and his face turned full to the light, the host stag- gered back a few steps, and stood' gazing on a form and countenance that seemed to burst upon his view like some half-forgotten image of an unpleasant dream. After a minute’s silent pause, he took his youngest son’s arm, who stood turning over the leaves erf the Review, and, glancing a furtive look FLORENCE MACARTHY. 217 at the stranger, drew him into the open veranda, with the manner of one “ perplexed in the extreme.” “ Con dear,” said he, “ can you give a guess who that chap is, or what he is, or what brings him here at all?” “ I am sure I have not the least idea, sir,” replied his son. “ I don’t think his name was announced ; but I suppose you will soon know his business. He seems a confident, presuming-looking coxcomb enough ; most likely a recruiting officer, or a maud- lin traveller to the lakes, who will eat your dinners, and put us all into his book, in return for your hospitality.” “ I don’t care where he puts us, if he’s only a gia- nius,” said Mr. Crawley, evidently relieved by this suggestion. “ If I was sure of that, Con, — ” he paused, and then added, e< It struck me just at the first glance that — but what does that prove ? Sure they say that I am the very moral of Paddy Duige- nan about the corner of the mouth and the eye, and is no more to him, either in kith, kin, or relationship, than the Lord Chancellor, only just playfellows, when slips of boys together, and great cronies.” “ Does this person resemble any one you know ?” asked young Crawley.” “Dinner is announced, sir,” said the surveyor; “ and Mrs. Commissioner Crawley is waiting for you to hand her down, sir.” Ceremony, with all its laws of precedence, is the cheval cle bataille of the demi-officials of Ireland. Every guest in Mr. Crawley’s drawing-room knew his place, while the Commodore, alone accustomed to the manners of foreign countries, where the circle 218 FLORENCE MACARTHY. of private salons neutralizes all rank, offered his arm to Miss Crawley, because he stood next her; but she gently resisted the offer, and the procession began. Mr. Crawley led out Mrs. Commissioner Crawley, Mr. Commissioner led out Mrs. Sergeant, Mr. Ser- geant escorted the elder Miss Crawley,. Miss Lesley, as a bishop's daughter, claimed the pas of the four Miss Crawleys, and was ushered by the high-sheriff ; the four Miss Crawleys were divided amongst the lawyers, the brigade-major, and their cousins ; Coun- sellor Con followed alone, proudly pre-eminent, and took his place at the foot of the table; the sub-sheriff and surveyor bowed each other out with pompous solemnity. The stranger and the two country gen- tlemen having “ done the state no service,” and being without any precise Hat in this official hierarchy, were left to arrange their precedence as they might ; and they followed last in the train which proceeded to the dining-room. The tables of these demi-officials are distinguished by a sumptuousness, a luxury, an extravagance, almost unknown, beyond the highest ranks in other countries. The dinner-table of Mr. Darby Crawley, attorney- at-law, differed in nothing from that of the Lord Chancellor of Ireland, except in the polish of him that presided. Services and reldbes succeeded each other in due alternation. The soup, fish, and pates were swallowed in solemn silence ; but when the first flush of appetite subsided, champagne circled, burgundy went round, old hock was recommended, and every one talked across the table, round the table, and from the top to the bottom of the table. Mr. Crawley, who had raised his eye3 to the stran- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 219 jeer’s face between every spoonful of his soup, ques- tioned him with great civility, but with great hesita- tion, on his opinion of the country ; and by degrees yielded up his uneasy, vague, and undefinable sensa- tions of perplexity to the influence of the frank replies of his nameless guest, and to the exhilaration of his own sparkling champagne and burgundy. Thus restored to his ease, convivial, talkative, and ridiculous as usual, he mentally observed, as he helped himself to mock-turtle, his favorite dish, “ I wonder what the devil came over me, making a Judy Fitz- simmons of myself about nothing at all — -and all for a look, which is no proof — how could it ?” Thus finally chasing the unpleasant impressions (whatever they might be) from his mind, he gave up his attention to a series of bad jokes and circuit anec- dotes, told with a broad, vulgar, slang humor by young Crawley’s elder friend, Counsellor Mulligan. This facetious barrister having just finished a good story, of which Judge Aubrey and Baron Boulter (the judges then on circuit) were the heroes, he ob- served, turning to Mr. Crawley : “ By-the-bye, sir, Judge Aubrey has let out the Ra- bragh, whom you put up last summer, and whom Baron Boulter left in Tipperary jail under rule of bail.” “■So I hear,” said Mr. Crawley; “but bathershin (as the Irish say), mind my words, Counsellor Mulligan, I’ll have the Rabragh where he wont so easily get lave of absence; that’s, with due deference for Judge Aubrey : and has good reason to know (though nothing has been brought against him yet) he’s at 220 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the bottom of everything in this country, Padreen Gar's boys and all.” “ Have you seen Conway’s ‘ Familiar Epistle to a Jacobin Judge , 7 written on that occasion? By Jove, ’tis the best hit that ever was made, and has set the judge wild, they say.” ‘No, I have not, Counsellor Mulligan, nor doesn’t care if I never see a scrap of his poethry again, while I live ; and wishes he would lave off with his hits.” “ Me !” said Conway, tossing off a glass of liquor (for the dessert was now on the table). “ Upon my honor I didn t write the lampoon which was circu- lated at Cork, if you mean that.” And he felt as he spoke for the manuscript in his pocket. “I don’t know how it is,” he added, conceitedly, “ but every wicked thing is laid at my door.” “ Every witty thing is,” said the timid young bar- rister, with a smile. “ Well ! that comes to the same thing. I had just the same fatal pre-eminence when I was at the Tem- ple. All the foundling genius of the inns of court was placed to my account.” “ I wish,” said Mr. Crawley, flinging an apple skin violently from him, “ there never was a gianius in the world. What use in them ? What good did ever one of them do? No, but great harm; and when a man is rared at college, and has read the classics and the college course, what call has he to gianius after that ?” “ I doubt, however, my dear Darby,” said the ser- geant, projecting an immense pair of bushy black eyebrows, in which lay all his reputation, and over which he exercised a singular power of contraction FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 221 and expansion — “ I doubt that we should have had the classics to read in college, if there had not been authors, and what are called men of genius to write them.” “You are quite right, William,” said his brother, the commissioner, speaking with the authority of one who presided at “ a board “ for if we must have books to read, there must be authors to write them, that’s certain.” “ C'est clciir /” said Conway Crawley, in a tone of ridicule (frequently directed at his uncles), and with a smile of intelligence at his aunt, who had hitherto vainly endeavored to draw the Commodore into con- versation across the table. u C y est clair indeed !” repeated Miss Crawley, with an affected laugh. “See Clare,” reiterated Mr. Crawley, senior, angrily: “ well, and see Clare, and see Lyttleton upon Coke, and see all the great crown lawyers that ever wrote, and see if ever one of them wrote a line of poethry. Chancellor Clare hadn’t as much gianius for poethry as my foot, and if he had, would have been ashamed to own it.” “ I am not now,” said Miss Crawley, delighted with the turn conversation was taking, “ as once, an advo- cate for the ‘idle visions of the brain.’ But still I think no chancellor need have been ashamed of pro- ducing such poetry as Watt’s Hymns, nor do I see why Themis and Apollo should not have their liaisons” “ I am afraid, aunt,” said Conway, “ that, as my fa- ther supposes, they would be ‘ liaisons danger euses? Blackstone, however, was a poet.” “ Yes,” said Miss Crawley, “ and it was a private 222 FLORENCE MACARTHY. traditional ane.cdote of Shenstone in the Clotworthy family (for Lady Clotworthy was his relation), that the sweet bard of the Leasowes was intended for the English bar ; and surely had he sat upon the wool- sack, he would not have denied being the author of that sweetly moral and simply pastoral eclogue — £ I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeon breeds.’ ” “ Oh, dacency ! Miss Crawley,” interrupted her brother Darby, winking at the sub-sheriff, while the ladies smiled. Miss Crawley, placing the smile to the right account, triumphantly went on — “ But let me that plunder forbear, She will say ’tis a barbarous deed.” “ Sorrow harm I see in robbing a bird’s nest, sir,” said the sub-sheriff, addressing his critique to Mr. Crawley, in conformity to his patron’s very humorous look at the moment — “ For he ne’er can be true she’ll aver Who could rob a poor bird of her young.” “ Oh ! a most lame and impotent conclusion, my good aunt. But for heaven’s sake give us no more of that fadaisc ,” said Conway Crawley — “ that gone- by trash, which is worthy of the Della Cruscan school, only that it is still more insipid, and would scarcely furnish my friend of the Baviad and Moeviad a peg to hang a note on.” “ But your friend of the Baviad, my dear Conway, got out of all keeping when he called Anna Matilda ‘ a wretched woman’ and other hard names; especially as it was known in the literary circles of Bath and Litchfield that Anna Matilda was dear Lady Clot- worthy.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 223 “ Lady Clotworthy ! not a bit,” reiterated Conway Crawley. “ Anna Matilda w T as neither more nor less than that enfant glte of a particular set, Mrs. Cowley, the author of that tissue of all nonsense and absurd- ity, the Belle’s Stratagem.” • ' 1 The Belle’s Stratagem !” said Mrs. Commissioner. “ Why the Lady Lieutenant bespoke it this winter. It was played by command ; and I had seats in the next box to her.” “And I,” said Mrs. Sergeant, “ had a row in Lady Kilgobbin’s box for the girls and myself, and we thought it a charming comedy, so much fashionable life in it. And Letitia Hardy so talented, as Lady Kilgobbin said, and sung, and waltzed so delightfully.” “ It certainly is a very amusing comedy,” said the commissioner authoritatively. “ Very amusing,” said the sergeant, with his eye- brows. “ The Belle’s Stratagem,” said young Crawley, with cool insolence of look and tone, and folding his arms upon the table, “ is, what I have asserted it to be, a tissue of nonsense and absurdity. I repeat the words. ’Tis more, ’tis a crying sin against good taste, good sense, good manners, and good morals. Its very title justifies every word of my assertion. The Belle’s Stratagem ! observe — Belle, a foolish French term for a young woman, according to Johnson, and . so used by Pope, in his Rape of the Lock. Stratagem, too, a term derived from the Greek, etymologically meaning an artifice, or ru>:e de guerre , a device, trick, imposi- tion. The trick of a young woman, to take in a young man of fortune. A notable play for mothers to take their daughters to, truly !” 224 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ 1 wonder, my dear,” said the sergeant, with an unusual projection of the eyebrows, “ you should take the girls to such a thing.” “Lady Kilgobbin — ” interrupted Mrs. Crawley; but their nephew interrupting both, and bearing down all before him, poured forth a torrent of hypercriticism, imposing in proportion to its shallowness; refining away the merits, exaggerating the faults, misquoting, misrepresenting, and misjudging one of the most ele- gant and popular comedies on the English stage, until all those, who had given it their unequivocal ap- probation a few minutes before, endeavored to ex- piate their former hasty, but independent judgments, by approving, seconding, and adopting that of this formidable Zoilus of the Crawley family. During this tedious, but fluent tirade of pedantic critical jargon, Miss Crawley sat transported; and only fearful that a conversation should cease, in which she and her eleve were alone, of all the race of the Crawleys, calculated to shine, she endeavored to keep up the ball, while the nephew paused to take his claret. To force the stranger into the lists, she asked him across the table : “ May I beg to know what is your opinion of the English poets in general ?” This sweeping question startled the Commodore into a sudden and abrupt ejaculation of “ madam !” Every one smiled : Mr. Crawley winked at the sur- veyor; and Miss Crawley, with her former suspicions of the stranger’s vocations, revived by his silence and gravity, and by the little part he had taken in a con- versation, hitherto unworthy of the “ elect of the Lord,” added with a demure and primitive air, “ Your % «_• FLORENCE MACARTHY. 225 poetical studies are, perhaps, from necessi y, far from general; but Milton’s divine poem of the Paradise Lost may have come under your observation, and stood the test of your critical acumen ; if ” “ The term 1 divine,’ my dear aunt,” interrupted the “ never-ending, still beginning” nephew, “ is rather strong to be applied to an uninspired writer; and most of all to such a poet, and such a poem as Milton, and his Paradise Lost. I don’t, however, mean to say — pray hear me out, madam — -that Milton was not a poet, and a good poet; but I must add, that he was a most profane writer, and a most sacrilegious paro- dist, — nay, grant me your patience one moment.” “ I only mean to say, in my own exculpation, Con- way Townsend, that the term divine, as applied to Milton, does not originate with me ; that others of higher authority -” “ Oh, yes, I know, ma’am, what you would say : and it is very true, that within the last century Milton has enjoyed a most preposterous fame, a most exagger- ated, unmerited celebrity ; a fame wdiolly denied to him by his cotemporaries, the best judges ; for, after all the trash that is talked about posterity, the true reputation is cotemporary reputation, tangible fame, fame that one can lay one’s finger on, that one can touch.” “ Devil a bit, Counsellor Con, but I give you credit for that,” said his father, cracking a nut between his teeth ; “ touch and go, sir, that’s the ra’al fame, for my money. Sub, hand up the port, and put the church in the middle of the parish — ergo , the salt- cellar — I always take my nuts turn grano sails, as the French say.” 226 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ But,” continued young Crawley, “ even tlie fame which posterity, that is, which the last century have bestowed on Milton, cannot be called legitimate fame. It is his political principles, that harmonize with the revolutionary systems of the last fifty years, which have given to the sturdy jacobin the fame that is sup- posed to be extorted by the poet, a poet, by-the-bye, who has taken the devil for his hero “ The Lord bless us !” said Mr. Crawley, throwing down his nutshells in pious horror. “ hell for his principal scene of action, and re- bellion for his theme,” continued young Crawley. “ Why then, who is he at all ?” asked his father with vehemence. 4t Will nobody tell me ?” “ And of this I am certain, that had he published his Paradise Lost in the present day, there is not one genuine English review that would not have de- nounced him for an impious parodist, and condemned him, out of his own words, as profane, jacobinical, indecent, and immoral.” Everybody shook their heads, though nobody knew why ; while Mr. Crawley, stealing a timid, sus- picious look at the stranger, and then turning to his sister, observed : “Til trouble you, Miss Crawley, not to mention that man, whoever he is, any more at my table. How do I know but every w r ord of the conversation may be reported at the castle, and the secatary think I’m hand and glove with him.” “ It is curious,” continued Conway, not even hear- ing his father, and borne away by the shallow rapid- ity of his own exhaustless volubility, “ it is curious to observe Milton’s hatred of kings breaking out in some FLORENCE MACARTHY. 227 of his most poetical effusions. Thus, in his famous simile : * As when the sun, new risen, Looks through the horizontal misty air, Shorn of its beams ; or from behind the moon In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.’ ** u Perplex a monarch !” exclaimed Mr. Crawley, inarticulate from vehemence. “ Och ! the thief of the world ! Why, then, Con, where was the Suspendeas Corpus Act? Where was the law of libel ? What was the attorney-general about ?” “ The fact is,” said young Crawley, taking snuff, and pushing on the box, “ that, notwithstanding the legitimate prince was then but recently seated on his throne, and the reins of government still hung loose, this passage nearly caused the suppression of the book by the royal licenser ; and Milton and his Paradise Lost would then have been condemned to eternal oblivion (we cannot say unjustly), and sacri- ficed to the insulted majesty of the house of Stuart.” “ Better,” exclaimed the Commodore, with a sud- den explosion of fiery indignation that resembled the brilliant bursting of a sky-rocket, “ better that the whole line of Stuarts should be given to oblivion than that one bright effusion of the genius of Milton i should be lost to the great nation, whose intellectual glory it has raised above that of all modern people. Any land might have produced the Stuarts; and one' ! land, blushing to own them for her sons, twice drove 1 them from her shores, a false and feeble race, whom Milton would not flatter, and Sydney could not save.” A dead silence followed this animated burst of un- 228 FLORENCE MACARTHY. controllable feeling. All were struck, as much by the manner as by the matter of the unexpected apostro- phe. But if all were startled, old Crawley was con- founded. His son, darkling with ire and irritation, sat for a moment silent as the rest : while his father, whose native cowardice had taken the alarm, doubted whether a French spy, a government informer, or an Irish rebel, now sat at his table. He was even half inclined to send out an ukase to Jemmy Bryan and his myrmidons to hold themselves in readiness ; but he first resolved, before he took any decided step, to give a toast as a pierre de touche of the stranger’s poli- tical creed, a toast which he considered as the watch- word of his own dominant party. Passing, therefore, his hand over his face, so as to give a significant wink to his youngest son, unseen by the rest of the com- pany, he exclaimed : “ Come, Counsellor Con, fill the gentleman’s glass next you : I don't mane to give you a hint, ladies, but before you go, you must all join in a toast, which I believe no one will refuse to drink in this house ; this is, sir,” (nodding to the Commodore,) “ the glorious and immortal— — -” “ The glorious and immortal what, sir ?” asked his guest, putting a little wine in his glass. “ Why, the glorious and immortal memory ; every loyal man knows that.” “ I hope I shall not forfeit my claim to that desig- j nation, by confessing I have yet to learn whose happy memory has merited these distinguished epithets.” Mr. Crawley pulled down his little “ Beresford bob,” as he called his wig ; he was not prepared to answer such an unexpected question: and his son, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 229 seeing his perplexity, promptly came to his relief, ob- serving coldly and superciliously to the stranger, “My father, sir, gives a toast, which in Ireland, at least, requires no explanation ; he gives the glorious and immortal memory of William the Third.” “ I drink it with all my soul,” said the Commodore, with animation, filling first his own glass to the brim, and then that of the poor Catholic gentleman, who sat next him, and to whom “ the glorious and immortal” was the memory of the overthrow of his religion, the ruin of the fortunes and the hopes of his family. “ The memory of William of Nassau,” continued the stran- ger, “ should find its monument in the breast of every true lover of British freedom : it is the memory of a great captain, chosen by a great nation to lead it forth in the defence of its natural rights and dear-bought constitution, and to drive from the violated sanctu- ary of their laws that despotic bigot, whose feeble- ness and corruption had forced a loyal people into the hazardous experiment of revolution ! with such recol- lections I drink,” and he arose as he spoke, “ to the glorious memory of William the Third.” This was so new an exposition of the revered text of “ the glorious and immortal,” that Mr. Crawley senior was not the only person present whom it puz- zled. With this party of placemen, “ the glorious and immortal” had but one signification ; it was the watch- word of their own influence, the cry of their own petty but powerful ascendency: and these genuine Tories, these advocates of their own arbitrary power, had been all their lives giving the Whiggish toast, without an idea attached to it, save the subjection of the Catholic population^ an unequal distribution of 280 FLORENCE MACARTHY. rights, and the supremacy of a narrow, bigoted, and impolitic intolerance. Miss Crawley, wholly thrown out as to her former opinions of the stranger, came to her nephew’s relief by observing, “ Well, before I go, I must express my regret that a few literary remarks thrown out at random should have led to anything like political discussion ; and in my own defence must say, that the eulogium I ventured to pass on Milton was wholly confined to his poetry; for I believe, whatever may have been his principles as a politician, he is, undeniably, a good poet.” “ He has written a good poem of the second order,” said young Crawley, rallying, “ for, strictly speaking, the Paradise Lost is not an epic ; and in a moral point of view, there is not one maxim of prudence or con- duct to be drawn from it. Besides, one-half of his poetical beauties are downright plagiarisms from the ancients, in whose snow I can track him at every step. Thus : ‘ As when heaven’s fire has scath’d the forest oak, &c.,’ happens to be a cento made up from Homer and Yir- gil ; and again, ‘ Thrice he essay’d to speak, &c.,’ is Ovid’s 1 Ter conata loqui , et ter vox faucibus hcesit? This, sir, however,” and he turned to the stranger with a triumphant sneer, “ may appear fiat heresy to you, and a new reading of your favorite author.” “New! not at all,” returned the Commodore, care- lessly ; “ I have read every word of it long since, in the dull forgeries of that convicted impostor, Lauder; but since the ingenious detection of Douglas, I had imagined that Milton’s plagiarisms had been at rest, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 231 or remembered only as warnings against literary ere- dulity.” “ Shall we go, Mrs. Crawley ?” asked Miss Craw- ley, rising and coloring, while the complexion of her nephew deepened in its sallow hue, and became dark wfith ire and mortification. He was wholly unpre- pared for the detection of his gotten-up criticisms, j even before an audience so insignificant. This singu- lar stranger, who sat a nameless guest at his father’s table, with his bursts of light and involutions of dark- ness, his habitual reserve and silence, and his occa- sional involuntary explosions of mind, seemed to hover like an incubus over the vision of his self-im- portance. Always the centre of his own circle, he was alike unused to opposition or superiority; and from this moment the stranger became the object of that strenuous, inveterate, and unappeasable enmity, which springs from the wounded self-love of a vain man. The retreat of the ladies, the removal of the great table, and the placing of a smaller one, the prepara- tions for whiskey punch (asked for by the sub-sheriff and surveyor, and eminently enjoyed by Mr. Craw- ley, who confessed himself no accoucheur in wine), with the change of seats incidental to the separation of the sexes after dinner, occupied a considerable time ; and the Commodore was on the point of tak- ing advantage of his seat next Mr. Crawley, to men- tion to him the business which had brought him to Mount Crawley, when he was interrupted by the en- trance of a servant, bearing a letter to the master of the house. “ A coronet sale” (seal), said Mr. Crawley, wiping 232 FLORENCE MACARTHY, liis spectacles : “the Dunore crest, the Marchioness’s hand. James, come back here. Who brought this letter ; it isn’t a post one, sure ?” “ It is not, sir ; it came by express ; a castle ex- press. The dragoon has just gone down to the horse barrack.” “ A castle express !” said Mr. Crawley, opening the letter with trepidation, while his son Conway took his seat at the back of his chair. I “ Hem ! Emily Dunore — Dublin Castle, August 25,” read aloud Mr. Crawley, glancing his eye over the page to the signature and address ; then rising, he retired to a remote table with his son, in evident perturbation. After the perusal of the letter, and a few moments’ conference, the father and son rejoined the party. “ Here is good news,” said young Crawley, with affected gaiety, while his father remained silent. “ Lady Dunore is arrived in Dublin, and is coming to Dunore Castle immediately. She is merely re- cruiting from the fatigues of her voyage, with her friends, the viceregals, and then sets off with a large party.” “ Come, sir,” addressing his dejected father, “ we’ll drink to her ladyship’s speedy and safe arrival.” The toast went round, and many comments were made on the effects of this event. The Protestant country gentlemen observed : “ This will give a helping hand to the election. The presence of Lady Dunore on the spot will be of infinite service to her son’s cause at Glannacrime.” “ It will be of service,” said young Crawley. “ Why, I thought she had given up all thoughts of FLORENCE MACARTHY. 233 coming to Ireland,” said the commissioner: “I heard Lord Rosbrin say so in Dublin.” “ And so she had,” said old Crawley, with uncon- trollable irritation, “ but you might as well fix tli’ ould weathercock on the top of Dunore Court-house.” “ The residence of the Dunore family, even for a short time, will do great good,” said the Catholic gentleman. “ Great !” said young Crawley, filling his father’s glass, and giving the health of the absent candidate, Lord Adelm Fitzadelm. “ I wonder,” said the Catholic gentleman, “ since the Fitzadelms have come in for the Dunore property, that they haven’t tried to repurchase the old house and grounds of Court Fitzadelm.” “ Apropos , Mr. Crawley,” said the stranger, in a low tone of voice. “ It is time that I should apolo- gize for my intrusion on your hospitality, by account- ing for it. I am desirous to become a purchaser of Court Fitzadelm ; for that purpose I came to Mount Crawley, and being obliged to leave Dunore to-mor- row morning on urgent business, I availed myself of Miss Crawley’s polite invitation, in order to obtain an audience from you. The time, I am aware, is an awkward one for business : all that I can now expect to learn is, what may be my chance, and on what terms ?” “ I believe, sir,” interrupted young Crawley, l< you stand so engaged with Mr. Skerrett of Inchigeela, that you cannot open any new engagement.” “ Mr. Skerrett !” said the old man, rousing himself, “ to be sure I can’t. And may I presume to ask, sir, > & 234 FLORENCE MACARTHY. is it to take back, that is, to purchase, I mane, Court Fitzadelm, that brought you into this country ?” “ Not exactly, sir. My wish of taking Court Fitz- adelm is merely accidental. I saw it advertised, liked the description, visited the grounds on my way hither, and liked them still better. I resolved to purchase if I could, and waited on you for that pur- pose.” Old Crawley passed his hand across his forehead, first looked at his son and then at the stranger ; then he added : “ And you mane to return to this country, sir ?” “ My hope of arranging matters with you will be a strong inducement to my doing so.” “ Then, sir,” said old Crawley, eagerly catching at his word, “ you need not give yourself the trouble. The place is all as one as sowld to Mr. Skerrett, an ould acquaintance, and a residenter in the country ; and of course I would give a neighbor the preference over a stranger, an entire stranger.” “ It is very natural, sir,” said the Commodore. “ Am I to consider this answer as definitive ?” “ Certainly, sir,” returned Conway Crawley. “ The concerns of Court Fitzadelm are, in fact, disposed of.” The stranger paused for a moment, then took a polite leave of Mr. Crawley, and departed. CHAPTER Vm. For now enforst, a farre unfitten taske. to change mine oaten reeds, And sing of knights’ and ladies’ gentle deeds, Whose praises, having slept in silence long, Me — all too meane, the sacred muse areeds To blazon far. . SPENSER The intended visit of the Dunore family to the ancient and long-uninhabited castle of their ancestors was of too general importance to the district and neighborhood not to excite sensation and awaken in- terest. Mr. Crawley had made no formal announce- ment of the important circumstance, but the arrival of the mciitre cVhotel and a French cook at the castle gave sufficient indication of the event. These chefs de menage, were daily followed by squadrons of non- commissioned officers, in the capacity of footmen, stable grooms, and grooms of the chamber, with light and heavy baggage, and all the artillery of luxury, comfort, and splendor, which follow in the train of the great, the opulent, and the sumptuous. The Marchioness of Dunore was all these, in its fullest extent ; and she now visited the domains of her son (whom she represented) with a spirit as im- perially extravagant as that which accompanied the fair autocrat of the North in her journeys to her an- cient city of Moscow : the means alone fell short, in 236 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the ratio of the states of Dunore to the empire of all the Russias. The arrival of her ladyship was, how- ever, to the full of as much consequence to the inha- bitants of the barony as that of the great Catherine to the expecting Muscovites. The higher ranks looked forward to festivals at the castle, and balls at the court-house, election dinners, and canvassing par- ties witho t end. The lower orders were equally in- terested in an event which awakened that train of idle hopes to which the discontented are always vic- tims. To appeal from the powerful Crawleys to the powerful masters of those Crawleys was a favorite scheme with many, and in some nurtured and encou- raged, by one who held a peculiar influence over all. This important agent was Terence Oge O’Leary. The lower Irish entertain a respect, bordering on infatuation, for what they call learning; and much of this respect centres in their rustic schoolmasters, the depositories of their national and traditionary lore. The influence of this order of men was deemed so formidable during the most unhappy period of the Irish rebellion, that they became objects of peculiar suspicion, not to the government, but to the petty magistrates, to whom the government had given such frightful and unqualified power, that ignorance, cruelty and personal vindictiveness were armed all over the kingdom and corporal punishments were inflicted with a barbarity which exceeded the horrors of the rack and the wheel. O’Leary, on whom the fever of insanity was at this period still preying, had thrown out many incoherent aspersions against the Crawleys, having the death of the young Lord Fitzadelm for their chief point of FLORENCE MACARTHY. 237 reference ; and a note in Latin and Irish, which Mr. Crawley could not read, found in his pocket, served as a sufficient pretext for vengeance at a time when a magistrate asserted to the Irish House of Commons “that it was necessary to whip many persons, of whose guilt he had secret information from persons whose names he could not publicly disclose.” Under such a system, O'Leary had been sentenced to the lash. To his plea of innocence Mr. Crawley replied, “What, you rebelly rascal! dare you speak after sentence ?”* The sentence was put in force ; it prolonged and increased his mental irritation, but it elevated him to the honors of martyrdom in the estimation of his sympathizing compatriots. The hopes, therefore, which the return of the Dunore family awakened among their tenantry and dependants were confirmed by the vague, mysterious declaration of the oracular O Leary, who continued to repeat everywhere that “the fall of the Crawleys wasn’t far off, that the reign of the land-pirates was nearly over, and that the red arm of the Fitzadelms would stretch forth once more over the land, or perhaps join that of the Mac ar'chies More, as the Geraldines and Butlers had once done” (9). O’Leary, meantime, was himself con- vinced that his guest was no other than Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, whose incognito arrival had preceded his mother’s by a few days, and whose resemblance to his unfortunate cousin had already awakened his affections and devotional interest. This “ noble espiall” (as he termed his guest) upon the tricks and puppet-show state of the Crawleys, which he likened * Facts. 238 FLORENCE MACARTHY. to King Solomon’s court in the “fringes” (10), had slept but one night at the friary, and had left Dunore the next morning for Cork, with the promise of re- turning in a few days. He took with him a missive from the pedagogue of the precept ory to Friar O’Sullivan; “touching, plaze your lordship, that is, honor I mane,” said O’Leary, “ the Ogygia of the great O’Flaherty, and the Histoire cVIrlande , by Abbe MacGeoghegan, which Fra Denis will dispatch forth- with to me by the Dunore carrier.” “ I will bring them back myself to you, O’Leary,” said the Commodore, as he mounted his Kerry steed. “ That’s too great honor entirely, my lord ; and re- minds me of the goodness of him whom you liken, who carried Ware’s Antiquities, and Lynch’s Cam- brensis Eversus, from Dingle town to St. Crohan’s for me, on one shoulder, and a string of curlews, and his little ould gun, the jewel of the world ! on the other; for they were of great value to me then — that’s the curlews, and helped to pay the rint; the ould saying being true, ‘ A curlew, be she white or black, Carries twelve-pence on her back.’ ” The stranger departed. O’Leary’s doubts as to the purport of this journey, w T hich were, like all his thoughts, confused and wuld, became suddenly cleared up by the report of the expected arrival of Lady Dunore; for it was natural that Lord Adelm should go to Cork to meet his mother, and to return with her to Dunore, and then discomfit the Crawley faction whom he had seen “in all their glory.” Of the result of the Commodore’s visit to Mount Craw- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 289 ley, as of its pretext, O’Leary remained ignorant; for no communication had been made to him; and the respectful deference of the Fitzadelm fosterer checked the suggestions of a vague but ardent curiosity. But if the population of the barony of Dunore looked forward with various views of interest to the arrival of the chiefs of the territory, the Crawley s, who had so long and powerfully governed it in their absence, felt little pleasure from the circumstance. They “ wanted no change;” and the irritation of old Crawley’s spirit could scarcely subdue itself, from the moment he had received Lady Dunore’s letter, or suffer him to listen to the prudent suggestions of his youngest son, “ His bosom counsellor, and better self.” It was in vain that Conway enforced the necessity of “ representation,” of fitting his conduct to “ exist- ing circumstances,” and meeting exigencies with “ ap- plicable expediency.” To all this primer jargon of the young diplomatic apprentice, old Crawley only replied with an ominous shake of the head, and the observation of— “ And the Glannacrime business going on so illigant; and that rebelly thief, O’Leary, drinking the downfall of the Crawleys at the Dunore Arms, as Jemmy Bryan tells me, who was on the look out; and that stranger whom Miss Crawley flopped down on us at dinner the other day, lodging for a night at the friary, and then exeunt manent , before Jemmy could make out a tittle about him. But what signifies talk- ing now ; £ on time’s uncertain date eternal hours de- pend,’ as the dial-plate on the new clock says ; and so send to Cork for colored lamps to light up Mount 240 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Crawley ; for the town of Bunore is going to illumi- nate, and wouldn’t be behindhand with it.” “ On the contrary, sir,” replied his son, “ we should be beforehand, and light up New-Town Mount Craw- ley, and order your new corps under arms imme- diately.” “ And a few- de-joy,' 7 cried old Crawley, cheering up ; for his new corps was the master-passion of his present existence \ and his son well knew the chord by which his relaxed spirits could be restored to their habitual tension. Miss Crawley, who was not very deep in the fa- mily politics, was the only member of the house of Crawley to whom the arrival of the noble Marchio- ness and her fashionable party gave any pleasure. Lady Bunore had said, in that fatal letter which an- nounced her intentions, that she meant “ to instal the always obliging Miss Crawley (for whose prettily painted skreens she returned a thousand thanks) as dame du palais , or mistress of the ceremonies at Bunore Castle, where she would herself be necessarily the greatest stranger.” From this distinguished promotion, Miss Crawley saw a train of delightful consequences, all big with influence, benefit, and importance. She would pre- side over the ingress and egress of the castle, exclude or admit whom she pleased, blacken and whiten, ac- cording to her own personal feelings, towards the fa- vorers or thwarters of her vanity and pretension. She would have the Bunore patronage and the Bunore purse for her “ subscription, cheap, charitable reposi- tory in Bublin,” where piety and patchwork were sold together for her evangelical school at New-Town FLORENCE MACARTHY. 241 Mount Crawley (standing equally opposed to the Protestant and Catholic schools at Dunore), and for her ‘ society for disseminating cheap tracts; ’ got up for the especial diffusion of intolerance, and for sow- ing division among the families of the credulous and unenlightened : but, most of all, and best of all, she would have the opportunity of converting, saving, and governing the gay, dissipated, and worldly, but most noble Emily Augusta, Marchioness of Dunore ; of accompanying her back to London, and presiding over religious conversaziones at Dunore House — her- self the star of attraction to parliamentary saints and borough-mongering devotees. The evening destined for the arrival of Lady Dunore at last approached, not “ like a pilgrim clad in sober grey,” but like a flaunting dame, “in flame-colored taffetas.” It was one of those rich, red, autumnal evenings which, in Ireland, make the sole, the short indemnification for eleven months of rain and vapor. For miles along the road which led to the town of Dunore, the expectation of her cavalcade crowded the acclivities with a long- waiting populace ; and when her barouche, followed by two travelling carriages and out-riders, appeared turning down Mr. Crawley’s new-made mail-coach road, the old war-cry of the Fitzadelm family rendered the air vocal, and u Gal- ruaclgh-aboo ” (shouted from a thousand voices) w r as followed by the descent of a multitude, who, with countenances and gestures as wild as their cry, swept down the sides of the hills, threw up their hats and shillelaghs in the air, surrounded the carriage, and at- tempted to unharness the horses, as a token of devo- 242 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. tion and willing hereditary servitude to the long-ab- sent Fitzadelm family. Lady Dunore (who had never before visited Ire- land), with two gentlemen and one lady, occupied the barouche. Rather agitated than frightened, she gave way to a strong hysterical affection. Her jour- ney to Dunore, like her journey through life, had been subject to sudden alternations of "excitement and lassitude, of emotions as opposite as their causes were inadequate. She had wept and laughed in a successive series since she had left Dublin, alternately amused and frightened as the sun shone or the clouds lowered : she now wept and laughed together ; and would have screamed had there been any chance of her screams becoming audible, but that was impossi- ble. The cry of the “ Irishry Mere” and the wran- gling of the “ English by blood” (for Lady Dunore’s sturdy English coachmen and out-riders protested against the carriage being drawn with suggans *), gave her ladyship no chance for a successful exhibition of powerful emotion. She therefore concealed her face on the shoulder of Lady Georgiana Vivian, the lady who sat next her, and who, infinitely more in- timidated, expressed her fears only by a death-like paleness and a quickened respiration. Meantime, one of the two gentlemen, who occupied the back seat in the barouche, Lord Frederick Ever- sham, being not particularly affected by the alarms of either lady, wdiich he saw were perfectly without cause, endeavored to dispel them by diverting atten- tion, and indulging his own peculiar humor. Stand- ing upright in the barouche, he waved his hat, joined * Straw ropes. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 243 the Irish cry, and addressed the multitude with the same air of mingled drollery and affectation he was wont to assume in a circle at Almacks. “ I believe,” he said, “ I have the honor of address- ing the respectable population of Dunore.” An ill-favored, but intelligent-looking man, who was walking with his hand on the carriage- do or, and who was the identical travelling companion of the pedlar at Lis-na-sleugh, replied — “ We’re the Dunore boys, plaze your honor, up the mountains, come down to welcome home the Mar- chioness.” “ Then, if you please, I will consider you as the organ of that august body, and beg to know the name of so enlightened a representative,” replied Lord Frederick. “ Is it what name I have upon me, your honor ? I’m called Padreen Gar, for want of a better, sir. Is yourself the young Lord, plaze your honor* the Mar- quis’s brother, sir ?” “ I am a young lord, my friend, and a marquis’s brother; but not Lord Fitzadelm, if you mean that.” “ It’s what I mane, shure enough, long life to your lordship’s honor. And is the Marchioness in it, sir, if you plaze ?” Lord Frederick gently drew forward Lady Dunore, who from fits of crying was now convulsed with fits of laughter. “ This, gentlemen,” he said, “ is your liege chief- tainess, the Marchioness of Dunore, the mother of your absent chief ; and this fair lady” (drawing for- ward in her turn the still intimidated Lady Georgi- ana) “ is a noble Saxon dame, come among you to 244 FLORENCE MACARTHY. encourage your native manufactures. See, gentle- men, she wears an Irish tahinet pelisse ! que voulez vous ? Here, too, is the celebrated Mr. Pottinger, the Baithassar Castiglione, or complete courtier of the Dublin Court, alias, the Castle. He could make you a bow would astonish you, gentlemen, if he had but room. The delicate task now remains of speak- ing of myself. I am — I am very sorry for it — a young English lord of the pale, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, and as you must observe, a pale young English lord. I would have been Irish, gentlemen, if I had been consulted ; but, c'est une affaire arrange , and there’s no more to be said on the subject. If you have any interest in a name, not purely Milesian, mine is Eversham, and I have the honor to be in the ser- vice of the Irish Lord Lieutenant, who shortly means to visit this oppressed barony, to redress all your grievances, grant all your petitions, banish proctors, suppress tithes, to permit every man to distil his own 'poteen, and every woman to drink it; — -that is, if she pleases : for liberty, gentlemen, liberty is to be the order of the day ; so, Erin go brack ! Ireland forever !” “ Erin go brack /” and “Ireland for ever !” now rent the air, with a thousand “ long lives” and “ successes” to his lordship’s honor, and the Marchioness of Du- nore. For though not one word of Lord Frederick’s mock address had been understood, even by those who could speak English (and they were the minority), yet the exquisite good humor and gaiety of the speaker had their due effect upon spirits alive to every im- pression of kindness and pleasantry. The joyousness, however, that beamed in every wild countenance, and betrayed itself in every forcible ges- FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 245 ture, was soon dispelled; for the sound of a drum and fife was heard at a distance, and in a few minutes Mr. Crawley, accompanied by his two sons (the two elder and himself in full uniform), and riding at the head of the Dunore yeomanry cavalry, approached the carriage at a gallop, scattering the crowd on every side. They still, however, continued their route along the ridge of the hills, parallel to the cavalcade, where they rolled along like a mass of dark vapor, borne by the evening breeze. “ By Confucius,” exclaimed Lord Frederick, as the Crawleys and their troop approached, “ here is the whole armed militia of the Celestial Empire, led on by the chief mandarin of the province, issuing forth to meet us on our imperial progress, with gongs beat- ing, and colors flying. This is too much ! dest a mourir de rire .” “It is altogether too delightful, too odd,” said Lady Dunore, in an ecstacy, who a few minutes before, with sobs of terror, had pronounced it “ too frightful, too barbarous.” “ Oh, my dear Mr. Crawley, how do you do ? This is so very kind of you, so very atten- tive !” She gave him her hand, which he took off his hat to kiss, while she turned aside her head, not to conceal her laugh, but to indulge it. She then recog- nized Mr. Conway Townsend Crawley, begged to be presented to his brothers, inquired with the utmost (appearance of affection for Miss Crawley, spoke with vehemence of the warm feelings of the kind-hearted |poor Irish, introduced the Crawleys to her travelling (companions, and meeting Lord Frederick’s eye, who jwas alternately gazing on Mr. Crawley and his sons llthrough his glass, was again seized with a violent fit 248 FLORENCE MACARTHY. of laughter, as suddenly checked by a speech from Mr. Crawley to some of the peasantry, who still lin- gered round the carriages. “ I suppose, my lads,” he observed, by no means pleased with her ladyship’s commendations of the warm-hearted poor Irish — “ I suppose there is not one of yez but knows that your district is proclaimed, and that not a man Jack among you but is liable to be shot dead if he’s found out of his cabin at nine o’clock ?” “ The district proclaimed !” repeated Lady Dunore, in a voice of surprise and emotion. “Shot for being out of their cabins at nine o’clock!” re-echoed Lord Frederick, with a transient gravity. “ Oh, yes, my lord, one wouldn’t sleep alive in our beds only for it. Not one among them about the carriage there,” he added, in a low confidential tone, “ but is a murderer twenty times over and over.” Lady Dunore sunk back in the carriage, and in a voice half inarticulate, said : “ I wish, sweet love, we were safe back in England.” “ I wish we were,” replied Lady Georgiana, return- ing the pressure of her friend’s hand ; while Lord Frederick, who had been the chief cause of the two ladies visiting Ireland, and who felt himself thus indi- rectly reproached, endeavored to turn the object of their fears into ridicule ; and pointing to Mount Craw- ley, which now blazed with lights on the top of its high dark hill, he exclaimed : “ By all that’s luminous, the feast of lanterns ! the interior of the celestial empire in a blaze !” “ I fancy, Lord Frederick, ’tis an illuminated air- balloon,” said Mr. Pottinger. “We sent up one FLORENCE MACARTHY. 247 from the Castle-yard on the occasion of the jubilee. The lord lieutenant walked that night about the town, accompanied only by one aid-de-camp and one orderly. I had the honor of driving through the streets in one of the viceregal carriages, with the dear little viceregal children.” “ Memorable events, my Potty !” returned Lord Frederick, solemnly. “ But, Mr. Crawley, pray explain to us the device of that very brilliant object on the top of yonder hill ; is it a temporary edifice ?” “ No, my lord, it is nat ; it is perennial, for it’s my own sate of Mount Crawley, and that part which is lighted up with colored lamps and transparencies in honor of her ladyship’s arrival is my Grecian vesti- bule or portico, supported by cantharides. It’s quite a gem, a perfect bougie, in respect of the architec- ture, I’m tould.” A general burst of half-smothered laughter followed this speech, but Mr. Crawley, wholly occupied with his own description and importance, continued : “ That painting in the front is done by Miss Craw- ley, and is an aregorical device of Lady Dunore, in the character of the horn of plenty, throwing down pace and prosperity on her people. To the left is the great Wellington, bating the world before him, with a retrospective view of Nelson’s pillar; and, on the right, the Regent’s plume, and the British lion there, like a little dog, trampling down upon the Boney-part.” “ Crawley, Crawley, thou art mine, Crawley, Crawley, I am thine,” 248 FLORENCE MACARTHY. murmured Lord Frederick, in a voice of unrepressed ecstacy. “ To live without thee is impossible ! to live with thee is death !” and he wiped the tears from his eyes ; while Lady Dunore, no longer taking pains to conceal her risibility, said, in a sobbing voice : “ But my dear Mr. Crawley, if you really live on the top of that mountain, how am I ever to visit you? You might as well expect me to get my horses up Mount St. Gothard, or Sierra Leone.” “ Why, Lady Dunore, though Mount Crawley looks mighty high, seen here from the bottom, yet when you are close up to it, ’tis nothing at all of a hill; besides my new approach from Dunore Town, if anything, has an incline downwards.” Lady Dunore, whose hysterical affection had re- cently taken a tone of risibility wholly beyond her own control, now absolutely screamed with laugh- ter ; while the civil Mr. Pottinger, full of the “ re- spectability” of the Crawley family, and of the excel- lence of Mr. Crawley’s dinners, observed in a low voice : “ I assure your ladyship, for all his lapsus lingua , Mr. Crawley, of Merrion square, is a most worthy gentleman, and a peculiarly loyal man. He is asked to the private dinners at the castle very frequently, and is a prime favorite with the secretary.” “ You don’t really pretend, Mr. Pottinger,” said Lady Dunore, half haughtily, half laughing, “ to tell me who or what Mr. Crawley is ? He happens to have been the man-of -business person of my son’s family these forty years ; he is an excellent creature, to whom we are much indebted ; only,” she added, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 249 laughing violently, and speaking with difficulty, “ I had half forgotten his slip-slop, and never having seen him sur son terrein , I find him too delicious, and I do not think I shall be able to live without him a day.” “ A day!” exclaimed Lord Frederick, “ an hour, a minute. Life I see will now be insupportable, parted from Ching-Foo Crawley of the yellow button ! He is mine henceforth, par tons les dieux .” During this short dialogue, young Crawley was urging his father to withdraw from the side of Lady Dunore’s carriage, and permit the party to proceed at a more rapid rate, while he took his place him self, and enteied into conversation with the marchio- ness. He had seen with the sensitive quickness of self-love, always on the watch to sustain its own con- sequence, that the blunders and vulgarity of his fa- ther, while they were admirably adapted to amuse the idleness, and feed that love of the ludicrous, in- cidental to the class with which he was now asso- ciated, were likewise throwing, by reflection, a shade of ridicule upon the whole family ; and, having suc- ceeded in removing him, he endeavored to efface the impression of old Crawley’s folly by his own intel- lectual superiority, and his knowledge of persons, whose acquaintance in London were calculated to increase his own consequence. He inquired for mi- nisters, and men in high office, whom he had met at Dunore House, asking for them by their names and omitting their titles. He told Mr. Pottinger that he had been made devilish ill by their friend the Irish secretary’s bad claret, quoted some lines to the rising moon, compared the present state of the 250 FLORENCE MACARTHY. southern counties to a slumbering volcano, and then turned the conversation to the Glannacrime election, to speak of the three hundred freeholders of his fa- ther and his uncle the commissioner (who had lately purchased an estate in the county), all registered in time, for the benefit of Lord Adelm, whose absence as yet had produced no ill effect. “ There was no doubt,” he added, “ that his own and his father’s strenuous exertions, and the influence which his family’s personal and estated interest .car- ried, would ensure success. The hour of attack was approaching, and he w T as impatient for its arrival, for it would not fail to be the hour of triumph.” All this succeeded with Lady Dunore ; it did not wholly fail with her friend Lady Georgiana ; it pro- duced a whispered remark from Mr. Pottinger, that young Crawley was a most talented fellow, and a par- ticular friend of the secretary. On the mind of Lord Frederick it impressed the conviction that he was vulgar and presuming ; for vulgarity and presumption were qualities readily dis- cernible by the man of fashion and high birth, even though pedantry and affectation might escape him. The splendid cavalcade at last arrived before the turretted gates of the castle of Dunore ; and as the carriages rolled over the pavement of the gloomy court, and the tenants of the old rookery in the rear of the castle screamed their disapprobation of the unusual intrusion, Lady Dunore’s susceptible spirits again sunk from their high- wound pitch. “ God send us safe out of this wild country,” said her ladyship, with a deep sigh. “ Amen,” said young Crawley, most emphatically. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 251 “ Amen,” repeated Lord Frederick, most theatri- cally, adding — “ The raven himself is hoarse, That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements.” “ Good heavens,” exclaimed Lady Dunore, “ how can yon, Lord Frederick ! you, too, who were in part the cause of bringing me here, with your ridiculous account of the 1 celestial empire,’ and your ‘ chop- mandarins,’ that made me die with laughter in Lon- don, but are a monstrous dull set out here ! ’ The carriage stopped before the last gate; and the lights flashed full upon “ God’s providence is my in- heritance.” Lord Frederick read aloud the inscrip- tion with solemn emphasis ; the ladies alighted, and Miss Crawley appeared in the centre of the dark oak hall, to welcome them to the castle, and to avail her- self at once of the immunity which had elevated her to the enviable station of Dame clu Pa ais. Lady Dunore, who had seen her twice in London, and had received a hundred pretty notes and paper presents from her, was, notwithstanding this basis of intimacy, on the point of addressing her as the house- keeper, when Conway Crawley, anticipating, perhaps, the probable mistake, stepped up to obviate it, by presenting his aunt in form, as one “ equally willing and capable of being useful to her ladyship, in a place where all must be to her new and strange.” The sliding, smiling, devoted, and reverential manner of 1 Miss Crawley, all homage, zeal, and humility, decided at once a strong prepossession in her favor; and Lady Dunore, familiarly taking her arm, as the party 252 ' FLORENCE MACARTHY. proceeded to the saloon, left the rest to follow as they might, and observed : “ My dear Miss Crawley, I must throw myself en- tirely on your kindness. I am afraid I shall be mon- strous unpopular here ; I do not at all know what is to be done with your Irish folk ; you understand I am expiring to be popular, and get Fitzadelm his elec- tion ; I suppose there is nothing, absolutely nothing, in this old castle. Poor Dunore, I believe, only sent over a small table service and batter ie de cuisine ; but you can borrow plate anywhere, can’t you, my dear Miss Crawley, for our election dinners ? And then we must have cups and saucers, and cut glass and things for the country ladies. Somebody told me they are very particular in Ireland about that sort of machines. I am the plainest person in the world my- self. I don’t care in the least if I eat off yellow delf: I can put up with anything, only let me have plenty of lamps and loungers. But, oh ! the misery of these chairs, where one must sit bolt upright ! This is all poor Dunore’s doing, when he would have everything Gothic. Georgy, love, we shall get the lumbago. By- the-bye, my dear Miss Crawley, have you any doctors, or things of that kind here ? I take it for granted, you know, that we must put up with every sort of misery and inconvenience ; but I am myself equal to anything. Heavens! here’s an old French parquet, and no carpet. Good God ! is it possible to imagine such a thing in the nineteenth century! My dear Miss Crawley, do make me out something to put un- der my feet. I don’t care the very least in the world what it is ; a bit of Turkey carpet, or a Merino wool rug, or a bear-skin, or anything that is soft and warm FLORENCE MACARTHY. 253 yon know. Heneage, will you just inquire for a couvrepied , that is lying loose somewhere in the car- riage ; or one of my doe-skin travelling blankets ; anything, no matter what. You know I don’t care j in the least, provided I have something under my < feet.” * Mr. Heneage arose to obey, but the approach of dinner, ordered to be ready at nine o’clock, obliged ' the party to retire, and make some change in their dress before they sat down to table. Meantime the I Crawleys, though pressed to stay, took their leave. When Miss Crawley’s carriage was announced, Lady Dunore observed : “ Well, I hope you will muster as strong about me as possible, remember you will dine here to-morrow — -and Miss Crawley, you will come over early in the morning. You know I am altogether in terra in - i cognita .” Miss Crawley readily complied with this summons, hinting, however, that she was just then occupied with a family party who would remain a day or two at Mount Crawley, and thus getting her two younger brothers’ families included in the dinner invitation al- ready given. The cognizance and device assigned to Lady Dun- ore, by the fanciful gallantry of Lord Frederick, was a branch of the orange tree in fruit and flower, with the motto — “ Le fruit ne fait pas tomber la fleur and her fine person, even at forty-five, was an illustra- tion of the emblem. Time indeed had faded some tints, and effaced some lineaments of loveliness, which no care, no art could rescue from his touch ; yet still she had preserved her claims to personal admiration, 254 FLORENCE MACARTHY. which were not suffered to lie idle for want of being asserted. But if Lady Dunore’s personal charms had slightly suffered from the effects of years, her character had submitted so little to their influence, that she pre- served to senility all the incoherence and unregulated feeling which had distinguished her youth* and she was still as fresh in folly and inexperience as when, at the age of eighteen, she had eloped from a window by a ladder of ropes, though the hall-door was free of egress, to marry the Honorable Gerald Fitzadelm, the insolvent and younger brother of a ruined Irish peer. Brought up in boundless indulgence, free as the winds, which she resembled in violence and instabil- ity, compliance had become to her satiety, and oppo- sition enjoyment. The besoin cle sent.ir was her dis- ease; and excitement, whether a pleasure or pain, was necessary to 'her existence. Habit and time in- creased the demand for a variable series of sensa- tions ; and her marriage with the bankrupt, younger brother of an Irish peer, in wanton opposition to her father s will, was the brief abstract of her subsequent life. Love had no share in the union of Lord Fitzadelm with the self-willed heiress of the house of L.; and cupidity, disappointed by the will of his wife’s incensed father, retaliated its mortification on its imprudent victim. Lady Emily, in all the humiliating privations of indigent rank, and all the vicissitudes of a game- ster’s fortunes, led a life more consonant to her unregulated character, than favorable to her happi- ness. The remote chance of a succession to the FLORENCE MACARTHY. 255 Dunore property and title 1 enabled Lord Fitzadelm to raise money from credulous usury ; and they were enabled to support an existence, which frequently touched upon the extremes of fortune, until a bank- rupt credit in England drove them, after a struggle of fifteen years, into an economical retreat in Italy. The ravages of an hereditary disease in the elder branch of the house of Fitzadelm, gradually brought her husband nearer to the goal of his long-cherished hopes. The succession was the die upon which Lord Fitzadelm had staked his fraternal feelings, his honor, and almost his life ; and when he was upon the point of obtaining the object of sacrifices, never to be remunerated by any worldly good, death snatched him from its enjoyment. The old Marquis of .Dunore, his remote kinsman, having followed his son and his grandsons to the grave, survived his ambitious heir, Baron Gerald Fitzadelm, by some years. By her husband’s death, Lady Emily was at last relieved from a precarious existence, and restored to that immense fortune, of which the continuance of his life had by her father’s will so long deprived her. At the head of this princely property, and mother to the heir presumptive of the Marquis of Dunore, she beheld herself possessed of the disposal of three voices in the senate, at a moment when even the echo of a voice had its price, when the British House of Commons was considered by the ministry as a market where the barter of independence was openly to be carried on. To this actual interest, Lady Emily added the chance of an influence over the political opinions of her son and his boroughs ; and she became at once an object of anxious solicitude to 256 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ministerial intrigue and political craft. Thus sud- denly raised to the summit of consideration, she found no difficulty, on her son’s succession to the marquisate, in obtaining for herself and younger child the rank of a marquis’s wife and son; she became queen at arms in the world of fashion, pre- sided despotically over its heraldry, bestowed or rejected claims to notoriety at pleasure, and was at the head of that small exclusive class of women, who, in London, hold in their own hands the keys of the paradise of vogue, and give or withdraw the patent bon-ton, as whim, taste, passion, or prejudice decide. While the ministers succeeded to their fullest desire with the mother, the sons (who were assailed, even before they were of age, by all the undermining arts which power exerts to seduce where it cannot con- vince, and to attain by numbers what it wants in efficiency) were found wholly untractable. Self- willed and perverse as their mother, their obliquity had taken another direction : they laughed at her politics, and held those from whom she received them in utter contempt. It was curious also to observe the family temperament breaking out in a third generation ; and what had been violence, bor- dering on insanity, in the grandfather, exaggeration of feeling, even to childishness in the mother, ter- minating in absolute madness in the elder son, and betraying itself in the younger, in a brilliant but eccentric genius, tinctured by all the wildness, oddity, and irregularity of the family infliction. The young Lord Dunore had not long enjoyed his new honors when it was found necessary to put him under strict confinement; and his mother had the FLORENCE MACARTIlY. 257 interest to get herself appointed his representative and sole guardian* Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, the object of all her solicitude, and of whatever she possessed of maternal affection, still held his supremacy by his opposition to her will. Dependent during her life upon her bounty, he turned even his dependence into a tyranny. His extravagant demands upon her purse gave occasion for that resistance and complaint which now formed the principal good of her too prosperous existence. His opposition to all her political ambition in his favor, his refusing a seat in the house, and an office at court, were sources of eternal reproach increasing her artificial stock of “ Unheedful passions, and unfruitful woes and while his frequent absences from England, his ec- centricities, and his extravagance, afforded her a con- stant supply of delightful misery, he became neces- sary to her existence in proportion as he tormented it : and had he been more amenable to her will, he would have been less dear to her affections. Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, who went wrong by sys- tem, and right by impulse, wanted only the spur of necessity to have become supereminent in whatever direction his talent might have taken. But fortune had spoiled all that would have been a counter- balance to a morbid temperament. Without occupa- tion, contemning the strenuous idleness of official in- efficiency as he despised the political system which might have devoted him to it, he gave himself up without reluctance to his natural disposition. Indo- lent and meditative, subtle and fanciful, he possessed the acuteness and querulousness of melancholy, with- 258 FLORENCE MACARTHY. out its causes. The victim of a metaphysical hypo- chondriasis, he indulged in every species of eccen- tricity, and was gratified by the singular reputation it acquired for him in a society where dulness and apathy, mediocrity and moderation, formed the pre- vailing characteristics of his less gifted cotemporaries. Vain and capricious, but high-spirited and liberal, the shadows of his faults, like those of evening, fell with a breadth disproportionate to the objects which pro- jected them, and were spread far and wide before the world’s gaze ; while his merits, like the rays of light collected on a focus, were circumscribed within the narrow circle of intimacy, where they burned brightly in proportion to their concentration. He had made the world the confidant of his errors, and was almost jealous of the friend who acknowledged that he had discovered his virtues. Lord Adelm was in Portugal in the pursuit of some object of dominant caprice, when a communication was made to the Marchioness of Dunore through Mr, Crawley, from the loyal corporation of Glannacrime, of their wish that she should set up her youngest son for that borough, on the demise of their last member, and in opposition to the family of O’Mahoney, noto- rious Whigs, and supported by the independent inter- est. Lady Dunore, by the advice of her ministerial friends, acceded to this request ; and while her uncon- scious son was wooing the muse of Camoens, in the shades of Coimbra, she determined to have him placed in nomination for the vacant borough. A letter he received, containing a few lines, without name or date, but with an English post-mark, informed him of the whole intrigue. This letter had nothing singular FLORENCE MACARTHY. 259 about it, but the motto of the seal, which was Portu- guese, and was “ Sou utile aincla quc briccandoP The friends or acquaintances of the. Marchioness of Dunore were composed of such persons as are usually found following the great to their temporary retreats, from what is designated the world ; and were picked up by accident, chosen by caprice, or tolerated from necessity. Her dear friend and quondam rival ( selon les regies ), Lady Georgiana Vivian, was a person of high rank and moderate fortune, one of the supreme exclusives of the supreme bon-ton. With a character vibrating between sentiment and libertinism, refined in her manners, free in her conduct, she had already replaced the bloom of youth by the complaisance of experience, and secured an ascendency over the amoiyr- propre of her male friends, which brighter charms in vain disputed. Acting with desperation against the world’s rules, she obtained by her address its suf- frages and sanction : and with an air “ Silent and soft as saints removed to lieaven,” she had the courage to venture beyond those barriers of discretion, which others of freer deportment trem- bled to approach. The character and appearance of Lady Georgiana formed opposite extremes. Her conversation was a murmur, her look simplicity, her manner naivete . She coquetted through a series of attitudes with her lovely children, and talked of poor dear Vivian, whom she had left at home in the gout, with a tone so tender, that it was difficult to decide how so fond a mother and so devoted a wife could live without the objects of her affection. A letter received by her ladyship from Lord Frederick Eversham had been 260 FLORENCE MACARTHY. shown by her to Lady Dunore. This letter contained a most overcharged and ludicrous description of the country from which Lord Frederick derived a salary, very acceptable to the younger brother of one of the poorest dukes in Great Britain. But most of all, his descriptive ridicule rested upon the little court of which he formed a part, and on the government, out of -whose arrangements his sinecure originated. He had visited many courts ; was familiar with princes, and known to monarch s ; he had fought in the field with emperors, and done the honors for sovereigns ; a court without a government, a representative of majesty without power, patronage, or influence, seemed, therefore, to him an incongruous combina- tion; while the solemn trifling formalities, in which he was himself officially involved, afforded him end- less amusement. The whole recalled to him some- thing he had heard or read of the formal puerilities distinguishing the government and court of China ; and from the moment he discovered the similitude, Ireland was to him the celestial empire, the castle of Dublin,* Tien Sing , or the ‘ Heavenly Spot] and sec- retaries, chiefs, subs, aids-de-camp, and officers of the household, were chop-mandarins of every colored button in the prismatic scale. The letter of Lord Frederick which promised amusement, the epistles of the Crawleys which threatened dangers, a dead season, hatred of water- ing-places, an offer from Lady Emily to accompany her friend, a promise from Lord Frederick to com- * The castle is the residence of the Lord Lieutenant. From this “ heavenly spot” all that is good and great is supposed to emanate. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 261 pose a party faite a ravir for Dunore Castle, combined to fix the wavering intentions of Lady Dunore. She had a few weeks before given up all idea of attending the election; and her new orders, issued with the promptitude of lightning, and executed with equal celerity, enabled her to reach Dublin before she could find leisure to inform Mr. Crawley that she had changed her mind. The party promised by Lord Frederick to dissipate the ennui of Lady Dunore, consisted of Mr. Heneage, a young Englishman of fashion, and brother aid-de- camp, and a Mr. Pottinger, whom Lord Frederick had described in his letter as the “ Baldassar Castig- lione,” the Cortegiano of the Irish court, and the very representative of its insignificance, formality, and ob- sequiousness to all the powers that be. To call forth the results of these qualities had indeed been the principal amusements of Lord Frederick’s life, ever since his arrival in Ireland; while Mr. Pottinger, proud of being distinguished by any great man, looked up to the brother of a duke with a deference which no consciousness of Lord Frederick’s ridicule ever disturbed. Mr. Heneage was of the rising order of dull dan- dies ; he had just sufficient volition to choose his call- ing, and sufficient energy to iron the cravat that indi- cated it ; he spoke little, because he had nothing to say, and would have spoken less had it been possible in the necessary intercourse of life to use fewer words; for he believed that to be truly fine, one should not speak at all. His dandy aphorism was, that every lady should be her own link-boy, and his dandy system was to suffer her to be so. i 262 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Lord Frederick, though a young man, was a dow- ager dandy, and was among the original founders of that now degenerate and declining order. Great tact, savoir vivre and humor had distinguished his early probation, when to be a dandy it was requisite to be something more than a coxcomb. Two years’ residence in Paris (where as a prisoner of war on parole he had been the delices of every fashionable circle) had confirmed him a m,erveilleux ; and he now so pleasantly mingled the fopperies of his home vo- cation and foreign calling, that it was difficult to say whether St. James’s street or the Chaus see cPantin had the fairest claim to his peculiarities. For the rest, Lord Frederick was one “ Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please,” who almost dignified vanity, and rendered affectation supportable by the good sense and good feeling which, in spite of his efforts to conceal both, formed the basis of his character. In gallantry aimer en courant was his device ; and it was literally en courant from Dover to Dublin (where his new appointment awaited him) that he dropped into the opera, saw Lady Georgiana Vivian in Lady Dunore’s box, found or fancied in her what he called “ the delicious laissez aller ease of a charm- ing French woman;” and after a few days devoted aux petit soins , left London in love and despair. Lord Rosbrin, who did not arrive with this party faite a ravir , but who was to join it from his seat in the neighborhood, was a foolish-looking young man, whose vacant countenance seemed to beg Macbeth’s question of Where got’st thou that goose look T FLORENCE MACARTHY. 263 He was born and educated in England ; his vast pro- perty lay in the south of Ireland ; and his first visit to that country was for the purpose of enlisting himself into the service of the Kilkenny theatricals, where his rank not obtaining for him a high cast of parts, he was contented to exhibit himself as one of Mac- heath’s gang, and to appear in the character of mutes, senators, generals, and others. The intellectual capabilities of Lord Rosbrin went further towards overturning the doctrine of innate ideas than all Locke has written on the subject, with- out, however, affording much testimony in favor of ideas acquired. His mind was a tablet upon which memory, the genius of fools, had made some traces ; and upon this stock of tag-rag recollections, obtained from play-books, he had traded through life, without any one calling into question his property in the pos- session. Yain, in proportion as he was weak, his dramatic vocation had arisen from the applause be- stowed upon his recitations when a child ; and the blue and silver draperies in which he had played Ariel at a private theatre, decided his calling for life ; from that moment to him “ all the world was a stage, ‘ And all the men and women merely players.’ ” His mind was stored with theatrical associations, stage properties, and stage anecdotes, leaving him little better than a walking prompter’s book. Ambi- tioning the first class of parts in the theatre he was building at Kilrosbrin, he looked down upon all sen- ates but that in Othello ; and preferring the potent, grave, and reverend signors of Venice to the potent, grave, and reverend signors of St. Stephens, he threw his Irish boroughs into the hands of a political 264 FLORENCE MACARTHY. stock-jobber, who dabbled so successfully for him in the funds of ministerial influence, that from a mere Irish baronet he in a few years became Baron, Vis- count, and Earl of Rosbrin of Kilrosbrin in Ireland, and Mount Wareham in England. To meet this party, Lady Dunore had sent from Dublin a most pressing invitation to her maternal uncle, the Right Honorable Hyacinth Daly, of Daly’s Court, in the province of Connaught, who obeyed the summons with such alacrity, that he was seated at his niece’s toilette the day after her arrival at the castle. He loved her for her mother’s sake, whose frailty and misfortunes had substituted pity for the resentment which had risked his life in a duel with her betrayer. Mr. Daly, now in his seventieth year, of an ancient Irish family, which for two centuries had represented their native county, a privy-coun- cillor of forty years’ standing, and one of the small minority which went out on the occasion of the Union, was in person, character, and manners, a genuine epitome of the ancient Irish gentleman. He preserved, even at his advanced age, that species of chivalrous gallantry in his manners, which not long since distinguished the gentry of the country, and which sent them forth to foreign courts the most accomplished cavaliers of their day; or as a mon- arch, who was himself a fine gentleman, named them, “ the finest gentlemen in Europe.” Time, which had shed its snows on the venerable head of Hyacinth Daly, had not “ thinned his flowing hair,” which he still wore dressed with infinite care, and precisely as he had worn it forty-four years before, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 265 when he first took his place in the Irish House of Commons. Mr. Daly had distinguished himself in the House of Commons, in the memorable year 1782, when Ireland for a moment was a nation ; and he had kept his noble mansion in Dublin until the Union ; then, having followed the liberties of his country from their cradle to their tomb, he retired forever from the scene of their ruin, spent his winter in London, and his summer at Daly’s Court ; and never saw the capital, but to pass through it, for the purpose of crossing the Channel. His mansion in Dublin (now a barrack) had been open to all the rank, talent, and worth of the land. There, all that has been flatter- ingly said of the genius, spirit, and gaiety of the Irish character, was realized in its circles : there he had lived with the Charlemonts, the Burghs, the Grat- tans, the Currans, the Floods : and there, many a beauty, who had afterwards added splendor to the galaxy of British loveliness, had imped her wing for conquest, — the Gunning, Monroe, or Birmingham of her day. CHAPTER IX. La noblesse de soi est bonne, c’est nne chose considerable assurement ; mais elle est accompagn^e de tant de mauvaises circonstances, qu’il est tr&s bon de ne pas s’y frotter. George Dandin. The time, thoughts and feelings of Lady Dunore, on the day after her arrival, were wholly engrossed by the three leading members of the Crawley family, whom she had received in her dressing-room after breakfast. The elder Crawley overwhelmed her with mano- rial business, plunged her in all the endless details of rents and roads, leases and fines, bills, parchments, and accounts, till her eyes were dazzled with figures, and her head ran round with fatigue. The business, upon which she had at first entered with eagerness, as being new and out of her way, became intolerably wearisome and insupportably disgusting in its pro- gress. Throwing from her therefore a pile of papers, with which Mr. Crawley had heaped her table, she exclaimed in a tone of exhaustion : “ There, Mr. Crawley, I can hold out no longer ; pray remove these horrors from my sight if you wish me to live. You are the best judge of what is for my son’s interest. You have always been active in our service. Only we want money to carry on the war, observe ; for you Irish are always dreadfully in FLORENCE MACARTHY. 267 arrears, and we must get our rents better paid. For the rest, if you wish me to remain among you ano- ther week, never overwhelm me again in this way. I would rather,” she added, gradually working her- self into a fever of annoyance, “ I would rather be mistress of an Irish cabin, and live upon your Irish potatoes and buttermilk, than submit to this, Mr. Crawley ; and if such is the tax upon Irish property, give me back the ‘far niente 7 of my Italian indigence, where, when one enjoyed the climate, one enjoyed everything; and where time, patience, temper, plea- sure and health were not sacrificed for leave to live in a melancholy old castle, on a savage sea-coast, at the head of a beggarly town, amidst clouds and storms, and among people who, as Mr. Conway says, even when quiet, may be compared to a slumbering volcano.” Old Crawley, having thus attained his point, swept up all his papers and parchments into his green bag, with a mingled look of obsequiousness and humor, and was succeeded by the law agent for the election. He, in his turn, poured forth a tirade of invectives against the whiggish O’Mahonys, whom he repre- sented as sturdy opponents of the present order of things, and as inflaming the minds of the people for their own private ends. He spoke of strengthening the hands of her ladyship’s ministerial friends, talked jocosely of “ we the corruptionists,” paraded, with great pomp of words, his electioneering schemes, de- tailed his wonderful successes, and went through a general account of the large sums which had already been lavished in the prosecution of the cause. With this specimen of his business talents he con- 288 FLORENCE MACARTHY. trived to mingle some smart jokes and good points, drew forth his “ little equipage of wit!” dealed largely in quotations, poetical and French scarps, and rounded on his peroration with a well-timed, well-placed and well-received flattery, offered to the rank, political importance, and even personal attrac- tion of his noble patroness. “Well,” interrupted Lady Dunore, yawning, as he attempted to return to some details of the freehold- ers lately registered ; “ well, for the present that will do, Mr. Conway; but spare me the refrain of the eternal election. You have managed so well that I think we may promise ourselves a dull kind of suc- cess enough. It would set one wild, though, if Fitza- delm should come over and spoil all, by refusing the borough, after so much money has been spent upon it.” And she added, with a look that indicated it would not be an unpleasant thing if he did, “ but there is no chance of that, and so things will go on sleepily enough; and I don’t think I need go to oatch one of your Irish typhuses, that you describe so frightfully, by personally canvassing your greasy corporation people of Glannacrime. But, oh dear, Miss Crawley, what pretty things are you making out of that scrap of couleur de rose note paper? Couleur de rose is such a relief to the eye after yel- low parchments.” “ It is an invisible fly-trap, madam, to catch the little epicures who come to feast upon hands, which, as Cleopatra says, 1 kings have lipped,’ ” replied Miss Crawley with an insinuating smile. Miss Crawley, with scissors and cut-paper, now succeeded in her turn to her brother and nephew. FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 269 But pink paper, like yellow parchments, and fly-traps, as well as elections, were destined rapidly to wear out the attention of Lady Dunore ; and Miss Craw- ley had recourse to the castle, of which she voted herself the cicerone, to revive her flagging interest, and to engross her ladyship to herself for the rest of the day. In the course of two hours they had mounted to the highest turret, descended into the deepest dun- geon, penetrated the darkest closet, stood exposed upon the rudest battlement, talked of ghosts and rebels, balls and insurrections, marked out alterations and improvements, ramparts to be thrown down, and verandas to be raised, swans to be procured, and ponds to be cut for them, the sea to be banked out, and rivers to be turned in, families to be excluded, and families to be admitted : all this was diversified with discussions upon evangelical schools, quotations from evangelical tracts, and many, very many soft, in- sinuating, penetrating compliments from the diplo- matic Miss Crawley, on the reform which the power, influence, rank, talents, and virtues of Lady Dunore might effect in a dark, unfortunate, and bewildered people. Reform, with Lady Dunore, meant change : change was always delightful; and, for the present, so was Miss Crawley, who indicated its possibility, and who had al- ready awakened so strong a prepossession in her in- tended neophyte, that Lady Dunore would not part with her, to return to Mount Crawley to dress for dinner, till she had promised that, as soon as her family visi- tors should leave her, she would come and take up her residence at Dunore. The male Crawley s had fatigued with their facts, the female had amused with 270 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. her speculations; both served their own purposes, while they played with her feebleness and caprice ; and as Miss Crawley drove off from the castle in her jaunting-car, she mentally exclaimed, with triumph, “ Dame du Palais indeed ! and now let Lady Clan- care look to it.” The fashionable guests at Dunore Castle had not met till the idle half-hour before dinner assembled i them in the saloon, into which they straggled one by one. Mr. Pottinger was engaged with Debrett’s Peerage, Mr. Heneage with his cravat, and Lady Georgiana in winding gold thread from an ivory reel, j held by Lord Frederick, who lay lounging beside her on an ottoman, when the whole house of Crawley, male and female, were announced en masse ) and made their entrance together. The men were in inky suits of professional black, save the major, who was all scarlet and medals. The ladies were covered with Honiton lace, and Irish diamonds. The four tawney Miss Crawleys were beflounced and befurbelowed knee deep ; and Miss Leslie dragged up her gown on her fat white shoulders, as she entered, with a look of innocent effrontery that might put even fashionable -ease to the blush of inferiority. This “incursion of the Kalmucks,” as Lord Fred- erick termed it, seemed to afford him strong motives for amazement and delight. He dropped the ivory reel, seized his glass, and murmured his observations to Lady Georgiana, who seemed no less amused than himself, while, according to precedence precise and formal, they passed up to the top of the room, where Mr. Pottinger, with his old habits of ceremony, stood receiving them in the absence of Lady Dunore, the \ FLORENCE MACARTHY. 271 lady lieutenant of the hour. The eldest Miss Crawley was the first, as proudly pre-eminent in ridicule, to attract Lord Frederick’s attention; and he asked Lady Georgiana, whose spy-glass followed the direc- tion of his own, “ Now, in pity, who is that Berg ere derangee , so withered and so wild in her attire ? — the oldest piece of mortality, surely, that ever took shelter under a white chip hat. Cela a cent ans sonnes ! not an hour less ! and then the matron, with the green necklace and the green eyes, set apparently by the same hand ; — and those four little 1 tawny tight ones,’ and the fat pretty roily polly soul, with the brogue in her shoulders ! dest impayable . But here comes Ching-foo Crawley, of the yellow button, at the head of the Chop Mandarins of the interior. I must go and do ko-tou, and renew my acquaintance with him. No, the whole celestial empire furnishes nothing like my Ching-foo Crawley.” While Lord Frederick, with great cordiality, re- turned the familiar pressure of Mr. Crawley’s two hands, who, as his lordship afterwards expressed it to Lady Georgiana, was an “ embrasseur impitoyable ,” Lady Dunore entered, leaning upon her uncle’s arm, flushed and animated by the bustle and excitement of the morning, and by the arrival of her venerable relation, who was the most welcome of all her guests, because he was the last. She received the whole Crawley congress, to’ many of whom she was a stranger, with an air imposing from its decided but carelessly betrayed consciousness of high superiority; and which was the more marked by the exaggerated condescension in her manner and cordiality, which, 272 FLORENCE MACARTHY. though eminently conciliating, was anything but familiar. When the first salutations were over, the Crawley phalanx, “ taking close order,” ranged into a formal circle, and seating themselves in a row with the regu- larity of nine-pins, looked as if they were incorporated with their chairs, and remained silent, motionless, and under evident restraint. The women, when called upon by Lady Dunore, minced their Irish accent, and spoke in monosyllables to conceal it : the men for the moment were struck dumb by the appearance of the “ great Daly of Daly’s Court,” who was out of their caste and class, and whom they had never seen at the castle dinners. The intermitting fever of Lady Dunore now seized upon her imagina- tion, as she contemplated the group of which she was the restless centre. The Crawley circle was a circle she never could break ; the Crawley dulness was a duln ess she never could dissipate; and she fluttered and floundered, as if under some spell, which, all restlessness, motion, and ennui, she in vain endeav- ored to dissolve. Lord Frederick, seated by Lady Georgiana, followed her motions with transport, and whispered to her as she hovered near him : “ Marquise de mon ame , that circle is your death- warrant. You die the death of a bored: this day, this fatal day, je vous en repond , bel idol mio. Look ! ’tis the hieroglyphical circle of eternity ! the serpent with his tail in his mouth ! an image of the durability of the celestial empire ! and of the reign of the Craw- ley mandarins and mandarinas, without beginning or end!” “ I won’t wait another minute for Rosbrin,” said FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 273 the marchioness, reddening to the eyes, and pulling the bell with a violence that left its cord in her hands. “ I will have dinner directly !” “ Wait for Rosbrin !” repeated Mr. Daly : “ no, to be sure ; nobody waits for Rosbrin. His movements are more likely to be regulated by a prompt-book than a time-keeper ; for while your soup cools at Du- nore, he is probably ‘ supping, full of horrors,’ at Macbeth’s banquet; or perhaps flinging a shoulder of mutton at Catherine’s head, while your venison drops from the spit.” Of all the members of the Crawley family, ole? 9 Darby, though lowest in professional rank, was the; person most at ease with respect to himself, and the) circle in which accident might place him. His proud consciousness of native humor, if it did not enable him to distinguish between being laughed with or laughed at, led him to risk himself in all situations : for, save where his worldly interests were concerned, there was an obtuse, inveterate, untractable dulness about him, which left him the most unguarded mark the point of ridicule could aim at. The distinguished attention paid by the marchioness to his family, the desire to show off before Mr. Daly, and to evince to him the intimacy in which he stood with the Dunore family, now led him to the assumption of a more than ordinary ease and familiarity; and before the mar- chioness had finished her soup, he addressed her with — “ If I’m not entirely mistaken, the last time I had the honor of tete-a-tete-mg your ladyship in a glass of wine, as the French say, it was at your sweet little villa of Sans six sous , near London : and I should be 274 FLORENCE MACARTHY. proud if you would allow me the honor of com- memorating that pleasure now. I remember some charming Madeira you had at Sans six sous. What wine does your ladyship choose, madam ?” and he looked in vain for the wine glaciers of solid silver, which heated rather than cooled the wines of his own table. Miss Crawley had equally in vain whispered “ Sans souci ) during this speech, while Lord Fre- derick, laying down his spoon with a look little short of ecstasy, called the attention of Lady Dunore, who was debating with Mr. Daly the probability of Lord Rosbrin’s arrival, by saying : “ Lady Dunore, Mr. Crawley is addressing some little reminiscence to your unattending ear, about Sans six sous , your villa near London. 15 “ I am after requesting your ladyship to drink wine with me,” added Mr. Crawley. 91 Oh, willingly ; but I don’t drink wine at dinner. I am upon a regimen just now : but I’ll take soda water to your wine, Mr. Crawley, with all my heart.” This was an innovation in Mr. Crawley’s idea of good breeding, which threw him entirely off his cen- tre. In his circle, ladies never refused to take wine, whether they wished for it or no : and the circum- stance of no wine being upon the table added to his confusion ; when the butler stepping up, and asking what wine he chose, relieved his perplexity, and he answered, “Port, if you plaze;” adding, “if your ladyship is upon a regiment, I should be sorry to make you give up your proscription. So I shall have the honor to drink your ladyship’s health, solus cum solo” “ Thank you, thank you, Mr. Crawley,” said Lady FLORENCE MACARTHY. 275 Dunore, laughing unresistingly, while Lord Frederick, wholly foregoing his soup, ecstasied over the richer feast presented him by Ching-foo Crawley of the yel- low button. Meantime Mr. Crawley repeatedly sipped from his glass with a great variety of expres- sion in his countenance, each indicating disappoint ment ; till at last he bent forward, and with a face of great importance, said : “ Pray, my lady, who do you dale with ?” “ Who do I deal with, Mr. Crawley ?” “ Yes, madam : I’d just be glad to know the name of your ladyship’s wine merchant, that’s all.” “ I believe that wine was sent in, two years back, by poor Lord Dunore. Is it not so, Robertson?” “ Yes, my lady.” “ Why, then, whoever he is, he does not use you well,” returned Crawley, significantly. “ Why, what is the matter ? Is the wine bad? Pray taste that wine for me, Mr. Daly.” Mr. Daly having put the glass to his lips, exclaimed, with a look of nausea, “ By Jove, ’tis catsup.” “ I give you my honor,” said Crawley, coolly, “ I thought it was no great things, no more nor the mare that ran for the whiskey ; but didn’t care to be the first to find fault ; for every one to their taste ; and I didn’t know what might have been the bon mot of London in the present day.” u Oh, but you Irishmen are such judges of wine,” said Lady Dunore, laughingly, “I suppose it is veryJ difficult to please you.” “We were,” said Mr. Daly, “before the introduc- tion of that coarse, vulgar beverage, port, at our tables, which the severe taxation at present obliges 4 276 FLORENCE MACARTHIf. us to drink. In my time, every gentleman imported liis own claret, which he drank out of the wood ; and they tapped a hogshead of French wine as we now broach a barrel of small beer.” “ It is, however, to that very taxation,” said young Crawley, pertly, “ together with other measures of equal^wisdom of his Majesty’s ministers, that we owe our present prosperity.” “ Exactly,” said Mr. Daly, dryly. “ Exactly,” in an emphatic tone, reiterated every member of the Crawley family ; while the commis- sioner made a speech upon the flourishing state of the revenue, and concluded with asking lady Georgi- ana to take wine. Lady Dunore, taking the hint of drinking wine, whispered Lord Frederick — “ Now pray do the honors, and help me on, or I shall never hold out.” “No, no — now pray,” said Lord Frederick, “it is not in my way. Heneage always drinks wine with the young ladies at the castle, as youngest aid-de- camp.” Mr. Heneage, thus called on, pointed his spy-glass round the table to observe who was worthy of the distinction, and at last sent the butler to Miss Leslie, who sat within two of him ; and then leaning back in his chair, and suffering his own man to fill his glass, instead of bending forward to meet the accustomed inclination of the head of the fair person he had chal- lenged, he simply asked the servant, “ Wilkie, does she bow ?” and being answered in the affirmative by his cup-bearer, he drew his chin within his impregna- ble citadel of starched muslin, and again gave up his attention to his Bechamelle. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 277 The first course was still removing, when the at- tention of the whole company was attracted to the windows by a curious sort of vehicle — a chaise-marine, covered with a canvas* awming, gaudily painted w r ith dramatic trophies, cups, daggers and masks, sur- mounted with a scarlet flag, and drawn by four horses, with bells and showy harness, driven by two boys, in English wagoners’ frocks, and straw hats with green ribbons, resembling the carter’s, formerly produced on the stage in “ Love in a Village ” “ Good heavens !” exclaimed the startled, and there- fore delighted, Lady Dunore, “ what is that ?” Everybody rose from their seats, and Mr. Daly ob- served : “ That ! that’s Lord Rosbrin’s thespian car, as he calls it, which he brings everywhere with him in Ire- land, and which is freighted with theatrical para- phernalia.” “ Is he so stage-struck as that ?” asked Lady Du- nore of her uncle. u He asserts that he is so, upon political and na- tional principles. Haven’t you heard of his new sys- tem of civilizing Ireland, by establishing dramatic encampments, and opening private theatres in the remote counties, as we found schools, drain bogs, or cut roads through the mountains for the public good ?” “ Do you know that I think his scheme excellent,” said Lady Dunore, who, like the maitresse du tripot of Scarron, “ aimoit la comedie plus que sermon ou vepres u and I promise you he shall have my hearty concurrence. I will have one of the turrets turned into a theatre immediately.” 278 FLORENCE MACARTHY. A chariot and four, with out-riders, now passed the windows. “ Here is Rosbrin himself,” said Mr. Daly ; and at Lady Dunore’s desire he went forth to receive his grandnephew. Lord Rosbrin soon appeared, follow- ing his venerable kinsman, on whose countenance a good-humored ridicule was visibly marked. His lordship had made his toilette at the last stage, and presented himself to the delighted and astonished eyes of the Crawley ladies, in the singular and elegant costume of an Austrian General : his belt, studded with mock stones, his embroidered pelisse, his yellow boots and waving plumage, produced all the sensa- tion he expected, on those who had never seen him before, and even on those who had. After a mo- ment’s pause, he advanced ; and having paid his respects to Lady Dunore with a theatrical air, he turned alternately to Lord Frederick and Mr. Hene- age, giving a hand to each, with “ Great Glamis ! Worthy Cayrdor !” then bowing round the table, solemnly pronounced — “Now good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both !” and took his place by his fair hostess and cousin. “ You seem out of spirits, Rosbrin,” said Lady Du- nore, observing the short incoherent answers he gave to some questions put to him by some of the company. “ I care not for my spirits,” he answered in the words of Celia, “ if my legs were not weary. But I pray you bear with me, gentle coz.” “ Bear with you ! Why, what is the matter ?” asked Mr. Daly. “Nay, mine uncle Clarence, nothing of moment; but I have been fagging to death to get my theatre FLORENCE MACARTHY. 279 up at Kilrosbrin against November. We open with Macbeth; an amazing strong cast; great tragedy forces. I mean to play Lady Macbeth myself. Mrs. Siddons is to lend me her old point, the finest, the only original point in the world : were it mine, I would not exchange it for ‘ one entire and perfect chrysolite.’ Apropos of the Siddons’ dynasty. I dined in private with Kemble the other day : mark me, ‘ good man delver you will hear of an event in the dramatic world will 1 scatter wild amazement round.' Let Drury look to it : there's 1 something rotten in the state of Denmark.’ I shall allude to it in my opening prologue.” “ By-the-bye, I am enchanted with your theatrical scheme, Rosbrin” (11), said his fair cousin, “ and mean to visit you as soon as you open the campaign.” “ ‘ That will be ere set of sun,’ ” replied Lord Ros- brin, “ that is, I mean by November, in order to fol- low close upon the Kilkenny plays. Their ‘ funeral baked meats will coldly furnish forth our marriage feast ;’ for some of their principal performers will join us ; and the Lord and Lady Lieutenant, with all their suite, will attend 1 on our solemnities :’ ay, 4 we’ll make the welkin dance;’ we’ll ‘ raise the night owl in a catch, shall draw three souls out of one weaver.’ ” “ Out of one waver !” repeated Darby Crawley, who looked up with great deference to the rank of Lord Rosbrin, though quite at a loss to discover whether his strange phraseology was supreme fashion, or absolute nonsense. “ But you don’t really mean that ?” said Lord Frederick, in a tone of vexation. “ You don’t abso- 280 FLORENCE MACARTHY. lutely mean that the castle people are coming to yon in November ?” “ ‘ Take this from this,’ ” said Lord Rosbrin, point- ing to his head and shoulders, “ if this be otherwise : ’tis truth, ‘if truth were ever pregnant made by cir- cumstance.’ ” “ What ! do you really mean that they come down in their public capacity, with little pages and lank aid-de-camps, busy chamberlains and sinecure comp- trollers, fat battle-axes and battered kettle-drums, with the eternal ‘ God Save the King,’ and ‘ Patrick’s Day,’ and the whole set out of the ca-astle ?” “All,” said Lord Rosbrin, in a tone of absence, and going over in his mind the business of the stage for the performance of Henry the Fourth ; “ all — sheriff, vintner, chamberlains, drawers, two carriers, travel- lers, and attendants, with the sign of the Boar’s Head in Eastcheap.” “ The Lord bless us !” exclaimed old Crawdey, much astonished at this travelling equipage; while Mr. Pot- tinger, dropping his knife and fork, and rubbing his hands, was about to set both gentlemen right, by de scribing the real arrangements of the viceregal tour, as they occurred to his memoiy, when he was stopped short by Lady Dunore addressing Lord Frederick : “ By-the-bye, Lord Frederick, how does Lady B. get on in her new office? Doesn’t it bore her to death that kind of representation ? It must be en- tirely out of her way, poor dear !” “ Why, it does, I believe, taut soit peu ; but, upon the whole, she gets on pretty fairly. For ten months in the year she lives at that bel respiro , the Phaynix, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 281 where she rears little pigs, sows mignionette seed, talks of her liver, and drinks chamomile tea.” “ Yes, yes. I know all her fagons a Vordmaire well enough. But I mean as Lady Lieutenant ! Is not that the Irish phrase for your viceroy’s wife ? How does she manage ?” “ Oh ! as she can ; like the rest of them, I believe : ask my Potty; he is the law and the prophets on these points ; she cuts when she can, keeps clear of the Kalmucks (except on the regular Ko-tou days, when the yellow skreen is exhibited), and lives toute comme une autre? Mr. Pottinger opened his eyes. This was flat profanation of a subject sacred to his imagination; and he would have opened his mouth, but that Lady Dunore went on, while her careless manner of talking of the lady lieutenant and the castle astonished, and almost mortified the Crawley Mandarins as much as Mr. Pottinger. “ But then, you know, Lord Frederick,” continued the marchioness, “ poor dear Lady B. is such a dowa- ger dowdy, and so very little en evidence in the world : besides, she dresses so ill. I used to think she spoiled the look of my opera supper ; didn’t you, Georgy, love ?” “Her Excellency,” said Mr. Pottinger, solemnly, and endeavoring to get in a word, “ goes through the necessary forms of drawing-rooms and birthdays with peculiar grace and dignity ; and ” “ And kisses all the Mrs. Maguffins and Mrs. O’Gallaghers, a toute outrance ,” interrupted Lord Frederick. “ Then she simpers, bobs under a canopy, and she walks in and walks out to ‘ God Save the 282 FLORENCE MACAKTHY. King,’ with a white wand, and an usher at the end of it; then struts forth Lord B- , bored to death (with 1 son nez en Vair ,’ and his heart under the ribs of his south-downs), followed by Grizzle, Noodle, Doodle, Foodie, and 1 others;’ while we English all walk after, like ‘ chickens, come cluck,’ — to slow music, by Jove ! Only think of my moving to slow music, voyez vous , like a mute in a play ! But the fun of all fun is my Potty’s face upon these high solemni- ties. Ha! ha! ha!” Here the image of the court, of which he was so distinguished a member, became too ludicrous for the risible faculties of the noble aid-de-camp, and amidst bursts of hearty laughter, in which he was joined by such members of the company as did not consider the Irish court to be the Tien Sing, the “ heavenly spot,” he continued to repeat, “ moving to slow music, by Jove ! that’s the fun !” The lengthening faces of the Crawleys and Mr, Pottinger induced Mr. Daly to call to order; and Lady Dunore, taking the hint, arose, and left the gentlemen to Lord Frederick’s further details of the celestial empire. She conducted the ladies to the drawing-room, and then left them, desiring Miss Crawley to be her lady lieutenant, and call for coffee when they wished it. The two friends ascended the stairs together, on their way to their respective dressing-rooms, where each was in the habit of taking a siesta between dinner and tea. Lady Georgiana observed, in her fondling way : “ These people bore you to death, sweet love.” “ No, dearest,” yawned Lady Dunore. “But,” continued Lady Georgiana, yawning in FLORENCE MACARTHY. 283 turn, “ they are very good sort of people, I dare say, ma belle .” “Yes, I dare say they are, mignonne; hut they need not sit in a circle for all that. You have no idea the effect a circle has on me, Georgy, love, — it kills me.” At this moment, her own woman passing, she said : “ Do let some of the footmen go into the drawing- room, and place the chairs back to back ; and take the tables and things from the walls, and throw all into the middle of the room, and send coffee to Lady Georgiana’s dressing-room, and call me when the gentlemen come out.” “By, by, dearest,” said Lady Georgiana, kissing first one cheek, and then the other. “ Day, day, love,” said the marchioness, pressing her lips to her friend’s fair forehead ; and she added, “ I’ll try and doze away the Crawley stupor, till the men come out.” More than an hour elapsed before the marchioness joined her guests : tea was served as she entered. Lord Frederick, Mr. Daly, Lady Georgiana, occu- pied an ottoman on one side of the fireplace ; and the whole race of Crawley formed from that point a semi- circle, which reached to the other. The marchioness started back, and then raised a despondiug look ; but took the seat offered her by Mr. Pottinger. A dead silence ensued, interrupted first by the young coun- sellor, who had been upon some political subject when the lady entered the room, which he again resumed. His brothers, meantime, remained silent and stupified ; the high sheriff not venturing a' single observation, and the major becoming absolutely confounded, after 284 FLORENCE MACARTHY. having made an unsuccessful effort at wigwams and bivouacs, “the Peninsula,” and “ the Raygent’s levy.” “ There,” said Lord Frederick, raising his glass to Lady Dun ore’s face, “there’s a bored marchioness; this is a coup de grace : let her survive it if she can. Mr. Po — tinger,” he exclaimed aloud, “ will you sing a comical song, or tell a story, my Potty — — ” “That antique song,” interrupted Lord Rosbrin, “ we had last night, 1 Music Hath Charms,’ Mr. Pot- tinger ; or give us ‘ Let us the Cannikin Clink,’ or ‘ Troll us a Catch;’ ” and he ran over the keys of the piano-forte as he spoke. At the word music, Mrs. Sergeant, and the four Miss Sergeant Crawleys, were thrown into a state of gentle agitation. Mrs. Craw- ley’s life had been passed in running about with her accomplished daughters, from one musical system- monger to another ; and the many hours a day they practised, the various methods they had adopted, the public exhibitions in which they had assisted, and the effect they had produced at Lady Kilgobbin's parties, were the eternal themes of her conversation. Al- though she had not before opened her lips, (overawed by the fashionable nonchalance of the two great ladies,) yet now, animated by maternal vanity, she ventured to observe that “music was a charming talent,” inquired “ who made the piano-forte that stood in the centre of the room,” and asked if it “was in tune.” The hint was immediately taken by the dowager Miss Crawley, always on the alert to puff off the family acquirements ; and it followed, of course, that the Misses Crawley were asked to perform, at the sly suggestion from their aunt, that “ they were FLORENCE MACARTHY. 285 charming musicians, taught in Dublin, and finished at Bath !” “ Oh then,” said Lady Dunore, starting up, “ for heaven’s sake, let us have music, let us have any- thing;” and scattering about the chairs from whence the Crawleys, on the impulsion given by this main- spring of all motion, had risen, she begged the young ladies would try something. The young ladies, un- prepared, indeed, but never unwilling to exhibit, went to the instrument ; while Lord Rosbrin, turning to Darby Crawley, asked him from the Tempest, “ did you ever hear the tune of our catch played by the picture of nobody ?” “ Why, then, I can’t charge my memory that I ever did,” replied old Crawley gravely. “ Music,” continued Lord Rosbrin, taking hold of Mr. Crawley’s button, “ was ordained (wasn’t it ?) to refresh the mind of man after his studies.” “To be sure it was, my lord,” replied Crawley, flattered at this reference; “and when my son Con- way was going through his college course, he was in- genuous at the flute, being always given to sedentary habits.” “ Here then well sit, and let the sound of music come upon our ears,” said Lord Rosbrin; and he handed Mr. Crawley a chair. Meanwhile the four Miss Crawleys laid by their gloves and fans, and arranged themselves round the instrument. Two sat down to the piano-forte ; one stood on the right of the keys to get in one hand to play the extreme treble, according to a new system of playing with five hands upon one piano-forte ; and the other two prepared their voices by gentle hems ! 286 FLORENCE MACARTHY. to sing a duet to this multifarious accompaniment. They now began “Away with Melancholy,” which they sang with such sad faces and tuneless voices, that it made every one melancholy to hear them ; until the alto Miss Crawley, who had never before played out of her musical stocks, went rambling with her emancipated hand over the instrument, like a colt re- leased from harness, to the utter confusion of her sisters, vocal and instrumental ; and to the consterna- tion and agony of her mother and aunt, she suddenly burst into tears, and cried out that “ she could not play without her cheiroplast.” Lady Dunore, equally delighted with tears and laughter, exclaimed : “ Poor little thing ! what is the matter ? what is her cheiroplast ? Can my maid make it ? There is nobody so ingenious as Dorette : what is it like ?” Miss Crawley endeavored to explain w r hat a chei- roplast was ; for Mrs. Sergeant was utterly con- founded at seeing the labor of years thus overthrown in a moment, and in such a moment. The young ladies now rose, pulling up their gloves, and seizing their fans in becoming emotion, while Mr. Crawley, to relieve the general confusion of the family, took fat Miss Leslie by the hand, and said : “ Come, Miss Leslie, honey, give us a touch on the piano; a song or a country dance in your own sprightly way. She has a sweet little voice, I give you my honor, Lord Rosbrin, and would rather hear her than all the bravado singing and Italian haber- dashery in the world. Kate, my dear, this is the Earl of Rosbrin.” “ Kate,” said Lord Rosbrin, taking her hand on FLORENCE MACARTJIY, 2S7 this presentation, and instantly transformed into Petruchio, “ the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super- dainty Kate, for dainties are all cates; and therefore, Kate, take this from me, Kate of my consolation ;” and he kissed her hand as he placed her at the piano ; while Kate of Kate Hall, blushing more from triumph than shame, drew up her frock upon her naked shoulders, and without further preface began to sing “ My Henry is Gone.” Her song ended, was encored by Lord Rosbrin, ap- plauded by Lady Dunore, bravoed by Lord Frederick, and epilogued by Darby Crawley, who, with a hu- morous wink at the gentlemen, said : “ The devil is in them Henry s ! I never knew one of them would stay with a girl yet.” To Lady Dunore’s horror the Crawleys were now all returning to their chairs and their circle, when, to her infinite joy, their carriages were announced, and she bowed them out with as much pleasure as she had bowed them in ; observing to Miss Crawley, as she came up to wish her good night : “ When you get rid of your friends, remember your promise ; and pray get rid of them soon.” She then threw herself on a cushion at Lady Geor- giana’s feet, and laying her head on her lap, uttered a pious “ Thank Heaven !” “ Oh! don’t think you are quitte pour la peur” said Lord Frederick. “ The Crawleys are yours an revoir . In the meantime let us call for the brag table.” Cards were now brought in ; and in the vicissitudes of a game, in which Mr. Daly and Lord Frederick played desperately high, their variable hostess forgot 288 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the Crawleye (dull and clever), and their spell-bound % circle, which, for want of some greater source of an- noyance, had become the phantom of her easily ex- citable imagination. CHAPTER X. “ Citizens ! your voices !” — S hakspeare. Centuries of cruelties and injustice — of misrule and military violence — had not subdued the spirit of the people of Ireland, a spirit which might be said to be- long almost to their temperament ; and other means were resorted to in order to quench a fire which di- rect oppression could not extinguish. Their parlia ment, filled with men selected by the English govern- ment, and separated m feelings and in interests from the people it affected to represent, set the country up to sale, and concluded their “ bargain” on the ruin and degradation of the land. By this act of political suicide, which banished at a blow the entire rank, illumination, and wealth of the kingdom, the political and legislative interests of the people were intrusted to a foreign and a rival senate ; while one hundred Irishmen, the representa- tives for the most part of the English ministry, and of the dominant religious faction, were added to the mass of corruption already festering in their unre- formed British parliament. Among what are vulgarly called the rotten boroughs of Ireland, Glannacrime stood conspicuous for its cor- ruption and servility to the dominant power of the day, whatever that; power might be. Mr. Crawley 290 FLORENCE MACARTHY. assured Lady Dunore that the corporation was at her devotion, and that any effort on her part would be but a work of supererogation. This assurance, so often reiterated, had wholly lulled the interest and solici- tude which the chance of a strongly contested elec- tion could alone have maintained alive in her capri- cious mind ; and in a few days, the event would have become wholly indifferent to her, if not quite obliter- ated from her memory, but for the open and candid declaration of Mr. Daly, that whatever interest he possessed, or could make in Glannacrime, should be exerted against his grandnephew, and in favor of Mr. O’Mahouy. This determination, far from annoying Lady Dunore, revived all her faded electioneering ambition; she found the unbiased independent intentions of her uncle as he stood opposed to his own kinsman, and in favor of a stranger whom he had never seen, new, extraordinary, and therefore charming ; and she even proposed that they should both set fortH in the same barouche to canvass on their different sides. To this Mr, Daly objected, as giving a ludicrous air to the business ; but when he mentioned that he should ride over to Glannacrime for the purpose of trying his interest, Lady Dunore then ordered her carriage with the same intention ; and while he took one road on horseback, she, attended by Lady Georgiana and the two Mr. Crawleys, took the other in an open ba- rouche. With the successful electioneering talents of the celebrated and lovely Duchess of D. full in her ima- gination, (for she had read an account of the famous Westminster election in an old magazine on the night FLORENCE MACARTHY. 291 before,) Lady Dunore, all life, spirit, and expectation, performed the first three miles of her journey with a restless and eager impatience to commence her can- vass : and insisted that she should stop at the first freeholder’s residence of whose vote there was any doubt. u We are now,” said young Crawley, with a signi- ficant look at his father, 11 within a few paces of the residence of a genuine Irish freeholder, who is as yet undetermined between the contending interests of Fitzadelm and O’Mahony. Shall I pull the check- string, Lady Dunore ?” “ Oh, by ail means in the world,” said the marchio- ness eagerly, and arranging the becoming gossamer shade of her Brussels lace veil, while she asked Lady Georgiana, “ am I blue, Georgy, love, perfectly blue, with this northeast blast ?” “ On the contrary, sweet love,” replied Georgy, love, drawing down her own veil, never wholly raised in broad daylight, “ you are absolutely petrie de lis ct ! de roses” The coachman was now ordered to turn to the left, while young Crawley observed : “ It is a narrow rough road ; but I think your lady- ship’s springs are equal to it.” “ I’ll venture my springs,” returned Lady Dunore, ; gayly : “ never mind the springs, Mr. Conway.” The barouche now wound along the rutted road of : a little valley. On either side, peat mixed with rushes seemed the only produce of a soil almost beyond the I reach of cultivation. The few patches of grass which were discernible were of a brown and stunted growth. As the carriage came in front of a small dunghill, 292 FLORENCE MACARTHY. which usually forms the first vallum to the residence of an Irish peasant, Mr. Crawley pulled the check- string. A hut or cabin rose behind in all the irregu- larity of architecture which the most extravagant lover of the picturesque could desire. The cabin it- self was built of rounded stones, which, like the edifice in the Fairy Queen, were “ Cunningly, and without mortar laid.” Tile door was removed from the doorcase, and laid crossways, to keep in the children and pigs ; on each side were two holes, both partially stopped up, the one with an old hat, the other wuth straw. Another aperture in the roof, near the gable end, was sur- mounted by a broken pitcher, being a refinement upon the mere hole in the roof, and intended to exhibit an improvement little known in the peasant architecture of Ireland — -a chimney. The roof of this curious, but not singular building, luxuriated in a variety of vege- tation : being composed of potato-stalks and grass sods, it sent forth vigorous shoots, and bloomed amidst the surrounding sterility. “ What is this ? Why do we stop here ? Can’t we proceed ?” asked Lady Dunore, impatiently. “ Certainly,” said young Crawley, “ but your lady- ship would, of course, like to see and speak to the master of this freehold.” “ Freehold!’ repeated Lady Dunore faintly, and holding her eau tie luce to her nose, as the midday sun dre w up the putrescent vapor of a flax pit ; and as every gush of smoke which burst from the hut, and rolled over the open carriage, came fraught with the stench of the cabin’s pestilential atmosphere. Two little half-naked and bloated children, who were FLORENCE MACARTHT, 293 plucking up some dead brambles for firing, raised tbeir eyes in stupid wonder on the carriage, and then ran into the cabin, with looks of consternation. The next moment they returned with a group, consisting of two smaller children, followed by a man and woman, the father and mother of this ill-thriven brood. The man, like the Southern peasantry of Ireland, many of whom are descended from a Spanish colony, was dark, meagre, and of a countenance marked by strong lineaments. His clothes were a patchwork of every color. His worn-out brogues were stuffed with straw. His beard half an inch in length ; his long black hair, clotted and overshadowing his eyes, indi- cated the neglect of hopeless and irremediable po- verty. The woman, who came forward wiping her mouth (for they had been at their customary meal of potatoes and salt), inquired in a whining voice and broken English, “ what was their honors’ will ?” Barefooted and barelegged, her eyes bleared with smoke, her form attenuated by insufficient diet, her complexion bronzed by exposure to the inclemencies of the weather, her dress in shreds, she still had a cheerfulness of manner that seemed ill-assorted to her situation. Such, in general, is the family, and such the dwell- ing of the Irish forty-shilling freeholder. Old Craw- ley, who was perfectly aware of his son’s manoeuvre, and who had sat silently enjoying the disappointment, surprise, and disgust of his patroness, now exclaimed in the usual tone of familiarity with which he ad- dressed the lower orders, from whom, in manner and language, he was so little removed : “ Morrow, Denis Regan ; how is it with you, man?” 294 FLORENCE MACARTHY. 9 “ Musha ! long life to your honor, I’m brave and hearty, sir; and hope you’re well, Mr. Crawley, dear.” “And how is the woman that owns yon, Denis? How are you, Judy?” Judy dropped a courtesy to the ground. “ Well, I thank your honor’s asking, praise to God, amen, and am glad to see you looking so beautiful, Mr. Crawley, sir.” “We are come for your vote and interest, Denis, for the approaching election ; and while I think of it, 1 have ordered ‘ bog leave’ for you from the bailiff.” “ Och, to be sure, and why wouldn’t you have it, sir, to be sure, only Mr. O’Mahony, sir.” y “And here’s Lady Dunore come to solicit your vote in favor of her son, Lord Fitzadelm,” interrupted old Crawley. “ See that, now ! and shall have it, sir, if it was worth thousands, any friend of your honor’s or the young counsellor’s, sir, long life to yez ; and hopes my lady will spake for us to your honor, sir, about the trifle of rint, and times going hard.” A dead silence now ensued, the Crawleys pur- posely making an opening for Lady Dunore to exert that electioneering talent, of which she had so fre- quently boasted during the ride ; but, with her hand- kerchief stuffed in her mouth, and her look divided between curiosity and disgust, she remained sunk in the back of the carriage. “Would your ladyship wish to alight?” asked young Crawley. “ Alight ! why the road is ankle deep. Pray let us get out of this shocking spot,” said Lady Dunore, with a countenance bespeaking nausea. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 295 “ I am afraid, however, your ladyship must alight, for this road is terminated by a bog ; and there will be some difficulty, if not danger, in turning the car- riage in this narrow spot.” “ Good God ! how could you bring us into such a scrape, Mr. Conway Crawley ?” asked Lady Dunore, angrily. “ Madam,” he replied, in affected consternation, “ I hope I did not mistake your ladyship’s order. I thought it was your ladyship’s wish to stop at the door of the first freeholder, who ” “ Yes, yes, but I could not for a moment suppose that this wretched place, these wretched persons — in short, if I stay a moment here, I shall catch a typhus fever, or be suffocated by the stench. Thompson, why don’t you turn instantly ? Do you hear me ?” “ Yes, my lady, I’ll try; but this is a bad bit of ground to turn in.” Aware, from experience, that his lady’s orders were indisputable, however difficult they might be in exe- cution, Thompson endeavored to turn ; but the horses, frightened by the sudden flutter and flight of a flock of geese, near the cabin door, became quite unmanageable, resisted rein and whip, and ran off with a velocity neither to be checked nor overtaken. The Regan family set up the usual Irish cry, “ Millia murther wdiile young Crawley, coolly looking after the flying vehicle, indulged in a smile, which there was no one to witness. Meantime, the coachman, with the utmost skill and effort, could not restrain the horses’ speed, and every moment threatened de- struction to the springs and wheels of the carriage, and fracture or dislocation to the limbs of its occu- 296 FLORENCE MACARTHY. pants ; when a peasant, who was clamping turf in the bog, sprang forward, seized the reins of the leaders, and, with no less skill than strength, not only suc- ceeded in stopping the horses, but assisted the coach- man in turning the carriage. Lady Dunore and Lady Georgiana, recovered from their fright, were loud in exclamations of gratitude and admiration to their deliverer, who had refused their proffered liberality, and who, in answer to their inquiries as to his name, replied coldly, “ Plaze your honor, my lady, it’s but a bad name. I’m Padreen Gar, madam, the boy that welcomed your ladyship home when we came down from the mountains to * meet yez.” “ It’s by no means a bad name,” said Lady Dunore, “and I shall take care not to forget it, Mr. Gore.” The Crawleys smiled significantly ; and Lady Du- nore, offended by looks which had not escaped her, ordered her coachman to drive back to Dunore, con- versed in Italian with Lady Georgiana the whole way, preserving a dignified silence towards the Messieurs Crawley. Thus placed under the ban of her tempo- rary displeasure, they received all its symptoms with the enduring complacency of persons whose patient servility can abide the stormy brow of greatness, in the certain expectation of the harvest of its returning sunshine. A few days had succeeded to that on which the un- ruly horses had formed a sort of adventure, in an ex- istence already deemed monotonous by the lady of the castle. Lady Dunore, who generally took up an opinion out of opposition, and supported it out of obstinacy, praising in spite, and approving in malice, FLORENCE MACAKTHY. 297 had dwelt, with a duration unusual to her instability J 9 on the gallantry of Padreen Gar, whom she persisted in calling Mr. Gore. Erected into a hero, the object of many of Mr. Crawley’s plots and fears now disputed even the in- fluence of Miss Crawley herself, who, since the de- parture of her friends, had become a resident in Dunore Castle ; and she still held her precarious tenure by the tie of adulation, which her sex rendered unsuspicious, and her sectarian zeal sanctified. Lady Dunore now expressed her intention of becoming a frequent visitant to a country which produced such a fine race of peasantry as Padreen Gar, alias Mr. Gore ; and time and circumstance had not yet worn out her prepossession (which, however, produced no benefit to its object), when a letter reached her hands that broke up the spell of her partiality, while it furnished new motive for action, and for agitation to her fever- ish existence. This letter was one of those productions, so fre- quently circulated in Ireland among the timid and credulous, to excite suspicion, awaken distrust, and j to give occasion for efforts of coercion and resistance j which usually produce the very events they are i adopted to suppress. It was something between a threat and a warning. It talked of the black flag of rebellion being speedily unfurled, of meditated assas- sinations and intended massacres, of a hatred to Eng- lish residents and Protestant ascendency advocates ; and of a probable and immediate attack upon the castle of Dunore by Padreen Gar’s boys, who were to assemble for a moonlight parade on St. Gobnate’s eve, near the holy well of Ballydab, to plan this siege 298 FLORENCE MACARTHY. for the following night. To this was added, that Padreen Gar, accompanied by his boys, who were concealed in the pits of the bog, had intended to sur- prise her carriage on the day of her proposed visit to Glannacrime, but were prevented by the presence of the two Crawleys, and that an artful rescue was sub- stituted for the meditated attack. To this letter Lady Dunore gave implicit cre- dence, merely because she wished it to be true. The threatened danger relieved the torpor of her feelings, gave play to her wild imagination, and afforded ample occupation to her laborious idleness. Mr. Crawley and his son were on business with her when this letter arrived by the post, bearing the office mark of a neighboring town : its contents were, of course, instantly communicated to them ; but instead of urging her immediate departure, as they expected, it furnished her with additional reasons for remaining. To her expressions of horror at the state of the coun- try, and the ingratitude of a people for whom she had roasted an ox, young Crawley replied, that of all this he could have informed her before, even when her predilections for Padreen Gar ran highest ; but that he feared to frighten her away from the country, when it was his and his father’s wish, rather perhaps than her ladyship’s interest, that she should remain forever. Measures for meeting the evil were now discussed. Secrecy and concealment from all the guests at the castle were strongly recommended; and Lady Du- nore u qui aimoit terriblement les enigmes ,” readily yielded her assent to this necessity. The object of the Messieurs Crawley was, as they declared, that FLORENCE MACAIiTHY. 299 Lady Dunore should judge for herself of the state of the country, and of the people : for this purpose, the band of ruffians, with the principal incendiary, should be surprised and seized on the eve of St. Gobnate, and brought to the castle, on their way to Dunore gaol. To all this Lady Dunore acceded, delighted to be surrounded by rebels and ruffians. To hold a sort of presidential court, or special commission in her own castle, was an event consonant with her feelings ; and while the Crawleys believed they were awakening her timidity and distrust, they were, in fact, flattering the dormant qualities of her being. Their low cun- ning aimed only at the feebleness of the human char- acter, but were ignorant of the varieties of which that character is susceptible : and accustomed to work with no other tools than menace and intimidation, they used them with a universal and indiscriminate application, mistaking the credulity of Lady Dunore for a timidity foreign to her temperament and dis- position. The eve of St. Gobnate was still distant by some days ) and in the anxious interval the Crawleys re- gained their former influence over the lady of the castle, and were frequently closeted with her for hours, to the exclusion, not only of the numerous visitors who called to pay their respects, but even of her domesticated guests, who were left to amuse themselves as they might. While the Crawleys thus 1 engrossed her society, they directed the channel of her thoughts, and worked powerfully on her imagina- tion. Ex parte statements of the events of the un- happy rebellion of 1798 were added to the raked-up BOO FLORENCE MACARTHY. horrors of the more dreadful 1641. Mr. Conway Crawley read his way to her favors through murders and massacres, while his aunt cut hers through paper screens and watch-papers ; thus combining the frivo- lous and the sanguinary, to occupy her mind, and to work upon her feelings. Meantime, the rumor of an insurrection had been spread through the town of Dunore, and had reached the steward’s room and servants’ hall of the castle ; thence it ascended to the drawing-room, where some laughed and some trembled at it. Although Lady Dunore and the Crawleys preserved a profound silence on the subject, it was understood that a party of the New-Town Mount Crawley supplementary auxiliary legion occupied the flank towers of the castle every night after sunset ; that expresses had been forwarded to Dublin, and that many of the Lnglish servants had applied for leave to return to tneir native country. What, however, had spread the greatest consterna- tion in the neighborhood, was the fact that Terence Oge O’Leary’s house had been entered by constables, his papers seized, and officers of justice stationed to arrest any persons found lurking about the cemetery of the Monaster-ny-oriel. O'Leary himself escaped by being absent on some of his usual antiquarian re- searches. On that day, observed in the country as the Feast of St. Gobnate, Lady Dunore descended earlier than usual into the breakfast-room, her cheek flushed, and her eye wandering ; she was also dressed in biack, as was usual with her when under the influence of grief or anxiety. She spoke little, and refused to break- fast, alleging that she had been drinking gunpowder FLORENCE MACARTHY. 301 tea since daylight. She was restless and unquiet, ap- peared and disappeared like a phantom, dispatched note after note to Mr. Crawley, and seemed so agi- tated by ill-suppressed emotions, that Lord Frederick, who was sipping his cafeau lait , and reading a French novel, at last inquired of her, in his usual tone of af- fectation, “ Metis qyCest ce quHl y a done , belle Chate- laine ? What is the matter, my marchioness ? Are the reports we have heard of incipient rebellion in the Celestial Empire really true, or are they only got up by the chop-mandarins for their own special pur- poses ? I dare say that professeur de bavardise , Duke Conway Townsend Crawley, of the peacock’s feather, is at the bottom of all this ; or that my own Ching- foo, of the yellow button, is amusing himself with a plot, like the honest gentleman that got his own ef- figy shot at, to alarm the sleeping sensibility of the lenient government people at the castle.* Now pray speak : are we to be roasted, a Vlrlandaise , before a slow fire, like so many chestnuts, or spitted, as the children in the old rebellion, like so many snipes ?” Here Lord Frederick was interrupted by the loud stamping of feet outside the door, which was sud- denly burst open; and Lord Rosbrin, in his black velvet Hamlet suit, which he had been trying on be- fore he dressed, with wild looks, and wilder voice, rushed in, crying out — w Oh ! horror, horror, horror, tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee !” Lady Dunore shrieked, Lord Frederick laughed to hysterics, and Messrs. Heneage and Pottinger stood * Fact : the ingenious party was a magistrate, and, moreover, a clergyman. 302 FLORENCE MACARTHY. aghast. Mr. Daly, who had been hitherto quietly reading the English papers, now started up astonished, exclaiming with vivacity : “ Why, are you all mad ! what is the matter, Ros- brin ? see, you have frightened the ladies to death. What is the matter ?” “ What is the matter ?” reiterated Lord Rosbrin, seizing the well-remembered lines of Macduff, “ why confusion is the matter.!’ “ Confusion has made his masterpiece, Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The temple, and stolen thence — ” “ Murder !” said Mr. Daly, shuddering. u Stolen ! stolen what ?” interrupted Lord Frede- rick, becoming suddenly serious. Lady Dunore, now believing that there was reason for fears, continued to scream louder than before; and Lord Rosbrin, pointing to a letter he held in his hand, observed, with a little paraphrase in his citation : “ Approach this letter, and destroy your sight With a new gorgon.” “ Who is it from ?” said Mr. Daly, snatching the letter, and searching for his spectacles. “ Who from?” continued Lord Rosbrin, pacing up and down the room with frantic, but with theatrical gestures. “ ’Tis from the deputy prompter of Covent Garden Theatre ; ‘ Oh ! insupportable, oh ! heavy hour ! It should be now a huge eclipse o’ the sun ; for oh, my friends, Mrs. Siddon’s point lace, alas ! she has no lace ! but her point lace that was , and that I should have worn, is stolen away from her dressing- room at the theatre ! all, all gone \ FLORENCE MACARTHY. 303 1 Nor left a wreck behind.’ ” “ So,” said Mr. Daly, much provoked, and resuming his newspaper, “ so, as Moliere says of his capricious lady, ‘ on fait la sottise , et nous sommes les sotsl ” Meantime, Lord Frederick rolled in convulsions of laughter ; Mr. Pottinger and the ladies dried their humid eyes ; and Mr. Heneage, smelling a flower-box in the window, observed, “ the mignonette harvest had been vastly abundant this year,” A servant at this moment entered, and presented a letter to Lady Dunore, which she took with trepida- tion ; but as she read it, her clouded countenance brightened into smiles, and ere she finished it, she said : “ No, never vras there so fortunate an event. The circuit judges dine here to-day, and will be present at the trial. Well, after all, I must say there is nothing like Ireland, where one is kept in a constant state of emotion and occupation ” “ Trial ! what trial ?” demanded Ml\ Daly in aston- ishment. “ Why the fact is, my dear uncle,” said Lady Dunore, no longer deeming it necessary to keep a secret which was beginning to be a charge , “ the castle of Dunore was to have been attacked this very night, on the Feast of St. Gobnate, but for the timely prudence of the two Mr. Crawleys, who have discovered the plot, and have hitherto concealed their knowledge of it from political motives. They have succeeded this morning in surprising and seizing that ferocious and lawless banditti, called Padreen Gar's boys ; and I am this moment expecting their arrival at the castle, escorted by a party of the military, on their way to 804 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the gaol, "We meant to have kept all this quiet, for fear of frightening Georgy, love, and alarming you all, but now that the judges and things are coming to the castle to dine,” she continued in a fever of delightful agitation, walking up and down the room, and fan- ning herself with a hand-screen, “ now we shall have a regular, imposing, and, I dare say, amazingly amus- ing trial.” “ Oh ! a regular special commission,” said Mr. Daly, with ironical seriousness. “ An inquest held on a parcel of shanavests and caravats must he rare sport for ladies. But who are the charming judges who come so appropriately to preside at your ladyship’s court, and to assist in getting up a scene for our pri- vate amusement, at the expense of the public charac- ter of the county ?” “ Oh ! I know nothing in the world about them,” said Lady Dunore, “ only they are judges of some kind or other, who are on circuit, and who have in- vited themselves here. Mr. Crawley will be enchant- ed at this ; it will save him trouble. Here is their letter : pray read it aloud,” and she tossed it to Mr. Daly, who read it as follows : “Baron Boulter presents his respectful compli- ments to the Marchioness of Dunore ; he proposes, with his brother judge, Mr. Justice Aubrey, having the honor of paying his respects at Dunore Castle this day, between his breakfast and sleeping stage, on his way from circuit to Dublin, when Baron B. will be happy to become the bearer of any commands her ladyship may have for the metropolis.” “The wretched accommodations,” observed Mr. Daly, “ at Bally-na-scroggen, have, I suppose, induced FLORENCE MACARTHY 305 Baron Boulter, who is a man of the world, and a true disciple of the savoir vivre , to claim your ladyship’s hospitality. But I know not what argument has pre- vailed on his excellent but not always very accommo- dating brother judge, for once to agree in his de- cision.” “ Oh, it is no matter what brings them here, pro- vided they come. There never was such luck,” con- tinued Lady Dunore, fluttering about the room ; “ we shall have quite a regular special commission, as you gay, my dear uncle ; I hope, though, they will not hang many of these wretches. You have no idea how I hate to have people hanged and she added, wiping away her now fast coming tears, “ If I heard sen- tence pronounced on a great many at once, and the clanking of chains, and the condemning cap and things -” “ By-the-bye,” interrupted Lord Frederick, “ apro- pos to hanging; isn’t Baron Boulter the facetious 4 hanging judge,’ who makes us all die laughing at the castle dinners with his bon mots “He is thought to be a leetle severe,” said Mr. Pottinger ; “ but he is zealous for government, and is, perhaps, the best punster on the bench ; that is I be- lieve admitted on ail sides.” “ An high judicial qualification, my Potty,” returned Lord Frederick, gravely. “ But should we not have something of a court for them ?” asked Lady Dunore. “ Good heavens ! how unlucky Miss Crawley should not have returned from her eternal evangelical school at Yew-Town Mount Crawley ; she would have cut me out a court ; got me up a court, I mean, or something in that way, in a 306 FLORENCE MACARTHY. minute, something that would produce a striking effect, something scenic, you know.” “ Scenic ! a striking effect ! a good stage effect !” exclaimed Lord Rosbrin. “ Leave that to me, my gentle coz, my pretty coz. I have all the requisite properties with me, maces and halberds, senators’ wigs, ermine and all” “ We must have the packing-cases removed out of the hall,” continued Lady Dunore ; “ and tables, and pens and ink, and things, you know ; for if we are to give the thing an air of a regular trial, we may as well do it handsomely.” “ Trial !” repeated Lord Rosbrin, “ I have the Con- vent Garden prompt-book, with the Merchant of Venice trial, in my pocket; here it is.” Lord Rosbrin now pulled out a ragged book, with all the business of the stage laid down; and Lady Dunore continued : “ Do then, dear Rosbrin, get things in order, you understand these matters so well ; I’ll ring the bell for the servants to attend you.” Lord Rosbrin caught her arm. “ Leave everything to me, my fair coz. Scene — a hall.” “ I think I could assist you,” said Mr. Pottinger, “ We shall want,” interrupted Lord Rosbrin, stop ping his mouth, “ trumpets, marshal’s staff, two aider- men, Archbishop of Canterbury, Duchess of Norfolk, godmother — no, hang it, that’s the christening in Henry the Eighth. Here is the trial scene — trumpets and cornets ; two vergers, with short wands ; scribes in habits of doctors. Well, only leave it to me. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 307 Come Pottinger, you shall act as scribe or verger, or property boy. What’s in a name ?” The peer and Mr. Pottinger left the room together, followed by Lady Punore, who was all emotion and gratification; while Mr. Paly and Lord Frederick laughed without restraint, and Lady Georgiana said, “ that poor thing will wear herself out with her strong feelings. There never was such a quick irrita- ble sensibility as hers.” “ Oh, she is delicious f” said Lord Frederick, “ tak- en in small and distant doses. But it were as well to live in a tornado as occupy the same house with her volcanoship for two months together.” “ I have never seen her thus extravagant before,” said Mr. Paly, in a tone of mortification. “ I confess I lose all patience when I see her the dupe of these Crawley plots, or rather of her own caprice and whim, and of that insatiable thirst for scenes and sen- sations that has made the torment and the enjoyment of her life. I would not wonder if she has worried poor Punore out of his reason, and been the cause of all the eccentricity of that other forward but clever boy, whom she has induced to forego his independent principles, and set up for this corrupt saleable Craw- ley borough. And yet I love her for her mother’s sake ; for she was an angel — at least before ill usage had ” He paused abruptly, sighed, and resumed his news- paper ; while Lord Frederick whispered Lady Geor- giana — “ a fallen one.” Within the ensuing hour the Judges Boulter and Aubrey arrived at the castle, were announced, and S08 FLORENCE MACARTH7. received in the saloon, as old acquaintances, by Mr. Daly. The Right Honorable Baron Boulter was a col- lateral descendant of the celebrated English eccle- siastic of that name, who, under the title of “Primate of Ireland,” governed the land with a crosier of iron. Bishop Boulter, in his celebrated letters, has divided the population of Ireland into his own party, and the \natives ; and has added to this curious classification a maxim, that “ Ireland is only to be governed by be- ing divided urging, at the same time, the necessity for employing spies and informers as proper agents of government, and as worthy of being remunerated and recompensed even unto the third and fourth genera- tion. The inheritance of this family creed was the sole succession of the Baron — himself the younger son of a younger brother ; for little was added to it but a rattle and bells, bequeathed him in his infancy by his grandaunt, Mrs. Barbara Boulter, which he ever afterwards preserved ; and which, even on the bench, he was wont to play with gaiety enough, when forensic dulness made claims on his patience, or the pauses of business left leisure for innocent amusement. Baron Boulter had nothing of the saturnine and irascible spirit of his great political predecessor, the primate. He was of a cheerful sanguine tempera- ment ; possessed an evenness of temper that usually supplies the absence of sensibility; and, anywhere but in Ireland, might have been as respectable in his public character as he was pleasant and courteous in his social deportment. The rebellion was the great scene of action for such qualities ; and to that period, like many others of his FLORENCE WACARTHY. 60 9 professional contemporaries, he stood indebted for his pre-eminence. The means of his rising became the habit of his character: and he continued to joke and to condemn with a gaiety and contempt for human life, which belonged to his temperament, and which served to uphold the reputation of his loyalty No one trifled away liberty with more grace, or pronounced sentence with more humor than Baron Boulter ; and the culprit whom he jested to the gal- lows (had his love of wit borne any proportion to his fear of death) must almost have been reconciled to his fate by the pleasantry that sealed his destiny. His professional interests and political principles aside, (which in Ireland are always closely connected,) Baron Boulter was fair-judging and clear-sighted. He came at results with the prompt but unlogical process of a woman’s perceptions ; but living always on one spot, within a narrow circle, his knowledge of human nature went no ^further than the sphere of his action ; and his philosophy was as local as his jokes. He could flatter an Irish chancellor, adulate an Irish viceroy, amuse the priggish dulness of an Irish secre- tary, joke with, or sift to the very bottom of evasion and circumlocution, an Irish peasant, while he gayly laughed with, and secretly laughed at all. Still, his human nature was always Irish nature ; and though, as far as experience went, his premises were just, yet they were confined, narrow, and home-directed ; for the rest, social in habits, of amiable address, and pleasant humor; he was sought for by the great, whom he amused, and feared by the poor, whom he i — hung. Judge Aubrey was in character a mixture of those 310 FLORENCE MACARTHY. temperaments which produce a quick and irritable sensibility, a prompt, uncalculating sympathy, and a warm, deep-seated, violent indignation; qualities which form so broad a basis for human excellence, while they unfit it for a patient endurance of base- ness, meanness, and cupidity. These were power- fully worked on, and hourly called into action, by the political situation of a country which he loved with all the fervor of an ancient Roman, and by the sys- tematic degradation of a profession he venerated as the guardian of human rights. His bile and his ex- perience increased together ; the hopes of the patriot, and the health of the man, suffered in equal propor- tion ; and the social simplicity and playful gaiety which formed the charm of his domestic hearth, and from which the world was shut out, deserted him in that public tribunal, where the liberty he worshipped was sacrificed, and the profession he revered was debased. Ireland, his native contry, was his object : he had upheld her cause in the senate, until her independence had breathed its last gasp ; and he retired from the scene of her run with a minority that might, in every sense of the word, be deemed “ glorious.” Ireland was still his object ; and the lowliest of her children found redemption from his mercy, solace in his com- miseration, and relief from his liberality. From the bench he expounded the causes of their crimes, while he lamented their effects ; he taught while he judged — he wept when he condemned. From the period of the Union, Judge Aubrey had retired from what is called the world, from the bustling walks of life, and from the giddy round of fashionable circles. Living for and with a few, he FLORENCE MACARTHY. 311 had for many years made no progress in the succes- sive modes and jargons of succeeding fashions ; and it was in part to this circumstance that he owed much of that peculiar freshness of character, and Something of that austerity of manner, which the friction of society is so apt to efface. This well-pre- served individuality was set off by a peculiar man- ner, idiom, and phrase, which, as well as his broad ac- cent, were genuinely Irish. To profound classical reading, and considerable scientific acquirement, he added an unpretending simplicity, which is insepara- bly connected with the highest order of talent, though so often falsely attributed to mediocrity and igno- rance. Such were the two high judicial characters, who, now linked in a professional yoke, drew as different ways as untrained colts in the same harness. Since the commencement of their circuit, they had never agreed upon any one point, except the expediency of trying the French chef de cuisine of the Marchioness of Dunore, instead of relying on the gastronomic talents of Judy Mulligan, of the Cat and Bagpipes, in the neighboring town of Bally-na-scroggen. CHAPTER XI. “ The council shall hear it — it is a riot.” “ Sir Hugh, persuade me not — I will make A Star-chamber matter of it.” Shakspeare. On the arrival of Baron Boulter and Judge Aubrey, Lady Dunore was summoned to the breakfast parlor. Already she had seen a crowd of persons wandering among the hills, and the glitter of arms hashing in the sunshine. Her ardent imagination magnified the New-Town cavalry corps, and half a dozen peasants, into a prodigious military force, and a formidable band of rebels ; and she rushed into the apartment where the two judges were quietly taking a soup after their long morning’s ride. With eyes flashing, and cheeks suffused, she welcomed them to the cas- tle. She expressed her gratitude to Baron Boulter, in exaggerated terms, for a visit so kindly volun- teered ; and uttered a fervent hope that their pres- ence would give importance to an event in which many lives were concerned. She then abruptly ended with the question of — “ But which of you, my lords, is the hanging judge ?” This question, which startled the judges, confused i Mr. Daly, and threw Lord Frederick into agonies (lest in her delirious ravings she should cite him as FLORENCE MACARTHY. 313 authority for this judicial sobriquet ), produced a short silence, until Mr. Daly came to the relief of the party, by observing : “ My dear lords, I must account for this agitation of my niece, Lady Dunore, by informing you that her mind and feelings have been worked on by some representations of the state of this province not per- fectly correct. Her agent and confidential person, Mr. Crawley, is a timid man, and it is but fair to say that I believe he is frequently the dupe of his own fears. But he also belongs to a certain party, who, under the guise of inordinate and exclusive loyalty, act in defiance of the law of the land, are lawless by the concurrence, or at least the countenance, of those in authority, and may be said, in the language of a celebrated orator, to be 4 opposed to rule by act of Parliament.’ Among such persons it is a favorite system of tactics to create false alarms, and then to ingraft strong measures upon the fears they have awakened. I have some reason to think my niece is at this moment the victim of this wretched and hackneyed policy, and that the attack on her castle, and the smothered insurrection with which she has been anonymously threatened, are the phantoms, I will not say the creations, of Mr. Crawley’s brain.” Lady Dunore, mortified and disappointed by a speech that threw her out of a sphere of action to which all her fancies and feelings were made up, was beginning an expostulation with her uncle, w T hen Baron Boulter interrupted her by observing that “ the Irish were a very fine people, and a very hand- some people ; but that it was most certain a little occasional hanging, just now and then, did them no 314 CATHOLIC ANECDOTES. harm; and though they might not, in the present instance, be so deeply implicated in rebellious prac- tices as the loyal and vigilant prudence of his worthy friend Darby Crawley suggested, yet a little timely caution and wholesome severity rarely came amiss ; that he would willingly lend his aid in examining into the circumstances of the case, and endeavor to dissipate her ladyship’s fears by exploring their cause.” “ The people of Ireland,” said Judge Aubrey, in a tone between sullenness and indignation, “like the people of other nations, are pretty much what their government has made them. They are factious be- cause they are wretched ; and it is the fashion of the day to give to their local disturbances, to their re- sistance to the collection of the tythes they are un- able to pay, to their murmurs against the taxes, which have reduced the country to ruin, and even to their personal and oft-barbarous conflicts among each other, the names of insurrection and rebellion. Mr. Crawley, madam, is an old alarmist ; and your ladyship is, I perceive, new to the modes by which affairs in this country are carried on.” “ But when an armed force is at our gates,” said Lady Dunore, in a tone of irritation and impatience ; “ when letters reach my hands, Judge Aubrey, which inform us that “ The charge is prepared, the lawyers are met, The judges arrayed, a terrible sight,” interrupted Lord Rosbrin, as he burst into the room with a billiard cue in his hand for a wand. “ Everything is ready,” he observed: “the court FLORENCE MACARTHY. 315 waits, the prisoners are arrived, and the counsel will be here in a few moments.” “We have endeavored to make things comfort- able for you, Baron,” said Lady Dunore, putting her arm through Baron Boulter’s, and hurrying him towards the hall, where she was followed by Judge Aubrey, Mr. Daly, Lord Frederick, Mr. Heneage, Mr. Pottinger and Lady Georgiana. “ There,” said Lord Rosbrin, presenting two arm- chairs to the judges, placed at the head of the hall, before a table covered with heavy volumes, “ there, my lords, that is the awful seat of judgment. Here, Lady Georgiana, this is your place, and yours Ever- sham and Heneage : you are the special jury. You see we have a fine gallery, a charming audience,” and he pointed to the corridor, which ran round the hall, and was filled with valets-de-chambre, ladies’ maids, with the inferior branches of the Dunore household; “and,” he added, fixing some chairs and a table to the left, “ this is the place for the counsel for the crown, the learned Crawl eys, ‘ very Daniels the prisoners, you see, my lords, occupy the lower part of the hall, the back-ground being filled up with guards, officers, mutes, and others ; and the solitary female prisoner, the Queen Catherine of the trial, though in a rug cloak, is placed, in delicacy to her sex, in the shade of this recess and painted win- dow.” Everything was, indeed, in the order which Lord Rosbrin had described. The prisoners occupied the foot of the hall. The New-Town Mount Crawley corps filled the portico. A woman, in a coarse gray cloak, and straw bonnet- 316 FLORENCE MACARTHY. drawn over her face, was seated in the recess of the Gothic window ; and the rest of the party were dis- posed of according to Lord Rosbrin’s idea of the stage business of the trial in the Merchant of Venice. On the countenance of Baron Boulter was painted an expression of great humor, as of one ready to be amused, as to amuse. Jiadge Aubrey was, on the contrary, sullenly looking over a volume of Hogarth, which lay before him on the table ; evidently out of patience and out of temper with the absurdity of the passing scene. Lady Dunore was fluttering about from place to place, and from person to person, in hysterical emotions, tears in her eyes, and smiles upon her lips; and Lord Rosbrin was beginning a speech from the trial of Queen Catherine, and had, in the legal phrase, got on his legs, when Mr. Crawley, his son, and sister, followed by his clerk, Jemmy Bryan, carrying a green bag, appeared pushing through the crowd, which filled the bottom of the spacious hall. “ Oh ! I am glad you are come,” said Lady Du- nore, speaking to them from her “jury box.” “Are you not enchanted at the turn things have taken! Only conceive, what luck ! Baron Boulter and Judge Aubrey so kindly consenting to be present at our little special commission. Rosbrin, pray show the Mr. Crawieys their place. Miss Crawley, I’ll make room for you here : we must put you on the jury.” The Crawieys for a moment remained motionless. To their utter amazement, the whimsicality and ex- travagance of Lady Dunore had overturned all their long and ingeniously-concerted plans. Instead of their snug star-chamber trial, they now stood con- FLORENCE MACARTIIV. 317 fronted before the judges of the land in the presence of a Large assembly ; while the examinations of the prisoners, which they meant to turn to the account of terror, would now be taken out of their hands, and be made a jest of by the baron, or be conducted in such a way by Judge Aubrey as would betray the inadequacy of the charges upon which their wild- looking prisoners were to be committed. Meantime, the clerk spread the table with deposi- tions against the prisoners. Old Crawley seated himself before it, and Lord Rosbrin, flourishing about, with theatrical solemnity, exclaimed : “ Now then proceed to justice, which shall have Due course. Produce the prisoners. Silence ! Read the indictments.” The clerk put on his spectacles, and cleared his voice; while Baron Boulter, endowed with a pliancy of mind which permits the pursuit of many objects at the same moment, and in the habit of dispatching an epigram, and a warrant, of giving judgment and an invitation to dinner in the same breath, now called for pen, ink, and paper, that he might answer a few letters, and listen to the examinations “ without loss of time or hindrance of business.” Judge Aubrey, throwing aside his book, observed : “ Since I take my seat here to the quality of a magis- trate, at the desire of the Marchioness of Dunore, I beg that if there are any depositions to be made against these men, who appear to be under a double guard, civil and military, they may be gone through forthwith.” “ My lord,” said Conway Crawley, getting on his legs, with the air of a counsel opening some important 318 FLORENCE MACARTHY. cause, “ my lord, before we proceed to read these de- positions against these unfortunate men, I shall beg leave to state the case as it appears to me, and to give a slight sketch of the actual situation of the barony.” “ Sir,” interrupted the judge, “ I won’t hear you. You can tell me nothing of this country that I do not already know. I have neither time nor health to listen to idle declamation, and ten times 1 told tales.’ ” “ My lord, I must observe,” continued young Craw- ley, petulantly, “ that among the virtues of a judge, patience is the most necessary ; and Lord Mansfield, my lord, obtained more credit for that virtue, than for ail his other judicial merits combined.” “ Then, sir, my Lord Mansfield never was obliged to listen to you,” said the judge, coldly. A universal smile followed this observation, which was made with a sort of sullen naivete that gave it great effect; while old Crawley, trembling at the audacity of his son, whispered him : “Aisy, now! aisy, Con, dear; troth you’ll put your foot in it, if you let your gianius get the better of you this way.” The clerk now read the depositions in a nasal tone and drawling brogue, which gave infinite amusement to the fashionable part of the audience ; and at last got through the sundry charges against Padreen Gar, Denis Tully, Shamus Joy, Dan Brogan, Teague MacMahon, Owny Sullivan, and others, who came under the denomination of “ Padreen Gar’s Boys.” They stood accused of feloniously assembling for purposes of rebellion, and breach of the king’s peace, at Saint Gobanate’s Well, under the pretence of cele- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 319 brating the feast of that saint ; and of acting under the influence of Terence Oge O’Leary, who had ab- sconded, but whose papers being seized, betrayed a regular plan of insurrection, which was aided by several Catholic gentlemen of the country, in corres- pondence with Spain and France. Baron Boulter, now folding his letter, called for a lighted candle and sealing-wax, and addressing the prisoners, said : “ My honest friends, it appears to me, from the de- positions which have been just set forth, that you have ail incurred the chance of being hanged ; an event that must in all probability have taken place at one time or other of your lives : and I dare say you will agree with me, my honest friends, that whether a little sooner, or a little later, it is a matter of but trifling importance. (I’ll trouble you, sir, to snuff the candle.) You see, my friends, I w r ish to do nothing in the dark, and am endeavoring to throw every pos- sible light upon your case. There, now, is my young and clever friend, Mr. Conway Townsend Crawley, smiling at me ! and my old friend, Mr. Crawley, his venerable father, smiling also. The Crawley s, gen* tlemen, are good-humored men, and cheerful men. I am, myself, a good-humored man ; and in that point, at least, I resemble Lord Mansfield. And now, my friends, with such active magistrates and loyal men as the Mister Crawleys among you, the one a high sheriff, the other a high treasurer, the one a sitting barrister, and another a sergeant (not, however, I trust, a permanent sergeant), with such enlightened guardians of the law to keep you quiet, and put you up, and put you down, it is singular that you should 820 FLORENCE MACARTHY. meet at St. Gobnate’s Well, for the purposes of sedi- tion and rebellion. Mr. Crawley, sen., may be justly styled the grand conservator of the peace of Bally- dab, and with his worthy sons, I must say, forms an aula regis. (A term, by-the-bye, borrowed from the Norman law, as you well know, my honest friends, none better.) (I’ll trouble you, sir, for a little black wax.) As for Counsellor Conway Crawley, I look upon him as the very repertorium of the laws ; one who has read everything; Burn’s Justice, Black- stone’s Commentaries, the Registrum Brevium, and Paley’s Evidences ; deep read in the Saxon law, the Norman law, the Brehon law, and the game law. But apropos to game laws, would you, Mr. Footman, step out to my servant, and tell him to take the grouse out of the guncase, and present them to the cook, with Baron Boulter’s very best compliments ? The point to establish, my honest friends, is this — were you really at Saint Gobnate’s Well for the pur- poses of sedition ? Can you prove that you were not? I address myself in particular to you, Mr. Padreen Gar, as chief of this conspiracy : were you at Saint Gobnate’s Well this morning? and for what purpose.” “ Is it for what purpose, my lord ?” said Padreen Gar, advancing intrepidly into the centre of the hall, and displaying a bold and careless countenance^ “ Is it what brought me there, sir ? Sure your lordship knows right well what would be bringing a poor man to the holy well, plaze your lordship’s honor, sir ; isn’t it his dewotion, my lord ? what else, sir ? And has been going to the well an hundred years, and more, my lord — troth we have.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 321 il Will you make affidavit of that, Mr. Padreen Gar?” “ I will, plaze your lordship.” “ Then, Mr. Padreen, I can only say, that a pitcher that goes so often to the well is liable to come home broken at last, which I think I shall be able to prove to you before I have done. But who is that in the red snanavest? (I believe that is good Irish for a waistcoat, as some of you know, my friends, to your cost) — he wdio is seeking my attention, as I judge by his expressive countenance.” “ It’s Barney Tully, as sold your honor a horse, my lord, last sizes; long life to your lordship,” said a slight, meagre, but alert person, stepping before Pad- reen Gar, and displaying a countenance of sly and in- telligent expression. “ So : Mr. Tully, how do you do, my equestrian friend? Now, Mr. Barney Tully, though I have too much respect for your name and calling to wish to pry into Tully’ s offices, I must, nevertheless, institute an inquiry into the cause of your appearing at Saint Gobnate’s Well.” “ Och ! plaze your honor, I’ll prove an alibi, my lord; for upon oath this day, ’bove all days of the year, I was working on Mr. Crawley’s new road, when I was seen and taken at Saint Gobnate’s Well, sir.” “ Then, Tullus Aufidius, it is very plain you are of that class in Irish zoology, so puzzling to naturalists, called the bird that can be in two places at once.” “ I am, sir,” replied Barney, smiling archly : “ sure enough, an Irish bird, egg and feather ; and so was my father before me, my lord.” “We have nothing to do with your father, my 322 FLORENCE MACARTHY. honest friend Tully, because we do not want, in this instance, to kill two birds with one stone ; and prefer, in all instances, a bird in the hand to two in the bush. Now, my friend in the carawat, what is your name ?” He addressed a foolish-looking person with a red handkerchief tightened round his neck, almost to strangling. “ I’m called Teague MacMahon, plaze your lord- ship.” “ You could not be called by a better name, Mr. MacMahon, if your father 'was as-- anxious as Tristram Shandy’s to give you a lucky one.” “ Long life to your lordship, and God bless you, sir.” “ But, Mr. MacMahon, with such a name, I cannot well understand how you should be guilty of such disloyal practices as to join Padreen Gar’s rebellious band, at that site of all insubordination, St. Gobnate’s Well.” “ Why, then, see here, plaze your lordship,” said Teague MacMahon, waving his hand, and speaking with great emphasis, “ I should never gone near the well, and had no call, only in regard to my taste of bacon, which was stolen dishonestly from me, plaze your honor.” “ Then you are one of those improvident persons, Mr. MacMahon, who have not the art of saving your bacon.” “ Sure, I did save it,* plaze your honor, and saved it well, and hung it up in the chimbley, and quartered it in three halves, my lord; and was to give a small half to Darby Hoolegan, in lieu of two pecks of male * i. e. Cur© it, salt it. An Hiberaicism, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 823 (meal), and an hundred of nails for my brogues : and while I was at Mass, what should he do, but comes in, and skelps off with the biggest half, and leaves me only a w T eeny taste ; and so I went after him to Saint Gobnate’s, where I was taken up, sir, only for look- ing after the remains of my bacon.” “ The truth then is out, Mr. MacMahon ; you went in search of a man, w r ho had the boldness to make an abridgment of Bacon.” “ Och, musha ! that’s it; long life to your lordship,” said Teague, triumphantly. “I hope, however, Mr. MacMahon, that your friend had the taste to preserve all the attic salt.” “ Och ! plaze your honor, it was w^ell salted and smoked, too, before he took a taste of it.” “ Then, Mr. MacMahon, I must say, that had you but smoked your friend as you have smoked your bacon, you would not now be the victim of your credulity, nor brought before me on suspicion of high treason.” “ My lord, my lord,” interrupted Judge Aubrey, with an air of irrepressible impatience, “ I beg your pardon ; but though I believe this mockery of justice is got up simply for the amusement of this distin- guished circle, jet I cannot witness or assist in car- rying on a farce, which may in the end be pregnant with evil to the persons who stand in custody before us. The depositions are a tissue of absurdity and nonsense ; and though magistrates can in this country deprive persons of their liberty upon grounds quite as slight, yet I am not quite certain that the warrant upon which they have been arrested is a legal instru- ment. Show me your warrant, constable.— Yes, it 824 FLORENCE MACARTHY. is, as I suspected, a vague mittimus ; a contrivance of certain active magistrates to get obnoxious per- sons into their power, and by which they baffle the protection of the laws, omitting to state any name, day, place, or particulars of the offences. Nothing, therefore, remains but to discharge these poor men, and send them to their work. 5 ’ “ My learned brother,” said the baron, with much pleasantry of manner, “ ’tis not for you or me to bring in the verdict: we must refer it to the jury; and I believe a fairer jury never sat. What say you, ladies ? guilty or not guilty ?” “Not guilty upon my honor,” cried Lady Georgi- ana, joined by all the patrician voices present ; while Lady Dunore, as much amused by the turn the mock trial was taking, as she had been agitated by its probable issue, cried out louder than them all, “ Oh, not guilty, not guilty !” The judges now arose; and Judge Aubrey was about to address the prisoners, and to address them with an admonition, when young Crawley starting forward, exclaimed with vehemence — “ Stay, my lord ! before you again turn these law- less men loose upon this unfortunate district, whom your lordship must be aware have had no examina- tion whatever, I beg to be heard for a few minutes. Your lordship has called the depositions made by sundry respectable persons a tissue of nonsense and absurdity ; but we know how easy it is to despise the dawnings of all insurrections ; we have learned also how dangerous it is to do so. The ravings of the first few followers of Cromwell at Huntingdon, a scuffle for apples by Massaniello at Naples, and the m FLORENCE MACARTHY. 325 dissensions of the Poissardes at Paris, however con- temptible in their origin, were yet the commence- ment and causes of the mighty and terrific revolu- tions which followed. But, my lords, I will, I think, convince you that the seeds of rebellion have taken in this province a deeper root than in the breasts of a few barbarous peasants ; that foreign incendiaries are at work to undermine the good will subsisting between Ireland and the parent country; and that intrigues are now carried on between France, Spain, and some of the Catholic gentlemen of this country, through the medium of an old offender, who was deeply implicated in the rebellion, a sort of peda- gogue named Terence Oge O'Leary.” “ Good God !” exclaimed Lady Dunore, plunged into a new series of emotions, “ how extraordinary ! only conceive ! French agents in this remote spot ! Go on, Mr. Conway, pray go on.” “ Last night,” continued young Crawley, with re- newed spirit, “a search warrant was procured for examining O’Leary’s papers ; and, as he was not at home, his desk was opened, and some curious plans of the intended rebellion came to light, which were forwarded by a military express to the castle, after I had taken copies of them. Here,” continued young Crawley, triumphantly taking up paper after paper out of his father’s “ green bag,” “ here is first a list of the ancient families of this province, whose descend- ants (laborers in my father’s grounds, and in her ladyship’s) will be doubtlessly proved one of these days to be lords of the soil. Here is a fragment relative to the late Florence Macarthy, a drunken old dotard, who lived in this neighborhood, and was 326 FLORENCE MACARTHY. called the titular Earl of Clancare. It is curious, as proving that he has long been considered the true lord of this district, and was secretly acknowledged such by his own party, which includes all the disloyal people in the country ; for his paper states the follow- ing fact, in the quaint old language, still used by the Catholic gentry, and particularly affected by Terence Oge O’Leary, — that 1 Florence Macarthy, by consent of all the Popish bishops, deacons, Jesuits, friars, and all the Irish nobilities assembled, was created Mac- arthy More, using in creation all the rites and cere- monies customary to the ancient Irish, being joined by all the nobility and noblesse of the province — viz., the Na Donnells-Ferrars, the Offaleys, O’Sullivans- Beare, and Moriarty M'Teague ( names, my lord, better known in the flourishing city of Ballydab than in the Red Book or Debreet’s Peerage). It is with regret, also, I add — that among those provincial noblesse are inscribed the names of the Knights of Kerry and Glynn, the White Knight, and* the Knight of the Valley, and, in short, many members of the Fitzgerald family. But what is most curious of all is the following letter from a Spanish priest, on whom it seems the Archbishopric of Dublin has already been bestowed. This letter, without date, is ad- dressed to the late Florence Macarthy, of Ballydab, by the style and title of the 1 Most Excellente Earl Florence Macarthy, of Clancare,’ and is well worth attending to.” “Oh! let us have the archbishop’s letter, by all means,” said Lady Dunore. “ Only think, Georgy, love, of giving away an archbishopric ! it is quite too amusing. Pray go on, Mr. Conway.” FLORENCE MACARTHY, 327 Mr Conway cleared his voice, and read as follows : “ My Good Earl : — *God is my witness, that after my arrival in Ireland, having knowledge of your lord- ship’s valor and learning (his valor, Lady Dunore, was leading the Ballydab boys some thirty years back in a contest with the Glannacrimes), I had an extreme desire to see and to communicate, and to confer with so principal a personage ; but the length of the w r ay would not permit me. I am now departing into Spain, with grief that I had not visited those parts ; but I hope shortly to return to this kingdom, and to give you entire satisfaction: and be assured that I will perform with his Majesty vdiat a brother ought to do, that he should send from Spain. Because by letter I cannot speak any more, I leave the rest till sight. The Lord have your lordship in His keeping, according to my desire. Yo Mateo, Arcobispo di Dublin , m “How, my Lords and Lady Dundre, whether his Majesty here alluded to be Bonaparte, or King Joseph, it is evident that the late Mr. Macarthy kept up a secret correspondence with the enemies of the country ; and it is also pretty certain that this ‘ Yo Mateo ’ has fulfilled his promise of returning to com- municate what he dared not write. He has been lor more than a week back lurking in this neighborhood, and even had the audacity to present himself in my father’s house on false pretences He is now under escort on his way to Dublin ; and his coadjutor and host, the successor of Mr. Macarthy in treason, has absconded. But, there is no doubt, the vigilant police * I, Matthew, Archbishop of Dublin* 328 FLORENCE MACARTHY. of the country will ferret him out of his hiding-den.” The detail thus given by Conway Crawley, with the singular circumstances he developed, excited a very striking emotion in the English part of his au- ditory. A pause of a moment ensued. Old Crawley pulled down his wig, and stole a sly glance of satisfaction at J udge Aubrey. Miss Craw- ley, who for the first time learned that her saintly hero was a French or Spanish spy, grew pale. Baron Boulter left an epigram unfinished, and began to lend a serious attention, while Lady Dunore ex- hausted herself in reiterated exclamations of amaze- ment and consternation. “ Only conceive, Georgy, love, a real Spanish monk, an incendiary, too ! Good heavens ! how extraordi- nary ! Do you know I would not for the world miss seeing Yo Mateo. But pray go on.” “ I believe'there is little more to be added, madam. The principal facts are before your ladyship and the judges; and your lordship,” added young Crawley* insolently turning to Judge Aubrey, “may now con- ceive the propriety of our not dismissing these men, at least till we are in possession of the principals and leaders.” “ I see no more reason than ever for detaining | them,” returned Judge Aubrey. “ But I hope, Mr. Crawley, the documents, whose copies you have had the trouble to make, and to read, have not actually been sent off to the chief secretary’s office by military express.” “ They are, I hope, by this time nearly in his pos- session,” returned Conway Crawley, in a tone of great elation. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 329 “I am sorry for it,” said Judge Aubrey, coolly, “ very sorry, Mr. Crawley ; for as far as my black-let- ter Irish studies go, and if my memory does not wholly fail me, you have copied verbatim some ex- tracts from the Pacata Hibernia of Robin Oarew ; and you have transmitted to government a faithful account of the insurrection of the celebrated Florence Mac- i arthy, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.” A burst of laughter, in which all joined, save the Crawleys, followed this observation, while a voice in the distance cried out— “ To be sure he has ; sorrow lie there is in that.” The next moment O’Leary, bustling through the crowd, his cotamore slung over his shoulder, his wig awry, and his ferule in his hand, presented himself in the centre of the hall. His appearance excited consi- ; derable amusement ; for, having bowed formally to Lady Dunore, with a tone of uncontrollable irritation, he turned upon young Crawley, exclaiming — u I ! ll trouble you for my documents, Counsellor Con ; my heads, and tails, and perorations ; my notes, and minutes, and memories, for my genealogical his- tory of the great Macarthy family, written in the Phoenician language, vulgo-vocato Irish. What call had you to them at all ? Dioui ! What right had you to break open my box, and I not in it, and to purloin my codices ? And what dirty lucre did you expect by it, Counsellor ? If it wasn’t out of fear that I’d tell to the world that your ould grandfather, Paddy Crawley, took some of the property of the late Earl of Clancare, in trust for him during the painals (penals), sir, and refused to restore it after the repail, which was the first step he got in the world : and 330 FLORENCE MACARTHY. troth, a dirty step it was. Now answer me that ? Counsellor Con, before the English noblesse here present.” “I believe, Mr. Conway Crawley,” said Judge Aubrey, significantly, “ we may dismiss all these per- sons now.” Everybody arose and came forward, good-naturedly amused with the consternation of him whose preten- sion and insolence had been equally entertaining and imposing a few minutes before. Old Crawley almost buried his head in his green bag ; but Conway, though confused, still unsubdued, came forward, and address- ing Lady Dunore, who was now laughing with Lord Frederick and Lady Georgiana, he said, “ I must re- quest your lordship’s attention and patience one mi- nute more.” “ Oh ! by all means,” said Lady Dunore, fluttering back to her place. “ I don’t care in the least if this trial goes on forever. I never was so agitated and so amused in all my life ; now, pray all sit down. My dear Judge Aubrey, pray resume your seat.” “All that your ladyship has heard,” continued Con- way, “is mere invention, mere subterfuge- — Baron Boulter, better than any other, must be aware that it is so ; since his lordship, as senior circuit judge, has granted a bench warrant to my father to take up the incognito Spanish priest upon such informa- tion as his lordship certainly deemed sufficient.” “ I certainly granted a warrant a few days back, 5 * said Baron Boulter, with a look of mortification, “ on informations sworn by one Mr. James Bryan, who holds some place in Mr. Crawley’s office, for the pur- pose of apprehending a very suspicions character, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 331 who, without any visible business, or means of live- lihood, has for some time been lurking about this neighborhood.” This confession produced a visible change in the opinion of all present, while an expression of half- suppressed emotion distorted the countenance of old Crawley, and he muttered, in acrimonious tone, to his son : “ You have made a pretty kettle of fish of it, now. What the devil business had you to mention that stranger at all, at all ? Couldn't you let him go on quietly to jail? Troth, your gianius will get you muzzled yet, great a scholar as you are, Counsellor Con.” The silence which Baron Boulter’s confession had produced was now suddenly interrupted by a noise in the portico. The crowd which still lingered there gave way with a spontaneous and respectful motion, and a person of singular and imposing appearance advanced boldly up the hall, followed by two officers of justice. He approached the table where the judges sat, removing his hat with one hand, and leaning the other on a pile of books, and in a voice full, clear and rapid, he said : “ I beg to present myself to Baron Boulter.” Mute astonishment trembled upon every lip. Wonder and admiration animated every eye. All was breathless, eager suspense, but O’Leary alone moved, and placed himself near the object of attrac- tion, with a look in which wildness and triumph disputed pre-eminence. Baron Boulter was the first to recover presence of mind, and he replied, “ My name, sir, is Boulter, and < / 332 FLORENCE MACARTHY. I have the honor to hold his Majesty’s commission, as Baron of the Exchequer. I can only add, sir, that I shall be happy to make the acquaintance of so handsome a man, and so fine a gentleman ; pray be seated.” The stranger put back the chair presented to him. “ My lord,” he said, “ I am a prisoner. On my arrival in this district this morning, and in my way to my lodging at the dwelling of this person, Te- rence Oge O’Leary, I was arrested on a bench war- rant of your lordship’s, on information sworn by a notorious informer, who was condemned for perjury some years back, and was saved under an indemnity act procured by his employer, Mr. Crawley. I shall obey your warrant, my lord, if you acknowledge your signature. But in the presence of this assem- bly, I deny that you have any authority to order the arrest of any man, either of your own free mo- tion, or on such information as that upon wfiich I am now a prisoner. It is to you, therefore, my lord, I shall look for responsibility.” “You will do what you please, sir,” said Baron Boulter, firmly and coldly. “ The lav/ lies open to all men.” “ And we, my lord,” interrupted young Crawley, trembling with rage and mortification, while his fa- ther, pale and silent, sat with his eyes bent upon the stranger ; “ and we, my lord, shall find precedents enough in this country to defend us.” “ In this country !” interrupted the stranger in a loud and indignant voice. “ Has this country, then, a set of by-laws of its own to answer the purposes of FLORENCE MACAKTHY. 333 particular individuals? Are not the laws of Eng- land the laws of Ireland ?” “ Officers, do your duty,” said young Crawley, authoritatively, and almost incoherent with stifled I rage. “ I shall accompany your officers,” returned the stranger coolly, “ and I have to thank them for their indulgence which has confronted me with Baron Boulter. His lordship, I doubt not, has been im- posed upon; but for the rest I am aware that no man shall be imprisoned but upon the lawful judg- ment of his equals, or by the law of the land. This is the charter, by this I shall abide.” Then dropping his extended arm, his countenance lost all the stern- ness by which it had been energized, and bowing gracefully and low to the ladies, he added, “ I trust, in a moment of exigency like this, I shall be forgiven if I have violated the laws of ceremony in asserting those of justice, and I offer a thousand apologies to the Marchioness of Dunore and her distinguished circle for this unseasonable intrusion.” He then bowed slightly round to the judges re- spectfully, and dropped back between the officers of justice ; while Lady Dunore, in a fever of admiration, and O’Leary, in the delirium of strong emotion, both approached him as he retired; but the deep stern voice of Judge Aubrey arrested his steps. “ Stay, sir, you are, I apprehend, a stranger in this country ?” “ I am, my lord, an utter stranger.” “You have then, sir, a prescriptive right to cour- tesy and protection, in a land where the name of stranger is still held sacred. I have no doubt my 334 FLORENCE MACARTHY. learned brother has been imposed on. His confidence in Mr. Crawley’s zealous loyalty, and the hurry of business, may have urged him to give a warrant which I pronounce to be illegal, as given upon the testimony of a convicted perjurer.” “ You cannot prove it, Judge Aubrey,” exclaimed young Crawley, vehemently. “You would set aside all judicial privilege, all propter dignitatem , of the bench.” “ Sir,” said the judge, “ these ebullitions of a mind, fraught by self-interest with arbitrary notions, are not worthy of reply. The dignity of the judicial station can only be degraded by him who holds it. I beg your pardon, sir,” he added, hastily ; and turning to the stranger, “I fear I have detained you; but I would impress upon your mind, that the judges of the land are the natural guardians of the oppressed ; and I would suggest to you that, by giving bail, you will be spared the annoyance and inconvenience of a tem- porary imprisonment.” “ My lord,” said the prisoner, “ I thank you for this mark of consideration. But I have already said that I am an utter stranger here; where then should I seek for bail ? Where is there one that would hold himself responsible for a stranger ?” “ I will,” exclaimed a voice from a distance ; and the next moment the hand of a young and very noble-looking person was clasped in that of the stranger. “ And pray, who are you, sir,” demanded young Crawley, stepping forward with a tone and demeanor of the pertest effrontery. “ I am,” said the party interrogated, throwing his FLORENCE MACARTHY. 335 eyes haughtily over his questionist, “ I am Lord Adelm Fitzadelm : pray who are you ?” The elder stranger started back with astonishment, while among the general bursts of exclamation, which rang through the hall, the shrieks of Lady Dunore were predominantly audible. She threw herself into her son’s arms, as much transported by the theatrical scene of his unexpected appearance as if she had not for months intrigued his absence. She wept and laughed with hysterical alternation, presenting him to those he already knew, and to those he had never seen before. Then turning to the stranger, she ad- dressed him as Don Yo Mateo, Archbishop of Dub- lin, asked a thousand pardons, welcomed him to Du- nore, and went on repeating, “ was there ever any- thing so charming? anything so delightful! This is Ireland par example ! Delightful Ireland, where one is never safe and never ennuyee for a single mo- ment !” Meantime the hall was cleared : the company at the castle, Lord Adelm, his friend, the officers of jus- tice, and O’Leary, were nearly all that remained. The latter stood in the background transfixed and pale, a monument of consternation, and motionless as death, save that his quick glancing eyes turned alternately from Lord Adelm to his guest, and from his guest to Lord Adelm. “ But who is your friend ?” asked Lady Dunore, eagerly, and interrupting Lord Adelm’s details of his journey, and pointing to the stranger, who stood talk- ing to J udge Aubrey. “ Is he a real Spanish monk ? Sure you are not implicated in this rebellion, which is found out to be no rebellion at all.” % 836 , FLORENCE MACARTHY. These questions were repeated by every eye, if not by every tongue. “ Allow me to present my mother to you,” said Lord Adelm, taking the stranger’s hand. “ The I Marchioness of Dunore, — General Fitzwalter, of | South America, that brave guerilla chief, whose life ; and fortune have been devoted to South American ■ independence. He is doubtless already known to you by fame, as he is in the Terra Firma, by the glorious sobriquet of the Librador.” Something like amazement was depicted in the countenance of the stranger, while he went through the forms of presentation, and listened to this detail J of himself. Lord Adelm continued : “ I do not believe, how- ever, that my friend aspires to the double influence of the crosier and the sword. If, at least, he am- bitions the Archbishopric of Dublin, in the course of our travelling companionship (for we came to this country together), he has not made me his confidant.” “ Travelling companionship !” muttered old Craw- ley, with a look of alarm, while Lady Dunore reiter- ated welcomes and exclamations of delight, surprise and wonder. The question of bail was then resumed ; and a form being prepared, Lord Fitzadelm signed the paper : but this was not sufficient, as the instrument required two securities. “ Oh !” cried Lady Dunore, gayly, “ I’ll be bail for the Archbishop, that is, for the General : give me the pen — only think how odd ! and, you, Georgy, shall be another.” Young Crawley, however, gravely demonstrated FLORENCE MACARTHY. 887 the illegality of her tender, and stated that female hail was not usual. “ Well, well, Mr. Conway Crawley, you happen to be monstrously unaccommodating to-day, and very tiresome,’ interrupted Lady Dunore, “ hut I suppose it must he so. Then do you, Mr. Crawley, if you please, sign for me. I imagine that will do as well. I mean Crawley pere.” The tone and manner in which this request wms given were too peremptory to be resisted ; and old Crawley, to his own amazement and consternation, became bail for the person whose arrest had taken place at his own instance, while he mentally observed, “ Well this bates Banagher anyhow.’ * Young Crawley, in the meantime, had left the table and was engaged in earnest conversation with his aunt apart. Baron Bou&er was profuse in his apologies, spoke with some harshness of the two Crawleys for being led away by over loyalty, offered to discharge the warrant altogether, and asked the General on a vish to his house whenever he should come to Dublin. To the discharge of the warrant, General Fitzwal- ter firmly objected: the transaction, he observed, must be followed to its consequences. To the prof- fered hospitality he returned a polite answer, as general in its terms as the proposition to which it replied. Judge Aubrey sat still, in silent triumpn; the ladies’ eyes were all turned on the guerilla chief, and Lord Rosbrin, seeing everything in a dramatic point * A common Irish expression, applied to the doing of an ex- traordinary thing. 338 FLORENCE MACARTHY. of view, talked of situations, incidents and clap-traps. Lord Fitzadelm now came forward, and seconded by his mother, pressed General Fitzwalter, with earnest solicitation, to make Dunore Castle his resi- dence while he remained in the country ; but before he could reply, the attention of all was suddenly at- tracted to the recess of the painted window, by one of the bailiffs observing to Mr. Crawdey : “ Now, what am I to do with that taymale prisoner in the hall window, plaze your honor, that we took up according to order, Mr. Crawley, going into Terence Oge’s a little bit ago, and wouldn’t tell her name, sir, nor show her face, only just axed lave, sir, to send a bit of a message to Castle Macarthy, sir, to the Bhan Tierna, by a bit of a gossoon, sir, and is cooped up there forenent you, Mr. Crawley ?” “ You may do with her what you please, Larry Cos- tello,” replied Mr. Crawley, in a dejected and absent tone, and still under the influence of profound chagrin amazement and alarm, which were all depicted in his countenance. Larry Costello “ plazed” to let out the prisoner from the dock where Lord Rosbrin had placed her, and to give her her liberty, when Lord Frederick, interfer- ing, said : “i>y Jupiter, this lady rebel has as good a right to a fair trial by jury as the rest ; and I vote that we take our seats, and empannel forthwith for the cause of this Pucelle de Bally dab P “ Oh ! by all means in the w r orld,” said Lady Du- nore, unsatiated by scenes, sensations, and surprises : “ we must hear the Pucelle de Ballydab and she took her son’s arm, who seemed satisfactorily to have accounted for his arrival ; for to whatever he had said, FLORENCE MACARTKY. 339 she replied— “You are quite right — exactly — cer- tainly. I am delighted to see you here.” The party now drew up in a circle, without resum- ing their seats, while the poor woman, apparently in- timidated, and wishing to conceal herself, was led forward for examination by Larry Costello, who en- deavored to encourage her by repeating r “ Hold up your head, now, honey. Sure there’s money bid for you. If the Bhan Tierna will stand up for you, sor- row thing you have to fear, ma’am. I’ll engage she’ll carry you through, and well. Only just, sure, if you don t show your face, their lordships will not see it. agrah.” Larry Costello, who was as easy in the presence of his superiors as the lower. Irish usually are, with very little ceremony now pulled back her grey hood, and the straw bonnet it covered fell to the ground, disco- vering, not the coarse features of an Irish peasant, but such a head and countenance as might have be- longed to that “ Rare Egyptian, the serpent of old Nile.” The immediate expression, however, of this singu lar countenance was confusion ; but, though the eyes were ri vetted to the earth, and a color, changeful as thought, indicated the excess of bashful womanly em- barrassment, yet the acute smile that for a moment gleamed and vanished, and a certain air of mockery and shrewdness which seemed the natural involun- 1 tary expression of the irregular, but pretty features, combined to present a model for one of those happy pictures of gipsy beauty, where “ fancy outworks nature,” and mingles with the admiration which its equivocal charms attract from the spectator, some- 340 FLORENCE MACARTHY. thing of fear, if not of distrust. Amazement, univer- sally and almost audibly expressed, followed the sud- den apparition of this unexpected vision. “ The Bhan Tierna ! by the powers !” exclaimed Larry Costello, in consternation, and respectfully withdrawing from the prisoner’s side. “ Lambh Laidar Aboo !” shouted O’Leary, throw- ing up his wig instead of his hat in an ecstasy of triumph. “ Lady Clancare !” cried Judge Aubrey, coming forward, and taking her hand with an air of kindness and protection. “ Lady who ?” said the marchioness. “ Lady Clan- care did you say ? Good heavens ! it cannot — it is — my dear, charming odd, out of the way Lady Clan- care : I have no words to express my delight. To meet you here of all places in the world ! a prisoner, too ! a rebel chief fcainess, perhaps ! Oh ! it’s quite too good ! Isn’t it, Georgy, love ? One never meets with such things in London. But where are you come from ? How fat you are grown ! Why did you disappear so suddenly, when you had obtained such a grand sncces in London ? Do you know, people said all sorts of odd things of you? No one could make you out in the least ; and your pretty, pretty tales, and stories, and things. How tanned you are ! — how well you look ! Georgy, love, don’t you know Lady Clancare, who made the frais of my two last assem- blies ? And my forgetting you too, dear Lady Clan- care, so completely, when you were out of sight, it’s so very odd, isn’t it, Georgy; but one forgets every- thing in London, except what one sees every day.” To this Georgy assented, at the same time renew- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 341 ing a very slight acquaintance with Lady Clancare, formed at Lady Dunore’s parties in town. While the ceremonies of recognition, and the mul- tiplicity of Lady Dunore’s questions, afforded to the young Irish peeress a moment of self-collection, her spirits rallied ; but still, as she threw round her eyes, there was an air of “ tongue-tied simplicity ’ in her eloquent Hsilence, which contrasted with the expres- sive character of her countenance. Her emotion seemed something beyond the natural confusion incidental to her actual position, and she turned her eyes with a glance of supplication on Lady Dunore, as if soliciting her interposition, to withdraw her from a situation where every look was turned on her ; where she formed the centre of a circle evidently animated by idle curiosity and amused amazement. Lady Dunore, flattered by the claim made on her protection, and understanding it, drew her a little on one side, listened, smiled, laughed aloud at some de- tail which Lady Clancare related in a low, murmur- ing voice, and with a countenance varying, animated, and humorous ; while to the conclusion of her rela- tion, whatever it had been, Lady Dunore, gently leading her back to the group, replied : “ Don’t make the least apology. Oh ! no, its better as it is, a thousand times. This impromptu is worth an hundred formal premeditated visits ; besides, all this never could happen but in Ireland. It was so kind in you, to suffer yourself to be taken prisoner too— you are always so amusing. But who are you, my dear creature, for I forgot to ask you when in London? You know, Georgy, love, one doesn’t want 342 FLORENCE MACARTHY, to know w r ho people are in London, especially Lions. But are you really Irish, my dear Lady Clancare ?” “ Irish !” exclaimed O’Leary, with a burst of emo- tion beyond all power of control ; and darting for- ward, “ ay, troth is she Irish, body and soul. Irish by birth, by blood, and by descent. Irish every inch of her, heart and hand, life and land ! ^nd though the mother that bore her was Iberian born, Bachal Essu ! she was Milesian, like herself, descended from the Tyrian Hercules : and there she stands, the dar- ling of the world, with the best blood of Spain and Ireland flowing through her veins. A true Irish woman, that loves her country, and lives in it, long life to her ! and an ancient ould countess to boot, in her own right, Anno 1565, Elizabeth, Regime 6; the lineal heir of Florence Macarthy More, the fogh na galla , and the King of the Desmondi, to this blessed hour.” A smile played over the countenance of Lady Clancare, who retreated a few steps, as this address again brought every eye on her, and again covered her with confusion. “ And who are you, you delightful creature ?” cried Lady Dunore, walking round O’Leary with her glass to her eye, and more than sharing in the general sur- prise and amusement occasioned by his sudden ap- pearance and speech. “ Who am I, madam, is it ?” said O’Leary, firmly, but respectfully : “ I am Terence Oge O’Leary, plaze your ladyship, of the Pobbie O’Learys, of Clancare, county Kerry, anciently Cair-Reight, from Cair-na- Louchra-Macarthy, who was King of Munster, Anno Mundi 1525, Koah Rege, and am tributary and FLORENCE MACARTHY. 343 seneachy, or genealogist to the Macarthys, before the English was heard of, Anno Domini 1166, Hen. secundo Rege; and defies Johannes "Major gcotus, and Master Camden, Dr. Ledwitch, and Sir Richard Musgrave, to deny that, anyhow, the thieves of the world ! with ould Saxo Grammaticus to back them : and am at the present speaking, a poor Irish school- master, Ludi Magister , of Monaster-ny-Oriel ; and lastly, plaze your ladyship, madam, I am a servi- tor in the great Norman family of the Fitzadelms, being fosterer, (his voice faltered) — fosterer, madam, of him, who, though he now lies low in the ocean, with none but himself, and the winds of heaven to moan over him, yet, if he had his right, would now be reigning here in this very castle ; I mean "the — ” Here General Fitzwalter advanced in front of O’Leary, leaning on Lord Fitzadelm’s arm. O’Leary started back : his voice dropped, his color changed, and he paused abruptly. The general took the place, from which O’Leary had involuntarily retreated ; and some low-whispered words from Lady Clancare to the marchioness, who had, during O’Leary’s speech, drawn the arm of the Irish peeress through her own, now wholly diverted her attention from the last of these dramatis personcz , which the happy events of this eventful day had brought upon the stage. Withdrawing from the circle, the two ladies, in earnest conversation, moved towards the portico, fol- lowed by every eye. The appearance of Lady Clan- care produced an instantaneous effect upon the crowd assembled at the gates. The report had gone abroad that the idol of popu- lar feeling had been taken prisoner by Mr. Crawley, ! 344 FLORENCE MACARTHY. and brought to Dunore Castle. Hundreds of wild but strong-affectioned persons had gathered for her protection and rescue. Thousands were at her ser- vice ; but her appearance, leaning on Lady Dunore’s arm, lulled every fear for her safety. Cries of “ Bhan Tierna go Brack /” rent the air ; and when both la- dies sprang into a little cabriolet, drawn by mules, (the carriage of Lady Clancare, which had just ar- rived,) the name of the Marchioness of Dunore, mingled with these more national sounds, and “ long lives,” and “ long reigns,” were liberally distributed to both ladies. The guests of the castle had now advanced into the portico to witness this singular scene. Lady Clancare had taken the reins ; and while Lady Du- nore drew her cashmir over her head and round her shoulders, her new friend turned her extraordinary countenance on the group in the portico ; and with a mingled expression of extreme slyness and humor, she threw round her dark eyes. They met alternately the looks of all present; till at last fixing their glances, charged with a malicious gaiety, something between triumph and derision, on old Crawley, she kissed her little whip in salutation to all, and drove off with the lady of the castle, both laughing loud and violently. There was in all this little transaction a something that gave a poetical image of an enchantress, whose struggles with a rival Ogre finally prevail ; and Lady Clancare looked as the Titania might be supposed to look, when, on Oberon’s begging from her the “ Little changeling boy to be his Henchman,” she replies in the triumph of conscious possession, FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 345 “ not for thy fairy kingdom !” The possession of Lady Dunore seemed to her desirable as the changeling boy to the fairy king. With the departure of the two chieftainesses, Eng- lish and Irish, the rest of the company, somewhat fatigued, and infinitely amused by the events ot the morning, dispersed, except the members of the Craw- ley family who still remained in the hall, congregated in close conference. “ The game’s up,” said old Crawley, with his eyes fixed on the spot where the phantom of Lady Clan- care still floated before him, bearing oif the marchio- ness : “ she has got her now,” he continued. “ That’s the way she took my lunatic from me, whom I’d have had to this day, and the management of his estate, only for her. That’s the way, too, she let loose the Rabragh on the world, with the help of Judge Au- brey, just the ditto of herself. Well, the devil is not able for her, Christ pardon me ; and believe after all she is the devil in garnet, if the truth was known.” “This is no place for idle talking,” said young Crawley, at last overpowered by the contentions of the day. “ Follow me to my aunt’s room ; you see Lord Rosbrin is still in the portico — your discom- fiture may be observed.” He then left the hall with his silence-stricken aunt on one arm and his green bag under the other. Old Crawley, after a moment’s pause, was preparing, with a deep sigh, to obey the authoritative commands of his son, when Lord Ros- brin entering the hall, arrested his steps with a solemn beckoning of his finger, and exclaiming with a signi- ficant air — “My gentle Puck, come hither.” 346 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Crawley involuntarily obeyed the summons, though by no means liking the nom dc caresse which accom- panied it. “ Say, my fat lad of the castle,” continued Lord Rosbrin, “ rememberest thou aught in scenic effect more striking than that last dramatic incident; I mean the old woman transformed suddenly into a Roxalana, or an Urganda in the burletta of Cymon ? Does it not beat the screen scene in the School for Scandal hollow ?” “ Hollow,” replied old Crawley, endeavoring to extricate his button from Lord Rosbrin’s grasp. “ Rememberest thou,” proceeded Lord Rosbrin emphatically, “rememberest thou, since once I sat upon a promontory, and heard a mermaid on a dol- phin’s back uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, that the rude sea grew civil at her song?’ “ Why, then, upon my credit, I can’t say I do,” returned Crawley, with another impatient effort at release. “ That very time,” continued the peer, “ I saw— thou couldst not — flying between the cold moon and the earth ” At the word moon a sudden conviction of the young lord’s lunacy struck on Crawley’s mind ; and bursting away, and leaving his button in Lord Ros- brin’s grasp, he muttered as he went along, “ Devil a bit, but I believe it is full moon with you all, men, women and children, the Lord save us f” Lord Rosbrin, looking after him, uttered a stage laugh, and crying, “ a fool, a fool, a motley fool !” re- tired to his dressing-room to clean some silver span- gles, and cut out foil for his coronation dress in Lady Macbeth, CHAPTER XII. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend Mor^ than cool reason comprehends. Shakspeare. While the guests of the castle dispersed in different directions, Lord Adelm and General Fitzwalter pro- ceeded arm in arm together across the castle court to a sort of terrace, once a rampart, which gave on the sea. This rampart opened by a door upon the strand ; and Lord Adelm, proposing that they should direct their steps beyond the reach of intrusion or observa- tion, was endeavoring to draw back the rusty bolt, and obtain egress, when O’Leary, with his hat squeezed between his hands, and his countenance distorted by agitation, caught the general’s eye as he followed him at a short distance. “ What is the matter ?” asked the general, turning back on his steps, and meeting the approach of his host. “ The matter, my lord ! that’s your honor, I mane gineral, sir, anyhow. Nothing is the matter, gineral, only great times and great luck, sir ! and the young lord, the very moral of the honorable Gerald, his i father ; and the Crawley pirates foiled, sir, for oncet ; and I’d only crave a word with your honor, gineral, since it’s a great gineral you are, sir, and was a great 848 FLORENCE MACARTHYe gineral in the family an hundred years back and more — that’s the ould brigadier, anno 1698, in armor this day at Court Fitzadelm, only no frame — but stopping a chimbley. And it’s what I’d just make bould to ax your honor, and never will trouble you more, sir, plaze God! if you aren’t the young lord that’s laning over the battlement, waiting for you, gineral, that is Lord Fitzadelm, sir ?” “ O’Leary,” said General Fitzwalter, in a soothing voice, “ O’Leary, put on your hat and go home. My good O’Leary, I shall shortly follow you to the friary to dress, and you may bespeak me a chaise to bring me here to dinner. And, above all, O’Leary,” (and he laid his hand on his shoulder as he spoke, his voice softening into a tone of great affection,) “ take care of the health and life of a person who is very dear — that is, very necessary to me, O’Leary.” “ And who is that ?” said O’Leary, eagerly. “ Is it th’ aigle, gineral? Sure he’s dead, sir. Poor Cumhal’s dead at last, your honor;” and the tears dropped large and fast from his eyes ; but they fell not all for Cumhal. The tone of the general’s voice, and the pressure of his hand, had been too much for the state of exultation in which the events of the morning had left him; and the death of his old companion furnished him with an excuse for weep- ing, which relieved his heart, weighed down with oppression. “ Dead !” repeated the general : “ poor old Cum hal ?” — he sighed, and added, absently, “ it was much such an evening as this, and such a coast, too : poor Cumhal — dead ?” “ Och ? you need not moan him, gineral,” said FLORENCE MACARTHY. 849 O’Leary, reproachfully: “he’s better provided for nor them he’s left behind him, sir. For shure, he wasn’t shook off like a withered leaf from a young tree, and rejected by him, that was reared on his milk, that’s my wife’s milk, sir. And thought, troth, we’d break our hearts the day he was weaned ; and we sent back to St. Crohan’s ; and wasn’t long till he followed us there, and ” “ You are much altered since we met, since we first met in the mountains, O’Leary,” interrupted the general, as he fixed his eyes on a countenance, where the perpetual conflict of revived feelings, vague doubts, and uncertain hopes, had made great ravages : “ you are not well, my dear O’Leary.” “ That’s it, plaze your honor, I am not well, surely, sir,” said O’Leary, eagerly, “ and thinks, betimes, that it’s the lycanthropia I have got, which Maister Cam- den saith was common to the ancient Irish.”* “We will talk this matter over to-night, O’Leary,” said the general, answering the impatient beckon of Lord Adelm’s hand ; “ or to-morrow, or at no distant period : and you shall be well again, O’Leary, and be gay and contented, as I first found you, in the midst of your learned disciples ; and you shall change your scene, too : you shall travel with me to other coun- tries ; and then you will return to Ireland, and finish your genealogical history of the Macarthies, and dedi- cate it to that very ancient, old Countess of Clancare, in whose favor you were so eloquent to-day ; and by all means get her picture if you can, for your title page ; I promise you it will sell your book.” * The disease of the wolf — an imaginary malady attributed to the ancient Fish, 350 FLORENCE MACARTHY. With these words, gayly pronounced, he left him whom they had cheered, before he had time to reply ; and, joining the impatient Lord Adelm, they pro- ceeded along the shore together. There was a magic in the name of the Macarthies that operated like a spell upon the ideas and feelings of O’Leary, and drew him from the remembrance of his own griefs. It now had its wonted effect ; and O’Leary, as he left the castle gates, with his usual ghost, heavy step, and his hands clasped behind his back, murmured to himself: “My genealogical history of the Macarthies, in troth ; and never tould me a word since he came of the Ogygia of the great O’Flaherty, nor the Histoire cCIrlande , by Abbe MacGeoghegan : how could he, and he in jeopardy of the Crawleys ? And my codices sent to the Lord Deputy, that’s the Lord Lieutenant; and troth, I think they’ll astonish him. And the Bhan Tierna, after all, at the castle of them Dunores, after keeping out of their way, and then cir- cumventing the Crawleys : ay, ‘ still on the necks of the Butlers,’ Dioul ! and carrying off the great lady to herself, when its what she couldn’t help appearing before her ; and letting himself be taken, and turning bad to good, always after her ould fashion. A Mac- arthy in the halls of the Fitzadelms : Bachal Essu ! Wonders will never cease ! ‘ Turne quod optanti divum promittere nemo Auderet, volvenda dies en attulit ultro.’ And to see her standing in the midst of them Boddie Sassoni, just like a young scion of an old oak on the boggras, flourishing lonely and green among the FLORENCE MACARTHY. 351 scraws and briers that have sprung up in a night sai- son, like mushrooms.” While O’Leary was thus soliloquizing his w T ay to the Dunore Arms, where a crowd was assembled, re- lating and listening to the extraordinary events that had taken place at the castle, the two adventurous fellow-travellers were pursuing their walk up and ! down the sea-shore. Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, occu- pied with himself and his own views, as those usually are who have long engrossed the world’s attention, and have become the spoiled children of society, was eager to pour the confidences of his self-love into his companion’s patient ear ; and, taking his arm, as they passed through the postern gate, he entered at once upon the history of his feelings, and of his life, since they had parted at Court Fitzadelm. “ I am ordinarily but little influenced,” he observed, “ by the ebb or flow of joy or sadness, which govern the capricious tide of human affections in the every- day children of the world ; yet I am glad, sincerely glad, to see you here : glad that it may be in my power to return some part of the hospitable rites which, as a stranger, I received at your hands ; and happy that my timely presence has been the means of saving you from at least a temporary incon- venience, and rescuing you from some intrigue of my mothers friends, the Crawley’s, which might have in- volved you in transient vexations, though eventually they must have fallen of themselves into insignifi cance.” “ I am not quite so certain of that,” returned Gen- eral Fitzwalter ; “had they succeeded in shutting me up at the present moment, they might have crossed 352 FLORENCE MACARTHY. me in pursuits, to myself at least, big with import- ance. They might have succeeded in throwing sus- picion on my character, which, at a future moment, might have invalidated my testimony when all but honor will be at stake. Their motives of action are, however, still a mystery.” “ To me it seems impossible,” replied Lord Adelm, “ that you could come into the sphere of intrigue of these reptiles. The admiral of the gallant fleet of Martingaria, the general-in-chief of the guerilla troops of the mighty Cordilleras, a warrior, a patriot, in a word, you in the power of the Crawleys ! This is a solecism not easily understood, and ‘ Comes not within the prospect of belief.’ ” “ You measure my character by the elevation of the great regions in which it was developed ; and as- sociate me personally with the glorious cause in which I was involved. But how came you by these facts ? Where did you learn that the commodore of the Li- brador had once commanded the little fleet of Martin- garia, or had been distinguished by an higher com- mand among the cloud-imbosomed Cordilleras ?” “ Where ?” repeated Lord Adelm, with animation, “ and how ? Why may not I have my Egeria, or my daemon, as well as another ? for if I obtained not my information through superhuman agency, faith, I know not how I got it, or came by it.” “ You speak enigmas.” “ I have lived in them of late.” “ And the sphinx who has presided over them is still, I suppose, Mrs. Magillicuddy,” said Fitzwalter, ironically. “ Not exactly,” replied Lord Adelm dryly, “ except FLORENCE MACARTHY. 353 Mrs. Magillicuddy be a sort of petite-viaitresse sphinx, fanciful and elegant as she is mysterious and power- ful : one, for example, wdio traces 4 thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,’ upon paper that blushes roses and smells of them ; one who takes for her device, love depriving flowers of their thorns, and for her motto, 4 Sou utile ainda que briccando .’ ” The general started : and Lord Adelm, producing a small embroidered letter-case, took from it three billets, written on rose-colored paper, and literally breathing odors. The seal and motto, to which he pointed, were no strangers to the general’s eyes. 44 I might,” he continued, 44 show you the contents of these billets ; for with the exception of a few de- tailed facts, they are vague and mysterious as Delphic oracles, but that I hold them sacred to the very mys- ticism they profess. In style they are almost too fanciful, light, and delicate, even for a woman's dicta- tion, though at the same time in substance obscure as diplomatic ciphering. In short, I am lost in wild con- jecture.” 44 Oh ! I see Queen Mab hath been with you,” ob- served the general, laughing. 44 Are you, then, become a devotee to a more philosophical sect than the school of faery, one of the illuminati, the invisible brothers, the fratres roris cocti , whose communion is confined to sprites, sylphs, and gnomes, and whose secret of all human good lies in the essence of concocted dew ?” 44 ISTa y, you may laugh as you will; but I hold the principles of the Rosicrucian philosophy in high re- spect. Whatever elevates the imagination, whatever, raising us above the grovelling lot of earthly exist* 854 FLORENCE MACARTHt. ence, unites us to a spiritual world, shakes off th^ dross of mere humanity, purifies and refines our na- ture ; and is at least a glorious illusion. I do not, I confess, blush to own myself the dupe of those high- wrought dreams of physical possibility which inspired Numa in his grotto, or Socrates in his cell ; and I wish not, at this moment, to dissipate the impression that there may, that there does exist for me, some creature of ether and light, some legitimate child of the spheres, which, always invisibly nigh, watches over my sunless life path, throwing a ray over the heart’s dark desolation, and shining upon the ruins of memory, like the gleam that now falls upon that tot- tering pile before us.” “ It talks well : but one real lovely woman is worth it all,” said the general, reddening as he spoke, from the energy of his feeling : “ but your invisible sylph, if sylph you will have her, seems to me a malicious little imp, and more like the 1 shrewd and knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow,” than a delicate serial ; for she has led you a dance 1 Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through brier, Over park, over pale, Through flood, through fire,’ without any apparent object in her agency, if it be not to amuse her own splenetic gaiety, or to work upon your imagination.” “ Of you, at least,” said Lord Fitzadelm, “ whether gnome or sylph, or woman, she merits well ; for you are the object of her special protection.” “ I !” said the general, starting — “ indeed !” “ Judge for yourself. Of three billets received FLORENCE MACARTHY. 855 from my lovely invisible (for lovely she must be, whether mortal or sprite), one led me from Portugal to Ireland, by informing me of my mother’s intrigue to smuggle me ben gre , malgre into the borough of Glannacrime ; another fixed my residence in the neighborhood of Kilcoleman, by announcing it the native region of my guardian spirit (where, by-the- bye, I vainly waited her brilliant apparition), and the third urged my instant departure for Dunol*e, by in- timating that my travelling companion, General Don Fitzwalter, the illustrious South American chief, was about to become the victim of the loyal suspicions of the petty despots of the place. I was not surprised to find that you belonged to history, and immediately hastened to your assistance ; too late, indeed, to warn you of your danger ; but, I trust, in time to avert its consequences.” “ This looks like magic, indeed,” said the general, after a moment’s pause. u I had no reason to suppose I was known to any human being in this country, where I have concealed my name, profession and title. But I can only be an object of interest to this power- ful spirit inasmuch as she supposes me your friend. It is you whom she has led from Portugal to Ireland through the solitudes of the Galtees, amidst the shades of Court Fitzadelm : it is for you that she has called spirits from the vasty deep, in the questionable shapes i of Mrs. Magillicuddy and Mr. Owny. She had pro- vided you a lodging, too, in the neighborhood of Du- nore, in case she found it necessary to preserve your incognito; and by this arrangement I have profited; for my host, O’Leary, till he saw us together, insisted on my being Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, and as such re- 356 FLORENCE MAOARTHY. ceived me for his tenant, which he would not other- wise have done.” The general, as he spoke, was occupied in search- ing among some papers for the mysterious letter which had preceded his arrival in the priory. “ Here,” j he said,. “ is a letter from your sylph, not, however, breathing and blushing roses, but written in human characters on a material substance, and respiring turf smoke. O’Leary, who is a Rosicrucian in his way, insists that it came from ‘ the good people,’ the de- signation of Irish faery.” Lord Adelm took the letter in surprise, and read it with emotion. “ It is,” he said, “ the writing and the seal. May I keep this letter?” he asked, after a pause. “ Oh, certainly,” replied the general, carelessly, “ it does not concern me : you, of course, will find out who this invisible agent is, and then ” “That is not so certain,” interrupted Lord Fitz- adelm, she wraps herself in impenetrable seclusion, throws a veil of mystery over her motions as over her person, and in her fanciful epistles, though there is much to excite wonder, there is nothing to feed hope, further than the interest she takes in me.” “ Interest, indeed ! but you cannot for a moment consider this adventure in any other light than as a mere bonne fortune , however singularly it has been conducted.” “ Oh ! there is a satiety in that thought, in that term at least; and, to confess the truth, I do not wish to 4 dull the delight of this mystic union by ex- ploring its cause,’ or assigning it a motive or object. I love to think that in the pauses snatched from the FLORENCE MACARTHY. 357 tedium of society I may inhale the sigh and listen to the song of this nymph of the air, as I caught the one on the ruins of Holycross, and hung upon the other amidst the desolation of Court Fitzadelm ; for I am convinced of her presence on both occasions, and believe that our communion is divine, and that our alliance will become immortal.” “ And I,” said the general with warmth, “ I would not give up the idea of this invisible correspondent being a woman, a true devoted woman, were I in your place, to be an object of adoration to a 1 world of spirits.’ Were I the object of such zeal, vigilance and devotion, had I called forth such talent, spirit and ingenuity, I would not long remain ignorant of my I invisible guardian. I would force my way through the mystery which conceals her, I would follow her from pole to pole, over alps and oceans, or remain fixed and rooted to the spot she inhabited ; woo her, win her, cling to her, cherish her ” “ And marry her,” interrupted Lord Adelm, yawn- ing. “ Marry her !” repeated the general in a tone as if some sudden association of ideas were abruptly awakened by this proposition ; then, after a pause, he asked abruptly — “ what do you think of that pretty but extraordinary looking Lady Clancare ? Her ap- pearance was altogether sudden and singular.” “ Oh ! she struck me to be a mere minaudiere ! some stale engouement of my mother’s, who came in this extraordinary way upon the scene merely to make a sensation, and startle back Lady Dunore into a faded prepossession. You may trust me on the score of my mother’s fancies. This wild Irish peeress i 358 FLORENCE MACARTHY. has been one of the lions, I suppose, of a London season, has been exhibited for her brogue, or her howl, or shown off as 4 the lady whose father was hanged in the rebellion.’ My mother, who is one of the reigning autocrats of fashion, brings people into vogue upon her own emotions, as the old Duchess of G. did upon a fiddle-string; and w T eeps or wonders them into notoriety, as her grace danced them into ton. This Lady Ciancare has 4 fretted her hour upon the stage,’ and was heard no more; and she now issues from her own castle, a prisoner with her own consent, into ours ; merely to get up a scene, and oc- casion a rechauffe in my capricious mother’s 4 promptly cold affections.’ ” 44 She seems, however, to have succeeded, for she carried off Lady Dunore, even from you, who were so little expected, so freshly arrived, and so raptur- ously received.” 44 Oh ! that is quite my mother. She is an excellent person in her way ; but in her engouements her feel- ings are — ‘ Momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow — short as any dream.’ Be not you, therefore, misled by her favor. You are made to win it ; but even you will find it 4 sweet but not pearmanent.’ ” 44 I shall not remain here to put her ladyship’s sta- bility to the test. I expect my little vessel round by the first fair wind, and then I am off.” “No, no,” interrupted Lord Fitzadelm, “you do not mean that. You will not leave me here with dawdling dandies, and cast coquettes ; for, save my excellent uncle Daly, and Eversham, w r ho, though a FLORENCE MACARTHY. 359 coxcomb, is a perfect gentleman, the whole set-out at Dunore Castle is, I saw at a glance, perfectly detesta- ble ; but that I am spellbound here, I would fly off with you to South America to-morrow.” u And your election ?” * “ I have not even thought of that yet. If I am re^ turned, however, I shall pursue my own course : if I am worsted, I shall be left to follow it ; but all de- pends upon how my mother stands implicated : what is done cannot be undone : for the present, however, other objects touch me more nearly.” The castle bell now intimated the hour for dress- ing ; and Lord Adelm, urging the general’s quick re- turn, subjoined an ardent request that he would take up his residence at the castle, while his business de- tained him in the neighborhood. This Fitzwalter, with his wonted tone of decision, promptly refused. He insisted upon their original stipulation, Avhich had guaranteed mutual and perfect freedom of action. “ How necessary it is to me,” he continued, “ your- self shall judge.” He paused for a moment, placed himself between Lord Adelm and the postern gate, at which he was about to enter, and with a low voice, and rapid but emphatic enunciation, he continued — 11 1 am here in this neighborhood for the purpose of recovering my birthright, of which, in my boyhood, I was fraudulently bereaved. I am here for the pur- pose of dispossessing a powerful family of princely property, title, honors, and influence of vast extent, which, but for my unexpected reappearance on the scene, would in right be theirs. To effect this, the testimony of the lowly, and proofs in possession of 360 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the illiterate and the prejudiced, are necessary. My agents lie amongst those, purchasable by their po- verty, or assailable by their simplicity. My oppo- nents are among the great, the powerful, the noble, and the wily. Vigor, promptitude, perseverance, and secrecy, are the arms given me to contend with. Judge, then, how necessary to my views are perfect freedom, obscurity of position, and disengagement of mind. I am here collecting witnesses, whom I dare not trust with the secret of their own evidence. Brought forward in society in this country, I should come into contact with those *whom I am bound not to injure (for I come but to claim my rights), but to dispossess : it may be to receive their hospitality in the common intercourse of the world, or to awaken suspicion by rejecting it. I might, perhaps, too, so ally myself to some one interesting member of that family, who, united to me by blood, and endeared to me by splendid qualities, would eventually weaken my efforts in the cause of justice, general as well as personal : in a word — ” he stopped abruptly ; his eye darkened, his under lip trembled, and his silence was that of strong emotion, — a seeming struggle be- tween the impulse of a generous frankness and the caution of necessary prudence. “ Pray go on,” said Lord Adelm, impatiently : “your story interests me and he seated himself upon an abutment of the rampart, forgetful of the time, the place, of everything, but the extraordinary person who stood before him ; and who now, like a creature restored to its native element, was energized by strong passion, and animated by emotions best adapted to his nature and existence. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 361 “ In a word, then,” 1 continued the general, firmly, and after a pause, “ such a person as I have described exists ; and I have suddenly but decidedly resolved to make him, who must chiefly suffer by my claims, the sole confidant of my strenuous efforts to estab- lish them ; to relate to him a story which will cover those nearest to him with ignominy, and tend to de- prive him of the greatest objects of the world’s am- bition. Imagine how highly I think of the honor and the spirit of this person, of the truth of his character, of the elevation of his mind, of the disinterested generosity of his nature.” “ Before heaven, I would rather be that selected person,” said Lord Adelm, impetuously — “ I would rather merit and obtain such proofs of esteem, confi- dence, and admiration, than possess the highest sound- ing titles, which eventually await me, or lord it over these rich domains, which must one day be mine.” “Would you?” exclaimed the general, catching his extended hand in a grasp of iron : “ would you — ” he stopped short ; a slight convulsion passed across his countenance, and, suddenly letting fall the hand he so firmly held, he added — “ But you shall hear my story : I will confide to you events, and names blasted by those events, which names have (under feelings of indignation, stifled, indeed, but not extinct) long lain deep buried in my heart. In my person, justice has been set aside, right overthrown, nature’s holiest ties violated ; my nearest kindred have been my deadliest foes, and the legal guardians of my youth have torn me from my natural position in society, exposed me to misery, to slavery : through them I have been bought and sold like a beast of burden; through £ 362 FLORENCE MACARTHY. them — •” he paused abruptly : he clenched his hands with a violence that proceeded from acute and pow- erful feeling seeking vent in physical sensation, acute even to pain ; then, with a flashing eye, and an illu- minated countenance, he added— “ But it is passed ; and I have asserted all the rights of man, recovered and protected them for myself and others ; I have broken the chain of oppression, wherever I have found it galling the oppressed ; I have fought my way to glory and success : and now, I trust, I come to il- lustrate the name I claim, to add to the splendor, not to darken the brightness, of hereditary nobility. This, however, is no moment ” “ Yes, yes,” said Lord Adelm, catching his enthusi- asm, and borne away by the energy and rapidity of his manner, “ go on ; this is the time.” “ Will you,” said General Fitzwalter, after a long pause, “ will you trust yourself to-night in my lodging among the ruins of Monaster-ny- Oriel ?” “ To-night ! at what hour ?” “ The tide will be out at midnight : by taking the strand, you will reach the friary in less than twenty minutes.” “ At midnight, then,” said Lord Adelm, shaking the hands of his companions ; and, for the first time in his life, interested in the details of a story of which he was not himself the hero ; for till this moment he had never been associated with one whose high qualities and superior endowments assimilated with his own. The dressing bell had now ceased to ring ; and the new, but firm friends, parted for the moment. CHAPTER XIII. “ Rong6 de fiel, et bouffi d’orgueil.” As the judges were to proceed on their journey early in the evening, dinner had been advanced by nearly an hour earlier than the ordinary time ; and the last bell had rung before any one had descended to the saloon. The judges alone were impatiently observing the gradual refrigeration of soups, fish, and piles, as the party dropped into the dining-room, one by one. Lord Adelm and General Fitzwalter were among the last. They came in together, and all were standing in expectation of the entrance of the marchio- ness, when a servant presented a note to Lady Geor- giana. “ Oh !” said Lady Georgiana, as she finished a few lines, written with a pencil on a bit of twisted paper, “ here is a note from Lady Dunore : she desires me to offer apologies to all for her absence, to take the chair, and to say that she will join us at the dessert. She dates from Castle Macarthy, the seat of Lady Clancare.” Some smiled at this last intelligence, and some looked sad : among the former were Lord Frederick and Mr. Daly : the latter were exclusively compo&ed of the Crawleys — all took their places at the table. The presence of the servants prevented the turn the conversation would otherwise have taken from the 304 FLORENCE MACARTHY. circumstances of the morning ; and the dinner passed off with a heaviness, which not even some occasional flashes from Baron Boulter could enliven. Lord Adelm, with his habitual look of haughtiness and ah- i straction, sat silent and reserved. Judge Aubrey talked only in a low voice with General Fitzwalter, who sat next him. The Crawleys, formal and con- strained, scarcely concealed the chagrin and vexation under which they labored. Lord Frederick mur- mured soft nonsense and satirical remarks into Lady Georgiana’s “pleased ear.” Mr. Heneage was too fine, Earl Rosbrin and Mr. Pottinger too busy to speak, while the absence of Lady Dunore’s vivacity was evinced by the general quietude of the table, which was solemn and dull as any fashionable dinner of extreme London bon-ton could have been. The announcement of the judges’ carriages before Lady Dunore’s return, and while the fruit was upon the table, induced the whole party to rise, and ad- journ a la francaise, to coffee and the drawing-room ; and Mr. Daly, shocked at the want of all propriety in his niece towards her high judicial guests, endea- vored to apologize for her absence by jokingly re- marking that she had fallen into the thraldom of some enchantment; and that he did not doubt that the pretty Lady Clancare was some “ Irish night-tripping fairy,” who had carried her off, for special reasons, known only to the high court of faery. “ By-the-bye,” said Lord Frederick, “ I should like to be better acquainted with that same Lady Clan- care, who chose to be made a prisoner, just pour s'cgayer ! Does no one know anything about her ?” “Not a great deal, I believe,” said Miss Crawley, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 365 eagerly and pointedly, “ at least in this neighborhood, my lord.” “ More than is good,” muttered old Crawley; while Lady Georgiana, not perhaps quite satisfied with Lord Frederick’s inquiries, replied : “ Oh, you must have seen her last season in Lon- don. Lady Dunore showed her off for a night or two, and took her from old Lady Newbank, who picked her up, as she picks up odd people, and old China, nobody knows where.” “ What does she do?” said Lord Frederick, sipping his coffee. “ Is she one of the ‘ Guitararie the ‘ Tu mi C llamas' ladies, who thrum’d us to death, when Spain was in vogue? i Et Dieu salt la racier ie que c'etoit? Or does she play the 1 devil ?’ or is she a waltzer, or a quadriller ? or does she invent Chinese puzzles ? or make mottoes and draw trophies, or what ?” “I think she was brought about for writing books,” said Lady Georgiana, languidly, “ as well as I remem- ber.” “ Writing books !” re-echoed Lord Frederick in a tone of alarm : “ you don’t really mean that ?” “ Not absolutely books, I believe, but tales, stories, something about Ireland, and Spain, and South Ame- rica. I almost forget what ; but I fancy people thought they were very amusing and odd.” u De tout mon cceur said Lord Frederick, “ I have no objection. But with respect to ladies that write | books, l en tout , et par tout, je quitte la par tie? It’s a j pity, too ; for she’s a pretty, odd, shy, sly-looking con- ! cern enough. But really Lady Dunore’s bringing a live author down to us, a porte fermee , as we are liv- ing at present, is too bad ; and the worst of all au- 360 FLORENCE MACARTHY. thors, a noble author. ’Tis petty treason, against all ease, comfort, and enjoyment. Has she a husband belonging to her, do you know ?” “ Oh dear, no,” said Miss Crawley, eagerly. “ She is a peeress in her own right — he ! he ! he ! She has nothing belonging to her ; she is a very independent sort of person and she laughed affectedly. “ In fact,” said young Crawley, “ we know nothing of the lady whatever, except that such a person came down to this neighborhood two years ago ; took an old ruined mansion, called Castle Macarthy, in the vil- lage of Ballydab, passed herself as the granddaughter and heir of old Denis Macarthy, commonly called the titular Earl of Clancare, who died in Dublin in jail about that period ; and with no other inheritance than an old greyhound, and no other proof of the truth of her story than her own assertion, entered at once upon a scheming course of litigiousness, broke some leases, and——” “ Took my illigant mountain of Clotnotty-joy from me,” interrupted old Crawley, despondingly. The pathetic tone in which this was pronounced excited some mirth ; and Mr. Daly observed, “If, then, she breaks leases, and made good her claim to Clot- notty-joy, there can be no doubt, I suppose, that she is the personage she asserts herself to be.” “There is none whatever,” said Judge Aubrey, who had sat silently listening, while Baron Boulter went to the stables to look after a favorite mare, rid- den by his crier ; “ there is none whatever. I have had opportunities cf knowing something of this young lady; but I did not know before that she labors under the odium of writing books ; for there is certainly no FLORENCE MACARTHY. 367 personification of authorship about her — no preten- sion whatever.” “ And that’s the pity of it,” said Lord Frederick: “ there is, on the contrary, an odd mixture of the shy and the comic in her countenance, that one would think pretty if she was not an author.” “ Comic !” interrupted old Crawdey, gradually re- suming his wonted tone of spirits, by mere force of temperament, while his eye occasionally turned on the stranger with a look of doubtful anxiety, as if some vague, unsatisfied suspicion still lurked in his mind — “ Och ! she’s comical enough — a little too comical, like Paddy Mooney’s goose, full of fun, and nothing to play with.” The coarse vulgarisms of Mr. Crawley always ex- cited unrestrained mirth in the finer part of the so- ciety at Dunore Castle; and Lord Frederick laugh- ingly replied : “ I should like them to know Mr. Mooney’s goose most particularly ; for I vote fun the best thing alive ; li and if your Lady Clancare has this talent in common with Mr. Mooney’s goose, I believe I should almost be inclined to pardon the possession of others, even though they went as far as writing books, Pray, is this literary peeress in her own right rich ?” “ Rich !” said young Crawley, “ nobody knows how she exists ; and people laugh at her pretention to rank. The person last bearing the title of Clancare died abroad without issue ; and in Ireland titles are so frequently claimed by pauper pretenders, that little j attention is paid to such events : we had, not long since, a basket-boy a viscount, and a turf-'cutter a 1 baron.” 368 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ The statement which appeared respecting the ex- tinction of this title was incorrect,” said Judge Au- brey; “ for although the former Earl of Clancare died in Italy without issue, yet a representative of that title was found to exist, in the person of the late Mr. Macarthy, whose lineal ancestors were included in the general attainder of the Catholic peers who sup- ported James the Second in the war of the Revolu- tion. These attainders, however, have, with a few exceptions, been reversed, L sat upon the Clancare cause, which terminated in the success and the ruin of the old chieftain. He obtained his title, which de- scends in the female line, but died, as Mr. Conway Crawley states, a few days after in prison, where he had. been detained for costs. Since that event, I have had the pleasure of once meeting Lady Clancare upon an occasion that did equal honor to her heart and her head. She interested herself in the fate of a person condemned to perpetual incarceration, S under the shameful Irish by-law called a 4 rule of bail.’ He is now gaining an honest livelihood, and runs a chaise and pair of his own, I understand, on some of the by- roads between Cork and Kerry. Every one knows Owny, the Rabragh* and is glad to employ him; for he occasionally realizes all that has been said of the shrewdness and humor of an Irish postillion.” General Fitzwalter and Lord Adelm exchanged glances of significance. “ A little hanging would do him no harm for all that, with great deference to your lordship,” said old Crawley ; “ for there was neither pace nor quiet while * An Irish scholar translated this term for me — a “ hearty fellow it in fact means a rustic “ gay Lothario.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 869 he was in the barony, setting up the fairs and patterns after they were put down by milithary law, and burn- ing me in elegy, and thinking a beau maison of him- self, as the French says, at the hurling matches, with his white shirt sleeves and green ribbons.” “ I aln glad of it,” said Mr. Daly ; “ and I wish with all my soul we had more rabraghs. The Irish peasantry are not only more indigent than they w^ere forty years ago, but they have lost much of the gaiety and cheerfulness of spirit which set sorrow at de- fiance. Their wakes and fairs, patterns, and Sunday evening cake, are almost wholly laid aside : these, and the hurling matches, that noble, athletic, and national sport, are quite gone by. I remember as if it were but yesterday, fifty years back, heading the Leitrim boys against the Kerries, who were led on by old Florence Macarthy, the very grandfather of this Lady Clancare, in a hurling match between the counties. Macarthy won the match, and more than the match, for he won the heart of the pretty Honor O’Connor, the toast of the two provinces, who he afterwards married, and who, with all the reigning beauties of the day, followed the fortunes of the contest.” “It warms one’s old blood,” continued Mr. Daly, starting up with animation, “even at seventy-three, to think of the native energy, force, and spirit of the genuine Irish character; and it chills it,” he added, with a sigh, and retaking his seat, “ when one thinks upon the means which must have been employed within the last thirty years to weaken and turn it from its natural bias. I doubt, sir,” he added, turn- ing to General Fitzwalter, “ that had you remained at home, I doubt that you would have developed 370 FLORENCE MACARTHY. those great qualities in this devoted country, which have obtained for you, elsewhere, the epithet fcf the Liberator, and have enabled you in a land of strangers to fight your way to high command, and higher con- sideration.” General Fitzwalter had given to the details of this desultory conversation that animated and earnest at- tention which betokens deep interest. Thus person- ally addressed, he replied, with the abrupt frankness of one who rather courts than shuns observation : “ I am an Irishman, sir, and have long been an exile, but not from religious proscription (for my family were of the master cast), but by circumstances con- nected with the political state of the country; turned adrift upon the world without compass or rudder, without a home to love, friends to cherish, or a conn try to defend or serve, I became by necessity a com- moner of nature ; and unfettered by the distinctions of clime, country, or kindred, I have early claimed alliance with all who suffer, whatever might be the region they inhabited. “ The chances which threw me on the shores of America brought me early in life in contact with Don Narino> It was my good fortune to share his dungeon in Santa Fe, his escape to Europe, and his mission to England. I accompanied him also in his venturous return to New Grenada, where, backed by English protection, he again risked his life in his country’s cause. Proscribed, marked out for de- struction, pursued, discovered, taken, he expiated the * Narino visited England in consequence of certain plans en- tertained by the British ministry for separating- Terra Firma from Spain. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 871 crime of patriotism by a long series of misery and in- carceration. Narino has since appeared before the world in all his original splendor ; and I, in common with many of my gallant countrymen* have contin- ued to follow the standard of liberty, from the mo- ment it was openly unfurled among the mighty re- gions of the Cordilleras.” “ Borne it, not followed it,” said Lord Adelm. “ The stranger,” said Fitzwalter, “ who risks his fortune in a foreign land on general principles of right and liberty, usually becomes the favorite of the more interested partizans. I have, therefore, occa- sionally led, as well as followed, in almost every part of Spanish America, where the glorious impulsion of freedom has been given. In a late action, more than half the corps I commanded were massacred in a pass of the Cordilleras ; for the war of Spain against Amer- ica is named,, even by the Spaniards, a 1 war of death.’ As their chief, I was reserved for torture, and for an ignominious death. It was a romantic event, that one of the guards, placed over me, had in early life done me an injury that weighed heavily on his con- science. He took this moment for reconciling him- self with heaven, released, and fled with me. I es- caped from the Caraccas to Demerara, where, through the channel of the public papers, an event of great personal interest accidentally reached my knowledge, which the remoteness and occupation of my scene of action, together with my more immediate incarcera- tion, prevented me from sooner learning. This event has brought me to my native country : and though as an Irishman I should, on general grounds, lament * See note (12) at the end of the volume 872 fLOKENCE MACARTHY. the circumstances which introduced me to the castle of Dunore, jet upon principles of personal gratifica- tion, I am not sufficiently disinterested to regret them. n This brief sketch of autobiography was thrown off with a frankness and energy of manner that gave it singular effect, and bestowed upon it all the evi- dence of truth, and "all the graces of modesty, while it obtained for the brilliant and singular narrator an admiration variously felt and expressed. “ Go on, General Fitzwalter, go on,” cried a voice from the door : “ you have no idea how you remind me of Koskiusko, when I went to see him in London, lying wounded upon a sofa. You racontez so like him ; doesn’t he, Georgy, love ? I must say, after all, that patriotism and freedom are things that always sound delightfully.” This speech drew every eye to the spot from whence it proceeded ; and Lady Dunore appeared, leaning her back against the half-open door, conceal- ing the figure of Lady Clancare, whose dark eyes were just seen peeping over her shoulder. The ladies had entered thus far unobserved, for the company sat with their backs to the door, at the moment when Mr. Daly had addressed General Fitz- walter ; and Lady Dunore, who loved to hear every- thing about every one, and loved it the more in pro- portion as events were extraordinary, stood spell- bound while the general spoke, as forgetful of her “dear delightful judges” as if they had never existed. They were now, however, recalled to her recollection by the entrance of Baron Boulter, bearing the intel- ligence that all was ready for their departure ; and FLORENCE MACARTHY. 373 Lady Dunore, translating the reproachful look and shake of her uncle’s head, came forward with a mul- titude of apologies for her absence, many anxious en- treaties that they would prolong their stay, and as deep-formed wishes that they would return, with all their wives and all their children, to pass some time at Dunore, where she was going to have private plays and a chapel of ease, and Lady Clancare, and perhaps more trials. The judges, however, seemed perfectly satisfied with the trials they had already witnessed; and Baron Boulter, as spokesman, received and returned her ladyship’s compliments with all the ardor and earnestness with which they were made. The judges were then conducted to their carriages, by Lord Adelm and Mr, Daly, and departed. Lady Dunore now led, or rather forced forward, the really, or affectedly timid Lady Clancare, who, with the manner that resembled the graceful awk- wardness of a pretty but froward child, still held back. Lady Dunore, heated and dishevelled, was still in her morning dress, with her sautoir de cashmir rolled round her head, and a gray cloak of Lady Clan- dare’s on her shoulders, exhibiting a most sybil-like appearance. Lady Clancare, on the contrary, had exchanged her coarse unbecoming costume of the morning for a black Spanish dress and mantilla, which were then still in fashion. Lady Dunore, whose eyes were fixed upon her new protegee with delight and admiration, now turned them on the company to observe the effect she had pro- duced, and at last fixed their eager glances upon Gen- eral Fitz waiter, with an expression which, if not 374 FLORENCE MACARTHT. attributable to her wonted extravagance., was wholly untranslatable. There was in this intense stare a hope, a fear, something expected, something dreaded. General Fitzwalter, whose eyes, like those of the rest of the company, were turned on Lady Clancare, in mere curiosity, at last met those of Lady Dunore. For a moment they returned her fixed look, till red- dening under the intensity of her gaze, he turned away, and picking up a screen, which lay at Georgi- ans feet, he seized on this little act as an opportu- nity for addressing her. Lady Dunore whispered something to Lady Clancare, who smiled, and threw down her eyes ; and Mr. Daly, entering with Lord Adelm, was commencing his attack on his inconse- quent niece, when Lady Dunore, impatiently putting her hand on his mouth, interrupted him with : “ There, there, I know all you would say, all any one can say, on the subject j if I have done wrong, I bring my ex- cuse in my hand,” and she drew forward Lady Clan- care. “You could not bring forward a fairer,” said Mr. Daly, with an air of gallantry; “and had I been so tempted, I, too, should have so sinned, I fear, though the whole bench of bishops, and all the judges of the land, had been making claims on my attention. I had the honor,” he added, addressing Lady Clancare, “ of knowing your ladyship’s venerable grandfather, some short half-century back. He was not very ven- erable then : he was, indeed, of a race of men, in sta- ture, look and character, now almost passed away in this country — we shall not look upon their like again.” Lady Clancare bowed to this recollection of her grandfather; and though she spoke not, there was FLORENCE MACARTHY. 375 something passed across her countenance, which in- duced Mr. Daly to take her hand, under pretence of leading her to her chair; and he felt (or he fancied he felt) a gentle pressure of his, which he returned with an ardor that did not quite belong to seventy- three. “ Oh ! for line men,” said Lady Dunore, throwing herself into an arm chair, “ I think they are really quite extinct with us altogether. You know, Georgy, love, we were observing at the opera, the last night we were there, that we thought all the heirs of the great names were pigmies. There is nothing coming now at all like the Dukes of A. and H.— , the Mar- quis of A — , and the old Earl of E — , in his corona- tion robes, and that sort of thing. But with respect to those magnificent creatures that once used to meet in London, I think all that sort of thing now is con- fined to the patriots, that is the Poles, and South American chiefs. Don’t you think so, Georgy, love ?” and she turned her eyes on General Fitz waiter. To get rid of the awkwardness of this pointed compliment, which evidently distressed its object, Mr. Daly addressed General Fitzwalter with some observations on a country where he had played so distinguished apart. u South America,” he observed, “ is well known to us in the Spanish histories of its early discoverers, but it is only now become an object of interest through the exertions of those States, which are seeking to shake off that yoke which had almost deprived them of a place in the history of na- tions ; the impulse, however, must have been given long since.” General Fitzwalter replied : “ The oppression and 378 FLORENCE MACARTHY. cruelty of the colonial legislatures had excited, even as far hack as the middle of last century, events, which seemed remotely to prepare a new destiny for a population of fourteen millions of its inhabitants. To a torpid acquiescence of three centuries succeed- ed a gathering tempest, kindling resistance. The spirit of freedom, once vivified, rapidly brightened into flame, shining from North to South; and the period soon arrived when every American heart beat in unison under its influence. Internal divisions may render this conflict long and uncertain ; but the cause belongs to humanity ; it springs from the laws of nature and is inevitable ; it is borne along by the spirit of the age and the progress of illumination, and it must finally succeed.” “ To be sure it must,” said Lady Dunore. “ Don’t you think so, Georgy, love ?” “ For my part, I don’t know,” said Conway Craw- ley, with his brogue and his effrontery, “ what par- sons mean about giving liberty and independence to au uninformed race, defined by one of the Spanish fiscals as creatures destined by nature to work like moles in the mines. We have all read the solemn declaration of the consulado , or board of trade, in Mexico, that the Indians are a race of monkeys, filled with vice and ignorance; and they have extended their remarks, I believe, pretty justly to the creoles, or degenerate descendants of the first Spanish settlers.” “ That, indeed, changes the thing altogether,” said Lady Dunore, “ not but a race of monkeys must be very amusing, and very mischievous. Don t you think so, Georgy, dear ?” u It was,” said Mr. Daly, u these same sagacious rLORENCE MACARTHY* 377 fiscals who ordered the olive and the vine to be rooted out of Chili, to compel a commerce with the peninsula. And it was in the bosoms of these American auto- mata-,” he continued, “ of these monkeys, that the British Government, in 1797, resolved to cherish the spark of independence already awakened there.” “ What is, generally speaking, the condition of the lower orders ?” asked Mr. Da y, turning coolly away from young Crawley, and evidently anxious to draw out the general. “ Borne down,” he answered, “ by long slavery and injustice, the native Indian submits to his vexatious + existence with an affected patience, a seeming apathy, which veils the cunning and ferocity of the enslaved and degraded in all countries. Everywhere the slave exhibits the same vice, jargon, and policy ; and it does happen that when a native Indian rises by low arts to petty power, and becomes the alcade, the magistrate, or loyal man of the colonial government, supported by that government, he makes common cause with his superiors, and adds by misrepresenta- tions to the sufferings of his country.” “Och! the thief of the world!” said old Crawley, while his son changed color, for he felt the full force of the remark. “ If we had him in Ireland, we’d soon take away his commission of the pace from him.” A burst of good-natured laughter from Lady Clan- care excited a pretty universal sympathy ; and young Crawley, trembling with acrimonious emotion, con- tinued : “The South Americans are, by temperament, a bloody and inhuman people. Their very religion is 878 FLORENCE MACARTHY. a religion of blood. The Spaniards found them sac* rificing human beings in their temples.” “Yes,” interrupted Miss Crawley, “so we read in the abridgment of the life of Columbus.” “And there exists a sect,” said young Crawley, ransacking his schoolboy erudition, “who preach purification by blood. Such are the people who are to overturn a Christian dynasty, a legitimate sover- eignty, and talk of rights, humanity, and that sort of trash, that one is sick of.” “They are all naturally atheists, and deists, and idolators,” said Miss Crawley, triumphantly. “ Georgy, love, did you ever hear anything so shocking ?” said Lady Dunore. “ How can any one wish well to such a people. Mr. Heneage, bring mo my eau cle luce bottle.” “ Such facts,” said General Fitzwalter, “ are a proof of the feebleness of the human mind. In all parts of the world, atonement by human sacrifice ifc the dogma of nations in their infancy ; because the first religion of man is the religion of fear. He suf fers more than he enjoys ; and he propitiates accord* ingly” “ But I believe,” continued the general, “ we must not look too deeply into the history of man, whatever region he inhabits ; it is a fearful and an humiliating history ; and when backed by fanaticism, it is more than ordinarily blood-stained and terrific. But let us take him when we can, in his best aspect, free and enlightened ; or so blessed by singularity of temper- ament, so formed of happy elements, that, like the mild Peruvian, he performs the rites of the heart, whose incense smells to heaven, and heaps on his FLORENCE MACARTHY. 379 sunny altars the fruits and odors of his luxuriant soil.” “ How beautiful !” said Lady Dunore ; “ there is nothing like those Peruvians, par exemple , and their odors.” “ Peruvians or Mexicans, they are all a detestable race,” said young Crawley, “ unworthy of a better government ; and any one who knows their history, and has read their absurd mythology, their deluge of Coxcox, and their— — ” Lady Dunore, now a very violent South American patriot, exclaimed — “Good heavens! General Fitz- walter, I hope you are come to recruit here for your grand cause. I dare say there are a quantity of young men among our tenantry would go for noth- ing at all ; don’t you think they would, Mr. Crawley ?” “ Upon my credit, my lady, I can’t take upon me to say,” returned Mr. Crawley, fearful that as he had already bailed his own prisoner, he would next be compelled to recruit in the cause of rebellion ; “ but I don’t think they have any turn to fighting among the negers ; and then, I suppose, it’s a good step off, madam.” “ Nothing to signify, my dear Mr. Crawley,” inter- rupted Lord Frederick ; “ and provided you will take the v command of the Ballydab and Dunore heroes, I don’t care if I accompany you as a volunteer when- ever you please to sally forth ; for I look upon it, Mr. Crawley, that you are one of those ancient preux , pour fendre giant 7 de rompre harnois , et porter en croupe belles demoiselles sans leur parley de men" “ Many thanks for your compliment, my lord,” said old Crawley, believing Lord Frederick must be civil, 380 FLORENCE MACARTHY. as he spoke in French. “ I never was much given to travel ; only oncet was going to Lisburn for my health, after my sufferings on duty with the. yeomanry in the rebellion of ninety-eight.” “ To Lisburn, my dear Mr. Crawley,” said Lord Frederick; “ is Lisburn the Montpellier of Ireland?” “ Not at all, my lord; I mane Lisburn, the capital cf Spain,” replied Mr. Crawley. “ If I were twenty years younger, Mr. Crawley,” said Mr. Daly, covering out the general titter by ad- dressing its object, “ I should myself be tempted to go forth. South America is the great stage upon which the world’s eye is now fixed.”. “A stage,” said Lord Rosbrin, shaking his head, “ where every man must play his part, and mine a sad one.” “ See that now,’ said Mr. Crawley, “ and never heard tell of it before, only the Yankee-doodles and New York, and the likes.” “ Man,” said Lord Adelm, starting up from a re- verie in which he had indulged while leaning over the back of Lady Georgiana’s chair, “ man, in what- ever region he is found, may best be typified by a squirrel in a cage.” “A squirrel in a cage ! the Lord save us !” ex- claimed Mr. Crawley, in astonishment. “ His little sphere is so planned,” continued Lord Adelm, “ that he can be nothing but what he is, do nothing but what he does. He goes round his circle, and repeats his rotations, with no difference in the performance, but a little acceleration or a little retard- ment. These South Americans but repeat an old story : they are savage and unprotected, they are con- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 381 quered ; — they are slaves, and degraded, they en- dure ; — they are pressed to the quick, they turn and resist; — they struggle and succeed, — become great, prosperous, illumined ; conquer and oppress in their turn, moulder away, and leave to posterity the un- heeded moral that in every clime, state, or being, man is neither to be praised nor blamed, admired nor ab- horred. He is what he is ; — otherwise he cannot be ; for, after all, he is but an engine, a mere engine.” “A steam-engine,” said old Crawley, shaking his head, and anxious to agree with Lord Fitzadeim, of whom he stood in awe ; “ sorrow a thing else.” “ Faith, pretty much,” said Lord Adeim, with a gravity none preserved but himself ; “ except that a steam-engine has this superiority over him, that it is neither susceptible of caprice nor distraction. It turns, also, upon a beneficial principle ; while the mainspring of the machinery of man inevitably turns on evil.” “ Evil to him as evil thinks,” re-echoed old Craw- ley; “ honey swa key molly pause , as the French says.” “ That’s not ill put, Mr. Crawley,” said Mr. Laly, while everybody else laughed; “ but, my dear Fitz- adeim, you, at least, admit the principle of good to exist conjointly with that of evil. You will not es- tablish a doctrine less consoling than that of the dark, demoniac Indian mythology.” “ Oh, I deny good as a principle altogether,” said Lord Adeim: “good is merely relative, evil is posi- tive. Evil is necessary to man, as the air he breathes ; - an inherent part of his existence : deprive him of his principle of evil, and he becomes a vegetable.” 382 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ A vegetable !” repeated old Crawley ; “ see that now.” “ Evil is the source, end, and object of the pas- sions ; or, to give them their proper names, the appe- tites. It is the grand agitator of life, its food and occupation; without evil, there would be neither genius, virtue, nor valor ; for what is virtue but an ef- fort against vice ? What genius ? — the nisus to over- come suffering. What valor? — the necessity of mas- sacre and bloodshed.” * “ Christ save us !” exclaimed Mr. Crawley. “ What is ambition? — the selfish wish of rule. What friendship? — helplessness. What love? — a want. Whence arise the liberal professions, but from the innate tendency of man to evil ? The whole busi- ness of life, then, is but one sustained effort against evil; and without evil, in a supereminent degree, skill, wisdom, virtue and courage, could not be de- veloped, because they would not be called for. Tak- ing, then, a just view of things, there is little to move either our wrath or our admiration. He who feels little and digests well — he who has a bad heart and a good stomach — is, after all, the true sage and the happy man.” v Here Lord Adelm was interrupted by a servant, who gave him a note. It filled the room with per- fume, and covered Lord Adelm’s face with blushes, warm as the hues of the paper he perused. Every one smiled as he hurried away ; and though the estab- lished laws of bon-ton prevented the slightest notice being taken of this incident, Mr. Daly could not help saying with an arch smile — “ So much for the philo- sophy of indifference.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 383 il Philosophy !” repeated Lord Rosbrin, laying down his play-book : “ There never yet was found philosophy Could bear the toothache patiently.” The quick eye of Lady Dunore had rested on the face, and observed the emotions of her son. Her feelings of maternity had been so little influenced by his return, that, the first pleasure over, which surprise always occasioned in her, she had not been induced to retire with him for a single half-hour since his arri- val, but had been quite satisfied with the few words he had said to her in the hall, stating the motive of his journey to have been his wish to preside at his own election. His sudden emotion and exit now seized on her imagination. She was not yet ex- hausted by the events of the day ; and after strug- gling for a moment in contest with her own feelings, she arose and followed him. The servant who had delivered the note met her in the hall ; but to her inquiries whence it had come, the answer was, it had been left in the porter’s lodge, and had come from the post-house. Meantime, Mr. Daly had ordered the brag table ; and while the party stood waiting for Lady Dunore to join them, Lord Rosbrin proposed reciting “ Col- lin’s Ode on the Passions,” which was by common consent overruled, in favor of his imitations of the favorite actors of the day. With Miss Crawley’s scarf bound round his head, a casbmir of Lady Geor- giana’s wound round his body, a row of candles placed at his feet, and the company circled around him, he gave a very close imitation of some of the 384 FLORENCE MACARTHY. best modern tragedians, in the parts of Othello, Richard III., Macbeth, and Hamlet, successively. The imitation was, indeed, so faithful, that it not only rendered look for look, and tone for tone, but every inflection, gesture, and grimace was preserved pre- cisely the same as in the original he copied. The exhibition, so well adapted to the idle and the gay, as combining (what the great love) amusement and ridicule, had so entirely occupied the minds of the audience, that nearly two hours had been passed | in recitations, accompanied by bravoes and encores, without Lady Dunore’s protracted absence becoming a subject of notice to her preoccupied guests. When at last she returned to the drawing-room, her counte- nance was disturbed ; there was a cloud on her brow, and her cheek was stained with tears. The lights on the floor, however, the turbaned head, and draped figure of Lord Rosbrin, operated as talismans on her oppressed spirits. He was com- manded to go over the course again, and was again rewarded with vociferated bravoes, and hysterical * laughs, until Lady Georgiana observed that both Lady Clancare and General Fitzwalter had disap- peared during the representation. “ Gone ! and together ?” asked Lady Dunore, starting up in emotion ; “ when, where, how ?” “ Together ! n repeated Lord Frederick. “ On crie a la scandale /” Lady Dunore repeated her question, but no one could give any answer. While Lord Rosbrin had strutted his hour, none had eyes or ears but for him ; and the marchioness, in an agitation no one could un- derstand, left the room. 7 FLORENCE MACARTHT. 385 “ There she goes, like a skyrocket,” said Lord Frede- rick. “ I should like to know her impulsion.” “ If her ladyship means to watch the extraordinary disappearances of Lady Clancare,” said Miss Craw- ley, “ she will have something to do. x Her stealing away with General Fitzwalter was, however, a strong measure, if this w^as their first acquaintance.” “ You don’t mean that, my dear Miss Crawley,” said Lord Frederick, with a significant look. “If this little shy thing has had an illustre foiblesse , we must forgive her authorship.” “ I don’t wish to say anything injurious of the pseudo Lady Clancare,” said Miss Crawley, “ but it will certainly surprise the people of consequence in this neighborhood when they hear of her being re- ceived at Dunore. She has now T just returned from a mysterious disappearance of some months.” “ Oh ! you are raising her cent, per cent., my dear Miss Crawley,” exclaimed Lord Frederick ; “ if you prove this Irish Sappho is a Sappho, head, heart, and all, you redeem her to all intents and purposes.” Lady Dunore now re-entered, her countenance brightening into smiles. “ It is very extraordinary,” she said, “ that none of you could tell me Lady Clan- care went away twenty minutes before General Fitz- w alter, wdiich I find is the case.” • “Are we your lady’s keeper ?” asked Lord Fred- erick. “ But, marchioness of my. soul, what is your extraordinary anxiety about these new godsends, w T ho seem to have arrived here for the sole purpose of keeping up the ebb and flow of your solicitude ? Your secret, lady ! Pray ‘ let me not burst in igno- rance.’ ” 886 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ Secret !” said Lady Dunore, laughing : u why should you think I have any ?” “ Well, then, Lady Clancare’s secret ; for we know, as Rosbrin would say, only he is now too tired to say anything, you ‘ could a tale unfold ;’ and Miss Craw- ley has just been giving us some hints of Vaimable sceleratesse of your Irish peeress. In short, it seems that the inhabitants of our good city of Dunore do not visit her.” “ And does Miss Crawley presume,” said Lady Du- j nore, turning full upon the shrinking Miss Crawley, “ does Miss Crawley presume to throw a breath of slander upon a friend of mine, to talk over in village commerage a person of Lady Clancare’s rank and celebrity ? ’ “ I assure your ladyship,” said Miss Crawley, pale with mortification and fear, “ I did not say — did not mean ” “ No, no,” said Lord Frederick, half amused with the consternation he came to relieve, “ they are ra- ther my surmises than Miss Crawley’s assertions, who merely hinted that 1 Lips, though lovely, must still be fed,’ and that if this lady were not fed by the gods with nectar and ambrosia, her mode of existence was a mystery, if not a miracle, unknown to any one.” “ Yes,” said Lady Dunore, triumphantly, “ there is a miracle and a mystery in Lady Clancare’s retreat from the world ; but its secret is known to one per- son, and I am that person, for the rest you may trust me. I would not present in my own exclusive circle one who was not in all points comme il faut. One thing, however, I must generally observe to you all, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 387 good people : Lady Clan care must not be obtruded | on ; she receives no visits from either sex ; admits no strangers; and I alone have obtained permission oc- casionally to join her in her solitude. Meantime, I stand pledged that no constraint shall be put upon her movements. She is to have free ingress and egress, a plaisir , at Dunore Castle, and is to creep in and creep out like a pet kitten, as she expresses it, 1 without let or molestation.’ ” “ But, dear love,” said Lady Georgiana, as she dealt round the cards with sparkling fingers, 11 your kitten I will at least pur a little, 1 hope, for us. Do you know she was not the least in the world entertaining to- night ? ” “ Well !” said Lady Dunore, “ don’t judge her hastily; leave her to time and to me.” She looked oracularly mysterious as she spoke, cut in as Mr. Heneage cut out ; and having convinced the com- pany she had some profound secret in her keeping, and won fifty pounds from old Crawley, she retired to bed at three in the morning, in great elevation of spirits, repeating to Lady Georgiana, as they parted > on the corridor : “Well, after all, sweetest, there is nothing like these wild, barbarous, rebellious countries, par exem- pt e ; and gay as we are now, and amused as we are with all these judges, and Padreen Gars boys, and Peruvian chiefs, and things, there is no saying but we may be all murdered before morning,” With this consolatory reflection, she kissed the forehead of her sleepy, smiling friend, and retired. CHAPTER XIV. — For I will tell you now What never yet was heard in tale or song, From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. Milton. General Fitzwalter had alone observed the re- treat of Lady Claneare. There was something in the popularity which she enjoyed as Bhan Tierna, something in her story, as the representative of an illustrious but ruined family, something in her sud- den and unexpected appearance in the hall of Du* nore, which, taken' together, and contrasted with her youth, her very feminine person, unprotected state, and extreme reserve, powerfully interested him. He j had once or twice also, as he stood opposite to her, met her eyes, and they were not eyes to be met with impunity ; nor were their glances less impres- sive from being suddenly and bashfully withdrawn. Still he fancied that he could trace something sinis- ter in her looks ; and the singular mobility and intel- ligence of her peculiar countenance were strangely opposed to her timid and unbroken taciturnity, leav- ing it doubtful which was her natural habit, the re- serve of a recluse, or the acuteness of a practised observer. While, therefore, General Fitzwalter pursued his way along the strand, he continued to puzzle himself in the research after the cause of her attraction (her FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 389 attraction for him at least, for, after the first surprise of her appearance, she seemed to have excited little interest in others) ; he at last summed it all up in her eyes. He had somewhere met such eyes before; and whichever way he now turned his own, whether upon the stars, which seemed to start from the hea- vens like wandering fires, or downward upon their fairy reflection in the smooth ebb tide, still the full, dark, and fixed eyes of Lady Clancare were before him. He had not proceeded many paces from the ram- part wall of the castle when Lord Adelm overtook him. “ You are an hour before appointment,” said Fitz- walter, “ for the castle clock now tells eleven.” “ How could you remain so long among these tire- some people ?” returned Lord Adelm, petulantly. “ I came away as soon as decency would permit. I waited for the return of Lady Dunore.” “ She had not then returned when you came away ?” “ Not to the drawing-room; but I heard her voice in the gallery as I passed through the hall.” “You can have no idea how she has crossed my way to-night,” said Lord Adelm, in a tone of vexa- tion ; “ you saw me receive a note ?” “Yes, most appropriately. It produced in your countenance a refutation of your doctrine ; and elo- quently proved that mind is not wholly dependent on a 1 good stomach and a bad heart’ for its happiness.” “ Yes, I felt I was showing up most confoundedly. But the circulation is still stronger than that moral mover we call reason, which, after all, means nothing, 390 FLORENCE MAOARTHY. but more or less of temperament. You guess who the note was from.” “ Certainly, by its hue and odor.” “ W ell, she who has led me here, has followed me here, or rather has preceded me.” “ And where is she ?” “ Perhaps bedded in that rock, or, for aught I know, perched on the wing of the sea breeze that whistles by us. N ow imagine, if you can, a contre terns like this. The prettiest little French billet, en- closed in an envelope, which bore the postmark of Dunore, summoned me to a rock under the castle ter- race, called the Hag’s Tooth. I was to come alone ; not before ten, nor after eleven ; this was the only stipulation: 1 was to be astonished — this was the only promise. I found the spot with some difficulty. All was solitary and silent ; not even the rippling of the wave, nor the sigh of the gale. I had been at my appointed post but a few minutes when I perceived a female form, gliding like a sea-nymph over the glit- tering sand, light as air, and rapid as light. The dupe of my heart, or my hopes, or what you will, I stood spell-bound. Had I beheld a vision descending from the clouds, it could not have held more influence over my imagination. I had scarcely power to breathe, to stretch forth a hand to clasp that which was presented to me. — I did, however, clasp it.” “ Then it was a mortal hand, true flesh and blood, after ail ?” interrupted the general, eagerly. “ It was,” said Lord Adelm, stamping his feet, and grinding out his words : “ it was my mother’s hand.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 391 “Then the promise of astonishment was at least fulfilled.” “ Lady Dunore, it seems, had herself received a note,” continued Lord Adelm, “ advising her to watch my steps this evening. I half suspect it was some trick of those delectable Crawleys. She follow- ed me out : I was annoyed, bored beyond all expres- sion, and not over guarded in concealing my feelings, a scene often repeated ensued between us. I con- demned and contemned her interference upon all oc- casions: she reproached, retorted, and wept; then grew hysterical as usual ; and in this way I conducted her home. Trembling with apprehension and solici- tude, I again issued forth, when that petite evaporce , my mother's new Irish caprice, appeared in the por- tico, getting into her mule cart. I had now to make a second retreat, and saw her take the strand road with such feelings of patience and pleasure as you may suppose. At last, literally speaking, the coast was clear, and I bent my steps towards the rock of my disappointed hopes ; for there I found only this black handkerchief, or scarf, a token of my ill luck, and an indication, of course, that my sylph had been true to her appointment, and had kept it, while I was conducting my mother home. Now what think you of all this ?” “ Think ! why, that your sylph is some devoted woman; so ingenious, so zealous in her devotion, that did there exist for me such a being ” “ I have examined the handkerchief,” interrupted Lord Adelm, “ and I should think there was magic in the web of it; but that it bears a sign to conjure away all magic : a red cross is embroidered on its 892 FLORENCE MACARTHY. centre ; it is, too, of Spanish manufacture, of true Barcelona workmanship.” “ ’Tis altogether most strange, most romantic, and most flattering,” returned the general, thoughtfully, as they proceeded arm in arm, and in silence, each apparently wrapped in profound musings, till they ar- rived beneath a sweep of irregular and massive cliffs, above which, dark and indistinct, rose the ruins and cemetery of Monaster-ny-Oriel. The pathway to the coast, cut centuries back by the monks, and the round-topped, perforated cross, which they had raised at its entrance, to the honor of St. Peter, the fisherman, and as a landmark to dis- tressed mariners, still remained. The friends as- j cended this rude, rocky avenue by a flight of steep, unevenly hewn steps, piled on either side with a stra- tum of human bones (a gloomy order of architecture not unusual in the ancient burying grounds of Ire- land), and terminating in a circular and spacious man- dra (13). The night was still and dark; a few stars only glimmered in the cloudy firmament. The peculiar genius of Lord Adelm was well adapted to scenes and seasons characterized by images gloomy and fantastic as his own morbid fancy. He paused frequently in his wearisome ascent, while his more active companion strode on rapidly before him : and when he had reached the summit of the rocks which formed the site of the monastic ruins, he halted, and looked around him. The scene was wild, desolate and silent — rocks, ruins, remote mountains, bounding the land view; while the steep Atlantic spread wide and dark, and lost itself in the distant clouds. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 393 u These are scenes,’ 5 said Lord Adelm, “ that trans- port us beyond the present, that bear us into regions of thought and feeling, beyond all mean ambition and human cares.” “ They are better adapted to prelude the tale I would unfold to you,” said Fitz waiter, impressively. “ Your story !” said Lord Adelm, in a tone of recok lection (for over the mirror of his imagination reflec- tions passed rapidly; and it was only now he recol- lected the purpose for which he accompanied his new friend to the Friary of St. John’s at an hour so un- seasonable) — “ Oh ! ay, I had half forgotten your story.” They now ascended the spiral stairs of the tower, O’Leary , from above, held forward a lamp, whose light produced uncertain shadows upon the dark damp wall ; but when he perceived by its flickering ray that his guest was accompanied by Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, he started back, then came again forward, and drew up against the doorcase to let them pass, changing the lamp to his left hand, that he might make the sign of the cross on his breast with his right, as a sort of exorcism, on an event which, to his confused and wandering mind, appeared little less than miraculous. He then followed them into the room, where a fire had already been kindled in the open hearth ; the candles also stood ready lighted ; yet, under various pretences, he lingered in the , apartment, occasionally coming forward with the snuffers, and snatching hasty and anxious looks at the two gentlemen, who were already seated at a little deal table, both leaning on their elbows, both earnestly conversing in Spanish. O'Leary, as he 394 FLORENCE MACARTHY. gazed on them with a half-murmured exclamation; crossed himself devoutly, and made new causes for delay; till the general, telling him that he had no further occasion for his services that night, perempto- rily desired him to retire to rest ; he then slowly re- treated, and was twice called back to shut the door before he obeyed. The morning after this midnight interview, O'Leary, at an hour later than usual, entered the apartment of the general to attend at his toilette and breakfast. He found him, however, asleep, in Friar O Sullivan’s great chair, w T here he had left him seated the night before, and his bed had not been occupied. His re- pose was so profound that O’Leary had rekindled his turf fire, and got ready his dressing things, without awakening him. But the heavy pacing about the room, and murmured ejaculations of the pedagogue, at last aroused him from his slumber. “ I’m afeard I put the sleep astray upon your honor,” said O’Leary, with an anxious look. “ It is time, I believe, to rise, O’Leary, is it not ?” said the general, starting up, and shaking off his “ obedient slumbers,” as one accustomed to snatch repose, when, where, and as he could, and to dismiss it at will. “ To rise !” said O’Leary, shaking his head, “ and your honor not in bed, gineral, the whole live long night, sir !” “ How do you know that, O Leary ?” “ How do I know it ? Why, the day was breaking on the Atlantic, plaze your honor, when I saw the young lord going down the rock, there, and you looking after him from the top of the Friar’s Leap, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 395 as it is called : and wonders but he’d be afeard to be wandering his lone that way in the country. It’s lit- tle his father, Baron Gerald, would dare it, great a i Calebalaro’* as he was ; for he was a sould man, sir, from the time he planned the ruination of young De Montenay ; and it’s only for him your honor would be alive and hearty this day ; not all as one — that’s his own nephew I mane ; and when I saw you both seated cheek by jowl last night, and my Pacata Hi- bernia between yez, it minded me the ,last time I seen the two brothers at Court Fitzadelm together ; it was a little time after the Honorable Gerald had married the great English lady, th’ ould marchioness that is now, and who came over his lone to Ireland. They were seated together in th’ oak parlor, that's the two Tiernas, with a tankard of claret, and a bottle of brandy to qualify it, between them. I was only called in about a date, being then at the court, and corned to see the child; for the rumor was, he was going to be carried to Dublin by his uncle : and his mother only buried the week before ; and the Tierna Dhu handed me a glass of wine, saying, pleasantly, he believed I’d rather the whiskey.’ 7 “ I’m afraid,” said the general, smiling, who was preparing for a sea-bath before he went to breakfast, “ I’m afraid, O’Leary, that preference still clings to you ; and I was sorry when I looked in on you this morning, to find you sleeping in your clothes, with a bottle of spirits half consumed by your side. This i3 not the way to recover your health and compose your mind, O’Leary.” M And did your honor look in on me ?” said * Cavalier. 896 FLORENCE MACARTHY. O’Leary, in a softened tone. “ And never feltf you 5 gineral, dear ; for when I went to my truckle I fell asleep like a rock, sir. But as to the whiskey, sir, you need not fear it, and only laves it by way of two- milk- whey at my bedside ; for whiskey, plaze your honor, is so qualified in the making, that it dryeth more, and inflameth less, than other hot confections. It showeth age (saith the philosopher), and helpeth youth; it reviveth the heart, lighteneth the mind, quickeneth the spirits, keepeth the veins from crump- ling, the bones from aching, and the marrow from soaking. Musha ! it’s the elixir of life, and only for it, i’d be dead long ago. For when the world de- serted me, that staid by me ; and when I lost joy else- where, sure it’s there I found it, sir.” O’Leary had pronounced this eulogium on his fa- vorite beverage as he followed the general down the rocks to a little creek, or basin, which was always suf- ficiently full to afiord a bath ; and then, having left him his dressing-gown, at his desire he went back to prepare his coffee. When the general returned, and had seated himself at the breakfast-table, with a book in his hand, as he was wont, O'Leary, who attended him, took his place in a window-seat, at a respectful distance. He drew forth an old tattered volume, which for a few minutes fixed his attention ; but, ha- bitually wandering and unsettled, his rapid eyes glanced frequently from his studies to the general, who, like himself, seemed incapable of giving a conti- nued attention to the book, which he held open in his hand. O’Leary, perceiving that his guest had laid down the volume, and leaned thoughtfully on his f A common Irish idiom. FLORENCE MACARTHY, 397 elbow, closed also his own ; and, advancing to pour out some coffee, observed : “ I think, your honor, the memoir I am perusing of the Fitzmaurices of Lixnow, a great branch of the Geraldines, and Lords of Muskerry, would plaze you intirely. Och ! it’s a great legend ! It’s done into rhyme, sir, Irish rhyme, by a priest, who was confes- sor to the family. The argument runneth thus : The young Lord Thomas Fitzmaurice, of Lixnow, was in foreign parts fighting against the pagans, when the Barony of Muskerry fell to him by right. And, it being reported that he was captured by the Turks, an usurper, a bastard of the family, did forthwith start up and seize his title and domains. And the Lord Thomas, when the wars were over, would have re- turned a beggar, but for his faithful fosterer, one J oan Harman, sir, an ould Irish servitor of the family, mar- ried to an English bowman. She was aged and in- firm; but, when the rumor was spread of the devised usurpation, she took ship at Dingle (then a great port), and was landed in France, where the young lord was at court, as became his nobility (having changed the service of the Emperor of Austria for that of the French king). And there Joan sought him out, and made him acquainted with the ill tidings, and brought him back without delay ; and saw him cross the threshold of his own castle, and restored to his fair possessions. And one calendar month, from the date of her mission, as she foretold, she died ; * being the day of the young lord’s investiture in his [ancient honor. For I’ve heard tell the heart will break with joy as well as sorrow; and shows the room to this hour where Joan Harman died. Och ! 398 FLORENCE MACARTHY. it would not grieve me a taste to be old Joan Har- man this day, if it was the will of God ; for it’s re- markable that affections of fosterage never weaken, but { Per longas invaluere moras.’ And there was little use in making gossipping and fosterage treason, by the famous statute of Kilkenny; for they both only just flourished the more. “ Now gossipred, or confraternity, plaze your honor, was said to produce confederacies of actions in all things, whether lawful or unlawful; but foster- age proved an iron link to bind the affections for laudable purposes, not only of the fosterers and fost- ered, but of the friends and relations on each side ; and it bound the Irishry to the English by descent : as the O’ Callaghans to the Butlers formerly, and the O Learys to the Fitzadeims to this blessed hour, do you see, your honor.” “ But,” said the general, throwing down his book, which he had for a moment resumed, and rising in agitation, to place himself opposite to O’Leary, who had resumed his seat, but who now rose also — “ but, O Leary, love and faith are not alone sufficient, where there is a perilous confidence to place, where the point at issue may be property, freedom, 1 life itself;’ there must also be discretion, prudence, firmness, vigilance, command of thoughts, of looks, of feelings, and of language.” As he spoke, O’Leary advanced step by step, but trembling, and gradually folding and compressing his hands, his mouth half open, his color livid, as if he expected something he almost feared to learn. “ 0 ; Leary,” continued the general, in a calmer voice, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 399 and throwing himself back in his chair, “ O’Leary,*^ sit down, compose yourself, and hear me.” O’Leary in part obeyed. He sat down, but his composure was irrecoverable. He remained for a few minutes silent. Suspense, hope, fear, almost to agony, were pictured in his countenance ; while, with a mechanical motion, he stooped to pick up a black silk handkerchief which had fallen from his breast, to wipe the cold drops that now bedewed his furrowed forehead, and rolled down his colorless cheek. A crimson cross worked in its centre caught General Fitz waiter’s eye ; he started up, and snatched the handkerchief from O’Leary’s hand. “ How came you by this hankerchief?” he asked, eagerly. O’Leary, with a wild and wandering look, his mind bent upon other objects, made an effort at recollec- tion, then replied : “ The kerchief, sir ? is it the kerchief with the cross on it? Oh! plaze your honor, I did not mane 'to purloin it, only return it, sir, to the right owner, plaze God.” “ And who is that ?” demanded the general, with impatience. “ Is it who owns it, gineral ?” replied O’Leary, en- deavoring to recover himself. “ If it is not the Span- ish- American nun, sir, owns it, one Madam Florence Macarthy, I don’t guess who can own it ; that’s in respect of the blessed and holy cross.” “ Did you say Florence Macarthy ?” asked the gen- eral, with great emotion, and in a voice scarcely arti- culate — “ a nun from Spanish America?” “ I did, your honor,” replied O’Leary in a low 400 FLORENCE MACARTHY. voice, as he contemplated with apprehension the change which had taken place in the general’s coun- tenance — u Florence Macarthy, sir, Did you know her, gineral, in foreign parts ? Her father was son to the ould Earl of Clancare’s brother. He went to be made a merchant of in some of the West India islands ; and was the first of the family that turned his hands to business, which made a great noise in the country ; and then he went into South America, and joined the wars there, when they first broke out, as I heard tell, and was killed, or died there ; I disre- member me which. And his daughter, Florence Macarthy, his only child, went into a convent, her aunt being an abbess somewhere in Spain : so Father O’Sullivan tould me. And when it was broke up by the French army, who let loose the craturs, she fled back to Ireland, to her people in her own barony, which she had quit when a child ; and none was in it left, only the Bhan Tierna, and one Mrs. Honor Ma- carthy, called Honor ni Sancta , or Holy Honor, who is the superior of ‘Our Lady of the Annunciation , 1 near the Abbey of the Holy Cross ; and when there wa s a place vacant in the convent, which was soon, Madam Florence Macarthy went to the convent, and was brought there by the Countess, who has no voca- \ tion that way, the little sowl, with her caencothar , as her ould grand dadda used to call her curly black head ; and the mouth and teeth of her, just like a young hound’s, in regard of her red gums, gineral.” A silence of many minutes succeeded to this in- formation and accompanying digression of O’Leary’s, who usually “ drew the thread of his verbosity finer than his argument.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 401 At last the general, who was walking up and down the apartment in great agitation, stopped opposite to O’Leary, and asked, “ Where did you find that hand- kerchief? How came you by it ?” “ How came I by it, sir, is it ? I came by it, sir, when I was just creeping out for a mouthful of fresh air, before dawn, this morning, and was looking up at the light in your casement, gineral, and thinking there must be shanaos* between you and the young lord, would keep you up all night, and my foot caught in this kerchief, sir, and I thought it was my own ; only when daylight came I saw it was not, for, by the cross marked on it in the centre, I thought it must be Madam Florence Macarthy’s, in regard of the cipher done in weeny red letters, sir.” O’Leary pointed to the small f. m. in the corner as he spoke. “ But the wonder of the world,” he added, “ is, what would be bringing her here among the rocks, and she settled down in her own convent in Tipperary County, sir, and is to take the vow in the beginning of the month, and a great sight it will be.” “Did you ever see this Florence Macarthy?” asked the general, after a pause, and standing opposite to O’Leary, with his eyes fixed on him. “ I did, gineral, often, when she was for a month at Castle Macarthy, and afore she went into her convent, and used to come down here to the great Macarthy- More’s tomb in the monastery, and remained half the length of the day on her knees before it. Och ! sir, that’s the saint, if there’s one upon earth ; and it’s ex- traordinary, but her cousin, oncet removed, Lady Clancare would be taking a turn that way, too, — and * Family tradition, genealogical details. 402 FLORENCE MACARTHY. she brought up in a convent, too, and never had a calling, only laughing, and showing them white teeth of hers, and circumventing the Crawley’s, and has great learning and fine Irish, for all that, to say no- thing of her being mighty comical.” “ Does Miss Macarthy resemble her cousin, Lady Clancare ?” “ Why then, gineral, I could not well tell you that, in regard of never seeing her face, only with a thick black veil over it, and never showed it to sun or moon, they say, barring Fra O’Sullivan, who confesses both ladies” The general now resumed his seat and book, re- questing O’Leary to return to his school. “ You may lay out my writing-desk, O’Leary,” he added, “ and no ; don’t take away that handker- chief; and pray shut the door after you : I wish to be left alone.” O’Leary sighed deeply, and laid down one writing article after another ; at last, taking up a pen to mend it, he observed : “ I thought, gineral, when I was brushing your coat yesterday, sir, and you dressing for the castle dinner, that I heard you mintion a word of going away in a day or two, if the wind was fair, sir ; and a bit of a shij) coming into port of Cork ; and that — and then — and I thought your honor said something, sir, about the say sickness being good for my com- plaint ; and that you was going to — — and the kerchief then came in the way ; that's this morning, gineral, a bit ago.” “ And would you, O’Leary,” said the general, in a voice of great kindness, “ would you leave your home, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 403 your country, to follow me, uncertain, as you must : be, whom “Would I?” interrupted O'Leary, with a burst of emotion, in which consciousness and insanity seemed to struggle for supremacy — “ would I ?” and he fell at the general’s feet, and seized his hands, while his tears fell fast. “Would I follow you, is it? Didn’t I lose my senses for you ? Didn’t I leave home, and i kin, and friends, to wander the world over for you, when you werent in it? And now that you are be- fore me, with your mother’s smile — see here, gine- ral,” and he attempted a tone of firm composure; " “ if you aren’t yourself, and would tell me that at once, there would be an end of all; and I would be what I was before I met you in the mountains, and still would go on quietly, and would just, some fine morning, lie down in the sun, like old Cumhal, and ; die.” The general, in irrepressible emotion, with difii- ! culty released his hand from the maniac grasp of O’Leary; then drawing from his breast an ancient missal, he opened its clasps, and showed opposite to one of its illuminated pages, two certificates of a marriage and a birth. O’Leary seized the sacred vo- lume, and kissed it eagerly and devoutly, with a look of anxious recognition. The general hurried it back : to his breast. “ You stand pledged to God and to me, O’Leary,” said the general in a deep and affecting voice. O’Leary remained silent, but his lips moved rapid- ly ; his eyes wandered wildly over the face that fas- I cinated his gaze, till at last his clasp relaxed its firm- ness, his eyes closed, and he would have fallen to 404 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the earth if the general had not received him in his arms. “ O’Leary, my old boy !” he said, bearing him to the fresh air admitted at the open window ; and at this well-remembered epithet, O’Leary, shaking off his faintness, cried with a burst of hysteric laughter : “ That's it ! that’s the voice I have heard in the lone mountains by day and by night. They tould me it was my fitch. My fitch ! oh, wirra !” and he wept freely. Then suddenly drying his eyes, and throwing their rapid glances over the face of Fitz- walter, whose hand he still held, new lineaments seemed to start forth to his recollection, and he con- tinued to repeat : “ And there was a mole under the curls of the left temple ; and axes your honor’s par- don — yes, there it is; and the curls too, only far blacker. Shoosheen used to call it the fairy’s lock, because the world wouldn’t take the curl out of it ; and weren’t drowned after all ; sure I said so. And them transport ships off the coast, from Cork. And how was it, gineral, dear? And the boat there, turned upside down, when we went out to look for you; and your foster-mother had sat up all night, and had a warning. And not many nights she sat up after — barring at her own wake, God help her; and that was too much for any man ; and twenty- two years ago ! and all that time never to claim your own, nor just write one’s own foster-father a line from foreign parts ; and so ready at the pen for- merly, in respect of them themes and exercises !” “ O’Leary,” said the general, in a firm and impos- ing voice, “let it suffice that I live, and am here; that I have returned to my native country with a FLORENCE MACARTHY. 405 name as distinguished, through my own exertions, as that which I received from my forefathers ; a name, too, not assumed, but inherited ; for, after the ancient manner of my family, I have but given the Norman prefix to my father’s baptismal appellation.” O’Leary started, “Fitzwalter! Walter, the Black Baron, and never thought of that. Och ! I’ve a poor head now, and a beating in it that wears the life out of me, by times. To be sure, Walter de Montenay Fitzwalter; the ould Geraldine fashion evermore.” “ For the rest, O’Leary, secrecy the most profound of my present existence in this neighborhood is ne- cessary. It is for the interest of many that I should never reappear. My presence here, i’f even suspect- ed, might endanger my life or liberty; besides, I wish to avoid all publicity — to compromise rather than contend, and to save the honor of my family, by touching lightly on the crimes of one of its mem- bers ; or, if possible, by burying them in eternal oblivion.” “ That’s the Honorable Gerald,” interrupted O’Leary, “ the Marquis, and Lord Adelm’s father.” “ It matters not whom, O’Leary,” said the general, eagerly ; “ and now leave me for the present ; resume your ordinary habits; be secret — be circumspect — my life is in your hands ; but hold yourself in readi- ness to depart at a moment’s warning. Had it not been for a circumstance that has become accidentally known to me this morning, I should have left this country to-night, and even as it is, perhaps.” “ To-night !” repeated O’Leary, who had moved a few paces, but who still loitered at the door. “ To-night. I must first, however, see the 406 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Countess of Clancare ; and I think I will try my for- tune at her door in an hour hence.” “ You will, sir !” said O'Leary, in astonishment. “ See that — and in amity, plaze your honor?” “ Certainly not in enmity,” returned the general, smiling. “ But you seem surprised by my intention, O’Leary.” “No, plaze your lord- , your honor, I mane; not a taste; for sure ’twas just the same anno 1821, when the English by blood leagued with the Irish mere, in the common cause, that’s ould Ireland, sir; and enemies before, became fast friends sithence, as Ayphraim against Menasses, and Menasses against Ayphraim; and both united against the tribe of Judah, that’s the Crawleys, sir, the land pirates! — • and will step down and order your fine new charger from Cork, sir, to be brought from the Dunore Arms, and will put on my Sunday apparel, and mount the little Kerry asturiones, and ride after your honor in the capacity of an ecury as is right and fitting, till your lord , till you have a better — — , and will just induct Teague Rourke, my head Homer, into the office of my coadjutor and assistant in the seminary; that is, gineral, he’ll tache the classes, while I’ll attind your honor.” “No, O’Leary,” said the general, shaking his head, “ that will never do. You must return to your learned runagates, of whom I found you so justly proud when I arrived here ; and if you do not wish me to repent of the confidence I have placed in you, you will in no respect change your wonted habits.” “Then I’ll engage I won’t, sir,”, replied O’Leary, emphatically ; “ and never will call you my lord, till FLORENCE MACARTHY. 407 the day of judgment — that is, till all’s proved ; and your lordship, the great Marquis of Dunore (which you are at this blessed moment), taking possession of your castle ; for fortune, though she be portrayed to stand upon a rolling stone, as being flighty by nature, yet for the most part she helpeth such as be of coura- geous mind and valiant stomach. Did not Thomyris the Scythian queen, and collateral ancestor of the Macarthies, by her great spirit, with a few hundred followers, bate Cyrus entirely, with many thousands ? and did not , but I will not bother your lordship with needless tediousness, only just will defy the world, from this day out, to prove that I care a tes- toon for you; and thought, sir, that I’d ride the astu- riones after you, to show you the way, sir, to Castle Macarthy.” “ I should, for many reasons, prefer going alone,” said the general. “ Och ! very well, gineral ; sure I have no controul over you now, sir, why would I, only in respect of finding out the Bhan Tierna, wdio does not care to be in the way of the quality; foreby being always in the fields, or on her own mountains, from sunrise to sunset, just like a little grasshopper, the sowl ! chirping and hopping, and living on dews and air, as one would say; that’s as Anacreon says, sir; and re- members your construing that same into mighty pretty Latin ; and you only twelve years old and three months.” “ You may order my horse in an hour hence,” said the general. O’Leary now drew towards the door, throwing back one eager, anxious, and affectiojnate look, which 408 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the general returned with an expressive smile, O’Leary raised his eyes in thanksgiving, murmured an Irish prayer, dashed the gathering tears from his eyes, and crossing his hands behind him, retired, mut- tering to himself as he slowly descended the steep stairs : “ And Cumhal the cratur, not alive to see this < day !” An hour had scarcely elapsed when O’Leary, § mounted on the fine horse he had alluded to, ap- peared under the window of the apartment. He had thrown off his pedagogue costume, was habited j in his gala dress of many coats, had put on a new wig and hat, was shaved unusually close* and ex- hibited a countenance far indeed from placid, but from which every trace of anxiety and solitude was banished. The flutter of new-born, unexpected hap- piness still distinguished his manner. He had given his boys an holiday, and was incapable of fixing his attention to his daily habits ; but there was an air of contentment about him, which indicated an evident revolution in feelings and ideas. His short cough, and expressions of kindness to the animal on which ! he was mounted, drew General Fitzwalter to the window ; and he stood for a moment contemplating ji this warm-hearted, zealous, and devoted being, with ; an emotion of pride and benevolence, as one who, true to human sympathy, beholds with triumph the i happiness he has created. In a few minutes he was mounted on his steed ; and O’Leary continued to walk beside him, with one hand behind his back, and the other leaning on the horse's flank. “I’ll just step on a taste with your honor,” he ob- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 409 served, to excuse his intrusion, “ to show the good road, sir, and open the little gates, and remove the brambles that stop up the gaps in the mearings, be* twixt the potato grounds of the Dunore tenants.” To this the general made no objection ; and O’Lea- ry continued : “ And so you are going, giniral, jewel, to make your courtesies, and to pay your obeysance to the Countess of Clancare, which makes the friar’s words come true, anno 1505.” “ What friar, and what words, O’Leary ?” “ Och ! a holy man, your honor,” said O’Leary, low- ering his voice, and raising his head towards the gen- eral’s ear, “ who was superior of the order here, in the time of the first Lord Dunore, who got the castle after the Macarthies, and who chased away the broth- erhood. He left a curse on Dunore Castle, which re- mains unredeemed to this day. His prophecy, which is in Irish, may be thus construed : Macarthy More shall have his own, When, after battles lost and won, The Norman shall cross the threshold floor, To woo the heir of Macarthy More : When the dexter hand from the clouds shall bend, And the moose deer* to its home shall wend ; When he shall return, who was dead and gone, Macarthy More shall have his own — ' • Such are the words of Friar Con.” “ The prediction of your friar, O’Leary,” said the general smiling, “ like most prophecies, is sufficiently vague and indefinite. It may mean anything or noth- ing.” * The dexter arm, the crest of the Fitzadelms — the moose deer, that of the Macarthies. 410 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ Anything or nothing !” returned O’Leary quickly. “ Does battles lost and won mane nothing ? And the retreat of Masha-na-glass, and the foray of Dooghna- go-hoone, between the Fitzadelms and the Macar- thies, about a prey of cattle, and divers other combats, as will be seen in any genealogical history, written in the Phoenician vulgo vocato Irish : do they mane nothing ? And does the Norman crossing the thresh- old floor, to woo the heir of Macarthy More, mane nothing, gineral, and your honor” (here he lowered his voice to a whisper), “and your honor going to make your obeysance to the Bhan Tierna of the world ? And does. i The dexter hand from the cloud shall bend, And the moose deer to its home shall wend, ? mane nothing ? when the dexter hand’s the device of the Fitzadelms; and is going in lowly suit, to tender itself to the Macarthy’ s heir ; and the moose deer, the crest of the Macarthies, -which was found cut beauti- fully in stone among the rubbish at castle Macarthy, and set up over the portal, by Lady Clancare, when she came home, a wandering deer herself, the cratur ! the wide world over? And then — ” he added, in emotion, “ for him who shall return, being ” “Yes, yes,” interrupted Fitzwalter, “that is plain; but it is by no means so certain, because a Norman stranger visits the heiress, or representative of the Macarthy family, that he is to woo her. And if the restoration of the greatness and property of the Ma- carthies rests upon -that part of your friar’s prophecy, I’m afraid, O’Leary, the whole falls to the ground.” “ If she chooses it, plaze your honor, shell make FLORENCE MACARTHY. 411 you woo her, and win her, too,” said O’Leary, with an air of mysterious doggedness. “ Indeed !” “Troth! and deed, sir. Sure she rules the world intirely, sir ; and has greatly quelled the 4 Crawleys since she came into it. And is like her great ances- tor, the famed Iilen Macarthy, sharp witted, a great lover of learning, capable of any study, and has, at this present speaking, my Irish and Latin dictionary, which she walked down herself to borrow, the very evening of the day your honor set off to Cork ; which was the day, sir, she arrived from England, where she had been sojourning, to the intire loss of the country ; and the Crawleys waxing pockish the moment her back was turned ; and brings me home this piece of antiquity ; ‘ and thinks it will plaze you, O’Leary !’ says she; here it is, plaze your honor. With your lave, gineral, I’ll peruse aloud to beguile the way, which is bare and bleak.” “I would rather you would explain to me, O’Leary,” said the general, alighting and throwing the bridle of the horse over his arm ; “ why, talking as you did, so much and so frequently of the ancient state and fortunes of this Macarthy family, you should have said nothing of their present existence ; of this Lady Clancare, for instance, whom you merely mentioned as an ancient lady, absent from the country, and whom I naturally supposed to be the widow of the late earl.” “ And isn’t she an ancient countess,„though a young female, your honor ? Anno, 1568; estates regranted by letters patent, to hold them of the crown after the English fashion ; and sat in Parliament afore 1581 ; 412 FLORENCE MACARTHT. and as for not coshering* about her with a stranger in the mountains (no stranger to the heart, if strange to the eye), would you ax one of the Pobble O’Learys to betray their Tanista, their Bhan Tierna ? and her last words, laving the country in Owny, the rabragh’s ould chay, being— — ” “ Owny, the rabragh !” repeated the general, with a little start. “ Yes, my lord — sir, I mane ; the last words laving the country, and the first when she came back, was, not to be talking her over with strangers ; nor, ’bove all, with any of the Fitzadelms, who were expected over every day them two years : and when I told her that I was sure I had the Lord Adelm houselled under my roof, and described your honor to her ver* batim et literatim , she swore me over again that I would not sell her to yez.” “ Sell her ! but what was her object in this conceal- ment ?” “ Pride, sir ; what else would it be. The pride of the Macarthies, sir, the proudest race in Christendom, dead or alive, this day ; and didn’t choose, the sowl, to be overshadowed by them Dunores and their greatness, in her poor ould castle (14), without her tiernas, or clans, or bonagh, sohoren, cuddy, shragh, or mart ; without her warder, or constable, or gal low. glasses, or calivers, or hand weapons ; but only just Ulic Macshane, the cowboy, and Sibby, her little bit of a handmaid, with only thirty pounds per annum, chief rents of great estates on the Kerry side of Clotnottyjoy, that are worth thousands to their own- ers and that’s all coming to her now, who by right ♦Coshering, literally, gossipping. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 413 is king of the Coriandi. Now to see her rinting her own castle, and going afoot to Mass, barring when the mules isn’t at work, and has them put to her cabriole, made by ould Cormack the wheelwright. | Mules ! Bachal Essu ! she that had her Spanish jen- nets, and her Hobellers, and Asturiones, and Arabians, sent over by Don Jacobus Macarthy as a gift to the | great Florence ; foreby her steeds ready caparisoned I afore the rack in case of a sudden foray, and the O’Driscols coming down the mountains to make a j prey of kine ; and that is the raison, plaze your honor, why she’d wish to keep aloof of them English quali- ty. Besides, she might not like, being a lone lady, to come in the way of the young Lord Adelm, who is, according to rumor, a rake and rapparee, one in whom there is no stay, no sobriety, likening his ; father, the Honorable Gerald.” “And yet,” said the general, “Lady Clancare chose to let herself be taken prisoner to Dunore, when a word would have saved her the mortification of standing in so humiliating a position, before those : persons she was so anxious to avoid.” “And if she did,” said O’Leary, with a significant look, “ I’ll ingage she had her reasons for that same ; and did not you mind that, secret and drifty as them Crawleys was, to ruin the world round, and your honor to boot, they were all outwitted and circum- vented every step ; and, mark my words, the Bhan Tierna was at the bottom of all, overthrowing their complots and their policies.” | They had now passed the last fence of the potato grounds, had got upon the highway, the general had mounted his horse, and was declining O’Leary’s offer 414 FLORENCE MACARTHY. of accompanying him to Castle Macarthy, when Lord Adelm, followed by a groom, appeared galloping towards them. He stretched out his hand to Gene- ral Fitzwalter, who rode up to him, and took it cor- dially. O’Leary stood with his head uncovered, and with something between amazement and consterna- tion painted in his looks. “ I have met with a great loss,” said Fitzadelm, as they rode on together. “ You bear losses with such philosophy,” said Fitz- walter, “ that it would be throwing away sympathy to offer it to you. But what further trials has your disinterested generosity been put to ?” “ I have lost,” said Lord Adelm, with a melancholy look, “ ray sybils kerchief.” General Fitzwalter rode close up to him, and throw- ing his arm over Lord Adelm’ s shoulder, said : “ And what if I have discovered the sybil, who owns that ! handkerchief?” “ Discovered !” said Lord Adelm, almost springing j from his horse, and taking the bridle of the general’s, so as to draw them still closer together — “ discovered, say you ! how ? when ? where ? what is she ? sybil, sylph, woman, maid, widow, or wife ? Speak I conjure you.” “A woman and a wife ; almost, at least a wifej” re- plied Fitzwalter, with a half-repressed sigh. “Whose wife?’ demanded Lord Fitzadelm, with the blood mantling to his cheek. “ Mine,” was the abrupt reply. A short silence succeeded to this singular and most unexpected answer, till Lord Adelm, recovering FLORENCE MACARTHY. 415 from the shock a reply so mysterious was calculated to give, at last observed : “ Everything about you is extraordinary. You are out of the pale of every-day creation. All things connected with you are calculated for amazement or admiration ; but that any one you have deigned to — to — should turn her eyes on me ! — in short, you trifle with my folly, you play with my credulity — you ” “At the present moment,” said the general, “I cannot satisfy your doubts, or clear up your perplexi- ties. I am myself doubtful and uncertain, — perplexed in the extreme. If the owner of the mystic kerchief is the person I suspect she is, or might be still — but I demand your indulgence, and the suspension of your curiosity. To-night it may be in my power to become more explicit. Till then, or till that moment arrives when I can fully explain myself, confide in my truth, rely on my friendship, and believe that my feelings are not more at ease than your own. Where can I see you this evening ?” “ Where ! ’where but at the castle ? My mother’s dinner card of general invitation is now on its way to you. It is with difficulty I could confine her to that; not but that I consider your delicacy as morbid and sickly upon this point.” “ It must not, and it ought not to be,” said the general. “ It must and #ught. It’s folly to act otherwise. To me it is privation, and in you suspicious. I will call on you in my way home, and we will return to dinner together ; or, rather, I wish you would accom- pany me now.” “ Where are you bound to ?” 416 FLORENCE MACARTHY. 44 To Glannacrime. This morning, at breakfast, I thought I perceived a little intelligence between my - 4 mother and her election agent, to keep me for some time out of the scene of action; so I ordered my horse, and came off to canvass the 4 most sweet voices’ J of those purchaseable worthies, in person. But this \ most extraordinary intelligence, mysterious and unsa- j tisfactory as it is, which you have now communicated to me, leaves me without thought or view for any other object, save that which has so long occupied | my existence ; that which--' — Your wife ! Oh ! you jest. Impossible ; you never mentioned, never hinted, that you were married before ; and now . . . .” 44 To tell the truth,” said Fitzwaiter, shrugging his ■ shoulders, 44 1 had almost forgotten it myself. It was ; an event in my life, brief and fantastic as a dream, made up of circumstances as wild and as discordant ; occurring amidst scenes, perilous and foreign to such ; an engagement, amidst the crash of war, the groans of the dying ; when the vow, half breathed, remained unratified, the benediction, half pronounced, was un- finished ; and the ceremony, all but concluded, was broken off in time to render the forms which had passed binding only to faith, to honor, and to grati- tude. These ties all remain ; and if they are to be ir- revocably broken, ’tis not by me. This, you are go- ( j ing to say, is all enigma; and so it is. Yet, now, I will be pressed no further. To-night, perhaps . . . till then farewell.” He spurred his horse, and in a moment was out of sight. There was in the tone, the air, and the man- ner, more than in his own words, an imposing firm- ness, and indisputable decision upon all occasions, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 417 when he chose to he peremptory, which left persua- sion hopeless. “ He is his own destiny and mine,” said Lord Adelrn, with a sigh, as he looked after him. “ To con- tend with him, or to oppose him, were to struggle with fatality.” In this conviction there was some- thing extremely accordant to the habits of mind and morbid imagination of him who embraced it. Mys- tery was his element ; and whatever was wild or ter- rible, dark or extraordinary, whatever roused pro- found emotion, or gave feeling to extraordinary con- jecture, was calculated to engross and interest him ; the commander of II Libradcrr did both. CHAPTER XV. Even so, this happy creature, of herself is all sufficient. Wordsworth. There stand — for you are spell-stopp’d. Shakspeare. It was a bright warm September morning that, for the first time since his arrival in the country, General Fitzwalter entered the village of Bally dab. But nei- ther the noonday sun which shone on its views, nor the mountain breeze that blew over them, rich in the perfumes of plants peculiar to the southern moun- tains of Ireland, could lend a charm to this ruinous retreat of indigence and misery. Bally dab, the El Dorado of O’Leary, the once fair dependency of its own feudal castle, an ancient borough, which had formerly sent two members to Parliament by pre- scriptive right (for its charter was not upon record), Ballydab, once noted in military and ecclesiastical history, was now a desolate and ruinous village, scarcely more imposing or less miserable in its ap- pearance than the deserted city of Kilmallock in the same province (15). The remains of a wall which once surrounded the town were still visible. The site of a Dominican Abbey of Black Friars, erected in the fifteenth century by “ the sovereign, brethren and commonalty,” was yet ascertainable; and the / FLORENCE MACARTHY. 419 ruins of other castles and monasteries afforded shel- ter to many wretched families who had built their perishable huts against the walls of edifices whose strength had stood the shock of ages. Desolate, im- poverished and neglected, the surrounding land given up to jobbers, it bore all the signs, not only of dis- tress, but of squalid and hopeless pauperism. Its in- habitants were deemed lawless, they were, indeed, occasionally desperate ; no natural demand being made upon their native activity, their restlessness had sometimes degenerated to mischief; and it was, perhaps,- as much their misery that they had few wants, as they had still fewer means of supplying them. Their cabins were, for the most part, ruined hovels; and in the centre of the town, a swampy marsh sent up ordinarily a pestilential vapor, though now unusually dry. • Yet, amidst these symptoms of general wretched- ness, evidences of recent and progressive improve- ment were to be seen. The mountain which shelter- ed the town was cultivated and green to its summit. Several of the hovels were newly whitewashed ; and, in a few instances, freshly-plastered chimneys emitted the smoke, which more commonly found egress at the door. In the front of one cabin a poor man was employed in filling up a stagnant pool, and a heap of manure was removing from before another. At the door of a barn a number of children were em- ployed in making green rush matting, and at a little | shebeen house a piper sat upon a stone bench playing j a gay Irish lilt. I From every point of the village the castle was conspicuous, standing on the brow of a hill that 420 FLORENCE MACARTHY. overhung it; and upon a precipice which imme- diately arose from a river, formed of many tributary streams, and flowing into one of the many bays, which, a mile further on, indented the coast. All that now remained of the original edifice of Castle Macarthy was a coarse square building, rude, inele- gant, and wholly destitute of the architectural orna- ment which distinguished the beautiful and perfect castle of Dunore, a building more modern by about a century. The ballium, the barbican, the parapets, the embrasures and crenelles, described by O’Leary, ' and existing only in the memory of what he read, or the imagination cf what he Avished, were vainly sought for in the chapter of realities. Ills castle j was literally “ a castle in the air.” As General Fitz waiter approached more closely, and ascended the steep and rutted lane, or ap- proach, he perceived a fosse partly filled up, and a flagged causeway crossing it. The stone pillars of the gates still remained ; and the castle bawn, the demesne of feudal recreation, lay to the left, and was still fenced round with a low 7 Avail of mud and bram- bles. It was now, however, planted Avith potatoes, rich in their bright silver and orange flowers. The mountain rose almost perpendicularly above the cas- tle ; and to the left, a romantic glen, Avild, irregular, and rocky, afforded a passage to the many mountain brooks Avhich swelled the greater streams and fell into the sea. Two or three irregular sashed win- dows appeared scattered over the front of the castle; but it was principally lighted by loophole casements. The hall-door, of black bog oak, lay open, and the crest of the Macarthies, alluded to by O’Leary, the FLORENCE MACARTHY. 421 moose deer, cut in stone, was raised above it, with the date of 1500. A knocker would have been vainly sought for; nor was any person visible, ex- cept two women, who appeared at a distance, weed- ing a patch of ground at the extremity of the potato ridges ; while a venerable greyhound, which lay bask- ing in the sun before the door, the sole guardian of these ruined towers, only growled at the stranger’s approach, half raised himself, and then lay down again to sleep. General Fitzwalter entered the stone-roofed hall; and, in the hope that some one might accidentally appear, occupied himself in examining the singular ornaments with which it was decorated. A wolf’s head, the last caught in Ireland, (as was inscribed on a brass plate, bearing date 1710,) hung from the cen- tre of the ceiling. Beneath it, on an old stone table, the enormous fossil horns of a moose deer were ex- tended ; a few old pictures were dropping from their frames ; and, on either side of the hall, two narrow arched ways led to dark, damp stone passages. He was at last tempted to proceed through that on the left, guided by the sound of a voice, which had sud- denly raised a lilt, and as suddenly stopped it, when some one ran forcibly against him, hastily drawing back and exclaiming, “ Christ save us, Amen !” The general followed the person whose surprise or fears had extorted this ejaculation, and found himself at the, door of an old, spacious, smoky kitchen. In removing the alarm he had just awakened, he in- creased the surprise of the intimidated person. It was a young woman, who courtesied and blushed, with something like recognition in her looks; and 422 FLORENCE MACARTHY. putting back her locks beneath her round-eared cap, she remained silent and confused. On the inquiry whether Lady Clancare was at home, she court esied still lower, and said, “ Is it my lady, sir ? Oh yes, to be sure she is, your honor — I ax your pardon. This way, if you plaze, sir. Have a care ; there is a little stooleen in your way. I’ll but step afore your honor.” Still engaged in arranging her dress, she led the way to the stone passage, on the other side the hall, and passing under a Gothic arched way, she threw open a door at the further extremity of the passage, and ushered the visitor into a low-roofed but spacious room. His conductress having wiped a large arm- chair, and pulled it near the dying embers of a turf fire, which she replenished from a huge turf-box that stood near the hearth, she was retiring, when he called her back, and giving her his card, desired her to carry it, with his respectful compliments, to the Countess of Clancare. The girl looked at the card, and then at him, and a smile just visible stole over her feat ures as she retired. The room into which he had been shown occupied his attention during* the moment of waiting. It was of dimensions disproportionate to its height ; and from its dark and irregular figure, and the immense width of the wall (marked by the deep recess of its only window), it appeared to occupy one of the towers which flanked the castle towards the precipi- tous glen ; it was not, therefore, perceptible from the front. The walls, neither wainscotted nor papered, were partially covered with faded tapestry, the figures of which were antique and grotesque. Above the ample FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 423 and ungrated hearth, a lofty, cumbrous, but handsome chimney-piece of gray marble, the produce of the ad- joining quarries, arose nearly half-way to the ceiling. For two feet above the floor, it was incrusted with brick, and seemed to have been but lately discovered. On its entablature was carved the following inscrip- tion : Donagii Macarthy Comes de Clancare me fecit, 1656. The floor was of beaten earth, mixed with freestone sand, and was covered near the fireplace with some new rush matting ; an oak table, a tattered Indian screen, a high ponderous Japan chest, and a few long-backed, curiously carved oak chairs, com- posed the whole furniture of this antique and gloomy apartment; a spinning wheel stood near the hearth, and a Spanish guitar, and a parasol, oddly contrasted to it, lay on the table. The recess window was evi- dently devoted to the purposes of a study. The view it commanded was enchanting, for it hung immedi- ately over a glen ; and a river, seen sparkling through the rich underwood, brawled beneath, and rushed through a cleft in the rocks towards the distant bay. The floor of this recess was covered with a piece of old, but once rich, Turkey carpet : the table, which nearly occupied it, was heaped with books and manu- scripts ; the latter, however, not bearing the stamp of antiquity, but fresh written ; and the humid pen was evidently but just laid down. Two books stood open, marked with a pencil and a flower. The one was Hanmer’s Chronicle, the other Campion’s His- tory of Ireland. An Irish and Latin Dictionary, and an odd volume of Lopez deVega, Bum’s Poems, and a small edition of Shakspeare, with an antique missal, bound in crimson velvet, bearing the arms and 424 FLORENCE MACAItTHY. coronet of the Clancares, formed the whole of this little collection. Some flowers, seemingly just gathered, stood in a handsome China vase, upon the table ; and an embroidered work-bag, such as are worked in foreign convents, with a silver cross and rosary, hung over the back of the chair, and com- pleted the paraphernalia of this little recess, which might have served equally for the retreat of the sage or the saint, or as a reposoir for the fantastic taste of a petite maitresse . The flowers and the work-bag were at once assignable to the timid, but evidently affected Lady Clancare— for Lord Adelm’s epithet of the petite evaporee seemed not ill-placed. The rosary and the cross, and the missal, were as mark- edly appropriate to the Spanish nun, Florence Mac- arthy, who had been so lately an inmate at the castle. General Fitzwalter had learned, by experience, to distrust the extravagant exaggerations of O Leary, when the family of his hereditary Tiernas was con- cerned. He had no doubt that the character of Lady Clancare had been confounded, in his wandering ima- gination, with that of the celebrated Illen Macarthy, of Queen Elizabeth’s days ; and that the learning and potency attached to this female Tanaist in his descrip- tions had no more certain existence than the bal- i limns, crenelles, and barbican, which he had given to her dilapidated castle. Even the exertions she had made to liberate an oppressed man, through her ap- plication to Judge Aubrey, while it evinced great goodness of heart, was deemed sufficient to explain the popularity she so evidently enjoyed among a peo- ple equally alive to kindness and neglect. But whatever might be the character of this fair FLORENCE MACARTHt. 425 recluse, her tastes, like her appearance, were mani- festly delicate and feminine ; and there was some- thing peculiarly touching, and even pitiable, in the in- digence betrayed in this ruinous asylum, of one so young, so nobly born, so destitute, and so unprotected. Her assumption of a title she had no means of sup- porting, her retirement from the world to a solitude so dreary, showed at least the pride of birth ; and pride, from whatever source it springs, when at variance with poverty, forms one of the most painful contests of feeling to which humanity is subject. As these thoughts passed rapidly through the mind of Fitzwalter, he almost unconsciously took down an antique s^vord, which hung against the wall; and mused, as he examined its curious structure, on the untowardness of a fate in which he found some parallel to his own. “ Man,” he involuntarily exclaimed, brandishing the weapon, and clasping it with a warrior’s grasp — “ man, with such an instrument as this, can always cut his way to fortune or to death ; and, rushing for- ward to meet the evils of his destiny, can, by oppos- ing, end them ; but woman, hapless woman ! what is her resource when fortune deserts, when adversity assails her ? Desolate and unguarded, with scarce one path left open to her exertions, scarce one stay left to her weakness, endangered even by her perfec- tions, risked and enfeebled by all that makes the de- licious excellence of her nature,— woman— — The door opened, and she, whose destiny had pro- bably given birth to this apostrophe, interrupted its conclusion. There was a sort of half start, a sudden pause in the approach of Lady Claneare (as if the 426 FLORENCE MACARTHY. visit and the visitor were equally unexpected), which communicated something of its brief confusion to her guest. He bowed, then stood for a moment, slightly embarrassed ; and, still armed with the antique sword of Macarthy-More, he not inaptly realized to the eyes of his fair descendant the picture left on historic record of that magnificent chieftain. Lady Clancare was the first to recover herself'; and, slightly courtesying, addressed her guest by name, motioned him to a chair, and advanced, with a light, quick step, to the centre of the room. With a disen- gaged air she gradually disencumbered herself of a ^ deep straw bonnet, a gray cloak, gloves incrusted with earth, and a black apron full of mountain ash berries, all of which articles were deliberately laid upon the table. Lady Clancare, as she now stood, was the very personification of health, in all its force and freshness, vigor and elasticity. The crimson of haste and exercise glowed in her cheek ; and there J was a life palpitating through the whole frame, throb- bing in every pulse, and vibrating in every fibre, that was visible to the observer’s eye. But whether she Yv as animated or agitated, breathless from hurry or from emotion, it would have been difficult to ascer- tain. Her countenance had lost nothing of its pecu- liar modesty; but from her half-closed eyes one glance met his, that, to him at least, seemed charged with triumph, — a sort of smiling malicious triumph ; the triumph of conscious success, of conscious superiority, and infelt powder ; such a look as he had seen her wear when, in carrying off Lady Dunore, she had bowed her laughing, and almost insolent, salutation to the discomfited Crawleys. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 427 This look, whether real or fancied, was, however, transient as lightning ; and now, disencumbered of her coarse out-of-door garments, she turned round a face dimpled with a thousand smiles ; and, with the ease of a woman of the world, but the ?iaivete of one beyond its forms and formalities, she apologized for having so long detained him. “ This is,” she added, pointing again to a chair, and throwing herself into an immense old-fashioned fauteuil, this is nay farming season and farming hour. We are digging our pota- toes to-day ; for you must know, General Fitz waiter, the potato vintage is to us poor Irish of as great mo- ment and interest, though not quite so susceptible of picturesque description, as the gathering of the rich grapes in the luxuriant vineyards of the Loire and the Garonne. I always preside on these occasions my- self,” she added, carelessly untying a silk handker- chief which encircled her neck ; “ for I dare say you will agree with me, that no work goes on so lightly as that which is shared by the master.” To this proposition General Fitzwalter returned no answer. He had mechanically taken the chair as- signed him, and sat with his right arm thrown over its back, and his left leaning on the old sword. His eyes were rivetted on Lady Clancare, with that eager, animated, penetrating gaze natural to them wdien he sought to discover or dive at once into the secret of a character that appeared to elude observation. Hers, however, as it now equivocally appeared through her easy, animated, disengaged manners (so opposed to her “ outward seeming” at the castle of Dunore), w T as all enigma. Her childish shyness, her timid and affected carriage, which had induced Lord 428 FLORENCE MCCARTHY. Adelm to give her the epithet of a minaucliere , had disappeared. There was now something of the sybil in her looks ; and her incomprehensible change of manner assimilated with the present character of her person and character. Meantime the silence of her guest, though marked and singular, seemed not to displease her; and she sat demurely patting and caressing the old greyhound that had followed her into the room, as if she awaited an explanation of the visit, which appeared wholly unexpected, though it was natural to suppose was not without cause or ex- cuse. At last, as if to relieve the awkwardness of the pause, she stretched forth a very pretty little hand, and asked, smilingly — “ Shall I take that sword from you? 'tis a cumbrous article.” He laid the sword upon the table, and she drew it towards her. “ Have you examined this an- tique weapon, General Fitzwalter ? I am told it was found in a bog in 1748. It was sent to me the other day by a neighboring farmer, into whose hands it fell accidentally : for he was pleased, poor man, to con- sider me as the lady of the manor. What makes these brazen swords a valuable relic to the Irish an- tiquarian is, that they serve to corroborate the opinion that the Phoenicians colonized this country; since they insist that the sword-blades found upon the field of Cannae were of the same metal and construction. Consequently, you know, General Fitzwalter, some- thing more than a mere presumption arises that Ire- land had her arts and letters from the country of Cad- mus, as all her traditions affirm, in spite of all Dr. Led- wich has said to the contrary.” All this was uttered with a sort of mock emphasis, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 429 that left it very doubtful whether she believed a word she spoke, or whether it was mere ironical badinage ; it served only to involve General Fitzwalter in deeper perplexity. • “ Now, what is ygur opinion ?” she added with em- phatic gravity. “ Do you really think we are Tyrians by descent ?” Then laughing and assuming her gay tone, she added, “ O ! I see you are no antiquarian, though you are the guest of my friend O’Leary. W ell, then, neither am I ; and to confess the truth, the present state of this poor country interests me more than its ancient greatness, real or fabled ; and I should rather see my neighbors of Ballydab succeed in reclaiming and cultivating that mountain, to the right of the casement (my dear Clotnottyjoy), or im- prove in the rush and straw work I am endeavoring to teach their idle, helpless, haked children, than es- tablish beyond all controversy tjiat the Macarthies are descended from the Tyrian Hercules, or that Ire- land was the seat of arts and letters, when the rest of the world was, according to my family genealogist, the sage O’Leary, buried in utter darkness. Do you know — apropos to ancient greatness,” she added, with a quick transition of voice, “ that as I entered this room, there was something in your appearance, as you stood brandishing that antique weapon, that reminded me of a picture I have seen of our family hero, Florence Macarthy ; though to Miss Crawley’s deep-read mind, and ready literary associations, I dare say you would have recalled the image of Achil- les, in the court of Lycomedes. ‘ In questa mano, Lampeggi il ferro. Ah recomincio adesso, 430 FLORENCE MACARTHY. A ravissar me stes.so, ah ! forso a fronte, A mille squadre, e mille — !’ ” “ And if I were,” said General Fitzwalter, inter- rupting her impulsively, and borne away by the ani- mation with which she had repeated these lines, giv- ing an almost dramatic effect; “ and if I were a fronte , a mille squadre , e mille , my position, perhaps, would be less hazardous than that I at present occupy.” “ It would at least be more in your way,” she re- plied, significantly. “ How do you know that ?” he asked eagerly. “ Oh ! I kno w nothing. I merely guess it. I have a true woman’s mind : no judgment, no reflection, no knowledge ; but some intelligence, and a rapidity of perception, that goes before all experience, and lights upon facts by accident, which it would take an age for philosophy to puzzle at.” | “ Then, perhaps,” he returned, “ you are already intuitively aware of the cause of this intrusion upon proscribed ground, where the soles of unblessed feet are not, I understand, permitted to press.” “ Oh ! to be sure I am. The cause is — that of most of the untoward things that men do (heroes, as well as others), a woman.” “ That , my visit to your ladyship sufficiently indi- cates. But the purport of this visit to a woman, whose dwelling is forbidden to a stranger’s steps — to all male intrusions I understand— — ” “ That, I confess,” returned Lady Clancare, laugh- ing, “ surpasses my oracular divinations. I trust, however, it is sufficient to sanction the infringement of one of the most strictly observed laws in the sta- tute-book of— Ballydab. But whatever be the pur- FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 431 port of your visit, I honestly confess that you owe your admission to the simplicity of my maid — a little Tipperary nymph, and a stranger, whom I have just brought to this country ; so that I have not yet had time to initiate her into all the mysteries of her voca- tion. My seclusion,” she added earnestly, is no “ af- fectation, no lure to quicken curiosity, or attract at- tention. It is indispensable that I should live much alone; my avocations require it, my peculiar situ- ation demands it, my circumstances enforce it. You, however, have taken me by surprise : may I, there- fore, beg to know the purport of the visit so unex- pected ?” “ The purport, madam,” said General Fitzwalter, “ of this visit, which certainly demands an apology for such unwarranted intrusion, is to return this handkerchief to its right owner.” He arose as he spoke, and drawing from his breast the handkerchief, dropped by Lord Fitzadelm, pre- sented it to Lady Clancare. Her complexion, which had varied to hues of every shade of red as she spoke, now r faded to an unearthly paleness. The ardent eyes of General Fitzw^alter pursued its flight, and contributed, perhaps, by the intensity of their gaze, to recall it to the surface it had deserted, “ And to whom, then,” she asked in a low and un- steady voice, “ do you suppose this handkerchief be- longs ?” “•I did,” he replied, emphatically, “ suppose this morning, from particular circumstances, that it might belong to a lady of the name of Florence Macarthy, a kinswoman of your ladyship, a refugee nun from Spanish America, and now, as I have just accidentally 432 FLORENCE MACARTHY. learned, a resident in a convent in the neighborhood of Holycross. Her father served for a short time in the guerilla war of South America : his death, which was the purchase of my life, imposed on me an obli- gation I would have requited to his daughter; but — ” he paused in some confusion, then rapidly added — “ Of the early part of this gallant man’s story I know little. He had assumed a Caraquian name ; having in horror and disgust abandoned the royal and persecuting army. It was from his death-words only that I gathered his connection with the illustrious house* of Macarthy in this country. That he was high-spirited and brave, I collected from my own ob- servation ; that he was unfortunate, and in exile, it was natural to suppose ; for he was an Irishman, and a Catholic.” Lady Clancare had listened to this detail with an adverted head ; she now turned round, with the deep inspiration of one who suddenly recovers from a shock, in which the mind and body had alike partici- pated. She opened the handkerchief, ran her eyes rapidly over it, and observed, carelessly — “ There is mo doubt this little scarf must be Florence Macarthy’s ; here is the cross, the holy device of these fanciful saints, who, you see, general, must have their petti- nesses in piety, and are women even to the last. I remember it well. I have seen it thrown over her shouldefs an hundred times in our stolen twilight walks ; for these cloistered creatures are coy, even to the very air, ‘the chartered libertine,’ wdiicli blows on all alike, the sinner or the saint. Yet, to my know- ledge, my cousin has not been in this part of the country since she took up her residence with Our FLORENCE MACARTHY. 433 Lady of the Annunciation. Besides, she is so sober, steadfast, and demure, that she would scarcely step out of her way to woo a soul to heaven, much less to fling the handkerchief. .. Come, confess ; have you, then, been besieging her convent, opposing your mili- tary tactics to the wdiole army of martyrs ; and has she sent you this appropriate device, as a flag of de- fiance or of truce, till further parley ; and am I to be the herald, the negotiator?” The sudden transition of Lady Clancare’s look, the playful ease which succeeded to her evident but tran- sient consternation, the rapidity of her utterance, and the directness of her question, confounded General Fitzwalter. A new-born surmise, which for a mo- ment had arisen out of her confusion, was stifled in its birth ; and his suspicions as to the mysterious and invisible mistress of Lord Adelm w^ere lost, or rather no longer remembered, as he listened to a rallying pleasantry which he was wholly unprepared to an- swer ; and he unconsciously took up the handkerchief which Lady Clancare had thrown on the table. “ I have only this morning learned,” he replied, “ that Miss Macarthy was in this country ; nor do I hold myself at liberty to reveal more of the strange circumstances connected with this handkerchief, which your ladyship insists to have been hers, than that it came by romantic and singular means into the hands of a person w 7 ho prized it much, who knows that it is now in mine ; and that we are both, though from differ- ent motives, interested in discovering the real owner.” “I think the initials sufficiently indicate,” said Lady Clancare, gravely, “ that it is, or has been, the pro- perty of Florence Macarthy ; but, after ail, the fact 434 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. may be that she has bestowed it upon some young novice, or convent boarder ; some fondled little friend de par Peglise . If the handkerchief, therefore, has been thrown at you, General Fitzwalter, as you loi- tered in some country town, or reproachfully sent to you with the pretty device of ‘ When this you see, Remember me, Though far asunder we may be ; or if you yourself took it (the owner nothing loath), to wipe away tears worth an Hebe’s smiles, and now wish to return it, with a heart wrapped up in it, no longer of any use to the present owner ; or if you ■” “ To spare your ladyship any further conjectures,” said General Fitzwalter, with a countenance rather expressive of annoyance, “ I must repeat to you, the handkerchief is not mine, was neither sent to, nor in- tended for me; and the object of this intrusion goes no further than to learn from your ladyship if — that is, where, or how — — ” He paused and colored. The eyes of Lady Clancare now archly fixed on his, and again confounded him. He threw himself back into his chair, and petulantly, but with the naivetz of one whose feelings goaded him beyond all power of disguise, added, “ The fact is, madam, I scarcely re- member what was the object of my visit.” “ Pray, do not hurry yourself,” said Lady Clancare, resuming her serious and demure look. “ I will await your leisure, General Fitzwalter. It is now sufficient for me to know that you were the friend of the gal- lant Colonel Macarthy, that you are interested for his daughter. You may, therefore, of course, com- mand me. Her interests, her happiness, are mine. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 435 And I would do much to effect the happiness of Florence Mac ar thy : I have done much — too much, perhaps ; but hitherto I have failed, wholly failed. 1 ’ She spoke with a voice of great emphasis, a coun- tenance of great emotion, indicating a capability of powerful and passionate feelings ; then hemmed away a sigh, drew forward her spinning wheel, and gave up her attention very strenuously to arranging the cobweb thread upon its reel : then placing her little foot upon the pedal, and turning the wheel rapidly round, she gave one sly demure look at General Fitz waiter, and awaited in patient expecta- tion the narration which she anticipated, but which he was less than ever enabled to make. The quick motion of the prettiest foot he had ever seen, care- lessly, but inevitably , displayed, the delicate fingers which twisted and drew out the finespun thread with fairy nimbleness, the occasional throwing back of her dark divided hair, and the changing hues of a com- plexion which bore testimony to the consciousness of being gazed at, rendered even her silence eloquent, and combined to form a picture, new, and, therefore, fascinating to her sole observer. His modes of exist- ence had indeed led him but rarely to those walks of society, in which woman appears with all the superadded attraction of mind, talent and the graces. He now leaned on his arm, with his eyes fixed on her figure, silent, intent, and yielding to the fascina- tion of an influence, of which, at the moment, he was scarcely conscious. He saw before him a woman be- traying her vocation to feel and to please, in every fibre, lineament, feature, and motion ; he beheld her distinguished by spirit, feeling, softness, and gaiety ; 436 FLORENCE MACARTHY. and by that talent, so pardonable even in a woman — * the talent of amusing, by the charm of endless variety. The whole was guarded by a modesty which even licentiousness dared not violate ; and it was set off by an occasional shyness, the lingering habit of a seclusion which may be sometimes dispelled, but never is totally overpowered. Ail this he saw, and saw nought beside. Lord Adelm, the handkerchief, Miss Macarthy, the purport and object of his visit, were alike forgotten; even O’Leary’s prophecy and assurance of the potency of his liege lady were no longer remembered. There was now but one object in creation for him, and that was the Bhan Tierna. Meantime the wheel went merrily round ; many a circling thread was spun off’, many an impulse given to the twirling reel, and its monotonous hum was alone interrupted by Lady Clancare’s carelessly ad- verting to the primitiveness of her occupation, prob- ably for the purpose of breaking an awkward silence. a This is a rude, rustic work,” she observed, “ for ladies’ fingers ; but our grandmothers of the highest rank in Ireland were all spinners. This wheel be- longed to the last Lady Clancare, who had the blood royal of Ireland in her veins. My grandfather pre- served it for me, and he had little else to bequeath me. It has already obtained me some celebrity. I am reckoned an excellent spinner; and in fact I like it beyond all other work. I like its humming noise, which disturbs the dreary tranquillity of the long winter evenings which I pass here alone in my 4 Val chiusa .’ It relieves my worn-out eyes from the daz- zle of the paper, on which necessity has urged me to FLORENCE MACARTHY. 437 trace so much nonsense, in order that I may live, and that others may laugh; for possibly you have heard, General Fitz waiter, that I am, by divine indignation, a — -sort of an author, un maniere cFesjyrit, and it is quite true. With Ireland in my heart, and epitomiz- ing something of her humor and her sufferings and my own character and story, I do trade upon the materials she furnishes me ; and, turning my patriot- ism into pounds, shillings and pence, endeavor, at the same moment, to serve her, and support myself. Meantime my wheel, like my brain, runs round. I spin my story and my flax together; draw out a chapter and a hank in the same moment; and fre- quently break off the thread of my reel, and of my narration, under the influence of the same associa- tion; for facts will obtrude upon fictions, and the sorrows I idly feign are too frequently lost in the sufferings I actually endure.” “ The sufferings you endure P interrupted Fitzwal- ter. “You! gracious heaven! You, who look the very personification of health, spirit and enjoyment !” “ Enjoyment !” she repeated, shaking her head, and throwing her eyes significantly from the bare walls of the gloomy apartment to its cold earth floor. ^Yes,’ 1 he said, replying to her look, “if external objects were anything to you, that may be true; but with a spirit apparently so buoyant — a spirit that sparkles in your eye, varies your complexion, gives life, soul, and animation to every feature, and every word you utter ; with an imagination to create around you a perpetual Paradise, an imagina- tion — — •’ “ An imagination,” she interrupted eagerly, “ to 438 FLORENCE MACARTHY. exalt every anguish, to exaggerate every suffering, to embellish the distant good and embitter the pre- sent evil, to oppose the dreariness and privation of a rude and ungenial solitude to all the refined and elegant tastes of polished social life, whose details (passing through the prismatic medium of fancy), like the broken and worthless particles flung into the kaleidoscope, arrange themselves in symmetric beauty and harmonic coloring, to charm or to de- ceive, and to assume forms, hues and lustre, beyond their own intrinsic qualities.” “ But, good God 1” he exclaimed, seduced by a frankness so flattering, struck by a detail, which in delivery opposed the energy of strong feelings to the playfulness of constitutional gaiety, “your solitude after all must be an act of choice, an election made for the noblest purposes— for serving your com- patriots — for cherishing in retreat the enthusiasm, ‘ the true source of genius, and which is so soon lost in the passionless trifling circles of society. You have only to appear in the world and to ’ “ And to be shown off like a wild beast ; as the woman that writes the books; to be added to the menagerie of such lion leaders as that halfmaniac Lady Dunore; to ‘con wit by rote,’ and ‘ d'sennuyer la sottise and then, having worn out curiosity with novelty, to be sent back to my den, with an assur- ance from my keeper that I am perfectly harmless, and not half so dangerous as might be supposed. Oh, no ! better, far better that I should be shut up with my Irish inheritance of pride, poverty and ta- lent ; better leave the mind in the spacious circuit of its own musing.” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 439 She smiled, paused, and then continued: “Here, at least, I stand aloof from debasing protection, from the taunt of envy, and the sneer of malignity, the overbearing of upstart pride, the contumely of self- satisfied ignorance. Here, too, I still do some good. I thwart the evil genii of the place, the ogrish Craw- leys, immortalize the supercilious folly of my neigh- bors, which, even here, would look down upon me with that hatred, ‘ all blockheads bear to wit ;’ colo- nize my dear little Clotnottyjoy; encourage the arts, by allowing two and eightpence halfpenny per week to a piper; and give ‘my little senate laws’ — the Cato and Lycurgus of the flourishing city of Bally- dab. Besides, I clo much in giving an example of constant, ceaseless industry and activity to my peo- ple. When I am not writing I am planting pota- toes, or presiding over turf bogs; or I am seated Avith my wheel in a barn, in the midst of the would- be loitering, lounging, lazy matrons of Clotnottyjoy; and A\ r hen the Bhan Tierna’s Avheel goes round, every wheel in the parish turns with it. With all the pre- judices which run so strong in favor of the repre- sentatives of their ancient chiefs on my side, born and reared among them, speaking their language, and assimilating to them in a thousnnd Avays, I have still excited rebellion against my sovereign authority by the innovations of erecting chimneys and filling up pools ; and all my arguments are answered Avith — ‘ Och ! long life to you, my lady; sure you’ll lave us our taste of smoke, madam, anyhow, that keeps the heat in us through the long winter, and not a skreed to cover us. And, mushaj sure the pool, why, is the life of us, madam, in regard of the little 440 FLORENCE MACARTHY. clacks and pigs; for what would we do with them only for the pool, my lady ? and only them to pay the rint and keep a rag on the child re,’ The worst of it L3 that it is all true,” she added, shaking her head. “ But pray, what do you think of me, Gene- ral Fitzwalter, in the character of Mrs. Larry Hoola- han, pleading the cause of her pigs and poultry ?” As she asked this question, she laid her laughing face on her arms, which were now folded on her si- lent wheel, and fixed her dark, round, arched eyes on those of her auditor. “ What do I think of you ?” he exclaimed abruptly, and drawing his chair closer to hers, yet with an air of eager impressiveness, which showed him uncon- scious of the act. “ To tell you all I think of you would, perhaps, be as impossible as to follow the changes of your character and your countenance, which have all the brightness and evanescence of a rainbow. What I think of you now is 'lost in what I think of you a moment after. Nor can I, in the Lady Clancare of to-day, trace one feature of the other Lady Clancare whom I beheld, for the first time, a prisoner in the hall of Dunore Castle.” “ Well,” she replied, laughing, “ I sometimes almost lose my own identity ; for I am absolutely beyond my own control, and the mere creature of circum- stances ; — giving out properties like certain plants, according to the region in which I am placed ; and resembling the blossom of the Chinese shrub, which is red in the sunshine and white in the shade, and fades and revives under the influence of the peculiar atmosphere in which it is accidentally placed. The strong extremes, and wild vicissitudes of my life have, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 441 perhaps, given a variegated tone to my character, and a versatility to my mind, not its natural endowments. Abandoned in my infancy by my parents, who went to Spain, my mother’s native land ; left to the care of my genuinely Irish, improvident, and enthusiastic grandfather; brought up with all his Irish pride and prepossessions, among his greyhounds and finders, on the mountains ; left a charge upon the rent-roll of Providence; forced by poverty, and the imprudence of my mother, into a Spanish convent there; released from my unwilling seclusion by her death ; and joyfully fol- lowing a widowed father, amidst the privations of a military life, in a distant land ; reduced to close his eyes among the dying and the dead ; helpless and hopeless, I returned to my native land, to seek the protection of my aged grandfather — to find it in a jail ; to labor for his support and my own ; and, by the light which shone through his prison bars, to trace scenes of fancied joy and ideal happiness. Thus thrown upon life, friendless, unprotected, and depend- ent upon my own exertions for subsistence, I have continued always before the world, yet always in se- clusion ; know T n to ail in my public capacity, to none in my private character. I have carried into society the awkwardness of a recluse, the susceptibility of a sensitive feeling equally alive to notice or to slight ; but, in the freedom of intimacy, in communion with kindred minds, by the ardor of my nature, and in- dulging the easy, extravagant playfulness of my con- stitutional gaiety, I have yielded to still loving the world, yet unable to live in it ; enduring solitude, not enjoying it ; blessed with health, and animated by a spirit that never yet struck sail to vileness, depend- 442 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ence, or oppression ; noble by chance, an author by necessity, and a woman—” She paused for an in- stant, and then hastily added: “I have given you this little autobiography, General Fitz waiter, to save you the trouble of guessing at me ; for I see you have been conning me over, as children do conundrums, beginning with my first, and getting on to my second, but quite in the dark as to the strange combination which makes my tout . It now lies before you ; and I have thus intruded upon the right of intimacy, and kidnapped you into an unsought confidence, because you have been long known to me ; because your po- sition with respect to Florence Macarthy is known to me : this is my sanction, my excuse. I know you are going to employ me, and I thus put you in pos- session of my bearings, before you instal me in my agency.” They had now both arisen ; General Fitzwalter in amazement, in emotion, and admiration, he had no power or inclination to conceal ; Lady Clancare, with the color heightening in her cheek, and her manner less collected, less easy, less disengaged, than when she had first begun to speak. There was a breathless anxiety in her countenance when she paused ; an ap- prehensiveness that seemed relieved by the door opening, and entrance of the maid, who stepped up and whispered something in her ear. Whatever this communication might be, it excited considerable confusion; and when the girl had re- ceived her answer, and had hurried out of the room, Lady Clancare, turning round in great embarrass- ment, said, “ General Fitzwalter, you must leave me instantly. Whatever you may have to say relative FLORENCE MACARTHY. 443 to Colonel Macarthy’s daughter, it must be reserved for another moment ; not now — pray go. This may seem strange, but it is inevitable ; and let me en- treat — ” she clasped her hands, and spoke with great earnestness — “ let me entreat you will not take the road you came — the Dunore road. Turning to your left, you will come out upon the beach. My maid will conduct you. The tide must be out or in: if out, you can ride along the strand; if in, my boat is moored among the rocks. You can paddle it easily; I do myself— and your horse shall be sent after you to O’Leary’s. I had it put up as I entered. Now then go — farewell !” He took the hand she extended to him, and holding it firmly, though it gently strug- gled in his grasp, he said, “ I will go in any way you wish me to go ; but tell me as frankly as I ask the question, is Lord Adelm Fitzadelm the person you expect ? for I perceive I am in somebody’s way.” Lady Clancare interrupted him with the quickness of lightning, and haughtily liberating her hand, she repeated, “ Lord Adelm ! — General Fitzwalter, you are the first person of your sex and rank who ever obtruded upon this solitude, where pride and poverty have sought an asylum, which delicacy and prudence should have rendered inviolable.” She turned away her head ; but not before he had perceived her eyes glistening with tears, prompt as her smiles, but infinitely more dangerous. They were the first tears he had ever brought to a woman’s eye ; and from whatever source they sprang, however in- adequate their causes, (and he felt they were inade- quate,) their effect was electric : they left him shocked and confounded, covered with shame and self-re- 444 FLORENCE MACARTHY. proach. Lady Clancare was moving towards the door : he followed, and prevented her exit. “ Lady Clancare,” he said, “ you must take me as I am, as one under the influence of tyrannical feelings, habitually hut vainly combatted. You have thrown me off my guard. I have offended you unwarily : hear me a moment; I will explain to you — — ” “No, no! not now. You must leave me; you must not be seen here,” she answered in a hurried voice. “ I will not leave you, be the consequence what it may, till you promise me another, and immediate op- portunity of seeing you. I must see you, for my own sake, for Florence Macarthy’s sake, for your sake, perhaps.” Lady Clancare turned aside her head as he spoke. Something between a smile and a frown struggled on her countenance, and she replied : “I ought not, I cannot receive you here by ap- pointment under my own roof. You can write to Florence Macarthy ; I will convey your letter ; I will do every thing to forward her happiness, short of en- dangering my own character; but leave me now, I entreat, I insist.” “ I have written,” he said, .producing a letter, a but—” he hesitated, and still held it back, as if un- willing to part with it,— u but I know not how far this letter may now’— — ” Lady Clancare snatched it eagerly, and placed it in her bosom. u There,” she said, “ she shall have it immediately : you may depend on me where she is concerned, and I will forward you her answer. I told you you would employ me : but remember this FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 445 visit, so unexpected on my part, so unwarranted on yours, is not to be repeated, and never to be revealed —remember that.” “ Never to be revealed ! I swear solemnly,” he re- plied, with energy; “but by all that is sacred, I will not leave this country without seeing you again ; without seeing you here. Observe me, Lady Clan- care ; I am a man who has fought against a wayward fortune ; by the force of perseverance, firmness, de- cision, and enterprise, success has followed the bias of these natural impulsions. I have no other guides, and I shall still obey them. If you are the owner of that handkerchief ; if you are the person who — ” He paused and then added in a hurried tone, “ That ascertained, I shall then come once more, and bid you an eternal farewell. If Florence Macarthy, on the contrary, is the invisible demon or angel who fol- lows, or rather leads, the steps of Lord Adelm, then “ The marchioness is walking up the court, my lady, and has left her coach at the gates below,” said the maid, putting in her wild head with a fluttered look. Lady Clancare stamped her little foot with impatience. “ Go now, for God’s sake I” she cried. “ Do you then,” he said, seizing her hand, and with a countenance which had undergone a rapid change since the maid had announced Lady Dunore as the expected visitor, “ do you return to the castle with her — with Lady Dunore to-day ?” “Yes, yes, I dine there; but if you notice me there, or anywhere, without my special permission, you lose me forever— that is, you lose the benefit of my agency with Florence Macarthy. Now, then, 446 FLORENCE MACARTHY. pray follow the servant ; she will conduct you to the beach. 5 ’ He had half raised her hand to his lips while she was speaking, but he suddenly dropped it and fol- lowed the maid, who led him through the stone passage to a little door that opened on the strand. There he found his horse fastened by the bridle to an iron an- chorage ring in the rocks. The tide was coming in, but lie outgalloped its stealing progress, and arrived with incredible celerity at Monaster-ny-Oriel. He found O’Leary before the door of the chauntry, exposing to the air a large open deal box, lined with pictures of saints and devils, his countenance full of bustling importance, and his voice raised to the high- est pitch, singing Carolan’s famous “lleceipt for Drinking . 55 “I was just, plaze„your honor,” said O Leary, coming forward to take the general’s horse as he alighted, “ I was just airing my chest, sir, in respect of getting ready for our journey, and was conning in my own mind, when your honor galloped up, whether it would contain my Genealogical History of the Macarthies, or whether I’d divide them into two turf kishes, just to make a show travelling through the country ; for when Carte got lave to take the Or- monde papers out of the evidence chamber at Kil- kenny Castle, to compose the life of the great Duke of Ormonde, he filled three Irish cars with them; and I’d be sorry, troth, that the documents of the real Irish Macarthies-More, Kings of Munster, would be of less bulk than the papers of them Saxon churls, the Butlers.” “ I am afraid, however,” said the general, smiling, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 447 “ we must dispense with their honorable burthen in our immediate journey, O’Leary.” “ We must, gineral?” replied O'Leary, in a tone of mortification ; “ and there being mixed through the Macarthy papers many notes and codices,” he added, in a whispering voice, “ that might be serviceable on the trial ; for they’ll fight a great fight afore they give up, sir, and right vanquisheth might.” “ I am not so certain of that,” said General Fitz- walter; “ but at all events, O’Leary, I shall not leave this country as soon as I expected.” “You won’t, gineral?” he replied, with a counte- nance expressive of curiosity and surprise ; then, after a pause, he added, “ Och ! then I’ll have my docu- ments home from the lord deputy before we start. And thinks Moriagh will plaze you, the day, in regard of a dinner, sir, and ordered a bottle of Portugal wine from the Dunore Arms myself, your honor, just in honor of the day ;” and he looked at the general significantly. “ I am glad of it,” said the general ; “ but I shall not dine here ; I dine at Dunore Castle.” O'Leary started, put his hand under his wig, with a look of perplexity, but only repeated, “At Dunore Castle !” then giving the horse to one of his scholars, who was waiting about the ruins, -he followed the general to his tower, observing, “Well, gineral, so you didn’t see the Bhan Tierna after all, I’ll ingage.” “ Why should you think that ?” “ Because, plaze your honor, I heard she was in the mountains the morning, seeing the praties got in, and sorrow^ a foot she’d lave that for the King of England, if he was to come to see her. Och ! she’s a 448 FLORENCE MACARTHY. great farmer, and has done more for Clotnottyjoy in a year and a half than the Crawleys ever could ; in respect of the hearts and hands of the whole country being with her, and her giving every man his own little lase.” To this observation the general made no reply ; and they ascended the stairs together ; the guest to dress, and the host, under pretence of assisting him, to loiter about his person. CHAPTER XVL He seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Shakspeare. I’ll venture — for my new enlivened spirits prompt me. Milton, General Fitz Walter was dressed for dinner a full hour before the usual time of assembling at Dunore Castle. All his motions were involuntarily acceler- ated ; a feverish restlessness urged his most trivial actions : his whole existence had received a new im- pulsion by the operation of one unaccustomed and absorbing sentiment; an overpowering motive had unexpectedly sprung up to actuate his conduct ; and the obedient will followed its spring with a prompti tude and energy consonant to his nature and his habits. Woman, who had hitherto imperiously governed his senses, now for the first time obtained a moral influence over his mind, and became, not the object of a caprice, but of a passion ; and passion, whatever might be its cause, w r as his element. The person of Lady Clancare was not particularly distinguished by its beauty, but it was characteristic. Fresh, healthful and intelligent, she had neither the symmetry of statuary loveliness, nor the brilliant coloring of pictured charms ; but she was piquante, graceful and vivacious : her mouth and teeth were 450 FLORENCE MACARTHY. well compared by O’Leary to those of a young hound ; her head was picturesque, and her whole ap- pearance the very personification of womanhood. Silent, and at rest, she was scarcely distinguishable from the ordinary class of women ; but when her countenance was thrown into play, when she spoke with the anxiety to please, or the consciousness of pleasing, there was a nobility, a variety of expression and coloring, which corresponded with the vigor, spirit and energy of her extraordinary mind. This indication, which might have repelled others, was the charm that fascinated Fitz waiter. The kindling susceptibility it betrayed harmonized with his own prompt and impetuous disposition, bespeak- ing a congeniality of feeling, and a reciprocity of intelligence, which he had never found in man, which he had never sought for in woman, and which, whether it took the calm and steady form of friend- ship, or the bright intoxicating aspect of love, was still the object of his unconscious research, and the indispensable ingredient of his permanent schemes of happiness. This conviction struck at once upon his imagina- tion with that force which accompanied all its strong and promptly received impressions. It awakened his passions in all their natural vehemence ; and, im- patient of all suspense, ill-brooking inevitable delay, he would have gone at once to the “ head and front” of his views and hopes ; he would, in his own lan- guage, have followed their object “ from pole to pole, over alps and oceans, or have remained fixed and rooted to the spot she inhabited, wooed her, won her, clung to her, and cherished her and, according FLORENCE MACARTHY. 451 to the startling conclusion of Lord Adelxn, “ married her;” but that he was already married — married, at least, he considered himself, in honor, in gratitude, until she who shared his bondage voluntarily broke it. There was, too, another barrier to the impulse of his passionate feelings. It was just possible that all he admired and all he sought was devoted to another. Those powers and endowments, so attractive in his eyes, might be applied to the subjection of cue who would only prize them so long as their versatility and ingenuity could confirm and feed his visionary tastes and metaphysical delusions ; so long as they could ex- cite ideal prepossessions in favor of the invisible agent, which the actual woman would probably nei- ther awaken nor perpetuate. From several corroborating circumstances, Fitz- walter was almost convinced that Lady Clancai e was the Egeria, the demon of Lord Adclm, who had either watched over or bewildered him, had made him the object of her care, or the victim of her ca- price, since his arrival in Ireland. Her knowledge of himself his name, and profession, which she had re- vealed to Lord Adelm, might have come through de- tails received from her cousin, Florence Macarthy ; but where she could have seen him in Ireland, or how Miss Macarthy had learned his arrival, were still enigmas. The talent and love for the embroglio which Lady Clancare had herself confessed to have inherited from her Spanish mother, and which took from the sim- plicity of her character what it added to its spirit and ingenuity, pointed her out as the agent of mys- tery, who had directed the conduct and led the steps 452 FLORENCE MACARTHY. of the accomplished idealist ; and who had summoned around her “ most willing spirits to do her service” in the incongruous forms of Mrs. Magillicuddy and Owny, the Rabragh. The object of employing so clumsy an agent as the former was not very obvious ; but tiie latter personage was manifestly devoted to her orders, and might for many reasons be deemed capable of promoting her still inexplicable views. He was her foster-brother, that bond of service and devotion so sacred in Ireland. She had also relieved him from misery and incarceration by her exertion and interference. He had conveyed her from Dunore to Dublin, according to O’Leary’s account, and he might, on her return to the south, have been naturally summoned to meet her at Cashel, either to carry her home, or to “ do her behests.” Irishmen of his class, endowed with zeal, activity, and evasion, might with great probability have en- gaged in any scheme to forward the interests of his benevolent patroness, as he would be true to any trust reposed in him ; more especially by that popu- lar Bhan Tierna, whose health he had pledged at'the cottage at Lis-na-sleugh with a solemnity almost religious. This act had not escaped the observation of Fitz- walter, and these suppositions and inferences (quite possible, and more than probable) were gradually worked out, distinctly examined, and rapidly com- bined in his fluctuating thoughts, as he pursued his way on foot to Dunore Castle. To a mind so quick in its perceptions, so energetic in all its workings, slight data were sufficient to lead to a just result ; and FLORENCE MACARTHY. 453 his natural acuteness got the start in this, as in many- other instances of progressive investigation. To detect Lady Clancare in her concealed and mysterious character was one thing; to ascertain the motive, to arrive at the object of her singular and al- most equivocal conduct, was another. His life had not been a life of reflection ; and woman, though fre- quently an object of his devotion, had never been to him a subject of analysis. Yet he knew enough of the general principles of human nature to understand that human conduct must be motived by passion ; and he could conceive but one passion incidental to fe- male existence — and that was love. He would have decided at once that Lady Clancare was in love with Lord Adelm, but that the supposi- tion was too painful to indulge. He knew not why, but it maddened him; and he was rescued from its poignancy by the reflection that Lord Adelm had never seen her, except on her first appearance in the hall of Dunore, where she had given him the impres- sion of being a mere minaudiere , a caprice of his mo- ther. As a woman of talent, one, too, who had ob- tained celebrity by that talent, Lord Adelm would have detested her ; and the spirit and vigor of mind which made her charm with Fitz waiter, would have rendered her insupportable in the eyes of one who placed the perfection of woman in her fatuity. Still he believed that, in spite of her equivocal and playful evasion, the handkerchief found by Lord Adelm was purposely dropped by Lady Clancare. The motive of this mystery, as well as the train of events in which he had in some respects been involved himself since his arrival in Ireland, remained unfathomable. 454 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. The suspicions which now gradually lighted on the head of Lady Clancare were necessarily with- | drawn from Florence Macarthy, the refugee of the ; Convent of the Annunciation. With this person the : fate of General Fitzwalter was strangely linked. His connection with the daughter of the brave Colonel Macarthy, to which he had alluded in his conversa- tion with Lady Clancare. and with which, to his amazement, and a little to his confusion, that lady had confessed she was already acquainted, was a ro- mantic episode in the strange history of his eventful life. To that event memory referred with a painful sensation that originated in feelings not at rest with themselves. If there was one circumstance in Lis life which had left a shadow behind it, it was his connec- tion with Florence Macarthy. His efforts to become reconciled to himself were reduced to a proposal, which, hastily conceived, and as hastily executed, wuis contained in the letter which he now lamented having trusted to Lady Clan- care. The business which had brought him to Ireland was effected. It was his interest to return imme- diately to England, and he could give to himself no plausible cause of delay, but the necessity he fancied or believed himself to be under, of waiting an answer to the letter he had dispatched to Florence Ma- carthy. It would have been more consonant to his habitual modes of acting himself to have flown to her convent, and sought a personal interview, an imme- diate and decisive sentence ; but his feelings opposed themselves to a conduct so natural ; and he was more inclined to defer, than to expedite, personal comma- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 455 nication with one whose presence could only awaken ungracious associations, and who was perhaps the only human being in existence before whom he would have blushed to present himself. After a long, slow-paced, circuitous route, consid- erably lengthened in fact, but shortened in idea, by the agitation of his thoughts, and the preoccupation of his mind, he at last arrived at the portico of Dun- ore ; and, with the exception of old Crawley, who had left Dunore that morning for Dublin, and of Lord Adelm, who had not yet returned, he found the usual party assembled in the great hall of the castle, and disposed in a manner as ludicrous as it was un- expected. Lady Dunore occupied the foreground. She stood, with a coarse bib and apron tied over her superb din- ner dress of crimson satin, and filled with green rushes, which she was fastening in sheaves. The floor was spread with the same materials, which Mr. Heneage, Mr. Pottinger, and Miss Crawley were engaged in peeling; while Mr. Daly and Conway Crawley were reading the papers ; and Lord Rosbrin, covered with rushes, was spouting “Mad Tom;’ 5 Lord Frederick and Lady Georgiana, as usual, were lounging on an ottoman, and laughing together at the whole party. At the sight of General Fitzwalter, Lady Dunore sprung delightedly forward, and welcomed him with an ardor for which even vanity itself could find no adequate cause. “ This is so good of you,” she said, “ so unexpect- edly kind ! Fitzadelm endeavored to persuade me this morning that you were bored to death with us all ; that we did not in the least amuse you ; that you 456 FLORENCE MACARTHY were engaged in business and law, and things ; that, in short, you would neither breakfast, dine, nor sup with us; and that, as to sleeping, you would as soon take up your lodging in Bedlam. You can’t imagine how this fretted and annoyed me, because I wanted you for a particular ” She paused abruptly, and added, “ that is, I wanted you to, to — help me to peel rushes. You see we are all occupied with this rush manufactory. I hope, if you settle in this neighbor- hood, which perhaps,” she added, with a significant look, “you may, that you will encourage the rush manufactory ; for the whole misery of this country, General Fitz waiter, arises out of the w^ant of work, and food, and things. Isn’t it so, Lady Clancare ?” General Fitzwalter followed the direction of this question, and, not without emotion, perceived Lady Clancare seated in the arm-chair at the back of the hall, which the preceding day had been occupied by one of the judges. She looked pale and spiritless, as one exhausted, and under the reaction of overex- citement. She colored, however, slightly at Lady Dunore’s appeal, and returned an affirmative but si- lent nod of the head. Every one smiled, and this smile increased the color in her cheek. “ The fact is,” continued Lady Dunore, following the general’s eyes with triumphant satisfaction in her own, “ no one knows anything of the real state of this country but Lady Clancare. She has given me an entirely new view of things. It is too dread- ful, too heartrending. It is all a tragedy clu plus beau noir . I have cried myself sick as l drove here.” Every one tittered, the Crawdeys almost aubibly ; and Lady Clancare colored deeper than before. FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 457 “ The miracle is,” said Lady Dunore, in a vehement manner, and wholly engrossed with her own sensa- tions, “ the miracle is that they don’t all arise and murder us. They will do so soon ; and I think they are quite justified. I wbuld not bring them to trial if they were to murder my whole household. I will have no more secret committees, no more green bags and special commissions ; 4 employ, not hang,’ that’s my maxim now. It is, however, curious enough to see people troubling their heads about elections and evangelical schools, and private theatricals and cha- pels, and bible societies and things, when the people to be represented are starving ; the people to be edi- fied, amused and instructed, are literally perishing for want. Give them something to eat first, and then instruct them; teach them to labor, and then to read; give them wants that civilize humanity, and that raise them above the brute creation, and then edify them ; for, after all, the first law of nature is to exist. People must live, in order to live piously; and it is a fact that bread is as necessary as books ; and if people will die of the typhus from cold, want and filth, why they cannot then read the multitude of evangelical tracts which are written for their use, and population will thin as tracts multiply. Is it not so, Lady Clancare ?” This question, asked with emphatic gravity, ex- cited new smiles of ridicule or amusement; for all were quite aware that Lady Dunore’s inspiration and authority came from the same source— a source which now, for the moment, ruled the ascendant. Meantime, Lady Clancare’s downcast but rapidly moving eyes seemed to take in the suffrages of the 458 FLORENCE MACARTHY. whole circle. She colored, and only replied to Lady Dunore’s parroted details with another oracular nod, while the officiating priestess went on under the in- fluence of her delpliic deity: “No one can be more devoted to the Irish Go- vernment than I am, and all their measures ; and I think our Irish secretary the cleverest little creature in the world, as I said to the premier, after he made his maiden speech. As to the viceregal B s, they happen to be my particular friends, and I was quite - delighted they got such a good thing, poor dears ! and, in fact, they could not have gotten on at all if they had not been sent over here, and got their thirty thousand a year. But when it comes to con- sidering Ireland in its actual state; and when one hears you, Mr. Pottinger, talk of your Lady Lieuten- ant’s encouraging the Irish manufactures, because she wears a tabinet gown on St. Patrick’s night, or St. Patrick’s day, or in St. Patrick’s Church ; or, what is it, Lord Frederick, about the kettle-drums and things, and Noodle and Doodle? And you, Mr. Conway Crawley, talking of the Chief Secretary’s expedients and measures of necessary coercion, his eminent worth and that sort of thing, when all he can know of Ireland must be collected from such people as you and your father; or, as he whirls through the country in a chaise-and-four to shoot partridge or grouse at Lord Clan — this, or Lord Kill — t’others ; some of your new-made lords, par exem- ple, who are excellent people, only no one cares much about them with us ; it’s quite too ridiculous ! Don’t you think so, Lady Clancare ? and when the prettiest rush- work in the world might be done, and FLORENCE MACARTHY. 459 F ! encouraged by them all, as it is done, at that very j ancient ruinous town of Ballydab, the Irish Balbec, as one may call it. For my part, I shall employ all the poor at Dunore at rush- work. I’ll have rush so- • fas, rush chairs, rush mats, rush fillagree, rush lights, ! and rush carpets ; everything, in short, that can be 1 made of rushes.’ , ! i “ Then,” said Lord Rosbrin, flourishing about the hall, i “ Then shall we wantons, light of heart, Tickle the senseless rushes with our heels.” Here dinner was announced, and Lord Adelm alighted at the door at the same moment, and went to dress. The rest of the party proceeded to the dining-room. Mr. Daly officiated at the head of the table, in the place" of Lord Fitzadelm. Lady Clancare took the seat her rank assigned her, on his right hand. Lady Dunore took hers by the side of Lady Clancare ; and she contrived to place General Fitzwalter opposite to both, by directing him to a seat, most mal-apropos, between Miss Crawley and her nephew. There was something in the presence of this extraordinary stranger which had becofne extremely irksome to the Crawleys. They had received a sort of half-given confidence respecting him from old Crawley, which had terrified and confounded them ; and though, either in timidity or distrust, he had never fully and explicitly opened his heart to them on a subject which began to oppress his conscience in proportion i as it awakened his apprehension, they had yet ga- thered enough to inspire considerable alarm ; and they had urged the old man to go to Dublin, previous 160 FLORENCE MACARTHY. to his election for Glannacrime, for the purpose of anticipating or frustrating a discovery, which could not long be retarded, and was pregnant with evil to the character, influence, and property of the whole Crawley family. Miss Crawley and her nephew now sat silent on either side of their ill-boding neighbor ; while Lady Dunore, with her mouth in Lady Clancare’s ear, and her eyes fixed on General Fitzwalter, continued wholly inattentive to the rest of her guests. Lord Adelm entered the room with the second course. “ How did you get on at Glannacrime, Fitzadelm ?” \ asked Lady Dunore, carelessly, as soon as he had finished his soup. “ I don’t know exactly what your ladyship’s ques- tion points at, but I got off as soon as I could.” “ Did you speak to them ?” she returned, with a look of nausea ; “ I mean, to those horrors, the forty- shilling freeholders ?” “ Speak ! oh, yes, of course, ‘ in wholesome manner, madam.’ ” “ Indeed! Well, and what did you say, my dear Adelm?” continued Lady Dunore, with a little in- creasing interest. “1 bid them wash their faces, and keep clean their teeth, and so troubled them no further.” “ That must have surprised them,” said Lady Du- nore, much pleased with what she took very literally ; “ but it was excellent advice.” “ I think it must have astonished them a little,” said Mr. Daly, laughing. “ Yes,” observed Lord Rosbrin, “ it must ; but you FLORENCE MACARTHY. 461 might have chosen a better speech, Fitzadelm. You should have said, as I did from the hustings of Kil- rosbrin, before they got me into the upper house : ; Your voices ! For your voices I have fought, — Watched for your voices ; for your voices bear Of wounds two dozen odd. Battles thrice six I’ve' seen and heard of. For your voices have Done many things, some more, some less !’ ” “ And did they believe you, my patriotic Corioros- brin?” asked Lord Frederick, languidly. “ Yes,” replied Lord Rosbrin, abstractedly. “The first citizen said — ‘ He has done nobly.’ The second citizen — ‘ Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him joy, and make him friend To the people.’ And all cried— ‘ Amen ! amen ! God save the noble consul !’ And then exeunt O. P. I speak from Covent Garden prompt-book.” “ Had I known of your lordship’s intention of visit- ing Glannacrime this morning,” said young Crawley, “1 should have accompanied you.” “It was quite unnecessary,” said Lord A delm, coldly. “ How were you received, Fitzadelm ?” asked Mr. Daly. “Not at all; they did not know me. I look upon it as against the freedom of election to come forward personally. I went, however, to their sessions-house, where a committee was sitting in my favor. I told them Lord Adelm’s opinion in a few words : that he was aware they would elect him if they could make anything of it ; but that they would sell him and their 462 FLORENCE MACARTHY. votes together, if they could make more by the bar- gain.” “ That must have widened the little eyes of the yellow buttons and peacock’s feathers,” observed Lord Frederick, laughingly. “ It is a new mode of electioneering,” said Mr. Daly, evidently pleased with his grand-nephew. “ And will doubtless succeed,” said Conway Craw- ley, in a whisper to Mr. Pottinger. Conversation now took a desultory turn, and the ladies retired early. Lady Dunore and Lady Clan- care walked from the dining-room into the court, though it was after nightfall. Lady Georgiana went to sleep, as usual, in order to call up her looks for the evening ; and Miss Crawley retired to brood over her own venom, which every hour was increasing by the events of the day. Mr. Pottinger had scarcely bowed out the ladies, and closed the door after them, when Lord Adelm beckoned General Fitzwalter to the window. Well,” he said, with a lock of anxious impatience “Well!” said the general, something perplexed. “ I have nothing to tell you, save that the person to whom I alluded this morning is not, cannot be, your sylph, your woman.” He dwelt with a species of inveteracy on the latter word; and Lord Adelm, pronouncing with a sigh of disappointment, and a look of mortification, “ I thought so, and I am now as far as ever from the ideal presence,” they both resumed their seats. The gentlemen sat late ; conversation had taken a wide range. When they adjourned to the drawing- room, even the most temperate were a little animated, FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 463 if not flushed, by Lady Dunore’s excellent claret ; yet scarcely more wine had been taken than served to dissipate the apathetic dulness which, in spite of Lady Dunore’s own impetuous spirits and vivacious charac- ter, habitually presided over the circle at Dunore. When the men entered the drawing-room, they found it only occupied by Lady Georgiana and Miss Crawley ; the former, with her elegantly draped figure, lying apparently half asleep on a canopied couch ; the latter, seated near her, was so occupied in some nar- ration she was muttering, that the gentlemen had ad- vanced into the middle of the room before she ob- served them. Lady Georgiana, with a pretty affected start of astonishment, opened her soft, languid eyes, and made an effort to rise. Lord Rosbrin, meantime hanging over her, exclaimed — “ Her body sleeps in Capulet’s monument, While her immortal part with angels live.” “ I think,” said Lord Frederick, taking his coffee, and throwing himself on a divan, near Lady Geor- giana, “ we all appear to be buried in the tomb of the Capulets. I had no idea the divine Marchesa meant to consign us all to such immortal dulness. We are already almost reduced aux muets interpretes , and shall gradually fall into the eloquent silence of that round-eyed, tongue-tied Lady Clancare, who, par parenthese , looks as if she were extracting us all for her common-place book, and will doubtless bring us out in hot-press, sans dire gar /” “ I doubt she will ever bring out anything half so good,” said Conway Crawley ; “ as yet that is not in her line; she has had too few opportunities of studying fashionable life to attempt anything in that 464 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. way. Her position here, at least, is so extremely ob- scure, that I believe the castle of Dunore is the first fine house in the country into which she was ever ad- mitted.” “ And,” said Miss Crawley, smiling, and in spite of her former discomfiture unable to contain her acri- monious spirit, “ and perhaps it may be her last.” “ Her principles,” continued young Crawley, “ as disseminated in her ‘ National Tales,’ as she calls them, are sufficient to keep her out of good society here.” “ I thought I had heard you say, Mr. Crawley,” observed Mr. Daly, “ that you did not know Lady Clancare was an author ?” “ I did not till this morning,” said Crawley, a little confused. “ When Lady Dunore mentioned the titles of her works, and the initials representing the author’s name, I recollected having looked over those tomes of absurdity and vagueness, of daring blas- phemy, of affectation, of bad taste, bombast, and non- sense, blunders, ignorance, jacobinism, falsehood, licentiousness, and impiety, which it now seems are the effusions of the pseudo Lady Clancare.” Young Crawley, already flushed with wine, grew still more red with rage as he spoke. “ Oh, my dear Mr. Crawley,” interrupted Lord Frederick, with unusual vivacity, “ say no more, or you will make us in love with the author and her work together ; for, really, a book that could com- bine all these terrific heterogeneous qualities, and yet be read, must be very extraordinary : pour le moins .” “ Very extraordinary indeed,” said Mr. Daly, “ con- sidering that with all these vices and faults they have FLORENCE MACARTHY. 465 been so read, and bought, as to realize an inde- pendence for their author, and enable her to carry on a suit which has deprived the elder Mr. Crawley of his dear Clottnottyjoy. It would at least appear that, in spite of professional criticism, the public are al- ways with her.” “ Oh, her flippant and arrogant ignorance has its market,” returned Conway Crawdey, “ and the sylphed Miss Macarthy, the elegant Lady Clancare, is, in fact, a mere bookseller’s drudge. Her impu- dent falsehoods, and lies by implication, the impious jargon of this mad woman, this audacious worm ” “ Are you speaking of Lady Clancare, sir ?” said General Fitzwalter, who had been talking to Lord Adelm, but who now turned shortly round on young Crawley with a tone and look that stunned the hardy railer ; “ are you applying such language to a woman — to any woman ?” “ I — I — -I was speaking, sir,” said young Crawley, nearly sobered at once, and growing pale at this ad- dress, “ that is, I was repeating the criticism of a celebrated periodical review, which may, perhaps, be deemed severe, but which is edited by men of the most — — ” “ Men ! do you call them,” said General Fitzwalter, with a sharp, contemptuous laugh, and turning on his heel. “ Men, indeed i” A momentary silence ensued. The indignant con- tempt with which General Fitzwalter had fixed his eyes on Crawley was observed by all. Crawley was physically timid; he shrunk back, and took up a book ; Miss Craw ley changed color ; and at that mo- ment the marchioness entered, leaning on Lady Clan- 466 FLORENCE MACARTHY. care’s arm. They were both wrapped in their shawls ; and the freshness of the evening air, and the deep coloring of exercise, gave a vivid brightness to their complexions. “ We have had a delicious walk of some miles ; two or three, I believe,” said Lady Dunore, sinking into a chair, and calling for coffee ; while Lady Clan- care modestly took her seat rather behind than be- side, so as just to raise her face over the back of Lady Dunore’s chair, in a position equally shy and observing. For a moment she attracted every eye, and all sought to trace in her countenance some indi- cation of the audacious, lying, profligate, ignorant and pretending jacobin. “ There is nothing, after all,” said Lady Dunore, gradually unmuffling herself, “ like the security, and moonlight, and things of that kind, of Ireland. I am so in love with my Irish solitudes, that I am not cer- tain I shall not remain here through the winter.” “ Then, marchioness of my affections,” said Lord Frederick, “ I must beg my bouquet d ’ adieu ; for though I agree in the old sentimental tag of La soli- tude est une belle chose , yet — — ” “ Oh, sweet love,” interrupted Lady Georgiana, who, as well as Lord Frederick, had her reasons for disliking the extreme smallness of the petit comite , in which they had lived at Dunore, and which placed every one so constantly before the eyes of the others — “oh, sweet love, you have no idea what an ex- cellent society you have about you, if you would but let in the Aborigines . Miss Crawley has been amus- ing me this evening with a description of your neigh- bors for twenty miles round. I dare say they would FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 467 amuse you greatly. Now do, Miss Crawley, pray show your list to Lady D. Miss Crawley has made out a list for you, Ma Heine n Oh, you may let in who you like,” said Lady Du- nore : “ I shall not in the least object, if there are cups and saucers and things for the Irish ladies, who are monstrously particular, I hear; and provided they won’t expect me to go to them in return, they may come and welcome. Who shall we have ? Who shall we let in, Lady Clancare ? Who is there really presentable and amusing ? But mind, I won’t have any circulars ; I won’t have those Chinese hiero- glyphics, with their tails in their mouths, that is the serpents — what is it, Lord Frederick, about eternity, you know, and the Chinese mandarin? You have no idea how that word 1 eternity 7 ennuies me. Now come, Lady Clancare, do speak : who shall we have ? Is there no one at Balbec, at Ballydab I mean ?” The Crawleys laughed (aside), but were yet heard and seen by all, Lady Dunore excepted, who was now arranging her dishevelled hair at a mirror over the chimney-piece. “ I should like to make you, dear Lady Clancare, my returning officer, as old Mr. Crawley says of the electioneering business. Now who shall we have ?” and she resumed her seat. Lady Clancare begged, in her low soft voice, to have the office assigned to Miss Crawley, who was so ♦ much better known in the neighborhood. “ Oh, dear ! no, ma’am,” minced Miss Crawley : “ I could not think of obtruding on your ladyship’s pro- vince.” “ Now pray do as Lady Clancare desires you, Miss 468 FLORENCE MACARTHYa Crawley,” said Lady Dunore with her usual income * quent and peremptory tone. “ Rosbrin, draw the writing-table near me: you shall be secretary to the committee ; you shall name the persons, Miss Craw- ley ; and then we’ll talk them over, and elect accord- ingly.” Miss Crawley now advanced in implicit obedience to the commanding fiat of her future neophyte, Every one gathered round the table placed before Lady Dunore, except General Fitzwalter and Lord Adelm. The one stood aloof, looking partly in curi- osity, and partly, perhaps, in contempt, on this group of grown children; the other was stretched upon a sofa, -occupying a recess window, and partly shadowed by its drapery. “ Let us see,” said Lady Dunore, taking a paper out of Miss Crawley’s hand, on which she had written some names. “ Who is this ? Lady Lisson ! Who is she, Miss Crawley ?” “ She is a young widow lady, madam, of large for- tune. They say she has more diamonds than the queen ; and is niece to our bishop, with whom she is now on a visit.” “ Do you know anything of her, Lady Clancare ?” said the marchioness, turning coolly to her “ Cynthia of the minute,” “ I have seen her,” said Lady Clancare, in her wonted tone and look of real or affected simplicity. “ Is she presentable ? What is she like ?” “ Like ?” said Lady Clancare, as if searching for some object of comparison—' “ like a diamond beetle —small, shining, and insignificant. You would find her tiresome for anything exclusive, but she might FLORENCE MACARTHY. 469 answer for a ball — you might ask her to that, on the strength of her diamond necklace ; it helps to dress a room.” This was the first sentence Lady Clancare had ut- tered aloud since her introduction at the castle ; and its oddity, contrasted to her timid look, had its due effect. “ Oh ! put her down, by all means, Rosbrin,” cried Lord Frederick, laughing. “ Down with the diamond * beetle, with a ‘ N. B. The necklace to be included in the invitation.’ ” “And who is this, my dear Miss Crawley ? You write such a very pretty, precise, cramped hand — oh ! Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins, of Fort Wiggins. That sounds bad,” added Lady Dunore, shaking her head. “ However it may sound, madam,” said Miss Craw- ley, a little piqued, and resolved not to be worsted by Lady Clancare— “ however it may sound, Mr. Wiggins holds a distinguished office of trust under government ; and Mrs. Wiggins is supposed to have more titles at her parties than any one, except Lady Kilgobbin.” “ I wish somebody would kill Lady Kilgobbin,” said Lady Dunore, “ for I am sick of her name. I suppose if these Wiggins people are government folk, we must have them. But I hope your Mrs. Wiggins is not a quiz, Miss Crawley. Do you know her, Lady Clancare ?” “ I saw her in Dublin, madam, at a few assemblies.” “And what is she like? Now do throw her off for us, a trait de plume. Now pray what is she like ?” “ Like — like a scarlet flamingo, lean and lank, all legs and neck, in an eternal red velvet gown.” 470 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ I’ll have nothing to do with your flamingo, my dear Miss Crawley. The eternal red gown would destroy me in two nights. I cut the flamingo and the velvet gown, positively, legs, neck, and all.” “No, no,” interrupted Lord Frederick, “the fla- mingo must go in with the beetle. Only conceive ‘ you will stand here like your mother Eve, surrounded by all the birds of the air, and beasts of the field. Rosbrin, down with the flamingo, as a pendant for the beetle ; they are charming ; and here is,” he added, looking over Lady Dunore’s shoulder, “ here is Mrs. Randal Royston — delicious name ! and the three Miss Roystons.” “ There were originally seven Miss Roystons, with seven China oranges,” said Lady Clancare, with kin- dling spirits, and now evidently piquee au jeu , “ but Mrs. Randal has married, or rather lunched off four.” “ Lunched olf! Good God, how good !” said Lady Dunore, laughing ; “ but how lunched off, my dear Lady Clancare ?” “ Why, when maternal speculation, with balls, din- ners, and suppers, wholly failed, Mrs. Royston adver- tised sandwiches to morning saunterers, and got rid of her W estphalia hams and her marriageable daugh- ters together.” Everybody laughed, Miss Crawley made an effort to speak, but was overpowered by the loud, shrill voice of Lady Dunore. “ Here, read on, Lord Frederick : do you read. This is too amusing.” “ Here is,” said Lord Frederick, “ General and Mrs . General Jenkins.” “ But not the general Mrs. Jenkins,” said Lady FLORENCE MACARTHY. 471 Clancare, “not the general Mrs. Jenkins ; on the con- trary, she is the exclusive Mrs. Jenkins, one who dis- criminates by the indices of the Red Book, estimates qualities by the nobs on coronets, and ranges all worth and talent under the privilege of walking at a corona- tion ; for the rest, she is fussy, fidgety, and fretful, but useful in getting up balls, to extract names from a porter’s book ; and might herself pass the muster- roll of gentility unnoticed, but for her idears, winders, Mariars, Mirandars, and all the whole race of r’s in the cockney vocabulary of Bow-bell.” “ Now, Lady Dunore,” interrupted Miss Crawley, more annoyed at the amusement Lady Clancare was exciting than by the abuse of Mrs. General Jenkins, “ now I must observe to you that this Mrs. Jenkins, the object of Lady Clancare’s ridicule, happens to be her own friend ; and if her ladyship ridicules her own particular friends ” “ My own particular friends !” said Lady Clancare, gravely ; “ and if I don’t laugh at my own friends, whose friends can I take the liberty of laughing at, Miss Crawley ?” “ Really, madam,” said Miss Crawley, sneering, “ I at least do not see the necessity ” “ Necessity ! Oh, pardon me, — the necessity is ob- vious, inevitable, plus fort que moi ) and does not leave a shadow of free will in the case.” “ My aunt, madam,” said young Crawley, “ must decline all logical disquisition with you on necessity and free will. She is not quite so learned in meta- physics, and does not advertise her study of Locke for the benefit of the public. I believe, and hope, indeed, she never read him.” 472 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ Did not she ?” asked Lady Clancare. “ Then she must not speak of him, Mr. Crawley : for there’s no getting at Locke by deputy. There is no quartering review of him ! no opinions to be picked up at second hand, no cut-and-dry criticisms, neat, compact, and portable, made up in small parcels, and ready for im- mediate use, as soon as delivered to the purchaser— you understand, Mr. Crawley. But,” she added, with a total change of countenance and manner, and a sort of fondling voice, opposed to the sharp acute accent she had first spoke in, “ you must not believe, my dear Lady Dunore, that I am the ‘ ingrate and cam kered Bolingbroke.’ ” “ Henry Fourth, act first, scene third,” observed Lord Rosbrin, raising his eyes from his list to Lady Clancare’s face, with pleasure and surprise. “ I am not,” she continued, following up her blow on the heart of Lord Rosbrin, and on the temper of the Crawleys at the same moment — “ I am not guilty of this 1 ungrateful injury,’ as Coriolanus has it, against Mrs. General Jenkins. ^She is not my friend: judge if she merits that name. On my coming down to this country, some two years back, Mrs. Jenkins, herself then a stranger, came to visit me, on the strength of my title, and did not get into my ruined towers, to ! view the nakedness of the land ; so she sent me an invitation to her house. I went, pour voir ce que cela devienclra , and accompanied her to an assize-ball where she suddenly dropped me ; for, having found out that I was but a pauper peeress, and fitter for the parish books than the red bench, she charitably con- signed me to my destiny, and now meets, stares at, and passes me ; while I, with my 4 good den, Sir FLORENCE MACARTHY. 473 Richard,’ am answered with, a 1 gad have mercy, fel- low.’ But I advise you to ask her to your files, whenever you give any ; for she twines holly and ivy wreaths for garlanding the walls, cuts flowers out of turnips and carrots for ornamenting supper-tables, and has a recipe for making very tolerable lemonade, without the expensive addition of lemons,” “ No, no; no Mrs. General Jenkins,” was the gene- ral cry: while Lady Duriore, equally delighted with the amusing powers of the awakened Lady Clancare, as with the discomfiture of her ex-favorites, the Crawleys, who, it was evident, were gradually losing ground in her changeable opinion, cried out louder than all, “ Go on, go on, Lord Frederick. Who have we next? Now, Lady Clancare.” “Mrs. Wilkinson,” pronounced emphatically Lord Frederick. “ A great favorite of our late lord lieutenant,” said Mr. Pottinger, who was on the Crawley side, “ quite a beauty in the grand style.” “ Yes,”, said Lady Clancare, laughing, “ a very Mammoth of loveliness, ponderously pretty, with no more joints than an elephant, quite as heavy, and as mischievous withal ; for she’ll tread the nap off your carpet, while she talks down the character of your friends, and never moves or breathes but to injure.” “ Yet, for all that,” said Lord Frederick, “ we must have the elephant to complete the menagerie. Put her- down, Rosbrin, with the beetle and the flamingo; so,— here are Mr. and Mrs. Twiggle, too : I like the name — -it bodes well.” “ Mr. Twiggle is one of our great Irish financiers,” interrupted Miss Crawley, endeavoring to get the 474 FLORENCE MACARTHY. pas : “ for our rich army agents here answer to the financiers of France, as described by Marmontel in his sweetly-written Memoirs.” “ I shall say nothing of the army agents,” said Lady Clancare, “ till there’s a peace.” “ Scrub ! hem !” said Lord Rosbrin, chuckling. “ Peace or war,” said young Crawley, much irri- tated, “ the Twiggies must always hold a situation of trust and emolument. The government will always take care of them ; and as to Mrs. Twiggle, she is a woman of first-rate abilities, one of the best critics, and one of the most eloquent persons I ever listened to. She has indeed none of that flippant smartness, which is rather the pertness of pretension than the ebullition of genuine ability ; but she has a flow of language— “ Flow, do you call it ?” said Lady Clancare in sur- prise : “ a flow !— a flood, that carries down with it all sorts of rubbish. In fact, the eloquent Mrs. Twig- gle is not ill-represented by a long-necked bottle, shallow and noisy. My dear Lady Dunore, you would die of it. A windmill is a hermitage to the neighborhood of the eloquent Mrs. Twiggle.” “ Away with her, away with her !” cried Lord Ros- brin, theatrically. “No Twiggle,” w r as the general cry ; while young Crawley, without temper or taste to enter into this idle playfulness, without art or talent to counteract the growing popularity of Lady Clancare, rudely snatched up the paper from Lord Rosbrin, and said in a tone of great irritation, “ I believe, Lady Dunore, my aunt will rather decline giving any further assistance on this occasion. For, as she happens to know and visit all the persons of FLORENCE MACARTHY. 475 distinction who inhabit this neighborhood, it is rather mortifying to her to hear calumnies launched against all the leading gentry and principal people of the province.” “ Calumny !” reiterated Lady Clancare, with mock solemnity, and solemnly spreading her little hand on her bosom, “ I deny the accusation. I deny that the Lissons, and Wiggins, and Jenkins, and Roystons, and Twiggies, are the gentry of the province. Though some be nieces of embarrassed English cler- gymen, suddenly become Irish bishops, though they be placemen, and pensioners, and army agents, and revenue commissioners, yet their names were unheard of in this country a few years back ; and I therefore deny that they are the genuine nobility and gentry of this country. My dear Lady Dunore, if you would invite only the Irish aristocracy to your castle, you must deliver your cards to king’s messengers, and send your invitations to every court in Europe, ex- cept our own, where alone the Irish nobility are not to be found. But if the true gentry of the country will satisfy you, the descendants of her brave chiefs and princes, the O’s and the Macs, there is no pro- vince in Ireland can furnish a more national or delight- ful circle than Munster. I promise you you will be delighted with them. You will, perhaps, find more brogue and bows than you would meet with in your English assemblies ; but you will also find something of the refined courtesy and gay spirit of the Irish cavalier. They are prompt, indeed, to suspect slight, but they are ardent to repay kindness ; for, like the Irish wolf-dog, the Irish people are devoted when ca- ressed, and fierce only when provoked. I propose 476 FLORENCE MACARTHY. then, in this great election for the independent bor- ough of your ladyship’s favor, the O’s and the Macs as worthy candidates.” “ I second the motion,” cried Lord Frederick. The O’s and the Macs echoed on every side, while Lord Rosbrin, flourishing his handkerchief, cried out, “a Mug, a Mug, a Mug !” # Lady Dunore, delighted with the noise, because noise always delighted her — charmed by the transi- tion in Lady Clancare’s manner, because all transitions gave her sensation — and gratified by the amusement it had, and still might afford her, embraced her new favorite a la francaise and cried out : “ You are quite charming. I told you how popular you would become, whenever you would shake off your mauvaise ho ate. You shall ask whom you like to the castle, and nobody but whom you like ; for I now constitute you the mistress of the revels of Dunore.” “Do you?” said Lady Clancare, with vivacity; “ then I’ll make the 1 welkin dance,’ or at least Clot- nottyjoy ; and if I could find out a copartner in my labors, I would get up a series of festivities that should last out your banishment here. We would perform a masque for the amusement of the nobles of the castle, as in the older times ; we would have the most lamentable comedy and cruel death of Fy- ramus and Thisbe;” and her countenance now as- sumed the dull stupidity of Peter Quince; “or we would try ” Lord Rosbrin, as if touched by an electric spark, here interrupted her with the rejoinder of Bully Bot- * Mayor of Garret. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 477 tarn, “ a very good piece of work, and a merry — ” Then taking her hand, to the amusement of all, he added, with great gravity : “ Come, my queen ; in silence sad, Trip we after the night shade. We the globe can compass soon, Swifter than the wand’ring moon j” l while she replied significantly : “ Come, my lord, and in our flight Tell me how it came this night, That I sleeping here was found By these mortals.” “ Sleeping indeed !” said Lady Dunore ; “ but you have awakened us all now, I trust.” “ Macbeth hath murdered sleep,” added Lord Ros- brin. “ But what mirth, what revelry shall we begin with ?” “A mask presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634, on Michaelmas night, before the Right Honorable John Earl of Bridgewater, Lord President of Wales, called Comus,” said Lady Ciancare, looking at Lord Rosbrin, who replied, fluttering about in an ecstasy : “ Music by Henry Lawes. Here we’ll cast it forth- with and he dropped on his knees and seized the pen. “ What are the characters ? I have not looked into Comus these six months.” “ There is the elder brother,” said Lady Ciancare, dictating gravely — “ General Fitz waiter ; younger brother, Lord Adelm ; the lady, by Lady Georgiana ; Comus, your lordship ; the Crew, Mr. and Miss Craw- ley, Mr. Pottinger, &c.” “And Euphrosyne, Lady Ciancare,” said Lord Rosbrin. 478 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “Now then,” said Lady Clancare, with all the spirit and sportiveness of the character assigned to her, “ Welcome song and welcome jest, Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity. i Braid your locks with rosy twine, Dropping odors, dropping wine.” “ Brava ! brava !” re-echoed on every side. “ For the audience,” she continued, “ Lady Bridge- water, seated under a canopy, and dressed in the old English habit, shall be represented by the Marchio- ness.” 4 1 have one,” interrupted Lady Dunore, “ made for the last opera masquerade.” “ The Lord President will be admirably done by Mr. Daly ; and the O’s and the Macs will look stately and quaint in the boxes ; while the Wiggins, and Twiggies, and Roystons, 1 will fill a pit as well as better men.’ ” “ To be sure they will,” said Lady Dunore ; “ we’ll parade them all on the occasion ; and that won’t be the least part of the fun.” “We must have an afterpiece,” said Lord Rosbrin, gravely, and in a thoughtful attitude. “ Let it be something Spanish,” said Lady Dunore, “ in compliment to General Fitzwalter.” General Fitzwalter was leaning over the back of a chair, pursuing the variations of Lady Clancare. He started at this application to his amour propre , and bowed slightly, and in some confusion, while Lady Dunore, her eyes still fixed on him, whispered something in Lady Clancare’s ear, who blushed, threw* FLORENCE MACARTHY. 479 down her eyes, and shook her head incredulously. This was not the first time he had observed a mys- terious communication between these two ladies, of which he was evidently the object, but he had never been struck so forcibly as now, for the deep blush of Lady Claficare gave it no trifling effect. In the meantime Lord Rosbrin, puzzling his head for a Spanish- American piece, could think of nothing but Pizarro, which it was impossible to cut down into a farce ; and so, as a succedaneum, he proposed the Spanish farce of the Padlock, in which Lady Clancare offered to play Mungo to his Leander, except Mr. Heneage had a preference for that part. Mr. Hene- age declared that he would not blacken his face for any earthly consideration; and Lord Rosbrin ob- served he should much like to try his talent at singing, but that he had no wooden leg among his properties for Leander. Lady Clancare suggested that the wooden leg was a worn out commonplace ; that tying up the limb in a handsome blue scarf would be a new reading ; and that, with the help of a cane, he would manage it admirably. “ Exactly,” said Lord Rosbrin, charmed with the idea of a new reading : “ such a scarf as this,” and he took one off Miss Crawley’s shoulders. “ Here, Heneage, lend me your arm. How, Pottinger, fasten this round my ankle, so ; and then round my neck, so. Thank you, Lady Clancare, for your assistance ; how well you understand these things ! that’s a little too tight, though ; not quite so many knots. Oh, the devil! your ladyship’s tying my heel to my head. Stay, I’ll try a few bars of the serenade : ‘ Oh thou whose charms have won my heart.’ 480 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Confusion ! this is torture. I — I — ” and suddenly seized with the cramp, Lord Rosbrin now fell to the ground, almost screaming with pain and crying, “ By Jupiter! I have got the most intolerable cramp; loose me, for pity’s sake, or I shall die of it.” Every one now hastened to relieve him, but Lady Clanoare’s nimble fingers had tied a Gordian knot ; no one could loosen it. Lord Rosbrin roared, and Mr. Daly at last cut boldly what could not be untied. Everybody laughed, as if the sufferings of the noble ameteur were “ sport for ladies.” Miss Crawley re- ceived back her mangled scarf with a look of vexa- tion and dismay. Lady Dunore, equally amused by the sufferings of one friend, the annoyance of the other, and the espieglerie of the third, turned round, after a fit of laughter that brought tears to her eyes, to reproach Lady Clancare for no", assisting at a denouement she had rendered so difficult to effect, but — she was gone. CHAPTER XYH. But yet I say, If imputation and strong circumstance, Which lead directly to the door of truth, Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. SlIAKSPEARE. General Fitzwalter retired early from the circle at the castle, and was passing rapidly through the hall to his carriage, when the figure of Lord Adelm caught his attention, moving under the projecting corridor, and tearing some paper in a thousand pieces, which he had trampled under his feet. His countenance was marked by strong traces of passion, and his obvious confusion and embarrassment, when his eyes met Fitzwalter, almost tempted the latter to pass on without addressing him : suddenly, however, turning back upon his steps, under the influence of a prompt and ardent sympathy, as easily excited as it was uncontrollable, he demanded : “ What is the matter ? You appear to suffer. Has anything happened to annoy you ?” “ Annoy me, indeed!” he repeated, while the general took his arm, and walked for a minute in silence by his side, “ What can have occurred within the last hour, when I saw you smiling in mockery at the buffoon, Lord Rosbrin ? Fancies, not facts, I trust : for I 482 FLORENCE MACARTHY. would rather believe your nymph had discovered herself, and so dispelled your illusions, than ” “ Discovered herself with a vengeance! she has discovered herself.” s “ Ha ! has she so ?” “ Oh ! with a frankness perfectly original. For, with an ingenuous confession, that she has made my vanity and credulity the dupes of her devices, and the instruments of her own views, she absolves me from her spells, restores me to my freedom of agency, re- leases me from leading-strings, and with a mysterious allusion to the convent of Nuestra Senora de las Angustias, the ruins of the Holycross, and my visit to Court Fitzadelm, she signs herself mine au revoir , Mary Magillicuddy. And thus,” he added, tearing to atoms the fragments of the letter he still held — “ thus ends a dream I would not have exchanged for any good real life could have bestowed.” “ I’m glad of it,” replied the general, emphatically ; and there was a beaming satisfaction in his animated countenance that ratified the assurance, as if he was himself relieved from some unpleasant conjecture which weighed heavily on his mind. “ All mystery is bad,” he added ; “ you will now be restored to yourself. Passion, genuine and correspondent to your age and character, will succeed to distempered fancies, realities to visions, and the heart w T ill act where the imagination has so long exclusively oper- ated.” “You think, then,” said Lord Adelm, “that I am to rest here, to return solemn thanks for my delivery, and to sit down quietly in the pleasant conviction of having been the dupe of some idle or wilful person, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 483 who construes the enthusiasm and elevation of my character into vanity and credulity, and insolently laughs at the simplicity with which I have submitted to the imposition. No, by all my hopes, time, acci- dent, or perseverance in the research, must yet dis- cover this arrogant unknown. If it be a man, the result is obvious, and if a woman — ” He clenched his hands, and ground his teeth. “ To be revenged, I would pursue her under every form, device, and stratagem, that could woo and win ; to punish, I would even marry her, and thus make her future life the slow- working expiation of her momentary inso- lence.” Either the general saw the folly of contending with the first burst of suffering of wounded self-love, or his own thoughts so deeply engrossed him, that he permitted a long silence to succeed to this singular denunciation ; then starting, as from a profound revery, he said : u I shall be detained here a few days longer, con- trary to my intention. Your election may be deter- mined in the interim ; and the revelation, which must then take place ” “ Yes,” interrupted Lord Adelm ; “ but it is an ob- ject with me that this revelation be protracted. Noth- ing effectual can be done till the opening of term.” “ Nay, you shall name the time, the moment, your- self. I too have my reasons for prolonging my in- cognito yet a little longer.” “ What !” said Lord Adelm, with a bitter smile, “ have you too a phantom to contend with ?” “ No : my object of contention, as you call it, is, simply, a woman.” 484 FLORENCE MACARTHY, “ The betrothed wife to which you alluded ?” asked Lord Adelm. “ You shall know all at a future moment,” was the reply. Here the opening of the drawing-room door, and the sound of approaching steps and voices, separated the friends. Lord Adelm retreated to his dressing- room, and the general threw himself into the Dunore chaise, and returned to his tower. The sentiment, inspired by one as much an object of suspicion as of admiration, occupied General Fitz- walter with a despotism, which a sense of honor, and of his own peculiar situation, could alone repress or resist. Still it possessed, it engrossed him ; it chased repose from his pillow by night ; it agitated and dis- ] turbed the dream of the morning ; and it drove him into scenes of solitude, wild as his passions, and lonely as his existence. It was his wish, and might almost be called his principle, to avoid the castle of Dunore ; yet he had no po»wer to accomplish the purpose ; and though in the interim which must necessarily elapse before the arrival of an answer from Florence Macarthy, he escaped the invitation of the marchioness, by the pre- tence of a visit to the romantic and locally celebrated glen and hermitage of the Gougane Barra, yet in four days that he had ridden about the country, he had seldom lost sight of the turrets of Dunore, or the ruined towers of Castle Macarthy. On the afternoon of the fifth day he found himself on the edge of a wild moor, or what in Ireland is called a shaking bog, which skirted the heights of Clotnottyjoy. He alighted from his horse to inquire FLORENCE MACARTHY. 485 for a bridle-way more safe than that he pursued, frorl a man who appeared whitewashing the walls of a wretched hut, which arose lonely and desolate amidst the bleak and dreary scene. As he advanced he per- ceived a woman, in a gray cloak and straw bonnet, standing near the cabin, and seemingly giving direc- tions. The sound of his horse’s feet caught her ear. She took off her bonnet, shook back her dark hair, and discovered the glowing countenance of Lady Clancare. General Fitzwalter started at this unexpected vision, and then advanced and moved his hat ; but wuth her upraised hand she beckoned him back, and exclaimed with much earnestness : “No, no, pray don’t come here : go back, General Fitzwalter, I beseech you.” “ For what reason ?” he demanded coolly, and still advancing. “ This is my road.” “ For a thousand reasons,” she replied, moving ra- pidly away, and speaking with, her head turned over her shoulder. “ One will suffice,” he rejoined, still approaching. “There is a fever raging in that house. Nay, it may not be safe even to come in contact with me.” “ In contact with you !” he answered, with a voice full of emotion, and now walking beside her, with his horse following at bridle’s length. “ But if a fever *rages here, why then are you here yourself?” he de- manded anxiously. “ Oh, because I bear a charmed life,” she returned, laughing, but quickening her pace, as if to get beyond the sphere of contagion ; “ because if I did not come, four wretches who lie there, dying for want of pro- 436 FLORENCE MACARTHY. per care, would perish. The neighbors hold this typhus in such dread, that though they come and leave a little drink at the door of the cabin, they dare | not enter. No, no, you shall not speak what you are going to say about charity and — a good heart ; that virtue always ascribed to those who have none — to the capricious and the unregulated. The fact is, these poor people are my tenants. I induced them to settle in this swampy tract, and feel myself in part answerable for their existence.” “ But if there is infection here ?” “ I laugh at the idea of infection ; that is, in my own person. The fever which sweeps away the poor people is, in my mind, the pure result of their poverty and its concomitants, filth and starvation. Their moral and physical ills are closely linked, and arise out of the same cause.” “ But how is it you warn others of a danger you contemn yourself?” “ The imagination,” she returned, smiling, “ goes a great way in this business, and I keep mine exclu- sively for my books. This disease I believe to be epidemic, and not infectious. I have exposed myself constantly to it these two years, and here I am, still directing Lawrence Toole how to whitewash his hut.” “ But,” she added, suddenly pausing, and slacken- ing her rapid pace, “ is not this rencounter a breach of our original stipulation ? We were not, I think, to hold any communication till the arrival of ” “ I did not understand that accidental rencounters came under the head of your proh bition, which, you perceive, I have otherwise religiously observed.” “ You take the advantage of the letter, and neglect FLORENCE MAOARTHY. 487 the spirit of the enactment, I observe, and neither keep the promise to the sense, nor the ear.” “ No, in this instance, as through life, I merely give myself up to the tide of circumstances as they flow ; adapt them to my wishes and my views as I can; render them serviceable to my purposes as I may ; turn them to the best account of which they are sus- ceptible ; but, when they become wholly untr actable and adverse, then I trust I shall stand the brunt of their resistance with fortitude, and, with Milton’s demon hero, acknowledge that 4 to suffer, as to do, our strength is equal.’ I had no hope of meeting your ladyship this morning ; but most assuredly I will not neglect the good the 1 gods provide me . 7 I am too selfish, perhaps, to consult your wishes ; but still you will not find me unprepared to obey your com- mands. Do you desire me to leave you ?” “ Wishes, obedience, and commands !” repeated Lady Clancare, shaking her head. “ You are resolved to leave me no female doubling to escape by. You bring me to my purgation at once, and put to the rout the host of little diplomacies with which we habitually come at our object, without any visible in- terference on our own part. Suppose, now, I did not wish you to go, and yet thought it right to command your departure. You see,” she added, with her bril- liant laugh, “ to what you have reduced me, and plenary confession is all now that remains.” “ If for one moment,” he added, with warmth, “ I may suppose you do not wish me to go, even your commands should not banish me. Will you take my arm, and permit me to see you home ?” She declined the offer wdth a slight bow, and after 488 FLORENCE MACARTHY. a short pause, observed, “ You seem, General Fitz- waiter, to have lived but little with women ?” “ So little, madam, that I fear I am scarcely fit to live with them, and yet am unable to live without them. Woman is to me the spring in the desert, precious and rare, seldom found in my life’s wild and dreary track ; but when found ” Lady Clancare looked full in his eyes, and, laying her forefinger on his arm, pronounced emphatically “ Florence Macarthy !” A deep crimson rushed over his face. “ Since,” he said, “ you revert yourself to that strange circumstance, you will allow me to enter fully on an explanation of conduct, governed only by that inevitable course of events which, in human life, governs everything.” “ Not one syllable,” she interrupted, eagerly. “ I am one of those legislators, the first to break the laws they make, but, withal, rigid as to the infringement of others — a perfect Lord Angelo. But raise your eyes to the right. Do you not see an abrupt conical hill ?” His eyes followed the direction of her hand. “ It is called,” she continued, “ Cahir Conreagh, the fort of the king, and is the scene of much romantic story. It rises, as you see, in a plain, open and sunny, like the life-path of the prosperous; that is your way; — and here, to the left, behold, is a little gloomy den, obscure and cloud-capped — it is rude and obstructed, and leads to solitudes and ruins — that is mine ; fare- well.” She turned abruptly away towards the spot she had so singularly described, and moved on with ra- pidity ; but Fitzwalter as rapidly followed and over- took her. FLORENCE MACART1IY. 489 « Lady Clancare,” he said, imperatively, “ yon must hear me. I will not neglect the opportunity afforded me by accident — -accident is fate, is fortune ; and fools or cowards only neglect its favors, or miss its tide. I am not much in the habit of governing my- self, or of being governed — more practised in com- mand than in obedience; yet I have obeyed you, without reservation, as far as your orders were di- rected by prudence, discretion, or any other cold, ne- cessary quality, which the world takes upon trust, in place of better feelings. I am prepared to obey you still, in the world. There, reject and banish me as you will, if it must be so ; but here, in this place, so lonely, no eye to watch, no tongue to wound, no malice to misrepresent, why should you refuse to hear me on a subject connected with the future des- tiny of one whose happiness you hold so dear to you ? Hitherto I have lived the creature of my own for- tunes, independent of any human being for my con- duct, without one object to interest, one tie to bind me ” “ Without one tie ?” interrupted Lady Clancare, emphatically, yet obviously intimidated by the im- petuosity of his manner; for he spoke with vehe- mence — his eyes flashing, his cheek glowing. “Well then,” he said, “if you persist in calling that a tie, it is to that tie I would allude. I would account to you for an act so romantic, that even the feelings which led to it can scarcely excuse it — my strange, equivocal, uncompleted marriage with Flo- rence Macarthy.” “ Then, General Fitzwalter,” replied Lady Clancare, with firmness, “ on this subject, neither here nor any- 490 FLORENCE MACARTHY. where ought I to hear you, until empowered to do so by Florence Macarthy herself. A few days must put you in possession of her own sentiments and deter- mination. But in the interim,” she added, with a smile, “ like other diplomatic agents, I must neither act nor speak without instructions.” “ Then, madam,” he replied, with petulance, “ it were, perhaps, best to relieve you from your over- cautious agency. I will fly myself to Florence Ma- carthy ; overtake, perhaps anticipate, a letter, which never should have been written before a personal in- terview had taken place ; and learn, viva voce , what it is idleness to wait for in dilatory suspense.” u Are you sure she will receive you ?” asked Lady Clancare, coolly. “ She must receive me,” was the stern reply. “ True, even a convent’s bars yield to a husband’s intrusion.” “ Husband !” repeated General Fitzwalter. “ Hus- band to a woman I scarcely looked upon ! whom I might not even again recognize !” u Yet so earnestly did she look at you,” said Lady Clancare, in a voice full of softness and reproach ; “ so well are you remembered, that from her descrip- tion alone I should have known you among a thou- sand. Hay, I did instantly recognize you, from the picture she had drawn, even before you were an- nounced in the hall of Dunore. So much for the rapidity of a woman’s perceptions, the fidelity of a woman’s memory, where the heart is engaged. “ The heart ! the heart engaged ?” he interrupted, “ in one sudden, short, agitated interview ! under such circumstances too 1” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 491 “The circumstances of that interview quickened and deepened the impression, and were calculated to affect and influence a woman’s feelings and imagina- tion. A soldier’s daughter was well fitted to be in- terested in a soldier’s virtues. She beheld you, for the first time, flushed with conquest, soothing a father’s death-bed anxieties, for the fate of his friend- less child, by the offer of all you had to bestow, your hand, fortune, and a name destined for immortality ; and when Florence Macarthy described you as bearing her wounded, dying parent in your arms, from the field of battle to the neighboring convent, from which she herself had beheld the fatal conflict — when she painted you as generously answering all his parental solicitudes, by offering to give his child the only pro- tection a man of your age could afford a woman of hers— when she dwells upon your valor and disinter- estedness, your prompt, uncalculating, romantic gen- erosity—” “ Lady Clancare,” said General Fitzwalter, in great emotion, and coloring deeply, “I cannot hear you out. That Miss Macarthy should have received such an impression, that you should thus recapitulate ” “Me!” she replied, carelessly: “you don’t suppose I was imposed upon by the representations of a love- sick girl? No, I have but little respect for military heroes. Luck and temperament usually form the compound of a hero; and for one Caesar on th^ list of military immortality, there is many an illiterate Marlborough, without education sufficient to spell his own dispatches, and many a brutal Saxe, without in-_ tellect enough to compose them. O ! your heroes follow a fearful and an hireling trade, at best : some- 492 FLORENCE MACARTHIf. times the butchers, sometimes 'the gaolers of the species; rarely its advocates or benefactors. Vain- glorious abroad, worthless at home, despotic in the camp, dull in the circle — -it has been well, though quaintly said : ‘ Hercules was a fool, and straight grew famous ; For fool’s the stuff of which heaven makes a hero.’ ” “ If a man,' 5 said Fitzwalter, with a bent brow, and a compressed lip, “ambitioned the character of a hero, your ladyship's description would but little flat- ter his passion.” “ I admit exceptions, however, and would make one in favor of the Librador, to whom American gratitude may yet raise statues ; but I do not admit them to Florence Macarthyf It has long been my system to oppose her fatal, fruitless prepossession in your favor, by representations calculated to weaken them; and when she would excuse your desertion, by the untoward circumstances of a party of royal troops rushing down upon the convent, at the mo- ment when the marriage ceremony was performing in its chapel, which obliged you to drop the hand of the weeping (and entre nous ), maudlin bride, and to seize the sword — when she dwells upon your being forced from the altar to the field, upon your bravely opposing, repulsing, pursuing a sanguinary foe, being surrounded, taken prisoner, condemned to death, rescued by your own devoted troop, then I take up the tale, to add — and once more free, and crowned with fresh laurels, did he return to lay them at your feet, to claim his half- widowed bride, to ratify his imperfect vows !” She paused, looked under her eyes ; and there was FLORENCE MACARTHY. 493 a malignant archness in her countenance which had its effect. In a tone of irritation and impatience he replied, “ I was the victim of circumstances. I did, however, return.” “ When ?” asked Lady Clancare hastily. “ At the expiration of some months, and found the convent, where Miss Macarthy had been placed by her father, during the campaign in which he fell to save me, razed to the ground by the Spanish army.” “And with the convent,” continued Lady Clan- care, laughing, “ fell your hopes and wishes, and all the et cetera of disappointed love. War was, in fact, your mistress, as glory was your passion ; and now Florence Macarthy is left to find herself the 1 spouse of God in vain for though, after your desertion, she struggled hard in her vocation, the human feeling was superior to the heavenly calling : ‘ not on the cross her eyes were fixed, but you.’ She followed you through all the public events of the day. Every gazette was a register of your actions and heroism. The guerilla chief, II Librador, became the hero of her imagination, that first stronghold in the pregna- ble garrison of a woman’s feelings.” She paused. The general sighed deeply, walked on with a slackened pace and folded arms, and lent not a pleased but an ardent attention, interrupted by occasional starts of amazement, while she again con- tinued ; “ Unwooed, unsought for, forlorn, abandoned, poor and friendless, the destruction of the convent which had afforded her an asylum, urged her return to Ireland. Since then her life has been a blank : with one bright object glittering upon its surface, like the brilliant spot, self-formed, in the eye, when 494 FLORENCE MACARTHT. all around is darkness. You, however, I trust, have come to dispel that darkness, and to give that bright speck a more definite form and a steadier lustre ; for I take it for granted you are returned in search of a wife, though I confess that you negotiate the re- covery with a sang froid that renders your ardor in the research very doubtful.” u I came to this country,” he said, thoughtfully, and with a countenance marked by painful embar- rassment, “ upon a very different business, upon a mission less generous than you suppose.” He pressed his hand to his forehead, and abruptly broke off; then, after a few moments’ silence, interrupted only by a deep inspiration, he added, “ I will see Miss Macarthy, madam. I will leave Dunore for her con- vent to-morrow ; and if her feelings are disposed as you describe them, if her religious like her marriage vows are still unratified — — ” “ If they were ratified,” interrupted Lady Clancare, eagerly, “ with her great-uncle, Don Dermutio Ma- carthy, a Cardinal of considerable influence with 'the Pope, and resident at Rome, there would be no diffi- culty in procuring a dispensation.” Then, after a long pause, she added with earnestness — “ Go then, General Fitzwalter, and hear your destiny from the lips of her whose life and happiness lies, I fear, in your decision ; and take with you my prayers for your happiness, my hopes that whatever has drawn you to this poor country, it will yet benefit by your talents and philanthropy; and that the liberator of the enslaved in other lands may become the advocate of the oppressed in his own.” She spoke w r ith a feeling, an energy that was in- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 495 fectious; and when she pronounced “farewell,” and extended her hand to Fitzwalter, he seized it with a grasp almost painful in its pressure ; his eyes were fixed upon her, as he searched, or would have searched, her inmost soul ; and the agitation of his countenance evinced the conflict of deep and strongly-opposed emotions by which his own was torn ; yet he continued silent. “ Should Miss Macarthy’s ^answer arrive in your absence, enclosed to me,” demanded Lady Clancare, gently, but vainly endeavoring to liberate her hand, “ where am I to forward it ?” “ If,” said he, dropping her hand with a deep sigh, and recovering from his abstraction, — “ if you expect an answer so soon — ” he paused. “ I must have one in a day or two at furthest,” she replied. “ I did not trust your embassy to our uncertain cross-posts ; I dispatched one of our Irish pedestrian couriers, who, if not quite as graceful as 1 a feathered mercury,’ is always trustworthy. He will return wdth an answer in the shortest possible time that the surprise, I may say joy, of poor Flo- rence will permit, in order that she may coolly sit down and reply to your unexpected proposals.” “ Then,” he said, “ I will remain here, as I first in- tended, until this — answer — arrives.” “ Perhaps it were best,” replied Lady Clancare, carelessly ; “ but you must now leave me. I know not how I have been thus led on to enter upon a topic forsworn; a woman is always the slave of circum- stances and of her own garrulity.” “ But I have still much to say,” replied Fitzwalter, with earnestness, “ much to ask,” 496 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ You must not say it now, not here, for we are near the high road to Dunore. I must not be seen walking with you by the persons of this neighbor- hood, who have no quadrant to take the altitude of my character, and yet affect to calculate my conduct. I have set out in life with wind and tide against me ; and now that, by prudence and circumspection, I have been enabled to anchor in a safe, though rude harbor, I would fain have no enemy to contend with but 4 winter and rough weather.’ Yet, even here, calumny has reached me.” “ But if you forbid my intrusion elsewhere, you will at least release me from an observance of your orders of reserve at the Castle of Dunore. Will you permit me to address you there when we meet ?” “ Not for a wilderness of monkeys,” she replied eagerly, and smiling ; “ for I hold my tenure in Lady Dunore’s favor by a clause, in which, somehow or other, your not appearing to know me makes an item.” “Indeed! But, good God, what object can her friendship be to you, or—” “ Her friendship ! the maniac !” she interrupted, with an indignant laugh that changed the whole ex- pression of her countenance. “ She my friend ! — she is my instrument, my agent, my tool, my anything. You look amazed, General Fitzwalter; it will not lessen your amazement when I tell you that I am playing a part upon which all the prosperity and hap- piness of my life depends. It was necessary that I should get into the Castle of Dunore, and obtain an influence over its mistress. This was effected by means as wild and extravagant as her mind and habits. I was to astonish her into prepossession, and secure FLORENCE MACARTHY. 497 her by a series of events which should gratify her love of strong excitements, and keep up the constitu- tional fever of her being ; which should make her mine, give me the use of her house, the sanction of her authority, and keep aloof the idle, frivolous circle, which, privileged by the charter of society, would, out of mere curiosity, without beseeching, have gained admission to my den, intruded upon the time they could neither compensate nor occupy, and then have left me to oblivion and neglect. As it is, I counter- act the pernicious influence of the Crawleys on her mind, serve the poor of my neighborhood, by direct- ing the caprices of Lady Dunore to relieve their vrants, keep oft* her train by her own prohibitions, and have obtained ample ‘ scope and room enough’ for all my machinations ; for, to tell you a secret, at this moment I move more puppets by my art than one.” As she spoke, she looked like the magician she de- scribed herself. “ I perceive,” she continued, with a voice and glances which became every moment more acute and penetrating, “ that while I gain upon your imagination, I lose in your esteem ; but I shall reco- ver it : 4 Le terns et mci as Cardinal Mazarine used to say. When you become acquainted with the ob- ject, you will admit the legality of the means, extra- ordinary as they are, extraordinary as they will ap- pear to you ; for when you know that I have imposed myself upon Lady Dunore as your wife ” “ My wife !” he exclaimed, starting with the look of one thunder- stricken. “ Yes, your wife!” and she laughed, but colored deeply, and turned pale in the succeeding moment. 498 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “In a word, I have assumed the story of Florence Macarthy ; have persuaded Lady Dunore that I have found my renegade husband in her circle without being recognized by him ; for with a little dramatic license, such as being much changed in my person, having only been dimly seen through the shade of a Spanish mantilla by my unknown bridegroom ; with all those combinations which might have existed in the instance of Florence Macarthy, (nay, which did, according to her own account,) I have imposed on her by facts extraordinary beyond the utmost daring of fiction. Her object is that I shall win this cold, insensible husband as Lady Clancare, whom as Flo- rence Macarthy I could not secure. While engaged in the perpetration of this scheme she is wholly in my power. But if you really should fall in love with me, General Fitzwalter,” she added playfully, “it would be the ruin of all my plans, by curtailing the time necessary for their accomplishment ; that is, if you betray your unhappy passion; for a married man, the husband of my own, dear, long-suffering Florence, must be unhappy, you know, for the sake of the moral of poetical justice.” General Fitzwalter, stunned in the first instance, continued to listen to her with increased emotion ; but when he would have spoken she interrupted him and continued : “ I am playing a desperate card ; I have set my all upon the chance. I am actuated by the two strong- est passions of which a woman’s heart is capable. They have each their object. One has already al- most succeeded ; the other” — she pressed her hand upon her heart, as if to check the violence of its FLORENCE MACARTHY. 499 throb, suddenly awakened by some singular associa- tion. At that moment her quick eye discovered some person moving slowly under the stone fence which separated the heath on which they were walk- ing from a car-road ; but the figure instantly disap- peared, and the deep cuts in the bog on the other side the road favored concealment, if' that were an object. “ We are observed,” said Lady Clancare, anxious- ly ; “ no retirement here is sacred from observation. I suppose you are aware that you are an object of suspicion and of attention to Mr. Crawley ?” “ What, now ?” said Fitzwalter ; “ why should you suppose it ?” “ I know it. Many respectable, but timid persons in the neighborhood, observing your residence in the country, without any ostensible object, or occupation, are anxious to have you removed, even although you are received at Dunore, the ordinary criterion of ail worth and distinction. Your reception there is at- tributed to the predilection of Lord Adelm.” “ Lord Adelm,” he observed, “ is one whose vir- tues are overshadowed by his fojlies. He is noble, just, generous and disinterested.” “ Yain, capricious, fanciful and heartless,” she added. “ And yet,” said General Fitzwalter, turning ab- ruptly his eyes on Lady Clancare, “ he is the star that holds the ascendant, that governs the conduct of one who otherwise seems above all human con- trol. Lady Clancare,” he added, rapidly, “ I have now not the slightest doubt that he is the object of what you have yourself termed your machinations 500 FLORENCE MACARTHY. of the part you are playing, and of the agency so ingeniously, whimsically and singularly conducted; so singularly conducted that it cannot be surprising, with his heated imagination and unregulated fancy, he should ascribe it to superhuman influence. All that you have so candidly confessed deepens and confirms this suspicion, and that he is the object of the passions by which you are actuated, the strong- est of which a woman’s heart is susceptible.” Lady Clancare interrupted him : “ May I beg your assistance,” she said, offering him her hand, for they had now reached a stile, at which her cabriolet stood, attended by a boy. Then seating herself, and taking the reins and whip, she turned her laughing eyes full round on Fitzwalter, and nodding her head significantly, she said, “ Le terns et moi ,” and drove off. Fitzwalter stood transfixed to the spot on which Lady Clancare had left him: his eye still followed the rustic carriage that conveyed her, till it descended into the glen she had pointed out to his notice, and was lost in its windings. He then turned shortly round to mount his horse, and came abruptly in con- tact with some person who stood close behind him. It was O Leary. There was a shrewd, sly glance, lurking in the old man’s eyes, mingled with the sur- prise and pleasure expressed at the general’s appear- ance, which did not escape him at whom it was levelled. He colored slightly, and said, with some coldness, “ So, O’Leary !” u Agus cead mille failthe , your honor,” said O’Leary, moving his hat : u ten thousand welcomes, and ten million welcomes home; and hopes the Gougane FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 501 Barra plazed you, sir, and Father O’Mahony’s her- mitage.” Fitzwalter was never less in a mood to with- stand the annoyance of unseasonable intrusion. His thoughts were deeply occupied, and beyond the power of interest, or distraction from any other sub- ject. The presence of O'Leary, and the peculiar and significant expression of his countenance, embarrassed and provoked him. He mounted his horse in silence ; but the tremulous and boggy surface he was treading obliged him to walk the spirited animal slowly and cautiously over the irregular and undulating turf. O’Leary walked beside him for a few minutes in si- lence, raising his eyes at intervals to his face, with an affectionate and apprehensive look, as one who feared to have offended ; at last, with a deep sigh, he said : “ I’m afraid I’m not agreeable to your honor.” “ It is certain, O’Leary,” said the general, with a petulance of temper he could not command, “that you do not leave me many moments to myself.” “Don’t I, gineral, jewel?” said O’Leary sorrow- fully. “ Then aren’t it quite na’t’ral, that where the heart is, there will the body be also ; troth it will.” “ But, my dear O’Leary,” said Fitzwalter, in a voice of kindness, “you must be aware that there are moments when the presence of the dearest friend may be felt as intrusion.” “ His dear O’Leary !” murmured the schoolmaster to himself. “ Why, then, see here, gineral, jewel, sorrow bit but I’d throw myself from the top of Mangerton, afore I’d be a burthen to you, dead or alive; and axes nothing bettef in life than just to sarve you by day and by night, and to be looking in 502 FLORENCE MACARTHT. your face, when your back’s turned, not to be un- plazing to you ; and wasn’t thinking of you at all, at ail, only wondering when you’d be back; and was going on an errand to the Bhan Tierna from Father Mulligan, about his dues, owed to him by a poor family on Clotnottyjoy, and heard from little Ulic Macshane, her boy, who was leading round the ca- briole by the bog road, that she was here convenient at Larry Tool’s cabin, a fever house” (and he crossed himself). “Well, it’s only a thrifle, them dues,” went on O’Leary, “ but thrifle as it is, Shane Gartly wasn’t able for it, in respect of great sickness, and none to get in his potatoes for him, and he on the broad of his back, only just for the Bhan Tierna, the blessing of God and the Virgin Mary light on her every day she sees the sun. When she got Clottnottyjoy into her hands, it was a desolate, neglected place, with only a little handful of cattle grazing on it in the autumn time. The first ever she settled on it was this Shane Gartly, whom she found big, bare, and ragged, walking the world with a wife and four childre, and a blanket and kettle; and says she, if you’ll settle down here, my lad, and labor, I’ll give you a taste of land to be yours forever, and help you to raise a shed, and lend you three pounds to stock and begin the world with ; and so she did. Under God, and her ladyship, Shane was doing bravely, and many a one followed his example, and Christians were seen now where only bastes thriv before ; but, Hand facile emergunt quorum virtutibus obstat, Res angusta domi, as the Roman poet sayeth, and it’s true for him ; for FLORENCE MACARTHY. 503 with all the labor and pains and industry of the eraturs, let them work night and day, and let them have ever such good friends to back them, it’s hard for them to get before the world; and then, if any accident happens, if the cow dies, or the rood of bar- ley fails, it's the greatest of distress that comes over them ; and so it was with Shane, when the hard sum- mer and the fever overtook him. But I’ll ingage, with God and the Bhan Tierna on his side, he’ll fight it out yet.” “ From your account, O’Leary,” said the general, interested in a conversation that took for its topic the object which exclusively engrossed him — “ from your account, Lady Clanclare is the tutelar genius of the soil and its inhabitants.” “ Why then it’s just that she is, the lares- and the penates of the poor man’s cabin, long life to her; and if there were many of the likes of her, plaze your honor, who would be after staying at home with us, w T hy then the reformed and the civil sort would be cherished, and the poor and the ignorant would be instructed and well exampled ; and sorrow one of us w r ould be beholding to them Crawley pirates, bad luck to them, and their likes, who, by polling and pilling the poor to make good their own fortunes, and carrying on many false and cautelous practices, ruin the land. But though they send strangers to rule us, strangers I mane to our history, our natures, and our ways, that neither know, nor read, nor study us, and though, as Sir Henry Sydney said to the Queen, they pound us as in a mortar — though they perish us w T ith want, and burn us with fire, still the Irish spirit is to the fore ; and until the sword of ex- 504 FLORENCE MACARTHY. termination passes over us, as was once proposed, it is not in the breath of the English to blow it out, or extinguish it.” “ I doubt, however, the existence of this Irish spirit,” returned the general, gratified to observe that the mind of O’Leary was becoming hourly more col- 'i lected-as the cause of its derangement was removed. “ The result of this misrule and oppression of ages, I of this religious disqualification, of this arraying one- half the people against the other, by fanaticism and jealousy, is to extinguish what you call Irish spirit, by which, assuredly, you do not mean the spirit of idle, unfounded discontent.” “Unfounded!! BachalEssu!” interrupted O’Leary, vehemently ; “ when ould Elizabeth herself said of the government of Ireland, it will be objected to us, as to Tiberius by Bato, concarning the Dalmatians, ‘ you it is that be in fault, who commit your flocks, not to shepherds, but to wolves.’ Unfounded! when three-fourths of the people are, as it were, branded on the forehead, like the descendants of Cain, and wandering in foreign lands, because they profess the faith of their forefathers. For, as I said to Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, when he scoffed at Butler’s Lives of the Saints this morning, when I found him seated his lone in your chamber, gineral, and the blessed and holy book in his hands ” “ Lord Adelm ! was he at the Friary to-day !” “ He was, gineral, and yesterday — and did not much like his turning espial on you, like Jemmy Bryan, who watches your very shadow.” “ Indeed ! But did Lord Adelm leave no message for me ?” FLORENCE MACARTHY. 505 “ None in life, plaze your honor. Only, hearing you might be expected this morning, sat him down, and took up Fra Denis O’Sullivan’s books, one by one, and held a disputation with me, wherein he showed more wit than faith, until Madam Florence Macarthy s handkerchief caught his eye, lying on the table, where you left it, gineral, and forthwith he put me on my trial.” “What do you mean by that ?” “ Crass examining me all about it, gineral, how it came there, and marvelling that it should belong to Madam Macarthy, and she not in it.” . , “ And did he take it away ?” “ No, plaze your honor, gineral, he did not; and minded me of the honorable Gerald with his curling auburn hair, and toss back of the head, as if the world was made to be his slaves — the very moral of the father of him ; a great calabalero in his time.” At this moment, a turn in the path brought them up the high road to Dunore, by a causeway formed over a bog dike by branches of trees and sods of turf ; and Lord Adelm himself appeared, followed by a groom, and rode up to them. He looked somewhat confused, as if the rencontre was neither pleasant nor expected. It was, however, inevitable, and he drew up as Fitzwalter approached him. To his abrupt in- quiry of whither Lord Adelm was going, he replied, carelessly : “ To follow your example ; change the scene for a day or two, get rid of time, myself, of the society with which I have, for my sins, been for some days shut up ; in a word, promener mes ennuis aitleurs .” The general threw his eyes over the valis strapped 506 FLORENCE MACARTHY. behind the groom ; but Lord Adelm, as if to avoid all further interrogation, came close to him, and con- tinued, in a low voice, — “ I congratulate you on your escape these few days back. Those who were fools before are now mad, stark, staring mad ; bitten by Rosbrin, and that art- ful little adventuress, Lady Clan care, w r ko has now brought them all round to her side, even Lady Geor- giana and Lord Frederick, and who is taking the short-cut to Rosbrin’s heart by flattering his stage- struck vanity.” “ Lady Clancare ! — adventuress ! — Lord Rosbrin’s heart !” repeated Fitzwalter breathlessly. “Did you not observe the other night that he was the Prometheus that awakened the statue ? that it was for him she kindled, sparkled and blazed forth ? All her words were addressed to him, and all her dramatic airs and citations, and setting my mother afloat on the article of private theatricals, — her flip- pant cast of the characters of Comus, her assigning the daudling parts of the prosing brothers to us, and giving the hero to him ; all go to the same tune of Kilrosbrin, and the great house in Portman Square.” “ I perceived her kindling, as you call it ; but that Lord Rosbrin was her inspiration, ’tis preposterous to suppose.” “ Why had she ears or eyes but for him ?” “ She certainly did not do the honors by your self- love, nor by mine, for she noticed neither,” said Fitz- walter, endeavoring to smile through the air of thoughtfulness w r hich had taken possession of his features. “ Yes,” said Lord Adelm, biting his lips, “ as she FLORENCE MACARTHY* 507 tied up Rosbrin’s leg, I heard her call us ‘ the two Gentlemen of Verona;’ and the fool laughed as if she had said the cleverest thing in the world ; the soubri- quet, too, has stuck to us ever since, for when you were missed, you were inquired for by the title of 1 Sweet Valentine,’ and I was addressed as c Gentle Proteus.’ You will find them all in the paroxysm of the dramatic mania at Dunore, at least they have been so these four days; and Lady Clancare will keep up the epidemic till she is secure of exchanging her castle of Ballydab for the mansion of Kilrosbrin.” So saying, he galloped off, followed by his groom, who had been talking to O'Leary ; and Fitzwalter, as one who had undergone a sudden revulsion of ideas and feelings, heaved a deep sigh, and continued his route to the Friary. By a few indirect questions, he discovered that O’Leary had given Lord Adelm sufficient notices on the proprietorship of the handkerchief to induce him to learn the address, situation, and story of its sup- posed owner; and he entertained no doubt that his friend was now engaged in a pursuit of errantry, in the supposition of having discovered the unknown spell which had governed his recent life. But no- thing could come of nothing. If Lady Clancare, the frank, though mysterious, unaccountable, incompre- hensible Lady Clancare, could be depended upon, the devotion of Florence Macarthy to himself, ideal and romantic as it appeared, would sufficiently frustrate the hopes of Lord Adelm, whether they sprang from vengeance or from love. If, however, contrary to all expectation, prepossession yielded to ambition, he would himself stand released from an engagement 508 FLORENCE MACAKTHY. to which honor alone now bound him. In either case, the pursuit and absence of Lord Adelm boded him no' ill ; it was, indeed, a subject dwelt upon but for a mo- ment, and rapidly forgotten for one which gradually possessed itself of his mind with an uncontrollable influence. Lady Clancare’s views on Lord Rosbrin, as detailed to him by Lord Adelm, he could neither credit nor disbelieve ; he had not yet been a witness of the operations upon which Lord Adelm’s inferences were founded. He saw at once that, like all vain persons, Fitzadelm was easily piqued by the semblance of ne- glect, even in a woman who neither interested nor at- tracted him, and that his suspicions might have originated in the discoloring source of wounded self- love. He resolved, therefore, to judge for himself, and for this purpose once more to join the circle at Dunore — painful as it was, to become involved in Lady Clancare’s strange intrigue, and to support the character assumed by her direction. Wrapped in reverie, he was still seated before the untasted dinner which O’Leary had provided for him, when a note from Lady Clancare increased the pulsa* tion of his heart, and propelled the blood with a vio- lence that induced O’Leary to observe, as he stood watching him : “ Ho bad news, I hope, gineral, sir ? It was a bit of a gossoon gave old Morraigh that missive, your honor, while I was attending on you, sir, and hope the Crawleys have no hand in it. Devil speed the whole kish* of them, I pray !” “ Inquire if the messenger waits,” said Fitzwalter, * Kish, a basket. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 509 and when O’Leary left the room he re-perused the note, already hastily read. It ran as follows : “ General Fitzwalters letter has been received and acknowledged. The struggle of contending feelings prevents an immediate decision, and an interval for reflection is consequently required. Love and pride, hope and fear, are all at variance. Meantime, it is expected General F. will not present himself at the Convent of the Annunciation without a special invita- tion. Should Lady Clancare have the honor of meet- ing General Fitzwalter this evening at Dunore Castle, she may find some moment, a la dcrobee , for being more explicit. “ Castle Macarthy. Monday , six o'clock .” The handwriting of Lady Clancare, the paper folded by her, fluttered, the pulse of him to whom it was addressed, and for a moment even the nature of the communication was forgotten. When at last re- verted to, the contents of the note came like a re- prieve ; he believed that there was no necessity for remaining where he was to receive the sentence by which he was resolved to abide. He had arisen from the table, and was about to replace the note in its en- velope, when the seal caught his attention ; its motto w^as “ Sou utile ainda que bricando.” CHAPTER XVin. Su, svegliatevi da bravi, Su, corragio o buona gente. Vogliam star allegramente, Vogliam ride re e scherzar. Il Don Giovanni. I know yon all— and will awhile uphold The unyok’d humor of your idleness. Shakspeare. In the brief sketch which Lord Adelm had made of the social economy of the Castle of Dunore, he had scarcely exaggerated the epidemic influence of the reigning folly of the day. The dramatic mania which had seized the marchioness, indirectly or di- rectly favored the views, interests, or vanity of every member of her circle. It broke through the spell of that all-pervading demon, ennui, and provided that something to do, or to discuss, so essential to those who are habitually dependent upon external circum- stances for occupation and interest ; to those who, from their elevated position in society, are unprac- tised in the exercise of their own resources. It re- moved likewise the prying eye of concentrated ob- servation from those who wished to elude its glances ; and, by opening the door to strangers, it enlarged a circle whose members had long become weary of each other. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 511 Even Conway Crawley and his aunt, the only per- sons of that family then at the castle, found their ac- count in an event, which afforded to the poetical vanity of one an opportunity of writing an opening address, while it left him a more undisputed manage- ment of the Glannacrime election ; and to the other it held out means of operating the conversion of Lady Dunore, which overcame her conscientious aversion to theatricals, private or public, and recon- ciled her to the sin, as an instrument of contingent good. Meantime her own little frippery tastes and paste- board talents had ample scope in planning decora- tions for the prosenium of the new theatre, in as- sisting Lord Rosbrin in the getting up of stage pro- perties, and in suggesting devices and mottoes to or- nament the frontispiece. She disapproved, it is true, and spoke against the whole business with edifying eloquence; but she seized not less willingly the scissors and the pencil, at the command of Lady Dunore ; domineering over the dressmakers of the theatrical wardrobe, as over the semptresses of the cheap repository ; dictating to machinists as she had done to neophytes, and flattering herself that she was forming a balance to the preponderating influence of Lady Claneare, who had so nearly turned the vacillating scale of her patroness’s favor against her. The difficulties, obstacles, and contrarieties, which were to be overcome, or reconciled, made up the 'whole charm of the arrangement to Lady Dunore, who, in her capacity of manageress, had to contend with that inordinate vanity, that overweening amour propre, usually attributed to actors, public or private; 512 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the contrariety, though wearied, fatigued, and fe- vered, was not less a source of gratification than of annoyance. It was in vain that plays were selected, proportion- ate to what Lord Rosbrin technically called “ the strength of the company,” and that parts were ju- diciously cast, according to the talents of the re- spective actors. The corps dramatique of Dunore was a company of first-rates; all stars, all chiefs, either of the sock or buskin, or of both : none were subalterns ; and, with a profusion of supernumerary Romeos and Doricourts, Macbeths and Macheaths, there were none to take the inferior characters. A young lady from Cork (introduced by Miss Crawley as an “ Irish gentlewoman bred and born,” soon to come forward on the Dublin boards, and already, by the stamp of private opinion, superior to the Barries and Siddonses of other times,) took possession at once of the tragic heroines, with a spirit of monopoly that was not without opposition. Contentions ran so high on the subject of Othello, that at last it was laid aside; and three tragedies were placed in the stock list, in which each of the tragedians were in turn to play the principal part, and engross exclusively the attention of the audi- ence. Lady Dunore, meanwhile, far from reconciling these dramatic disputes, endeavored by every species of tracasserie to nourish and perpetuate them. Alter- nately chosen by the contending parties as referee and umpire, she became the very genius of discord ; and before the first rehearsal, one-half the company had sent the other to Coventry, and held no commu- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 513 nication but in their assumed characters of heroes and heroines. In this floating capital of vanity and exhibition, the largest portion of stock seemed to have been con- tributed by Lady Clancare. The first line in comedy had been assigned to her by Lord Rosbrin ; and the oddity, whim, and originality with which she de- livered certain passages in the Rosalinds, Beatrices, and Roxalanas, whether they were or were not true to the author’s conception, obtained universal ad- miration. The influence, however, which she had obtained was not exclusively through her histrionic talent. She had made herself necessary to the amusement of those so difficult to amuse ; and she consequently as- sumed an overweening importance, which never fails to succeed with indolence, or mediocrity, in all ranks. She now affected to consider acting as the first of talents : she spoke, as if a great tragedian or come- dian, male or female, was of more consequence to society than the philosopher who instructs, the genius who enlightens, or the artist who improves it : and she who, as an author, an inventor, Or an originator, had appeared in this bon-ton circle, modest, nervous, timid, and unpretending, now, in her newly assumed character of an actress, an imitator, a detailer of other person’s ideas, became imposing, self-sufficient, and inconsequent. She took without hesitation the place which the new prepossessions of the frivolous society in which she lived had assigned her, and gave that boundless fling to whim and caprice, in 'which the spoiled of every class indulge, at the ex- pense of those who make them what they are. 514 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Always surprising, or disappointing', she set calcu- lation at defiance ; and the certainty that the corps dramatique could not do without Ler, rendered them submissive to all her oddities. Still refusing to sleep at Dunore, a carriage, horses, and servants, were kept in continued requisition to go between that mansion and Castle Macarthy, a journey which they performed a dozen times a day. Not unfrequently she was su- perintending her turf clamps, while her Solyman, the magnificent, fretted his hour upon the stage in ex- pectation of his sultana;— or was busied with literary composition, or in getting in her potatoes, while Or- lando stood in the forest of Arden, in vain attendance on his whimsical Rosalind. But while she thus ill- treated her co-partners, for authors she had no mercy. Seemingly occupied with the idea that she alone could amuse or interest the audience, her efforts to stand supereminently forward, to secure the leading points and “ clap-traps,” as Lord Rosbrin called them, were incessant and extravagant. She cut, interpolated, subjoined, transposed, and changed the text of her part, until scarcely an original intention of the man- gled author remained; and in this sacrifice to her monopolizing ambition, Shakspeare and O’Keeffe, Ben Jonson and Morton, the author of the day, or the poet of the ages, were treated with equal severity, or rather with equal indifference. Still, however, dis- satisfied with all she could effect by efforts, naturally opposed by the contending selfishness of rival candi- dates, she finally resolved (and her versatile talents forwarded the intention) to write a monologue for herself, in which, uniting various characters, she would alone occupy the stage and the audience. FLORENCE MACARTlIY. 515 The sketch she gave of her interlude (then new and unworn) met with general approbation. Even the literary talent expended upon its composition was forgiven, in favor of the more highly-prized ability which was requisite to enact it ; and they who would have scarcely inquired the name of the person who ( produced the clever thing, were wild in praise of the j actress who only realized the conceptions “ But, good heaven ! my dear Lady Clancare,” ob- j served the marchioness, as Lady Clancare, the centre of a circle of listeners, concluded the reading of the rough sketch of her monologue, “ why don’t you write plays, instead of those romantic tales about your own country, which everybody reads, and no- body believes ?” “ Ay, why, indeed !” said Lord Rosbrin. “ Because,” replied Lady Clancare, “ if I wrote plays, I am afraid I must draw characters.” “ To be sure,” said Lady Dunore ; “ and what then ? Is there anything so delightful as characters ?” “ Provided they resemble nobody,” said Lady Clancare. . u How do you mean ?” asked the marchioness. “ Simply that, should I ever abandon my high strain of romance, by the advice and supplication of my dear friends, les belles et bonnes dames de par le monde , and hold the mirror up to life, you would all fancy you detected in it your own reflections, and each 1 Would cry, that was levelled at me.’ ” “ Certainly,” said Lady Ceorgiana ; “ if one saw one’s self shown up, one would feel and resent it, and 516 FLORENCE MACARTHY* so, too, I hope, would all one’s friends; at least, I should expect it.” ‘ But what is the genre of character,” said Lady Clancare, “ which, if in true keeping to life and man- ners, should not be found to resemble anybody? There is no beau ideal in human life ; combine quali- ties as you may, to the very verge of extravagance, the world will furnish models, trace likenesses, and as- sign originals. Let your conceptions be as universal as they can— paint classes and describe genera, classes and genera are still made up of individuals ; and even vanity will find out resemblances where malice could not trace similitude. There, indeed, my patience quite fails me. Conscious vice, conscious absurdity, and apprehensive eccentricity, when combined with masculine energies and decided volitions, may be ex- cused for indulging in such fanciful appropriations ; but that the walking no-characters of every-day life, the dear, dull 6 Unfinished things, one knows not what to call, Their generation’s so equivocal,’ should imagine themselves fit subjects for indignant reprehension, or sportive caricature, and live in fear of authors, lest they should put them in their books.” “ But why write at all ?” exclaimed Lord Rosbrin, who was now considered as the professed admirer of Lady Clancare, and who took an interest in all she said or did. “ Simply,” she replied, “ to live — you may, perhaps, add quelle necessity ; and, perhaps, also,” she added significantly, “ you are right.” “ No,” answered Lord Rosbrin, “ I should reply no such thing. I would have you live to be the first FLORENCE MACARTHY. 517 actress of the day, which you would, should you ever be tempted to go on the stage” “ One never did see a peeress on the stage,” said Lady Dunore, delighted with the new idea “ it would be quite curious, charming.” “ So it would,” said Lady Clancare, as if suddenly struck with the proposal; and inclined to adopt it. “ You would have made the first actress in the world,” continued Lord Rosbrin, “ and, perhaps, would net ten or twenty thousand pounds in a year or two.” “ More than you could make in a long life by writ- ing the best book that ever was read,” observed Lady Dunore. “ A great deal more,” replied Lady Clancare. “ Besides,” continued Lord Rosbrin, “ so far from derogating from your rank, it would probably pro- mote it. The greenroom is now the shortest road to the red bench.” “ Exactly so,” replied Lady Clancare. “ And many English peers,” continued Lord Ros- brin, with meaning in his looks, “ who would not think of you as a gentlewoman, or a genius, would be happy to lay their honors and their fortunes at your feet, as a celebrated and popular actress.” “ Chi pent se rapporter a votes, par exempted said Lord Frederick. “Then,” said Lady Dunore, “you would be so much more fetee as an actress than as a genius.” “ Besides,” said Lord Rosbrin, “ who cares when an author dies ?” “Nobody,” said Lady Clancare, shaking her head. “ What is there in the death of twenty celebrated 518 FLORENCE MACARTHY. writers, to the solemnity of one great tragedian tak- ing leave of the stage? Handkerchiefs streaming, eyes winking, sobs heaving, laurels flying, awful pauses, broken sentences, and hysterical screams. I’d rather be a great actor, taking leave of the stage, than die the greatest hero of the age. 7 ’ “ Then when you do die,” continued Lord Ros- brin, heated by his subject, “ what honors await you ! Dukes hold the pall — earls chief mourners — Dead March in Saul — monument in Westminster — dust mingled with kings and conquerors !” Here a sort of Irish howl, bursting from the lips of Lady Clancare, produced a shout of laughter from all present, save Lord Rosbrin, to whom she replied, shaking her head, and wiping her tearless eyes, “ Ho, never did I think I should weep so much at my own funeral; for I am now determined to adopt your lordship’s advice; and like other dramatis per some 1 to that complexion must I come at last. 7 ” “ Then, 7 ’ said Lord Rosbrin, “ I promise yen com- plete success,” and he added, in a low whisper, “ more than that.” “ In that case,” said Mr. Pottinger (who, since Lady Clancare’s popularity with the “people of quality,” had taken her into special consideration), “ in that case I fear your ladyship cannot go to the castle, that is, on public days. You could not well take your place on the red bench as an actress, although you are a peeress.” “ That, indeed,” said Lady Clancare, as if suddenly struck with the mortifying conviction, “ that makes all the difference.” “ But,” said Lord Rosbrin* “in that case you will FLORENCE MACARTHY. 519 not come to Ireland, except as a star, in the after season, when Covent Garden is shut ; and I'll answer for it, the viceregals will be enchanted to give you les petite s entrees at the Phoenix. I remember when the arrival of an Italian opera singer in Dublin turned the heads of the court, and of all the officials, major and minor. Imagine, then, how another Darren, another Abingdon, would be received.” “I wish, Lady Clancare,” said Lady Georgiana, with her usual supercilious, high-dame-of-quality air, “ I wish you would raconier a little of your history : I dare say itf would be very amusing and odd.” “ A mourir cle plaisir , no doubt,” said Lord Frede- rick, raising his glass to her face. “ No,” said Lady Clancare, conceitedly throwing herself into an arm chair, “ I am not equal to details to-night : besides, should my story be serious, you would yawn over it ; should it be romantic, you would quiz it; if philosophical, you would not under- stand it; if commonplace, you would abuse it; it extraordinary, you would doubt it. Now it happens to be all this, and I should thus unite every species of criticism against me.” “I have not a doubt,” said Lord Rosbrin, “ that your life would be quite as amusing as George Anr.e Bellamy’s apology, or Miss Baddeley’s memoirs.” “ And as edifying, too ?” asked Lady Clancare. “ But I appeal to Lady Dunore, if it be possible for me to reveal all the circumstances of my life ?” “ By no means,” said Lady Dunore, with a mys- terious air, and throwing her eyes to that part of the room where General Fitz waiter stood, and she in- stantly gave the conversation another turn. 520 FLORENCE MACARTHY. After a short struggle Fitzwalter had yielded to the temptation of Lady Clancare’s indirect appoint* ment, and had joined the evening circle at Dunore, where he was received with courtesy by the mar- chioness, but with indifference by all the rest. Mr. Daly ; the only person capable of appreciating him, had departed; driven away by the noise, confusion and discomfort, the bus$e and contentions of the pri- vate theatricals. The little society that had been en- joyed at Dunore Castle was now quite broken up, conversation was at an end, and even cards and bil- liards were suspended, the whole intercourse being confined to criticisms on the drama, compliments be- tween the actors on their respective merits, or com- plaints of rival monopolists. The hope which had led General Fitzwalter to the castle was wholly frustrated. Lady Clancare had afforded him no opportunity of addressing her. On entering the saloon he beheld her the yprimum mobile of the circle which surrounded her. During the evening she scarcely noticed him by a look; and when she retired, which she did early, Lord Rosbrin led her to the carriage and took her willing hand with the air of Henry the Eighth handing out Anne Bulleyn at Cardinal Wolsey’s banquet and murmur- i ing as they passed Fitzwalter, “ The fairest bud I ever touched. Oh, beauty, Till now I never knew thee !” While she, humoring his folly, replied : “ I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender, More than my all is nothing. Beseech your lordship, &c„, &c. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 521 The words were lost as she disappeared, and a conviction of the truth of Lord Adelm’s observation struck forcibly on Fitz waiter’s mind. He turned away in indignant irritation, while Lady Dunore, with her eyes fixed expressly on his, observed : “ Is not Lady Clancare an excellent actress ?” “ Excellent !” he replied in a tone of ironical sig- nificance. “Lord Rosbrin is amazingly in love with her,” added Lady Dunore emphatically. “ It is a proof of his taste,” replied the general coldly. “What do you think of her?” demanded Lady Dunore with an inquisitorial look. Aware of the object of all these remarks and ques- tions, General Fitzwalter felt confused and indignant at the strange situation into which Lady Clancare’s imbroglio had thrown him. Lady Dunore evidently enjoyed his confusion ; without reiterating the ques- tion she added, “ She is extremely clever, but by no means does the honors by her own talents ; and, un- til we hit on these delightful theatricals, had no suc- cess whatever with my set. Since then, she has come out wonderfully. She is the most delightful ' Beatrice I ever saw, and capable of making a Bene- dict of the most' obdurate wife hater.” With these words, uttered with a mysterious air, she fluttered away and joined in a conversation in another part of the room. General Fitzwalter found himself for two or three successive evenings in the saloon of the castle a spec- tator rather than a member of its society. His vis- its, however, were apparitions. He came and dis- appeared abruptly, as if in search of some object 522 FLORENCE MACARTHT. never obtained yet still pursued. His character was more than usually energized; and, though he com- monly stood wrapped in silent but acute observation, in sullen and marked abstraction, yet he occasionally came forward in conversation with a boldness and originality that chequered the monotonous flow of some modish opinion and startled commonplace re- mark from its wonted track. His first appearance at Dunore as a guerilla chief insured him that species of favorable reception given equally to learned pigs and French conjurers, Esqui- meaux warriors and Irish giants ; but first preposses- sions faded away in proportion as it became known that he was engaged in a cause wholly inimical to the sentiments of the greater part of Lady Dunore’s circle; and he had upon the whole, after the first surprise occasioned by his abrupt and splendid ap- pearance, become an object of somewhat less conse- quence than Thady Windham Crawley, with his pen- insular honors, bivouacks, wigwams, and the Ra- gent’s levee. The night of the first representation was now ar- rived. The play of “As You Like It” was to be per- formed ; and a crowded audience, furnished from the guests of the castle and the neighborhood of Dunore, had already assembled, when a note from Lady Clan- care returned by the carriage which had been sent for her informed the marchioness that she should not play Rosalind that night, and hinted that she had been seized with a typhus fever. The confusion which this unexpected circumstance created was excessive. Persons had arrived from immense distances ; expectation was at its height. FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 523 The first music was over and all was consternation. Lady Dunore stamped her feet and wrung her hands as if the most dreadful affliction had befallen her; she abused Lady Clancare as if her misfortune was her fault ; and would have set off for Castle Macar- thy but for the apprehension of the infection so long the object of her terror. In the midst of this dilem- ma Lord Rosbrin, already dressed for Orlanlo, pro- posed to undertake the part of Rosalind ; while the second Amoureux ) who was to have performed Syl- vius, should assume Orlando. The second Amou- reux declared that Orlando was the part he had ori- ginally intended for himself, and that he was perfect in it. One of the foresters engaged to perform Syl- vius delighted to escape from the mortification of enacting a mute. Lord Rosbrin’s proposed arrange- ment was accepted with transport by Lady Dunore. If he played the part with propriety Lady Clancare would not be missed, if he did it ridiculously her place would be still better supplied. The place teas still better supplied, and the shouts of laughter which hailed the entrances and exits of Rosalind were testimonies that the audience were satisfied and amused up to their bent. The play went off brilliantly, bravoes and archi-bravoes mark- ed every speech, and the original Rosalind was left extended on her bed of sickness, without one thought of her situation, and given to instant oblivion. The disappointment she had occasioned Lady Dunore in the first instance had overthrown the frail structure of her prepossession at a blow, and the creature who could no longer amuse, no longer interested, or lived in the memory of her soi-disant friends and admirers. CHAPTER XIX. Standnot amazed — here is no remedy. — Shakspeare. Lady Dunore, wearied and exhausted, was the last to quit the scene of festivity, and the most anxious to prolong it. She had presided at a splendid sup- per after the play, and had reluctantly bowed out her guests, and bestowed her usual embrassades on her dear friend, Lady Georgiana ; she was now tak- ing one lingering look at the silent and deserted theatre in her passage to her own apartment when the sound of a footstep closely following her own alarmed her, she knew not why. Without “ casting a look behind” she was hastily ascending the stairs when a voice called after her, “ Aisy, aisy, my lady, if you plaze. I’d just beg a word with your ladyship incornuto for a moment.” At the well-known voice and accent of Darby Crawley Lady Dunore turned round. “ Good God !” she said, “ Mr. Crawley, is it you ? When did you arrive from Dublin ? Were you at our play ? Conceive my not seeing you !” “ I was not, my lady, but came here a few hours back, and has been lying” — he whispered — “ per dor in Anne Clotworthy’s room till the play was over, and the company gone, not wishing to show myself for raisins of state. Would your ladyship just turn FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 525 in here for a moment and grant me a hearing on very particular business “ Certainly,” said Lady Dunore, following him into the dark, spacious dining-room. Crawley shut the door cautiously, took the chamber candlestick out of Lady Dunore’s hand and placed it on a table, then drew forward a chair for her and another for him- self, picked up her reticule and presented it with a bow, then drawing his hand over his face, as if at a loss how to begin, he at last abruptly inquired : “ Does your ladyship know anything of Lord Adelm Fitzadelm ? for he is not here it seems.” “ Gracious heavens !” exclaimed Lady Dunore, sud- denly alarmed : “ if anything has happened, let me know it at once and she started from her chair. “ Where is Fitzadelm, and what do you know of him?” “ Nothing in life, I give you my honor, Lady Du- nore ; and wouldn’t keep you in suspince half a minute if I did : only just axed out of curiosity, if he’s at a distance ; that’s all, I give you my honor.” “ I don’t know where he is,” said Lady Dunore, be- tween the hope and the fear of having some cause for alarm and agitation: “he is upon one of his wild rambles.” “ Tom-Mew , as the French says, Lady Dunore ; for he has a mighty odd, quick way with him, and isn’t always inclined to hear raison.” “Nor I neither, at two in the morning, my dear Mr. Crawley !” yawned his disappointed auditress. “Surely your coming at so unseasonable an hour must have some extraordmary motive,” and she took up her candlestick. 526 FLORENCE MACARTHY. “ Noways extraordinary at all, at all, madam; for such things happen every day : what brings me here to your ladyship, masquerading at this hour of the night, is about a hitch in the election. I suppose Conway has tould your ladyship that the sheriffs precept for the election is issued, and the polling will begin to-morrow.” “I believe he did; but really,” and she yawned again, “ I have been so deeply engaged of late, and Fitzadelm’s absence, and my dependence on you, and your son, and things, that I did not particularly think about it ; but ” “ But,” continued Crawley, gently taking the light out of her hand, “ he did not tell you (and how could he, and he never near Glannacrime this fortnight?) that, contrary to our expectation, there will be a vio- lent opposition ; and that it isn’t noways impossible but the Dunore interest will be trodden down by those O’Mahony Whigs.” “ Trodden down !” interrupted Lady Dunore, in- dignantly, and reseating herself — “the Dunore in- terest trodden down !” “ Except, in addition to the hundreds already dis- tributed, there is a couple of thousand pounds more, to carry on the war during the polling,” added old Crawley, with some hesitation. “ And is that all ?” asked Lady Dunore, languidly. “ All !” repeated Crawley, with a look of pleased surprise. “ Oh ! if that does not shoot (suit) you, ma’am, your ladyship may follow the bent of your generosity and make it double or quits. But the murther of it is, Lady Dunore, that after you have expended thousands upon thousands, and after Lord FLORENCE MACARTHY. 527 Aclelm is elected, (which he will be as sure as eggs is eggs, and no thanks to them,) it seems his oppo- nent manes to petition against him in parliament, on the score of what they, the spalpeens, call his bribery and corruption, his trates and his presents, and other illegal practices to which he has had recourse ; that’s if you’ll believe the likes of them, the rebelly thieves !” “ Bribery and corruption ! illegal practices ! My son, Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, guilty of this, Mr. Craw- ley!” interrupted Lady Dunore, with a mingled ex- pression of anger and surprise. “ What does all this mean, Mr. Crawley ?” “Why, it manes, my lady, plain enough, that in Ireland, as throughout the world, a little bribery goes a great way. The people, ma’am, are used to it ; it’s the way of the place, time immemorial, and will be evermore. The voters and freeholders, and corpora- tion of Giannacrime, require a taste of a dewshure, as well as their betters — why wouldn’t they ? and noth- ing has been done here, that hasn’t been done since the beginning of the Europayan world, at all elec- tions; and would pass muster anywhere, only for them jacobin whigs, the O'Mahonys, that are just ready, like drowned men, to catch at a straw. It's only them and the likes of them that is always open mouthed against loyal men, or would go to call a little trifle of a prisant made to the burgesses of Gian- nacrime a bribe.” “ I don’t care what they call it,” said Lady Dunore, rising in violent emotion, as the high honor and lofty spirit of her son started to her recollection, coupled with these accusations — “ I don’t care what your Irish creatures call it ; but what will my son say ? 528 FLORENCE MACARTHY. What will Lord Ad elm Fitzadeim say to this impu- tation on his honor and principles ?” “ What can he say, madam ?” returned Crawley, en- deavoring to keep pace with Lady Dunore, who was now walking in agitation up and down the room. “ What can his lordship say, hut that while he was star-gazing in Lisburn, the capital of Spain, among them Papists, his friends at home was working for his interests, like gallows slaves, sparing neither time, money nor labor to keep out the ould enemies of his family, and get in himself?” “ He will murder you, Mr. Crawley; I promise you that,” said Lady Dunore, coolly, |ind stopping short in her quick pacing. “ The Lord save us !” ejaculated Crawley, looking round him fearfully. “You know,,” she continued, “he already holds you and all your family en franche et belle aversion .” “ He does !” said old Crawley, guessing rather than understanding the purport of this sincere assu- rance. Then with a low, half insolent, half mys- terious tone, he added, “ Why then, in spite of all that, Lady Dunore, it’s me and my family can be the saving of him and his yet.” “ Indeed !” said Lady Dunore, with a laugh of irony. “ Indeed !” repeated Crawley, unintimidated ; “ and, Lady Dunore, will you just hear me for a minute ; and then I’ll never spake more, if I don’t contint you to your heart’s desire.” There was something imposing in the manner of Crawley which induced the marchioness to resume FLORENCE MACARTHY. 529 her seat, and to grant him (what she so rarely granted any one) a patient hearing. “ Now, Lady Dunore,” he continued, “ it will tell ill for the greatness, and grandeur, and honor of the Fitzadelm and Dunore families, that him, who may be said to be their representative, should be little better than a rogue and a rapparee, and give handle to the Whigs in the House of Commons, to be talking of the corruptionists and Irish electioneering bribery, and the likes. But as sure as Lord Adelm is returned, all this will come to pass. He’ll be pe- titioned against in the House of Commons, to the en- tire satisfaction of the Whigs.” “ I would not for a thousand worlds,” interrupted Lady Dunore : “ I should never stand London, and the insolence of the opposition women.” “ Then, my lady, sorrow thing there is to be done at all, at all, in the business, but to withdraw Lord Adelm altogether for the present, who takes no pleasure in the election; and instead of being can- vassing, is at this moment philandering it, like a beau maison , after some skittish young fawn of a female. Just, you see, consint to set him fairly aside ; and then, you see, Lady Dunore, we’ll get another person agraiable to all parties, to set up in his stead, who will be elected forthwith, and sorrow word you’ll hear of corruption, or bribery, or the likes, I’ll engage.” “ And so save our honor,” said Lady Dunore, “ and lose all our money.” “ No, but save both,” interrupted Crawley; “ for we’d take care to set up a person that would be a follower of* the family, and just keep the sate open 530 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. for the real member till the desolution, which will soon come ; for ail the world as your ladyship’s foot- man keeps your box for you at the theatre till you arrive yourself.” “ This all sounds plausibly, Mr. Crawley ; and you certainly are a very long-headed person, in spite of your teinture de ridicule , which renders you very amusing. But where could we get a person to take Fitzadelm’s place, in whom we could rely, in whom we could confide , who would act, for the time being, as our deputy, and vote as we bid him ?” “ Why, then, I’d offer myself with all the veins,* Lady Dunore, only that crassing the say just fairly kills me.” “ You !” said Lady Dunore, bursting into a fit of laughter. “ And what would ail me ?” he answered, in a tone of mortification. “ Sure, many a man as isn’t fit to hold a candle to me, Lady Dunore, has been sent over from this country a ready cut and dried parliament man. I give you my honor, I’d do as well as the best of them, if I was in it, and make them split their sides laughing, which is all the go now. But if it’s eloquence and poethry you want, and one readymade to their hands, and just in their own way, quite ministarial, isn’t there Counsellor Con, the darlint of the corporation, and would prefar him ’bove the world ? I’ll engage he’d be returned as soon as no- minated ; and has been merely known as law agent for the election, and has nothing to do with what the Whigs call bribery, but stands with clane hands ; and * i. e. veins of my heart. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 531 would lay down his life for the Dunores, though Lord Adelrn trates him de ho -on baw , as the French says.” Iiei^ Crawley paused, looking from under his- shrewd little eyes on Lady Dunore, and puckered up his mouth, in silent expectation of her answer to this hazardous proposition. Lady Dunore, after a few moments’ silent cogita- tion, exhausted alike in body and spirit, and already weary of a subject which now ceased to agitate her, at last observed : “ Well, Mr. Crawley, you have hi- therto conducted this business your own way. I am quite ignorant of the details ; but all I know is this, the deputy member for G-lannacrime must be a staunch, thorough-going friend to the present ministry.” “Lave him alone for that,” interrupted Crawley, “ sure isn't he after their own heart ?’’ “ And the honor and intentions of my son must never even be called in question.” “ How can it, when there will be no petition against him, if he is not elected ?” “As to Lord Adelrn,” continued Lady Dunore, “ the borough of Glannacrime is evidently an object of indifference to him, pour le moins ; and I shall be the less anxious, as I shall command the voice of your son, in addition to my other voices in the house ; for Conway is, after all, and notwithstanding what people call his vulgar effrontery, a very clever, and, as you observe, eloquent creature.” “ Why, then, he is that same, every taste of it, and, without wishing to alarm your ladyship, or give you unaisy drames to-night, I must just say that the time may not be far off ” Here he paused, looked 532 FLORENCE MACARTHY. cautiously round, advanced to the door to see if it was fast, and then returning on tiptoe, continued— “ when you can’t have too many voices in the house, ! nor too many friends in court, as the saying goes.” “What do you mean?” demanded Lady Dunore, startled, and amazed more by his manner than his words. “ Och ! it’s no matter what I mane, now,” said old Crawley, coolly ; “ 1 on time’s uncertain date eternal hours depend ;’ but I won’t now detain your ladyship another moment.” The clock at this instant struck three. “ I shall not leave this room now, be the hour what it may,” said Lady Dunore, throwing herself back in a chair, and putting her feet on another, to mark her determination, “ until you explain to me the myste- rious words you have just uttered, Mr. Crawley.” “ Why, then, see here the dilemia I have reduced myself to,” said Crawley, with an air of perplexity. “ I give you my honor, Lady Dunore, I would rather walk with paize (peas) in my shoes than annoy your fine feelings ; and it three in the morning, and you tired.” “ I am not in the very least tired, Mr. Crawley. I am equal, at least I fancy I am, to any communica- tion you have to make to me ; so pray go on.” Old Crawley, with hesitation, and a marked reluct- ance, either affected or felt, began and broke off se- veral sentences, hemmed, cleared his voice, and cried : “ Well, to be sure, of course my late noble friend and patron, your ladyship’s late, dear, and ever-to-be-la- mented concert, has often mentioned to you an idle story, set about by his enemies in regard of a claim- FLORENCE MCCARTHY. 533 ant of the title of Fitzadelm, for there was then no- thing else to claim; and who ” “ Not a word,” interrupted Lady Dunore, im- patiently. “Not a word!” repeated Crawley, with surprise. “ And never tould your ladyship that his eldest bro- ther, Walter, Lord Fitzadelm, commonly called the Black Baron, had a son, an only son?” * “Never.” “ Who was drowned, but about whom there were some mighty ugly reports ?” “ What reports ?” “ Oh ! just that his uncle and his father connived to put him out of the way, to raise money ; that at one time his uncle thought to bastardize him, by proving him the son of a nurse who first suckled the young Fitzadelm ; that this attempt failed ; and that after his brother’s death he had the boy kidnapped, and sent no one knew where, among the black negers, and then trumped up a story of his drowning.” “ ’Tis a most curious romance !” said Lady Dunore, interested in the story in proportion to its wildness, and forgetting the part her husband had been accused of playing, or how deeply it affected her own sons. Oh, mighty interesting,” said old Crawley, ironi- cally. “ But no one ever believed a word of it, only the inimies of the Fitzadelms. But I suppose my lord tould your ladyship that the herald’s office in Dublin refused him for a long time the style, title and arms of Baron Fitzadelm ?” “ Never a syllable.” “ Nor of the convei’sation he had with the Ulster King at Arms whom he knocked down, and stood his 634 FLORENCE MACARTHT. trial for it afterwards in Dublin ; my brother, the sergeant, acting as counsel, and I the attorney, and brought him off illigantly ?” “ Never,” said Lady Dunore, with increasing amaze- ment and interest : “he never would allow me to ac- company him to Ireland. It was a subject of eternal contest, with many others. (She sighed.) I led a most miserable life with poor, dear, Lord Fitzadelm, Mr. Crawley ; yet, upon the whole, I have known no happiness since his death : but go on ; your story is a most extraordinary one.” “ The most extraordinary part is to come, Lady Dunore : for after all had died away, and poor Lord Fitzadelm dead with the rest, and your son Marquis of Dunore, and everything going on fair and aisy, at the end of three and twenty years, and when people were thinking of nothing at all, at all, the story is re- vived again ; and go which way you will, there is nothing but whispering and coshering, more particu- larly among the lower orders, that the son of Walter Lord Fitzadelm has reappeared to several persons, with the intent of making good his claims to the Du- nore estate and title, and of throwing out your lady- ship's sons, the most noble the marquis, and his bro- ther Lord Adelm Fitzadelm.” To this observation, a silence of many minutes suc- ceeded. Lady Dunore sat thunderstruck, with a suc- cession of strange and contradictory emotions hitting over her strongly working countenance. There was something in this wild and romantic tale that har- monized with her unregulated imagination, with her love for the marvellous, and her passion for excessive sensation ; for there was a probability at least of the FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 635 story being true, and a chance of conflict and vicissi- tude, of defeat or success, which flattered her feverish necessity for excitement, exertion, and occupation ; but there yet remained a sufficient source of annoy- ance, apprehension, and anxiety, to counteract emo- tions of a more fanciful nature. Old Crawley sat de- liberately gazing on her, his hands folded, his thumbs twirling, his round, vulgar, bronzed face in strong relief from the light of the taper ; while the pale and haggard countenance of Lady Dun ore, half thrown in shade by the surrounding darkness of the spacious and gloomy apartment, stood opposed in picturesque contrast. At last, after a long-drawn inspiration, Lady Du- nore again exclaimed, “ This is a most extraordinary tale, Mr. Crawley.” “ It is, indeed, Lady Dunore, mighty extraordinary, if it’s true.” “ You do not believe it is so ?” “ Believe ! the Lord forbid ! If it was true, my lady, what would become of the marquis your son ? What good would there be in all the mortgages, bar- gains, leases and purchases, made under the Black Baron and your ladyship’s dear late lord, and the present marquis ? Why, if it was proved to be true, Lady Dunore, wouldn’t it be the murther of the world, the ruin of us all ? Sure we must prove it isn’t true, if we spend the last tinpenny we have in the world.” “Prove I Then you really think claims will be made — pretensions urged ?” “ I think, $ud is certain sure of it. All kinds of 536 FLORENCE MACARTHY. manyeuvering and checanery’s going on at this prisent moment to prove it.” “ But where — how — who is the pretender ?” Old Crawley passed his hand over his face ; then looked round, as if he feared a witness of what he w r as going to say. He drew his chair closer to Lady Dunore, and continued in a low tone, “ Where is he ? Why, then, for all I know, Lady Dunore, he’s under your roof at this moment. Anyhow, he was in it this evening.” Lady Dunore’s exclamation almost amounted to a scream ; and Crawley, terrified at the vivacity of her emotions, cried : “ Hush ! hush ! for the love of the Lord. Keep down your fine feelings, Lady Dunore, dear, and smell your O-de-Lucy, or your Sally-Volatile ; ’ and he searched her reticule for a smelling bottle, which he had often seen her use under any agitation. Hold- ing the salts to her nose (for Lady Dunore, like all hysterical persons, became violent in proportion as she was noticed), he continued : “Aisy now, aisy, Lady Dunore, honey! what will I do, if you give way to your asterisks, and nobody up in the house to get you as much as a sup of water, or a thimble full of hartshorn ?” The effect of the sal volatile which he poured up her nostrils was so powerful as to absorb for a mo- ment every other sensation; and when she could speak, which she did between laughter and sobs, she observed, “Under my roof, Mr. Crawley! The kid- napped injured son of Lord Walter Fitzadelm under my roof, did you say ?” “ Hot at all, Lady Dunore, not the raal son of Ba- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 537 ron Walter, but an imposture, a vagrant, a rebel, who came and bullied me in my own house, in my sate of Mount Crawley, and wanted to force Count Fitzadelm from me, and refused to drink the 1 Glo- rious and immortal,’ and snapped at Conway, and put his commether upon Clotty, and passed on her for a Methodist preacher, as he did afterwards upon your ladyship for a great officer from the Yankees ; and is neither more nor less than the bastard, saving your ladyship’s presence, of Judy Laffim (who was first nurse to the young Master Fitzadelm that wa£ drowned), a little bit of a by-blow of my lord’s, a jew cV esprit, as the French says; which was the raison why Lady Fitzadelm turned her away when she found she was a forepaw of my lord’s, and she gave the child to that rebelly thief O’Leary’s wife. And now, after everybody has lost sight of him, that’s Micky Laffan, he comes to pass himself for the raal young lord that was drownded, and he goes about chicaning the lower orders and buying them over, and conniving with Lady Clancare, his great crony, though he daren’t let on to know her here, gallo- wanting her in the bogs, and getting in with her into every cabin in the barony, and showing himself as the raal Marquis of Dunore. Isn’t he here playing the great don with your ladyship, and calling him- self Gineral Fitz waiter, and laying down the law to yez, all as one as if he was king of the place already ? And what’s more, my lady, Lady Clancare is no more sick than I am ; and as soon as the curtain was up and the play begun, the gineral was oft' like a shot, and Jemmy Bryan, who never loses sight of him, followed him to Castle Macarthy. Oh, troth, 538 FLORENCE MACARTHY. it’s little of your ladyship’s play she’s thinking ; no, but of her own, and was humming you all the time ? for the devil is not able for that one, the Lord par- don me !” This information, so extraordinary, so out of all calculation, had the effect of sobering Lady Dunore, and of giving for the moment a tinge almost of ra- tionality to her ideas. That she had been duped, deceived, played upon, was the predominant feeling of her mind ; deceived by Lady Clancare, at the mo- ment when she was endeavoring to serve her, and to forward her views ; and she turning out to be the agent of an adventurer, who had come under her roof for the purpose of defrauding and dispossessing her children of their rank and property. “I see your ladyship is a little amazed,” said Crawley. “ Amazed !” she returned, collectedly, “ yes, a lit- tle; but not confounded, not overcome, as you shall find, Mr. Crawley. You shall see that I can shuffle, and cut, and deal my cards as well as another; you shall find that neither the villany of an impostor, nor the arts of an adventuress, shall be too much for me. The conspiracy of this hero and heroine is, I sup- pose, a fair subject for legal prosecution, but that’s not enough. They must be shown up upon their own scene of action, and it will go hard with me if I don’t make examples of them.” Her eyes darkened w T ith expected vengeance as she spoke. “ Why, then, see here, Lady Dunore : divil a bit, but I give you credit for showing a proper spirit ; for hasn't that fellow made you the talk of the coun- try round for letting him into the castle, when not a FLORENCE MACARTHY. 539 house would let him cross the threshold, and was obliged to take up bis lodgings with that marked man, O’Leary, because the Dunore Arms thought him a suspicious character ?” “ I wish we had your son Conway here,” said the marchioness, musing. “ Och ! there’s no occasion in life for him. Haven’t he and I been holding a council of war in Clotty’s room while the play was going on, and everything settled and planned between him and I, and only waiting your ladyship’s veto, as the Papists say? I haven’t come from Dublin without my credentials, I’ll ingage.” o o “ What do you mean, my dear Mr. Crawley ?” “ Why, I mane, that I have a warrant to bring the body of this young gineral, who is an ould soger, to Dublin, afore the Lord Chief Justice.” “ Oh ! but remember your last warrant, Mr. Craw- ley. You do not briller par la . You must not again involve us in your ridiculous mistakes and conspira- cies, and things in Queen Elizabeth’s days.” “I’ll ingage there is no fear, Lady Dunore, and Judge Aubrey not in the country to back his jacobin friends, and has my charges made out in due form and sworn to.” “ Yfhat charges, pur example ?” “ Only for a trifle of murther, that’s all.” “ Murder ?” “ Aye, faith, raal and undoubted murther. Didn’t your ladyship hear Conway read out o’ the Hiber- nian Journal, one morning at breakfast, of a rising in the mountains about a still-hunting party, and of a fight between the country people and the sogers, and N 540 FLORENCE MACARTHY. a stranger on horseback getting among them to set- tle the difference, as it was to appear, and taking part in the disturbance, and a shot fired, and a soger killed, and nobody ever able to tell by whom until a lad turned king’s evidence th’ other day, and is ready to swear that this gineral was the murtherer; that he was seen going into a cabin before the fight, and. drinking with the people, and saying he was the raal Lord Dunore; and that on going away, under pre- tence of relieving the people, who were very poor, he gave them, as he thought, a golden guinea, which turned out to be a Spanish coin, the very same that the gineral gave your ladyship a prisint for card counters ; and here it is, and a great evidence it will be on the trial.” So saying, he produced the coin. “ This is most extraordinary ! This is a special intervention of Providence ! It is indeed the same,” said Lady Dunore, “ that this murderer gave me.” “ Now,” said old Crawley, “ a man who is convict- ed of murther, and I believe we have witnesses enough to prove that, wull have but a poor chance of proving his claims to a title and property in the possession of a noble family as is hand and glove with the ministry.” “ But you have not got him yet,” said Lady Dunore, impatiently ; “ he may still elude us all.” “ He is now, I believe, quietly asleep in O Leary’s lodgings. Jemmy Bryan saw him safe home at half- past ten from Lady Clancare’s, and then came here to inform Conway of it. But what would ail your ladyship but to write him a line in the morning, to beg he would step down to you, as you are unaisy FLORENCE MACARTHY. 541 about Lord Adelm, whom he flatters himself he’s bit fairly.” “ And then ?” said Lady Dunore, reddening with the ardor of her newly-awakened feelings. “And then, my lady, we’ll just nab him nately as he stands all alone by himself in your ladyship’s dressing-room; for he has become so populous with the lower orders that if he were arrested at O’Leary’s, that is the ringleader of the country, there would be a rising of every ribbonman and every functionary in the place round.” “ No,” said Lady Dunore, whose feelings, all per- sonal, had nothing but private vengeance in view, “ that will never do ; I will have him arrested and ex- posed in the presence of the party assembled in the castle (whom he has imposed upon), and confronted with that artful adventuress, Lady Clancare, who I now see, while she was serving her paramour, was upon the point of taking in poor, dear Lord Rosbrin, persuading me, the little wretch ! that she did it to pique that Fitzwalter ; but don’t talk of her — it mad- dens me to think how I have been duped, laughed at, played upon; and that- ” “Now keep yourself cool, Lady Dunore, honey,” interrupted Crawley, fearful of a return of her hys- teric paroxysm, “ and just go to bed, and ” “ I will not go to bed till I write a note of invita- tion to the genera], whom we shall outgeneral in the end, and leave it to be sent early in the morning ; and, as to the Countess of Clancare,” and she laughed hysterically, “ a countess, indeed ! a gipsy countess 1 with her typhus fever, — I will have the honor of go- 542 FLORENCE MACARTHY. j ing for her myself, and bringing her, vi et armis , to the castle.” Cheered by this resolution, Lady Dunore now took up her candle, and with her cheek colorless, her eyes inflamed and staring, and her head wrapped in a lace veil, she not inaptly imaged the sleep-walking and conscience-stricken Lady Macbeth. Old Crawley, meantime, with a tip-toe step, groped his way by the moonlight to the bedroom of his son, who had sat up to receive him, and learn the result of his extraordi- nary interview with the lady of the castle. CHAPTER XX. How couldst thou find this dark, sequestered nook 7 Milton. The solemn consequence given to everything con- nected with the drama by Lord Rosbrin had ren- dered the disappointment occasioned by the illness or caprice of Lady Clancare an event of the most im- portant and mortifying nature ; and he insisted on an- nouncing it to the public in all the set form and phrase usual upon such occasions in the public theatres. He came forward, therefore, with a coun- tenance in which he hoped “ men would read strange things and, after a long pause, he commenced an apology for the non-appearance of Lady Clancare, put forth his own claims to indulgence in assuming, by particular desire, and for that night only, the part of Rosalind ; and concluded by reading aloud the letter of the comic heroine, to whom he had undertaken to act as double . It ran as follows : “ My Dear Lady Dunore : — I am obliged to decline the pretty part of the fantastic Rosalind this evening, for one of a less agreeable nature ; and I trust you will not think I am playing the Malade Imag inair e when I assign indisposition as an excuse for my ab- sence from the castle. I 'would, perhaps, ask you to come and judge for yourself of my situation, but that 544 FLORENCE MACARTHY. the nature of my feelings at this moment, and my re* cent visits to a house where the typhus fever rages, satisfy me that it would be as unsafe for you, as em- barrassing to me, to receive you at Castle Macarthy. “ I am, my dear Lady Dunore, &c., “F. Clancare.” The apology was received with plaudits ; the au- dience, better pleased with the Rosalind which chance and folly had given them, than with the Rosalind of which a dangerous malady had deprived them, “ bound up each corporeal faculty” to expected mirth and laughter. Miss Crawley declared the excuse of Lady Clan- care was all affectation, and assumed importance ; and Lord Frederick observed to Lady Georgiana that he saw la petite personne was, from the beginning to the end, playing another part than that assigned her ; and that it was very clear her intention had never been to play at all. Contrary to his first intentions, General Fitzwalter found himself in the theatre of Dunore ; but upon the reading of Lady Clancare’s letter, he suddenly disap- peared. The carriage in which he had arrived had x’eturned to the Dunore Arms, and, notwithstanding the roughness of a singularly inclement night, he wrapped ' himself up in a long travelling cloak, lent him by one of the grooms of the chamber, and pro- ceeded on foot to Castle Macarthy. He found and ascended with difficulty the little defile in the cliffs through which Lady Clancare’s maid had formerly led him to the strand ; and when he stood before the gates of Castle Macarthy, he felt FLORENCE MACARTHY. 545 that there also was the silence of dreary sequestra- tion, and of desolate privacy. A faint stream of light issued from the half-open portals of the hall. He en- tered, without finding any human being to impede his steps or to announce his arrival. A flickering rush-light stood upon the old stone table ; and its expiring ray flashed upon the skeleton wolf’s head that hung suspended above it, and then sunk and died into utter darkness. Fitzwalter stood for a moment, his hand resting on the table, on which the rain, dropping through the roof, fell with heavy plashes. Unable to proceed, his feelings all tumult, his spirits depressed, one image, gloomy, painful, and affecting, still occupied his mind. The young, friend- less mistress of this silent and dreary dwelling — she who so late had appeared beyond the reach of suffer- ing, so brilliant, so wooed and won by adulation and attention, now neglected, abandoned, unpitied, was left on a bed of sickness, by those to whom her spirit and talents had recently afforded occupation, and sup- plied amusement — no eye to watch her, no tongue to soothe her, no hand to seek the feverish pressure of hers. All her follies, all her faults (if the conduct which had thwarted his passion could be so construed), were forgotten ; and nothing was now remembered, not even her talents, her charms, save the unpitied situation to which her too intrepid benevolence had reduced her. Almost suffocating from excess of emotion, still struggling with himself, in the midst of darkness and of silence, he hesitated as to the manner in which he should seek to announce himself, when the heavy creaking of a door, slowly shut, footsteps approach- 540 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ing, and a faint flash of light, proceeding from the narrow, dark, stone passage which led to the sitting- room he had. once occupied, caught his attention. A man advanced, holding a dark lantern; the light, turned on himself, burnished his face and figure with its yellow rays, and threw them into strong relief. He was humming an old melancholy Irish croon, and proceeded cautiously across the hall to the door, with- out perceiving the general, whose dark figure and garb were confounded with the profound shadows of the place. The full and strongly lighted view of his per- son instantly awakened a perfect recognition in the general’s mind. It was the Rabragh. “ Owny !” he exclaimed, advancing eagerly, and seizing his arm. Owny dropped his lantern from one hand, and a letter which he carried from the other ; and clasping both, muttered a broken Ave Maria in utter consternation and superstitious fear, the only fear by which his hardy spirit was assailable. “ Do you not remember ?” asked Fitzwalter, in an impatient tone, and letting go his arm. “ You cannot have forgotten the traveller whom you drove from Oashel, bewildered in the Galties, and imprisoned in Court Fitzadelm.” The habitual gaiety of the Rabragh’s countenance, and the natural ruddiness of his complexion, returned together ; and picking up his lantern, and turning it full on the apparition which had scared him into the belief that he stood in the unearthly presence of the famous Macarthy-More, he replied, with a smile : “ Know your honor, is it, sir ? May be I don’t ; and never will forget you, till the hour of my death, if I was to live a thousand years and more ; and took FLORENCE MACARTIIY. 547 you now for ould Fogh-na-gael , in regard of the sur- prise, sir, and the place, and the ould shanaos, sir. And sure wasn't I going to your honor this very minute, with a letter for you from the Bhan Tierna, long life to her ladyship ! and if I didn’t find you at O’Leary's, was to follow you to the castle, and lurk about till you came out, sir, and slip this into your hand, sir ; and thinks it great luck, plaze God, to find you in it here.” During this speech the general had opened the let- ter alluded to, and read as follows : “You stand accused of murder. Depositions to this effect have been laid against you, by one who, in betraying the circumstance to his comrade, the noted Padreen Gar, persists in its veracity. Officers of justice are furnished with a warrant to take you. Though your conscience be at rest, confide not in your innocence, for you are powerfully beset. A chaise, with a driver on whom you may depend, will be ready to receive you at three in the morning, and conduct you to a port, from whence you may sail. Announce your arrival and future intentions to La-dy Clancare, they will then securely and speedily reach your wife. “Florence Macarthy. “ This for the present is all the answer I can return to your letter, and its general proposal.” Fitzwalter read this letter twice, with a confusion of ideas and feelings that scarcely left him power to comprehend its contents. The increasing paleness of his cheek, the rolling of his eye, the tremulous mo- tion of his under lip, fixed the shrewd but sympathiz- ing gaze of the Rabragh, as he held up the lantern 548 FLORENCE MACARTHY. before him ; and, as the general stood silent and mo- tionless, he observed significantly : “ Hasn’t your honor better step into the dining- parlor, sir, and see the countess herself? and ingages, if she backs you, sir, sorrow taste there is to fear. And didn’t she save my life, sir, intirely, when I fell into trouble, and none to take my part against the Crawleys, only God and her ladyship, sir. Shall I show your honor the way?” and he stepped lightly on before. Fitzwalter followed mechanically, and, as the door stood half open, Owny pointed to it, and retired. The unexpected visitant paused at the threshold, and the interior of the apartment was exposed to his view. It was dimly lighted by a rude lamp which stood on the table, before which Lady Clancare sat writing. Her appearance almost justified the account she had given of herself ; for her unusual paleness of complexion was accompanied by the worn, anxious, and exhausted look of one who suffered much. One hand was spread and pressed upon the forehead it supported ; the other was guiding her pen with the rapidity of lightning : while at intervals she raised her head, addressing the interrogatory of “ well,” to a person who appeared dictating to her in Irish. He presented a gaunt tall figure, and fearful aspect ; but he stood with his head uncovered at a respectful distance, and traces of a reverential feeling softened the harsh lines of his wild and marked countenance. It was Padreen Gar. In another part of the room Lady Clancare’s youthful attendant, as- sisted by an old woman, was engaged in packing up a small travelling-trunk. Struck by a combination FLORENCE MACARTHY. 549 s 6 extraordinary, by the peculiar situation of Lady Clancare, and by the presence of her singular asso- ciates, Fitzwalter stood for a moment unnoticed, and wrapped in profound observation ; when the eyes of Lady Clancare suddenly and accidentally turning to the spot where he stood, with his dark pale’ coun- tenance just visible above the cloak which wrapped his figure, she uttered a faint exclamation, smiled, at- tempted to rise, and would have sunk to the earth, but that the arms of Fitzwalter received her, with a clasp that seemed almost indissoluble. Her efforts to rally back her fading spirits and de- clining strength were instantaneously successful. She resumed her seat, affected to laugh away her weak- ness, ascribed it to exhaustion and surprise ; and then having abruptly observed that General Fitzwalter could not yet have received the letter she had dis- patched to him, she turned to her attendants, desired her maid to wait in the adjoining room, and dismissed Padreen Gar and the old woman till they should be called for. All this was done rapidly but collectedly, and was observed by Fitzwalter with silent amaze- ment ; for the feverish hectic that burnt in a red spot on one of her cheeks convinced him that the excuse she had made for her non-appearance at the Castle of fDunore was not without foundation. He took her* hand with emotion ; and as he applied his fingers to its throbbing pulse, she gayly observed, while she struggled to release it, “ Oh, you are not to believe a word it tells you. I have no leisure to be ill now ; nor shall I have time to die, these twenty years; then, indeed, having retired from the world, with the first wrinkle, and moped through a few years of age and 550 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ugliness, I may some day or other be around here dead of the sullens, like an old bird in its cage.” “ But you are ill,” he replied, anxiously: “your hand burns, your complexion varies. Where is there a physician ? Have you not sent for assistance ?” “ What ?” she said laughing, “ my equivoque of the typhus fever succeeded with you, as well as the rest? But in that case, if I am indeed imagined ill, where are all my ‘ friends fast sworn,’ my admirers, my Or- landos, my Solymans ! Ha ! not even Vamie d'hon- neur ! my dear Lady Dunore ! Then have I touched t the highest point of all my greatness, ‘ And from the full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting so sit down, General Fitzwalter, and tell me how it comes, that 1 left and abandoned by my velvet friends,’ you, who never ranged yourself among their number, have deserted the festive hall of pleasure, to seek the supposed infectious air of these ruined towers ?” “ You suffer and are here,” he replied eagerly, and taking a hand, which she now struggled not to with- draw — “ You did not then, of course, receive the letter which I have just dispatched to you from your guar- dian angel, from Florence Macarthy ?” • Fitzwalter let fall her hand, and after a moment’s pause, replied, “Yes: but that is not the question now. Will you permit me to go to Dunore for such medical advice as I can procure ? or, if you prefer sending your mysterious agent, Owny, whom I left in your hall, and who has been employed in the ser- vice of a life much less valuable than your own “ No, no,” she interrupted, “ I am not ill. I do not FLORENCE MACARTHY. 551 deceive yon. I am harassed, anxious, a little ex- hausted, and burning more with indignation than fever. With your life, the life of any human being at stake ; with the happiness, the existence of Flor- ence Macarthy in my hands — is her name, then, so abhorrent to your ears that you turn thus in disgust away ?” “ You have not chosen your moment wisely ; but I am ready to fulfil my engagement to that lady,'’ in- terrupted Fitzwalter, vehemently, and starting from his chair. “ I will marry her, protect her, and while I live, live with her. What more does she require, or do you demand, Lady Clancare ?” He paused, and fixed his stern eyes on a counte- nance marked by the profoundest agitation. “ I require !— I have no right to require anything. I speak in her behalf, not in my own. Oh ! you know not,’’ she continued, with a supplicating earnestness, “ the devotion with which she has pursued you — si- lently, unobtrusively pursued you. You know not what zeal she has displayed, what ingenuity she has exerted, to keep you within her view : to behold you, to listen to you, to study you, to obtain you.” “ Well,” said Fitzwalter, throwing himself back in his chair, u she has succeeded — I am hers. I acknow- ledge her worth ; in time I trust I shall feel it,” — and he sighed profoundly. u Her worth ”’ replied Lady Clancare ; “ ’tis of her love I speak, and of all the romantic energy which has accompanied it. It was her determination, when she heard of your captivity, to return to South Ame- rica, to endeavor to effect your escape, or to share your dungeon ; for the woman is unworthy the sacred 552 FLORENCE MACARTHY, name of wife who is not prepared to follow the hus- band of her choice and her affections to slavery, to death ; oh ! more than all, to follow, to cling to him even in shame, in ignominy. Nay, hear me out, and look not thus on me. The report of your escape had reached her when she was on the point of embarking from England, to share, or offer to share, your des- tiny. Then she lost sight of you until you presented yourself to her eyes in Ireland, breathing the same air, inhabiting the same room, exchanging glances, yet still instinctively shrinking from her. Ila ! you start. It will not lessen your surprise to learn that Florence Macarthy was the rejected, the formidable Mrs. Magillicuddy, something disguised, indeed, and changed. You laugh incredulously. But love would have recognized its object, even under that conceal- ment. Young, well-looking, and unprotected, she has often sought safety during her inevitable wander- ings in the assumption of age and ugliness. Her flexibility of voice, and mobility of countenance and gesture, her powers of imitation, and acquaintance with the character she assumed, favored her dis- guise. “ But your intercourse stopped not here. It was she who contrived tp play upon the vanity and cre- dulity of Lord Adelm, whom she had once seen in Spain, whom she had afterwards seen in England, though unnoticed by one so self-occupied and self-in- volved. It was she who summoned him from Portu- gal — at once avenging a friend she had dearly loved, whom he had sacrificed, and making him an instru- ment in her own schemes. Hers was the irrepressi- ble sigh, tlae malignant laugh in the ruins of Holy- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 553 cross. It was she who placed you in the Fitzadelm chaise, under the guidance of her agent, the liabragh, had you carried to Lis-na-sleugh, where her know- ledge of the Spanish language put her in possession of your views and intentions. Thus she anticipated you at Court Fitzadelm, imprisoned you, to afford herself time for escape ; and provided you a lodging at O’Leary’s by an equivoque of which he was the dupe. From that moment you became my charge. The proximity of your residence favored the trust I embraced. Acquainted with your departure for Cork, your intended return to Dunore, and with the arrest which waited you there, I was enabled to for- ward the views of Florence Macarthy by witnessing your first appearance in the Castle of Dunore, to ef- fect which, as much as to surprise the favor of Lady Dunore, I suffered myself to be taken prisoner by Mr. Costello, and even paid him for his trouble. It was I who kept your friend Lord Adelm in play, by drop- ping the handkerchief, whose initials first discovered to you the residence of Florence Macarthy in Ire- land, and which again brought on a negotiation by means scarcely calculated on. I see you are amazed, confounded, stunned, because the omnipotence which belongs to the affections of a devoted woman is un- known to your sex ; still less can you judge of its dis- interestedness, of its power to abnegate self, to con- found its identity with the object beloved. It is you, you alone, Florence Macarthy prizes. It is for your- self you are estimated ; and now, ignorant of all con ■ cerning you, save the part you recently played in America, beholding you in this remote place, wrapped in mystery, suspected, accused, your life in danger, 554 FLORENCE MACARTHY. whatever may be your innocence or fate, that fate she is ready to share with you.” “ I cannot, dare not hear you on,” interrupted Fitz- walter, in a burst of passion amounting to agony. “ Why should I deceive her, you, myself? ‘Tis not on Florence Macarthy my thoughts are bent, admira- ble and wonderful as you paint her. ’Tis on you my existence at this moment depends; my soul, my senses, my life are yours. ’Tis on your eloquence I hang, on your countenance I gaze, on your eyes I look. I confound you with her, and become un- worthy of both. Were you this devoted creature whose cause you plead — spoke you, looked you thus for yourself, the struggle would be at once decided. Florence Macarthy should not be deceived, nor I. In a word, Lady Clancare, I love you to madness, to folly, to dishonor; you, only you, against my bet- ter reason, my happiness and sense of rights Now, then, knowing my state of feeling, speak on if you will; but remember I do not answer for myself. Every word you utter, every sigh you breathe, every glance you emanate in another’s cause, confirms my crime, and devotes me to yourself. Were you the creature you paint another, were you capable of this devotion, this zeal, and for me ” “ I am capable of it,” interrupted Lady Clancare, breathlessly, and clasping her hands in passionate emotion, while she half averted her face to conceal its expression. “ Could I thus describe, if I had not felt? In pleading the cause of Florence Macarthy, see you not that I but delineated my own feelings, my own strong, tender, and indestructible emotions. You say you love me, and I dare not doubt it. You FLORENCE MACARTHY. 555 deny not your danger ; I am ready to share it ; this is no moment for details; let it suffice to know that she who thus throws herself on you is — ” she paused, turned away her head, while Fitzwalter encircled her half retreating form with his arms, and hung wildly over, “ is — Florence Macarthy !” His arms lost their power of supporting her, and he sunk motionless upon the chair, from which she had just arisen ; while lady Clancare after a moment’s struggle, turning full round, fixed her eyes on him with that expression of triumph with which she had first received him where she now stood, and gently putting her hand on his shoulder said, “ Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.” The story of Florence Macarthy, Countess of Clan- care, the daughter of Colonel Macarthy-More, whose life had been sacrificed in the South American cause had already been gradually detailed, and little was left to reveal. The story of her kinswoman, Florence Macarthy Reagh, a Spanish nun, resident in the Con- vent of Our Lady of the Annunciation, as partly re- lated by O’Leary, had given rise to that qui pro quo which had enabled Lady Clancare to follow up her innocent schemes on the heart of him she considered as her husband, while apparently acting as the agent of another. Florence Macarthy Reagh was the young boarder of Nuestra Senora de las Angustias, to whom the eccentric Lord Fitzadelm had addressed his love “ Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, And never a true one,” and who had since expiated her credulity by years of religious sacrifice. Misled by the embroidered hand- 556 FLORENCE MACARTHY, kerchief, and by O’Leary’s description of its owner, Lord Adelm had flown to her convent, and, in the person of the mistress he had abandoned, sought the ! invisible torment who had so long eluded him. He arrived at the convent the day preceding that on which his supposed sylph was* to take the veil ; and the certainty of not obtaining her, increased his ideal > and romantic passion to the desperate height of pro- posing, unknown, unseen, to marry her. The answer to this proposition revealed the name and story of the person he addressed, and inclosed a drawing of a cenotaph, on which was inscribed “ Sic me Phoebus amat.” For the rest, he was informed that his proposal should be forwarded to Mrs. Mary Magillicuddy, the person whose invisible but ardent attentions had induced him to make it. Florence Macarthy Reagh, though much of the saint, was more of the woman; and in spite of her- self, secretly rejoiced in the innocent vengeance pro- cured her by the playful agency of her cousin, who, * like the rest of her sex, made common cause, and conceived an injury done to one woman a slight to all. The town clock of Dunore had struck eleven as , General Fitzwalter, dogged by Jemmy Bryan, reached his tower of Monaster-ny-Oriel ; and O’Leary, who had been watching his return, expressed his amaze- ment at his doing so, on foot, in so dreary a night, - and informed him, with a mysterious air, that things were getting wind, and that Lord Adelm was just arrived at Monaster-ny-Oriel a few moments before, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 557 O’Sullivan was also, as he said, to his utter amaze- ment, returned to his lodgment in the tower, and was now solus cum solo with the young lord. CHAPTER XXI. Yea, even that which mischief meant most harm, Shall, in the happy trial, prove most goodly. Evil on itself shall back recoil. Milton. The following morning, an hour after sunrise, the ruined chapel of Monaster-ny-Oriel exhibited a singu- lar and unusual scene : for before the high altar, at whose feet reposed the ashes of the great chief, Macarthy-More, the young descendant and inheritor of his title and name gave her hand to the represen- tative of his hereditary enemies. The ceremony was performed by the Reverend Denis O’Sullivan, titular Dean of Dunore, assisted by the parish priest. The Protestant rector, who was to repeat the rites, ac- cording to the forms of the Protestant Church (the parties being of different persuasions), also attended at Lady Clancare’s particular request, to represent her grandfather, to whom he had been a fast firm friend, and to give her away. The only persons pre- sent upon the occasion were O’Leary, who, between every response, muttered some part of Friar Con’s prophecy; and Lady Clancare’s maid, who was her foster-sister. Lord Adelm, who had passed the night in a conference with General Fitzwalter, to which Mr. O’Sullivan was latterly admitted, had left O’Leary’s before daylight, informed of the event FLORENCE MACARTHY. 559 which was about to take place, but declining being present, from feelings originating in his actual state of mind, the mortification he had recently undergone, *and some well-grounded suspicions of the share Lady Clancare had contributed to it. The celebration of the wedding of the Bhan Tierna in the chapel of Monaster-ny-Oriel, some vague re- ports that the distinguished stranger on whom she was bestowing her hand was the real and long-lost Marquis of Dunore, had circulated with incredible celerity, and the old Fitzadelm chaise, with four horses in attendance at the gates of the cemetery, the white cockade mounted in the Rabragh’s hat, who rode proudly on the coach-box, a similar distinc- tion in the caubeea of Padreen Gar, who had forcibly dismounted the ragged postilion, and thrown his huge limbs over the back of the leader, and a chaise and pair in attendance for the countess’s maid and O’Leary, all served to confirm the hints “ Loud rumor spoke.” By the time, therefore, that the bridal party issued from amidst the gray ruins of the abbey, a multitude of persons, with the whole population of Clotnotty- joy, had assembled round the gates, and shouts of joyous emotion, mingled with the cry of the Macar- thies and Fitzadelms, rent the air. Lady Clancare, as she ascended the carriage, ad- dressed a few words to those nearest to her : she said she was about to leave them for a short time, but she trusted it was only to return, with the power, as well as the will she had always felt, to be of use to them ; she recommended sobriety, industry, and peaceable conduct ; and amidst fresh shouts of appro- 560 FLORENCE MACARTHY. bation and joy was placed in the carriage by the Ca- tholic Dean and Protestant Rector. The cavalcade was now taking the road to Cork, still followed by the multitude, when a party of mili- tary, led on by several officers of the civil power, commanded the drivers to stop; and General Fitz- walter was arrested in the name and on behalf of his majesty the king. The arrest was instantly observed by the peasantry, who prepared to resist it with their usual uncalculating warmth, while Padreen Gar, still mounted on the foremost horse, rose his gaunt figure from the stirrups, and cast round a significant look, which operated like electricity. In a moment the 1 scattered multitude, contracted into a close phalanx, rushed with one impulsion through the military party, and environed the chaise : stones and turf-sods, suddenly torn up, flails and scythes brandished in the air, and countenances fixed, stern, resolute, and ferocious, declared the event of an intended rescue. In a momentary pause, Fitz- walter (sternly, as one accustomed to command), Mr. O'Sullivan (mildly, as one accustomed to conciliate), endeavored to address the mob, and induce them to return quietly to their work or their homes ; both were only answered by shrill wild shouts, which convinced them of the inefficiency of their inter- ference. The military loaded their pieces, but behaved with great moderation, till urged by the interference of the civil officers, who ordered them to disperse the mob, vi et armis , when a general engagement was about to take place ; but the voice and interference of Lady Clancare produced an effect, as unexpected FLORENCE MACARTHT. 561 as singular. She addressed them in Irish — it was evidently neither in command nor supplication. Whatever she said produced bursts of laughter and applause; every eye, flashing humor and derision, was turned on the constables and their satellites. A new impulse seemed to be given to the susceptible feelings of the auditory she addressed. Rage was turned to contempt; anticipated triumph shone in every eye. They drew back, suffered the military to close round the carriage, dropped their missiles, and followed in regular order the track of the carriages, as they now proceeded to the Castle of Dun ore. “ There are two and but two short roads,” said Lady Clancare, smiling, “ to Irish feelings- — pathos or humor ; you may weep or laugh them out of any- thing.” Notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, every window, every loophole in the Castle of Dunore was crowded, when the bridal carriage and its singular cavalcade wound up its gloomy court ; and when the party (evidently expected) alighted in the hall, and were received and conducted by the grooms of the chamber to the saloon, Lord Adelm stood at the door. He appeared pale, and much worn in his ap- pearance ; but he came anxiously forward, and ob- served in a low voice to Fitz waiter, “ It is unneces- sary to say I am unprepared for this. I knew nothing of it. I have had a few minutes’ conference with my mother. Reports of your story have reached her through the Crawlcys, distorted, however, and vague ; act now as you please, but spare the memory of my father for my sake.” Fitz waiter wrung his hand in expressive silence, 562 FLORENCE MACARTHY. and the whole party entered the saloon together. Lady Clancare, supported by her husband’s arm, and partly veiled by the Spanish mantilla, which fell from her head over her whole frame, excited evident amazement by her presence. The titular Dean of Dunore followed, accompanied by the Rector; and the wildly expressive counte- nance of the agitated O’Leary, agitated almost to the return of his former malady, and the black rough head and grim visage of Padreen Gar, were seen among the many curious faces which filled up the door. The saloon was already occupied by all the guests of the castle, with the exception of Lord Rosbrin, and some of the corps dramatique , who were either wearied beyond the power of being roused at so un- reasonable an hour, or had no inclination to appear on a scene, in which they were not to act the princi- pal part themselves. The summonses, however, of Lady Dunore had been given to all, and were for the most part punctually obeyed ; for Lady Dunore had personally solicited the attendance of the ladies ; and had dispatched Mr. Pottinger to the gentlemen, to request they would be present on an occasion which involved some of the dearest interests of her being. Lady Georgiana, in a wrapper of India muslin, and a drapery of Brussels lace shading her face, yawning and peevish at being disturbed, when the dearest in- terests of her dearest friend were concerned, reclined on a sofa, on which Lord Frederick, in a robe de chambre , and embroidered Turkey slippers, had taken his wonted place beside her. Mr. Heneage and Miss Crawley had descended in FLORENCE MACARTHY. 563 such a hurry that the one appeared without his stays, and the other without her frizette, Mr. Pottinger was habited in a yellow silk banyan, presented him by an ex-lady lieutenant. Old Crawley, ghastly and agitated, stood in a remote window, taking snuff, and pulling down his wig. His son had left the castle be- fore daylight, under the excuse of attending the elec- tion ; and Lady Dunore, pale and flushing alternately, moved about in restless agitation, till, on the entrance of her son, she seized his arm, and, with a counte- nance charged with irony, and with malicious, yet doubtful triumph, stood observing the entrance of General Fitzwalter, Lady Clancare, and their two clerical friends. A pause ensued, which Lady Du- nore at last interrupted, and, dropping her son’s arm, she came forward, and addressing Lady Clancare with a sort of half-ironical, half-hysterical laugh, she said : “ If there be any truth in the report which has just reached us that your ladyship has this morning be- stowed your fair hand on ■, the gentleman whom you now accompany, may I hope I am among the first to congratulate you on the event, and to wish you all the joy it is likely eventually to produce ?” Lady Clancare, who stood the image of her own first appearance in the hall of Dunore, the same shy, sly expression of countenance, and bashful embarrass- ment of air, replied to this ironical congratulation by a low respectful courtesy, as one who took this mock civility tout de bon , and was grateful for it. Provoked at this unlooked-for interpretation Lady Dunore, wholly overcome by her ungovernable tem- per, went on with increasing acrimony : “ Had I, madam, known the extent and cast of your ladyship’s 564 FLORENCE MACARTHY. theatrical abilities, I should have undoubtedly induced you to undertake the part of Estifania, and we should have had no difficulty, it now appears, in providing a copper captain.” She laughed convulsively; and then, yielding gradually to the violent impetuosity of her temper, provoked by the modest, self-satisfied air of Lady Clancare, she added, in a loud, shrill voice, “ Mr. Crawley, why don’t you come forward V” Crawley, with an air of timid perplexity, obeyed. “ I turn over those two adventurers, those con- spirators, to you, and to the laws they have violated ; and I now thus publicly acknowledge my imprudence in receiving them under my roof, and beg forgiveness of the friends into whose society I obtruded them. Lady Georgiana, Miss Crawley, we will, if you please, now retire. Mr. Crawley, the officers of justice may do their duty. Fitzadelm, give me your arm.” “No, madam,” said Lord Fitzadelm, firmly, and leading her back forcibly to her seat, “ you must not go. Neither shall I, until the defamation you have indulged in is either substantiated or disproved ; until my friend, General Fitzwalter, is afforded (and in the presence of these, before whom he has been so grossly insulted) an opportunity of clearing himself of the as- persions with which you have blasted his gallant charac er.” “ Your friend ! your friend !” repeated Lady Du- nore, bursting into a fit of hysterical tears. “Are your friends, then, to be always my enemies ? Am I always to find an adversary in my son ; or is it only to thwart, oppose, and distract me, that you now in- volve yourself in the guilt of an impostor and a mur- derer, by publicly acknowledging him as your friend FLORENCE MACARTHY. 565 A general murmur of amazement and consternation arose. Lord Fitzadelm, with the air of one whose feelings seemed to find their own level in the extra- ordinary and unprecedented part he was now called on to play, turned to General Fitzwalter, and said : “ Now, then, is your moment — I hold myself answer- able for the truth of all you shall assert.” Fitzwalter gently released himself from Lady Clan- care’s arm, while Lord Frederick, in good-natured consideration of the anxiety and emotion painted in her countenance, led her to a chair, and took his place beside her. A silence of a moment ensued, and Fitzwalter, advancing with his wonted disengaged and elevated air towards Lady Dunore, placed him- self before her, and, leaning his hand on the back of a chair, addressed her with his usual rapid energy of utterance : “ Making a journey on horseback, madam, a short time back, on business of emergency, I was over- taken in the Kil worth mountains by a storm, which induced me to take shelter in a miserable hut. I found it occupied by men, whose countenances and appearance were of that wild resolute cast which in such scenes induces suspicion. The poverty of the mistress of this hut, and of her naked children, led me to an act of perhaps imprudent liberality at such a moment. I meant to have given her a guinea. I gave her by mistake a golden coin. Proceeding on my journey I fell in with a small military party; they st opt and questioned me. While thus engaged the men I had left, accompanied by a hundred others, well mounted and rudely armed, overtook the sol- diers, who were employed in the service of the re- 566 FLORENCE MACARTHY. venue, or, in the language of the country, still- hunting. The conflict was desperate. I endeavored to interfere, failed, and rode on. “The papers have since announced the death of one of the military party, the murderer remained for a time unknown, and, after the expiration of some weeks, it appears that I stand accused of this mur- der, of joining the party who opposed the military for the purposes of canvassing popularity, and ob- taining false witnesses to prove, or credulous persons to believe, that I am the son of the elder Baron of Fitzadelm, whose death was supposed to have oc- curred three-and-twenty years back. This, I believe, Mr. Crawley, is the spirit of your indictment.” “ ’Pon my credit, sir, I can’t take upon me to say just in a moment, but believes it is,” returned old Crawley. “ And now,” continued Fitzwalter, “ having been brought forward for the purpose of being exposed to shame, obloquy and ridicule— a refinement upon the severity of the law, a propitiatory sacrifice to the distinguished persons on whose indignant nobility a murderer and a conspirator has been unwillingly ob- truded — may I beg to know from you, Mr. Crawley (who seem the acting and active agent in this prose- cution), where am I now to proceed ?” Old Crawley, gradually edging himself out of Ge- neral Fitzwalter’s way, as he approached him, sidled towards one of the officers of justice, who stood at the door, and, twitching him by the sleeve, whisper- ed him a few words in his ear ; the man respectfully approached his prisoner and bowed. “ I suppose,” said Fitzwalter, “ Lady Clancare, as FLORENCE MACARTHY. 567 whose husband I have the honor to announce my- self. may be allowed to accompany me. Is it not so, Mr. Crawley?” “ Give you my honor, sir, I don’t know ; if it*s in the warrant, and Mr. Lynch has no objection,” re- plied Crawley, gradually taking shelter behind Lady Dunore’s chair, and directing many significant looks to the constable, while Miss Crawley whispered Lady Dunore, “ Sure such a pair were never seen.” A pause of a moment ensued; every countenance was marked either by curiosity, amazement, or anx- iety, when Mr. O’Sullivan advanced into the room, and was presented to the marchioness by the rector as the Catholic Dean of Dunore, and Superior of the Friary of St. John’s, — as a gentleman to whom, in the course of his professional duties, a wicked and black conspiracy had discovered itself, which he was desirous of revealing, before the gentleman (who stood there accused of rdurder) should be dismissed from her ladyship’s presence. Lady Dunore’s countenance brightened into triumph. She cast a look of reproach and indig- nation at her son; old Crawley, on the contrary, turned deadly pale, and sunk on a seat beside his sister, whose whispers and sneers were all directed at Lady Clancare, though addressed tp Lady Dunore. “ Pray sit down, Mr. Dean,” exclaimed Lady Du- nore, u I- am happy to make your acquaintance. Georgy, love, move a little, and make room for the dean. Pray speak, I am all attention.” Mr. O'Sullivan, declining the honor of the seat in- 568 FLORENCE MACARTHY. tended him, briefly entered on the business which had brought him to the country, at some personal incon- venience ; and read from a paper, which w as after- wards handed about, the dying declaration of a man of the name of Teague Connor. This person, two days before, had been wounded in a riot, and had sought to obtain remission of his crimes, under the influence of a deathbed remorse, by confessing his recent conspiracy against the life of an innocent man, a stranger, of whom he knew nothing, but that he had seen him give money to a poor woman in a ca- bin. To the crime he had confessed, he had been in- stigated by the arts of the notorious Jemmy Bryan, who purchased his acquiescence by the sum of fifty pounds, and the protection of a great gentleman in the country. “The name of this gentleman,” continued Mr. O’Sullivan, “ is in my possession ; and this declaration is signed by three magistrates, who were present when it was made, and who were persons of the highest respectability and consideration. The un- fortunate man who made it still lives ; and the woman who received the golden coin from General Fitzwal- ter has deposed that she sold it, a few days back, for forty shillings, to the said Mr. Jemmy Bryan, who has escaped the vigilance of the most active research ; and except Mr. Crawley can give us some assistance in the pursuit, may finally elude the grasp of jus- tice.” The triumph which had flashed from Lady Du- nore’s eyes now gave way to a look of deep mortifi- cation and disappointment ; while the appeal of Mr. O’Sullivan turned every eye on old Crawley, who. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 569 during the singular denouement, had nearly crept to the door: there he was stopped by Lord Frederick, who, springing after him, and catching hirn by the arm, led him back into the room. “Stay, my Ching-foo,” he cried: “it is now very evident we cannot get on without you, my mirror of magistrates. We cannot yet dispense with your pre- sence,” “ Give you my honor, was only just stepping out for a little thieves’ vinegar, in respect of the hate,” replied old Crawley, as he took his seat, muttering, as he passed his sister, in a tone of agony — “ and Con to desert me in this dilemia , and think only of him- self and his election !” “ I have only to add,” continued Mr. O’Sullivan, “ that it is my firm belief that this conspiracy against the character and life of a brave and high-spirited gentleman has been contrived for the sole purpose of preventing his making claims to a title and pro- perty, of which he has been long deprived by the most iniquitous proceedings ; and I am also ready to declare upon oath, in a court of justice, that I believe the person who now has the title and name of Gene- ral Fitzwalter to be Walter de Montenay Fitzadelm, son and heir to the late Baron Walter Fitzwalter, and that he is the true Marquis of Dunore.” “ And I declare,” exclaimed old Crawley, worked up by the exigency of the moment, while universal emotion and amazement were pictured in every coun- tenance, “ I declare that the gentleman, if it’s gentle- man you call him, Mr. O’Sullivan, is Micky Laffan, a bit of a by-blow of my Lord Fitzadelm, by one Judy Laffan ; and if I don’t prove it, and many respectable 570 FLORENCE MACARTHY. witnesses along with me, I’ll just give my head for & Cronobane halfpenny.” “ How can that be ?” exclaimed a voice from the door, “ and I, Micky Laffan, here to the fore.” The gaunt figure of Padreen Gar strided forward, and he continued : “ And you thought, Mr. Crawley, I’d never come back from transportation ; but I tould you I would, sir, when you laste expected me ; and am here, you see, to make good my word.” As he spoke he wiped off the yellow stain that covered his face; and re- moving the black hairs which concealed a handsome auburn head, he asked, with his wonted air of reso- lute intrepidity, “ do you know me now, Mr. Craw- ley, sir ? Isn’t that the coolin’ of the family all the world over ?” and he run his coarse fingers through locks curled and burnished as Lord Adelm’s own : “ and hopes I have too much of a gentleman in me, Mr. Crawley, and too much of the blood of my father in my veins, to do the unhandsome thing, or save myself from trouble, by bringing ruination on the head of an innocent man and a fine gentleman ; and you may sind me back to Botany Bay now, if you plaze, Mr. Crawley, for another ruction at Ballydab, as yez did before ; but defies the world to say I ever injured man or baste, barring a tithe proctor, or a bit of an exciseman, or cropping a taste off Jemmy Bry- an’s odd ear, just for fun, and carries my mark with him to this day ; and if you don’t believe what I say, there’s the certificate of my birth, and there’s the gentleman, God bless him, that signed it, and was minister at Fitzadelm church the day I was born.” Padreen Gar presented a piece of dirty paper to FLORENCE MACARTHY. 571 tlie rector, who acknowledged the signature, and re- collected the baptism of an illegitimate son of Lord Walter Fitzadelm, at the period of the date, whom, like many others of the offspring of that Lord’s illicit loves, he had abandoned to the want and misery which eventually led to a life of lawlessness and des- peration. Old Crawley sunk back in his chair, and either was unable or unwilling to make any further effort. Lady Dunore was motionless and silent from fear, doubt, and consternation; her eyes, almost starting from their inflamed sockets, wandered alternately from the face of her son to Fitzwalter and Padreen Gar ; and, differing as they all did in personal appearance, she beheld, or fancied she could trace a resemblance, such as is often seen in members of the same family, how- ever vague or indefinite. Fitzwalter turned his eyes on Lord Adelm, as if, before he himself occupied attention, he wished to give him an opportunity of playing a part, distin- guished in proportion to its singularity and disinter- estedness. Lord Adelm, though languid, and occa- sionally abstracted, as one self-involved and distress- ingly preoccupied, understood the appeal made to all his better feelings, and came forward to reply to it. “ It may,” he said, addressing his mother, “ it may tend to put a speedy termination to a scene, naturally calculated to distress and agitate you, madam, if without further discussions, at a moment when they are scarcely available, I, who have been so long sup- posed the presumptive heir of the Dunore estates and titles, come forward to assert my solemn belief in the actual existence of my uncle’s only son, De Montenay 572 FLORENCE MACARTHY. Fitzadelm : further, it is my belief, that the cele- brated and distinguished man, who now stands before me, is that person ; and I am proud to confess that I have been possessed of the secret of his existence, and of the efforts he has been making to establish his just claims, since he first arrived in this country — claims which it would be as impolitic, as vain, to re- sist. The perilous confidence his noble and generous nature thus placed in me has been the purchase of my everlasting esteem and gratitude. I will not say I am happy, that is not in human nature ; but I am proud to welcome the long injured Marquis of Du- 17 ore to the possessions of his ancestors.” He held out his hand to Fitzwalter, and the em- brace of the distinguished cousins w r as a signal of the prompt feelings of O’Leary and Padreen Gar. Their cry of long live Walter de Montenay Fitzadelm, Mar- quis of Dunore, and Gal-Keadh-Aboe, was echoed by persons who had forced their way into the hall, and re-echoed by the multitude who occupied the court without. Lady Dunore, now agitated “ up to her bent,” wrung her hands in convulsive emotion, exclaiming, that Lord Adelm sought only to oppose and distract her, calling on Mr. Crawley to come forward, and en- treating her friends to stand by her to secure the conspirators, and to discredit a tale, in which there was not, there could not be, a shadow of truth. Every eye was turned on the hero of the scene, who waited evidently for the first burst of Lady Du- nore’s passion to exhaust itself before he addressed her. He then said — “ That a story so extraordinary, so strongly opposed to your ladyship’s maternal in- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 573 terests and ambition, should startle your belief, is na- tural and excusable ; of its truth, however, there is one witness in this room, whose testimony you can- not doubt ; I mean Mr. Crawley.” Old Crawley, faint, ghastly, the victim of his con- stitutional timidity, and of facts which were bearing all before them, shrunk backhand seemed almost to diminish to the eye, as every feature, every limb, yielded to gradual contraction. General Fitzwalter, however, advanced, drew him forward, and led him a few minutes on one side. Whatever had been the subject of their conference, when old Crawley turned round (though still agitated and trembling), the color had returned to his livid cheek ; and when he w T as led forward to his patroness, who was weeping on his sister’s shoulder (Lady Georgiana being too much amused to lend her friend any assistance), he en- deavored to address her. “ Lady Emily Fitzadelm,” he began ; but the w T ild start of the person he thus addressed, the flash of in- dignation which sparkled in her haughty eyes, again annihilated his returning courage; and uttering an inarticulate — “ The Lord save us !’’ he hastily re- treated. “Mr. Crawley, madam,” said the Marquis of Du- nore, “ would have sought your ladyship's forgive- ness, for having so long concealed an event in which you are so deeply interested. He would plead in ex- cuse that zeal for you and your children, which originated his acquiescence in a crime which it is now h:s intention to expiate by a full and complete discovery. His testimony, however, may be dis- pensed with; the evidences in my favor are suffi- 574 FLORENCE MACARTHY. ciently numerous and strong to leave me independent of his assistance. His liberty, perhaps his life, was in my power — they are so no more. I have pledged my honor for their safety, on certain conditions. His reputation, his ill-acquired property, I cannot save. I have now little to add. It will depend upon the prudence and discretion of your ladyship’s counsel- lors, whether in acting as the representative of your suffering son, Robert Fitzadelm, commonly called Marquis of Dunore, you shall bring our mutual claims before a court, when it is for the honor of our family that they should be referred to private de- cision. “ For what purpose, and at whose instigation, I was in my boyhood torn from my country and my birthright, and was sold to slavery, Mr. Crawley can best tell you ; for the rest, my story may be briefly related. u The generous person into whose hands I .fell, rescued me from the horrors of a condition which still exists among the professors of Christianity, to the shame of humanity. The precocity of intellect, which had been nourished by the lessons of my good and learned fosterer and preceptor, O’Leary, told powerfully in my favor with him whose property I became. I was soon made the companion and in- structor of his only son, saved the boy’s life in a sur- prise attempted by some native Indians, who sur- rounded us in a distant sporting journey ; received my manumission as a recompense ; grew uncon- sciously on the father’s affections ; became the child of his adoption, on the premature death of his only son, and succeeded to his property on his demise. FLORENCE MACARTHY. 575 “ The cause of liberty was my natural vocation ; and I hastened to the South American continent, to join the standard, then slowly beginning to unfurl in the land of oppression. My own story lay rankling in secret at the bottom of my heart; and I had almost learnt to abhor its name and title, which had been the cause of my being reduced below the state of man. When I arrived in England, however, with Don hfarino 5 in my inquiries after my own family, I found there'only existed an empty title, without pro- perty, rank, or consideration; and a representative whom my reappearance would blast with eternal in- famy. There was nothing to be gained by a dis- covery, but the destruction of those nearest to me by blood. I returned to South America without re- claiming a name I almost blushed to own, that I might make one I should glory in wearing. “ In justice to myself, I must observe, that the pro- tector of my infancy, the instructor of my youth, was never forgotten — my dear foster-father O'Leary.” He paused, and a smile of mingled emotion and beneficence threw its radiance over his splendid coun- tenance. O’Leary hustled forward, and pressing the tears from his swdmming eyelids, he stood with a look of proud triumph beside him, swinging his hat, and humming away his emotion. “ Of the persons of respectability in my father’s service, I could only remember the son of our land steward, Darby Crawley, an attorney in the neigh- borhood of Court Fitzadelm. To this person I wrote, requesting him to forward an enclosed letter to Ter- ence O’Leary, whose wife had been in the service of the Baroness Fitzadelm, containing five hundred 576 FLORENCE MACARTHY. pounds ; but in case of his death to return it to my banker in London. In my letter to O’Leary, I en- trusted the secret of my existence, and my intention of coming forward to claim my right and title, on the death of my uncle.” “ The murthering pirate !” interrupted O’Leary, shaking his head at old Crawley, who sat behind the chair of his trembling and now agitated sister. “ And never gave a scrubal of it, as I tould your lord- ship before, but had me flogged in the rebellion for a Latin note he found in my pocket — the ignoramus !” “ The event of my captivity in the Caraccas,” con- tinued Lord Punore, “ is already before the public. One incident arose from this event, which it is curious to mention, as bearing forcibly on the circumstances of the moment. The keeper of my dungeon w-as a Spaniard, who spoke a little English. He had occa- sionally addressed me in that language, and eyed me with curiosity which indicated an interest beyond that of our present relation — it was the interest of re- cognition; and inquiries, mutually made and answer- ed, discovered in the person of the keeper of my dungeon a sailor, one of the crew" who had assisted in kidnapping me in my boyhood from the Irish coast. “ This man had suffered much in the interval which had elapsed ; he had been taken by Barbary pirates — sold to slavery, and, in the vicissitudes of his life, had entered into the service of Spain, been wounded, dis- abled, and made one of the keepers of a royal prison in Spanish America. He had considered his suffer- ings as retributions for the crimes he had assisted in committing on the Irish shores ; and, in the hope that lie was now about to be reconciled with heaven, he FLORENCE MACARTHY. 577 effected my escape from prison, accompanied me in my flight, and is at present my mate, and on board my own vessel, which lies., in harbor near Cork. In confirmation of these facts, he can produce a letter, dropped on the deck by one of the disguised persons who had brought me out to the vessel, which he had preserved in the hope of one day expiating his crime by being of use to me. The signature of this letter I have shown to Lord Fitzadelm. Its address is to Mr. Crawley, from Court Fitzadelm, twenty-three years back ; and the postmark is a town in the neighbor- hood. Witnesses, no less efficient than this let- ter, are — a groom of my father's who carried me in the chaise, which now awaits at the door of this cas- tle, and who has been reduced to beggary, under the Irish epithet of the Baccah ; Terence Oge O’Leary, my foster-father; the Rev. Denis O'Sullivan, my mo- ther’s kinsman and confessor, to whom she bequeathed the certificate of my birth, and that of her own mar- riage (urged to this cautionary proceeding by the in- trigues of which she died the broken-hearted victim). The miniatures of both my parents in their youth are in his possession, to both of which I bear a strong re- semblance ; — and the Reverend Rector of Dunore re- members me in my childhood, when he was himself a young man, just entered into orders, and made curate of the parish of Court Fitzadelm. I have no- thing more to add, but that my story, strange and improbable as it may appear, belongs to the history of a long disorganized country, where, under the in- fluence of political misrule, the moral relations of so- ciety too often sit loosely, and where the demoraliza- tion of the people is a necessary consequence of the 578 FLORENCE MACARTHY. code of those who rule by national debasement and disunion.-’ After a brief silence, preserved by the amazement of some, and the still eager curiosity of others, he added, in a voice full of conciliation and respect, and more especially addressing himself to the weeping and exhausted Lady Dunore, “ This is not a moment to press upon your ladyship’s credence the facts of a story it can neither be your interest nor inclination to admit. But I would at least induce you to believe that the mother of Lord Adelm Fitzadelm must al- ways be to me an object of respect, of interest, and consideration ; and that, whether you persist in refus- ing, or yield to the claims I have now briefly stated, you will, at least, I trust, remain mistress of this cas- tle, so long as it may be your convenience or pleasure to continue in Ireland, “And now, Mr. Crawley,” he added with his radiant smile, “ if you insist on the execution of your warrant, I must obey, and accompany your officers of justice to Dublin. I confess, however, I had planned a journey of a very different description.” He colored deeply, and threw" his eyes on Lady Clan- care, who, downcast and blushing, was deserted in this moment of prosperous triumph by that gaiety and elasticity .of spirit, which in less fortunate hours had borne her above the adverse circumstances of her forlorn destiny. The bashfulness of a bride, fresh from the altar, and the powerful emotions incidental to her peculiar position, as she now stood, the mis- tress of the superb mansion, where she had first ap- peared a prisoner, where she had lately stood ac- cused of conspiracy and imposture, left her confused, FLORENCE MACARTHY. 579 silent, and shrinking from the glances which the slight allusion of the Marquis of Dunore to their re- spective situations had drawn to her person. A few words having passed between the agitated Crawley and Lord Fitzadelm, the latter, addressing his cousin, observed aloud, that Mr. Crawley had referred every- thing to him for the present. “ Then, in that case,” observed Lord Dunore, step- ping back, and drawing the arm of the new and bridal marchioness through his, “ we shall pursue our route, according to our original intention.” Lady Clancare, now letting go his arm, advanced timidly to Lady Dunore, and took her hand with that fondling and playful manner which had once such charms for her capricious friend. “ No,” said Lady Dunore, snatching it hastily from her, and in a tone of angry indignation; whatever may happen, I shall always consider your conduct as false and deceptive.” “ How !” said Lady Clancare, all her wonted spirit rallying to her eyes and countenance. “ False! Was it false to confide to you the sole important secret of my life? Was it deceptive to confess to you the motives which led me to your castle, to seek and to accept your hospitality ? If I have deceived you, madam, it was by the frank relation of facts, calcu- lated indeed by their improbability to win on your attention, but yet confided to you at some risk ; be- cause, though I may have availed myself of some mysterious truths, I disdained falsehood even for the purpose of effecting my dearest interests — and now,” she added, with a sudden burst of gaiety flashing over her whole countenance, and animating every 680 FLORENCE MACARTHY. gesture, “ I would fain, like one of my own heroines, wind up the denouement of my story with some touch of humor or pathos — some appeal to the feel- ings I address, which should enable me to retire with applause ; but hitherto adversity has been my muse, and now,” placing her hand in Lord Dunore’s, “ she deserts me. “What remains, therefore, to be said of myself, must be deferred to calmer moments, when (as en- nuyee, as other great personages with the ‘ toujours Perdrix 1 ) I shall seek to diversify the calm of my dull prosperity by a recurrence to the vicissitudes of my early life ; then seated by my Irish turf fire, with my own amusement for my object, and my husband for my critical reviewer, I shall take the liberty of put- ting myself in my own book, and shall record the events of this last month of my life under the title of — FLORENCE MACARTHY.” CHAPTER XXn. And thus the whirligig of time Brings in its revenges. Shakspeare. CONCLUSION. The eccentric and visionary, but high-minded Lord Adelm Fitzadelm, had just remained in Ireland long enough to learn that his law agent, Conway Crawley, had been elected member in his stead for Glanna- crime ; and the papers soon after announced his de- parture for the North Pole. Meantime, his mother, backed by powerful friends, and urged by interested counsellors, refused, on her return to England, to acknowledge the claims made by the gallant guerilla chief to the title and property in possession of her insane son. A suit was com- menced, which ended in her defeat, and only served to expose the infamy of her late husband to “ the garish eye of day.” The trial, however, had occu- pied, amused, and agitated her ; and the overthrow of her hopes furnished her new sources of real affliction and complaint, in place of the ideal sorrows she had loved to create and to deplore. As Miss Crawley had prudently separated herself from her brother Darby, with the desertion of his success and fortunes, and had accompanied Lady Du- 582 FLORENCE MACART1IY. nore to England, she availed herself of the depres- sion ot mind to which that lady, for a time, resigned her variable feelings ; and, to her infinite triumph, she had the happiness of seeing rouge Almacks, and “ Georgy, love,” sacrificed to round-eared caps, reli- gious conversaziones, and the society of the elect and hungry in the Lord, who eat their way to their patronesses’ conversion with true gastronomic, as well as polemic zeal ; while Miss Crawley, the direct- ress of her conscience and her house, gradually as- sumed a power over both, to which the unregulated imagination of Lady Dunore, easily worked on by terror and mysticism, made no resistance. The leases and mortgages, rendered unavailable by the unexpected reappearance of the real Marquis of Dunore, with the loss of his agency, nearly reduced old Crawley to a state of ruin, which an investigation of the commissioners of inquiry into his official emo- luments finally completed. His military son had been ordered abroad. His eldest son, under an accu- mulation of gambling debts, occupied an apartment in a prison over which he had once presided ; and old Crawley, in his extreme distress, was reduced to ap- plying for relief to his favorite son, Conway, who had, however, on the first turn of his father’s fortunes, shaken him off, on the plea of his immoral conduct and lost character. Conway Townsend Crawley, Esq., member for Glannacrime, had found an early opportunity of at- tracting the eyes of persons in power, by serving in a cause in which they were interested, and had pur- chased a situation of trust and emolument at the ex- pense of every manly and every gentlemanlike feel- FLORENCE MACARTHY. 583 mg. Pushing his way into high society by the same intrepid effrontery with which he had pushed his way through life to fortune, he happened one day to be seated at the head of his sumptuous table, entertain- ing a select party of official grandees, when Mr. Darby Crawley from Ireland was announced; and when, to his horror and consternation, his vulgar, blundering, but unfortunate father, entered the room, and, throwing his arms around him, exclaimed : “ Con, honey, sure you won’t turn your back on your poor ould father, like, like the rest of the world ? - — he that made a counsellor and a member of parlia- ment of you, and that warned you against poethry, and pathritism, and gianius; and owes to him what you are at this minute, if you were twenty times as great.” The ridicule of this scene, prolonged by the good- nature of his guests and friends, was ineffagable ; and from that moment Conway Crawley resolved on get- ting rid of a relative who blended a disgraceful vul- garity and lost character with an effrontery which, like his own, was unconquerable. In a few weeks, therefore, Mr. Crawley, through the interest of his son, being still a loyal, though al- most a lost man, was appointed consul to his Britan- nic Majesty at a Turkish port. Meantime, consigned by that son to the back stairs and housekeeper’s room of his house in London, he felt the indignity with pa- rental pride ; but his natural cheeriness of tempera- ment prevailed over his misfortune, and while he sat with the priestess of conserves enjoying a “ sup of hot,” his head full of turbanned Turks and the ele- phant in Blue Beard, on which he expected shortly to 584 FLORENCE MACARTIIY. ride, with some acrimonious reference to the political power and unnatural conduct of his son, he occasion- ally was heard to sing forth— “ ’Tis a very fine thing to he father-in-law To a very magnificent three-tail’d bashaw.” His son, meantime, becoming a servant of all work in his political vocation and remunerated accordingly, in his various capacities, literary, official, and diploma- tic, — used, not respected, tolerated, not esteemed, — “ With pay, and scorn content, Bows and votes on in court and parliament.’* On the successful termination of the great Fitz- adelm cause, which had for some months occupied the public attention, the Marquis and Marchioness of Dunore took possession of their ancient castle and vast possessions in Ireland, and fixed there their chief residence. Convinced by a close and attentive obser- vation that the land of their birth was hourly sinking in the scale of nations, under the oppression of petty, delegated authority, and by the neglect and absence of its natural protectors, they acted, with their accus- tomed energy and perseverance, upon the dictates of experience; and they illustrated, by their example, the truth of a maxim, now more* generally felt and admitted, that IRELAND CAN BEST BE SERVED IN IRELAND. NOTES TO FLORENCE MACARTHY. 585 NOTES. Note ( 1 ) Page 7 . — This may seem harsh language applied to the “ gallant Raleigh,” who had rendered himself so illustrious in many instances, but it is fully justified by his conduct during his residence in Ireland. (2) Page 39. — Of the inextinguishable fire heretofore kept by the nuns of St. Bridget at Kildare, thus speaks Giraldus Cam- brensis. At Kildare, famous for St. Bridget, are many miracles worthy to be remembered, among which is St. Bridget’s fire, which they call inextinguishable, not that it cannot be extin- guished, but because the nuns and holy women, by a continual supply of materials, have preserved it alive for so many years since the time of that virgin ; and though so great a quantity of wood has been consumed in it, yet no ashes remain. From hence that nunnery is commonly called the fire-house. (3) Page 41. — Abbey of the Holy Cross, by the Riyer Suire. This abbey was founded in honor of the Holy Cross, for Cister- cians, by Donald O’Brien, King of Limerick, about the year 1169, or as others, in 1181. The possessions were confirmed by John, Lord of Ireland and Earl of Moreton, afterwards King of Eng- land. This abbey was afterwards, in a general chapter, sub- jected by the Abbot of Clarevaux to the Abbey of Furness, in England. (4) Page 43. — Shebeen — literally a house of concealment. The term is applied from the circumstance of the spirits which are sold in these private pot-houses being unlicensed, and con- sequently concealed. (5) Page 56. — To the proper names of the ancient Irish, sur- names were added, either from some action, some quality of the mind, color or mark of the body, or from chance, or ironically. So Neal, King of Ireland, was called Vigialac, because he had taken nine hostages from the lesser kings, and had held them for some time in fetters. King Brian was called Boruma, because he 586 NOTES TO FLORENCE MACARTHY. had recovered from the people of Leinster a certain annual tri- bute so called. Csenfela was called the wise. (*5) Page 56. — This Irish Marmite formerly, and even within these twenty years, was open to any hand its plentiful contents might tempt. Now, however, the potato has risen in value with the increase of wretchedness, and of that one meal a day is often with difficulty procured. In the summer of 1817, the author being in the country, within twelve miles of Dublin, on a visit at the seat of a person of rank, frequently observed that when the twelve o’clock bell rung to send the laborers home to dinner, they lay down in the dry ditches. On inquiring into the cause of a circumstance so unusual, she was informed, both by the peasants and their overseers, that being unable to procure more than one meal of potatoes (taken only with salt and water), they preferred having that meal at night. Even this wretched supper is extremely scanty. (6) Page 94. — The ancient Irish used wicker boats covered with ox hide, called corraghs, upon the open sea. Upon lakes and rivers they used another kind of boat, called cotta , made of a hollo.w tree. Both these boats are still in general use in Ireland, under the name of corraghs and cots, but are chiefly to be found on the rivers in remote counties, and on the south and west sea coast. (7) Page 111. — “I admit neither presbyter, papist, independ- ent, nor, as our proclamation says, any other sort of fanatic, to plant here, but all good Protestants .” — Earl of Orrery's Letter to tlie Duke of Ormonde , 1662. (8) Page 132. — The driver is generally a peasant’s son, taken from the spade, and hired at a salary of £5 or £6 a year. He is ever the ready instrument of oppression ; and, consequently, the object of popular vengeance, and devoted to death, with the tithe proctor, the police constable, &c., &c. (9) Page 180.— The Butlers and Fitzgeralds had been power- ful rivals and enemies from the time of their arrival in Ireland with Henry II. The anecdote is well known of the Earl of Desmond being taken prisoner by the Earl of Ormonde ; and borne off wounded on the shoulders of the Ormonde followers, returned in answer to the taunting question of “ Where now is NOTES TO FLORENCE MACARTHY. 587 the great Lord Desmond 1” “Still on the necks of the But- lers.’ (10) Page 180. — The “ Fringes” was a procession of the trades and corporations, performed in Ireland on Corpus Christi day, even within the author’s recollection. King Solomon, Queen Sheba, with Vulcan, Venus, and Cupid, were leading personages upon this occasion. The ceremony was the remains of an old Roman Catholic superstition. Something in the same way is still celebrated in Shrewsbury, or at least was a very few years back. (11) Page *211. — The private theatricals, held annually at Kilkenny, assemble whatever Ireland still retains of rank, fashion, talent, and taste. There party loses its asperity, sect its dis- tinction, and prejudice its bitterness. By-laws and military laws are there forgotten, and the laws of this amiable institution, like those of Nature, are governed by harmony only. (12) Page 282. — It is natural that the natives of an oppressed country should sympathize with the oppressed wherever they exist. Many Irish names are to be found among the gallant advocates of liberty in South America. * (13) Page 298. — Though the number of monks and nuns now recited is by no means to be depended on, yet it suggested to their presidents the necessity of stone inclosures, or classes ; these, in the East, were called mandrae. The word originally imported a sheepfold, and was applied to those monastic build- ings wherein the archimandrite presided over his disciples, as he shepherd superintended his flock in the fold. There are many of these mandrae dispersed over this kingdom, hitherto unnoticed. (14) Page 314. — These tiernas were what Davis calls con- finnes, canfinnes, confinnie — “the heads of clans.” We had our Clanbreasil, Clancarty, Clanaboy, Clancolman, Clanfergal, and many more. In most cases the tierna’s surname was that of his clan. The original exactions of the Irish kings were : Bonaht — a tax for the maintenance of the gallowglasses, kerns, and other military. 588 NOTES TO FLORENCE MACARTHY. Scrohen — a tax on freeholders for the entertainment of soldiers. Coshery — a custom of exacting entertainment for the king and Ms followers from those under his jurisdiction. Cuddy, or suppers. Shragh and mart — imposed at the will of the lord, and levied partly in cattle or wood. (15) Page 318. — Kilmallock, in the county of Limerick, a city of conspicuous figure in the military history of Ireland, and still exhibiting one of the most curious monuments of antiquity. _ BOSTON COLLEGE 9031 01 318999 8 | >RR to l Sk^OSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY m! / $ UNIVERSITY HEIGHTS CHESTNUT HILL, MASS. Books may be kept for two weeks and may be renewed for the same period, unless re- served. - Two cents a day is charged for each book kept overtime. If you cannot find what you want, ask the Librarian who will be glad to help you. The borrower is responsible for books drawn on his card and for all fines accruing on the / • s ; same.