CANVASSING, 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 
 THE O'HARA FAMILY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE "MAYOR OF WIND GAP. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 CAREY, LEA, & BLANCHARD 
 1835. 
 

 CANVASSING 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Lord Glenville and Lord .Warringdon were lounging together 
 over a fashionable late breakfast. 
 
 " Recollect, Warringdon, you are to be with Cropper and 
 Baines by four this morning, to hear about that girl." 
 
 " Time enough," replied Lord Warringdon, carelessly. 
 
 "__You'll let her slip through your fingers, as you are going 
 on ; I see that very plainly." 
 
 " Probably," rejoined the son : " luckily, she is not the only 
 heiress to be found in the city. Besides, to confess the truth, 
 I am in no hurry to run my neck into the noose, if I can 
 help it." 
 
 "7/"," replied the father, significantly. 
 
 "I think that the heir to a hundred thousand a year, well 
 paid, and but slightly encumbered, tnight help it," retorted the 
 son. 
 
 "/think," observed the father, " that five thousand a year 
 is a tolerably fair allowance for presents to opera people, and 
 douceurs to ladies' maids." 
 
 " Not when ninety-five thousand is not found too much for 
 the same purpose," retorted the son with a sneer. " 
 
 " Oh ! as for that, Warringdon," replied Lord Glenville, 
 affecting not to hear the foregoing remark; '^' you cannot have 
 money in every way: you quite forget that your two last con- 
 tested elections cost me fifty thousand pounds, besides having 
 had to pay back all the money you won on that cursed Twick- 
 enham party ; and then, the rascally newspapers ; recollect all 
 it cost me to make them hold their tongues. 1 assure you, I 
 had to pave your way out of that business with bank-bills. I 
 
4 CANVASSING. 
 
 often told you that one should never undertake a thing of the 
 kind, unless one had nerve to go through with it. Better never 
 win, unless you make up your mind to fight the man, if he ob- 
 jects to the fairness of the transaction. Don't you see, War- 
 ringdon ?" 
 
 " For heaven's sake, spare me that irksome subject ; we have 
 already gone over the ground so often, that I know, by heart, 
 all you would say. I have before assured you, that I shall 
 never attempt recruiting ray finances again in that way. With 
 respect to the obligation you would fix on me, for arranging the 
 affair, you must pardon my not seeing the business in the same 
 li^ht ; had you honoured my draughts, I should not have been 
 driven to such extremities." And so saying, his lordship 
 pushed his cup from him, and threw back his°handsome head 
 with an air of languid haughtiness. 
 
 His father glanced at him a moment, without speaking, and 
 then, smiling coldly, observed, '" Raison de plus, my good fel- 
 low, for looking after the heiress." 
 
 Their tete a tete was interrupted by the entrance of a foot- 
 man with the morning papers, and a packet of notes and letters. 
 A silence of some minutes ensued, which was broken by Lord 
 Glenville. 
 
 '* Who is that letter from, Warringdon ]" 
 
 " Which ; this ?" answered his son ; pointing to one he had 
 just carelessly thrown aside, of which the delicate hue, exqui- 
 site odour, and lightly-traced and undefined characters, breathed 
 womanly grace and frivolity, — " Oh, aye ; this is from the pret- 
 tiest woman in London. I am not going to make you my con- 
 fessor, though. 
 
 " No," said Lord Glenville ; " the other letter." 
 
 " That? Oh, that's from the next prettiest woman in London. 
 I did think her the prettiest dajis le bon vieux temps, a fortnight 
 ago." 
 
 " No, no ;" said his father impatiently ; " the letter you have 
 there in your hand." 
 
 " Here it is for you," answered Lord Warringdon, tossing 
 it towards his father; "I have not read it myself, yet; but it 
 will keep cool, I dare say." 
 
 ^ '* Ah, very good ;" observed Lord Glenville, as he cast his 
 eye over the epistle ; " I wonder you did not tell me of this be- 
 fore, my dear Warringdon." 
 
 " How the deuce could I, when I had not read it ? What's 
 it all about ]" 
 
 " It is from Wilmot." 
 
CANVASSING. 5 
 
 "Who the devil is he?" inquired Lord Warringdon. 
 
 " Wilmot ! Why, don't you recollect, you wrote to canvass 
 him, the other day? Wilmot, of Castle Wilmot, in the half- 
 unreclaimed Irish county of ; the husband of Lady 
 
 Anne, Lord Rochford's daughter; — you recollect, don't you ]" 
 
 " Oh, aye ; 1 remember, now ; what does he say T" 
 
 " I may as well read it for you," answered the father. 
 
 " Ah, no, tell it for me : 1 hate the reading, or hearing read, 
 a stupid letter on business," replied the son. 
 
 " Well, he says that he will be most happy to give you his 
 interest; he has I do not know how many thousand votes at 
 your disposal ; and is very glad that you look to a county in 
 which your family have so large a stake, and so forth ; and con- 
 cludes by begging you to make his house your head-quarters : 
 — very civil, is it not?" 
 
 ♦* Yes," replied his son, yawning; "very great bore, though, 
 to have to go there, — drink whisky-punch, and have my ears 
 torn to pieces by their infernal brogue." 
 
 «' Very true," remarked Lord Glenville; " you cannot, how- 
 ever, have the people's votes without taking a little trouble 
 about them." 
 
 " If you would l^t me sit for one of your boroughs, though, 
 I should be spared all this annoyance. Do you know, 1 have 
 half a mind to pitch Wilmot, of Castle Wilmot, and his cursed 
 county, to the devil V 
 
 " Do so, if you like, my good fellow ; but how long do you 
 expect to be out of the King's Bench after you have performed 
 that feat ? As for the boroughs, I have already told you that I 
 have sold them, for this time ; I wanted money, — so there's an 
 end of them till next parliament. You will walk over the 
 
 course, in Wilmot says; what more do you want than to 
 
 be in parliamenf? but it is your affair, not mine. I wish, my 
 dear Warringdon, you would condescend to listen to me, and 
 play with your brute some other time." 
 
 Lord Warringdon had been, in fact, amusing himself watch- 
 ing his superb St. Bernard's dog, tearing one of the billets, re- 
 ceived that morning, into as many pieces as his noble master 
 had done the feelings of its fair writer. " Ha, Monk, you ras- 
 cal, you have been worrying the wrong letter; what a teaze! I 
 did not half read it, either : so I don't know now, whether it is 
 to-day, or to-morrow, that he takes himself off to his fair Terp- 
 sichore; leaving his belia Tradita to be cheered by his Jido 
 Amico. Capital, is it not, Monk, my boy? but if I should go 
 the wrong day : what the devil then ? Why, it will be your 
 1 * 
 
 ^-^ .*"v <•"& 
 
6 CANVASSING. 
 
 fault, not mine; and that's sonoe comfort, as times g-o. Jesting 
 apart, hiowever, it is a nuisance ; I thought the fellow was tear- 
 ing- only my love's letter, and it turns out to be ray last love's; 
 a great bore, is it not]" asked this son of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, of his father. 
 
 " ^^' arringdon, the subject upon which I am speakinor to you 
 is really a very serious one ; and rny advice, if you would please 
 to attend to it, might be of some importance to you." 
 
 The modern father did not think, it appears, that a love affair 
 with a married woman was an event requiring his paternal in- 
 terference, " But I cannot talk with you while you look so 
 listless ; do sit down, I beg of you, and favour me with a few 
 moment's notice." 
 
 Lord Warringdon threw himself into a Bergere, and his fa- 
 ther proceeded. — " A canvass among these hot-headed Irish 
 needs some care, I assure you ; j'^ou must lay aside your apathy, 
 your exclusiveness, your indifference, whether you offend or 
 not, and for once in your life you must try to please. 
 
 " Must I ]" — exclaimed his son, stretching out his finely- 
 turned leg, and examining it wuth complacency. 
 
 The father did not notice the interruption and continued. — 
 " Wilmot has the first interest in his county, and has repre- 
 sented it before now ; but he is at present under embarrass- 
 ments, I hear ; — a sad fellow, for getting through money, as all 
 his compatriotes are; — over head and ears in debt, and obliged 
 to play hide-and-seek occasionally with his creditors, but in 
 Ireland, that's nothing, you know, — then his wife." — 
 
 " Have mercy on me," interrupted Lord Warringdon, " are 
 you going to give me the man's pedigree and private history, 
 as if I wanted to write his life." 
 
 " She has the name of being a great match-maker," continued 
 Lord Glenville ; " and when she was here some years ago, was 
 very busy m" — 
 
 " What the deuce is all that to me?" asked Lord Warring- 
 don. 
 
 " It is a great deal to you ; — she has daughters." 
 
 " She might have a hundred, for anything I care ;" observed 
 the young Yiscount, again yawning. 
 
 " One of them is very handsome," continued Lord Glenville, 
 "and clever ; now I would caution you." 
 
 "Against falling in love with her, is it?" interrupted the 
 son, with a languid laugh. " No fear of that, I promise you — 
 I hate clever women, you know, and make it a rule never to 
 fall in love with any beauties but married ones." 
 
CANVASSING. 7 
 
 " I know ; but take care, on the other hand, how you assume 
 a prickly air, towards them ; for that would not do either — you 
 must admire the daughter's charms, or you will lose the father's 
 votes." 
 
 " Never fear ; — once in for the thing, I will go through it 
 properly — I will be dazzled with their brilliancy; captivated 
 with their accomplishments; — and driven mad by their beauty. 
 — Oh, these cursed accomplished beauties ! — the brogue, and 
 bad roads, are nothing in comparison. French, Italian and mu- 
 sic, conchology, phrenology, and mineralogy; — with a dash of 
 algebra, and animal magnetism, concluding with an interlude 
 of astronomy and mathematics. There's a bill of fare, enough 
 to strike terror into any heart but that of an Electioneerer," and 
 so saying, he arose, called his dog, hummed a Mazurka, and 
 sauntered out of the room. 
 
 A few days afterwards he was in his travelling chariot, roll- 
 ing off to Holyhead ; we cannot better employ our time while 
 he is on the road than by giving some idea of the family who 
 are about to be honoured by his presence. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 Mr. Wilmot, of Castle Wilmot, was what is termed in Ire- 
 land, a capital fellow ; — good natured, careless, and extrava- 
 gant. The owner of an estate, like most old Irish ones, a little 
 the worse for the wear, and living away, like most such pro- 
 prietors, as if the said estate was spick and span new ; — in a 
 word, just the man to be loved and robbed by an Irish tenantry 
 and household. He had been residing abroad for some years 
 and had just returned home to " retrench" as he says, now that 
 he is first introduced to the reader. But alas ! the claret, cham- 
 pagne and Burgundy, continue to be poured forth as liberally 
 as if he were still in the land of the vines. There was a se- 
 cond table in his establishment, as expensive as the first ; nay, 
 a third and a fourth, which, though less delicate in the quality 
 of their aliments, made up the diflference in the quantity con- 
 sumed. An ox a week, and three sheep a day, was the mini- 
 mum of provision disposed of in the kitchen, and servants'-hall ; 
 and all other things were on the same " grandee" scale of ex- 
 penditure. His house was always thronged with guests ; high 
 
9 CANVASSING. 
 
 and low, rich and poor; all had ^'•cead millefaUha''' at Castle 
 Wilmot. The consequences of such a system may be easily 
 guessed. Lady Anne, unable to stop her husband's wild pro- 
 fusion, at last contented herself with turning it to some purpose, 
 and as he would have his house filled with company, she took 
 care there should be a fair proportion of marrying men, at a cer- 
 tain 'ratio of fortune. By these means, she had already got 
 three daughters off her hands ; and she blessed her stars, and 
 so did all who knew her, that she had but two remaining; for 
 Lady Anne's reputation as a match-maker, had rendered her 
 the terror of mothers who had sons, and the envy of those who 
 had daughters. 
 
 No expense had been spared on the education of the Miss 
 Wilrnot's. Mr. Wilmot's residence, whether in London or on 
 the Continent, had, from their infancy, been besieged by Mas- 
 ters and Mistresses ; by teachers of music and teachers of lan- 
 guages. They had learned to dance from Coulon ; to sing from 
 Liverati ; they spoke French like the hahltuees of the Faux- 
 bourg St. Germain ; Italian like Romans. Maria, the eldest of 
 the two remaining girls, being plain, was more especially exhort- 
 ed by her mother to study "the accomplishments." And Maria had 
 sense enough to follow the advice. She did study " the accom- 
 plishments" most assiduously, and successfully. But though 
 she spoke all manner of tongues, and played all sorts of instru- 
 ments ; though she dressed like a French-woman; and flirted — 
 like any woman, — some way or other, all these perfections had 
 hitherto been exerted in vain ; Maria was still unmarried. The 
 men agreed that she sang and played like an angel ; but that 
 she looked like — what it would not be very civil to repeat ; but, 
 which, however, some very particular friend of Maria's did re- 
 peat ; whereupon Lady Anne marked the delinquent in her 
 black book, and vowed that she would make him repent before 
 he died — that is to say, marry. Lady Anne, indeed, was the 
 more indignant at the observation, because she felt there was 
 some truth in it. Having, through her own family, an excel- 
 lent introduction for her daughters, into the best English set, 
 she had once hoped that Maria, although plain, might, perhaps, 
 have been fashionable ; but there, again, she was baffled. Ma- 
 ria, though she had the two essential requisites for fashion, 
 that is to say, intrepidity and hardiness, was considered by her 
 exclusive acquaintance, as much too vivacious, ever to become 
 perfectly high bred. Unfortunately for her, she possessed 
 much of the humour of her country ; and had, more than once, 
 not only actually laughed herself, but had caused others to per- 
 
CANVASSING. 9 
 
 petrate a similar enormity. She was, in consequence, set 
 down as " sadly Irish," in other words, extreme mauvais ton ,- 
 if not positively vulgar, something closely approximating- to it. 
 Maria, it appears, was not aware that although an Englishman 
 of a certain caste, may perchance be induced to enjoy a jest, 
 he never fails to pretend to undervalue the jester, whether the 
 said jester be an amateur, or a buffoon by profession ; that, 
 conscious how much trouble a witty saying would cost himself, 
 he imagines the gaiety of his lively neighbours to be as great 
 an effort to them as to him ; and that, therefore, when they 
 laugh, or are brilliant, in his presence, all that is done by self- 
 admitted inferiors, to please a superior. So poor Maria was 
 accused of being very Irish. 
 
 " Next to saying I picked a bone," said she to her mother, 
 as they chatted over a criticism reported to have been made 
 upon her, the evening before, " or that I eat with my knife, they 
 could not, according to their code of manners, say a worse thing 
 of me ; stupid, prosing set ! I will let them see, if we come to 
 the push, that they will have the worst of it. They don't yet 
 know a tithe of what is in me ; they imagine, because I do not 
 talk as if I were half asleep, that it is because I cannot talk. 
 To-morrow evening, at my uncle's, I will look, and move, and 
 speak, so like the Lady Vapids, that no one in the room but 
 will confess I could be as ' nice a person,' and as tiresome, as 
 the best among them." 
 
 The powers of mimicry which Maria had hitherto restrained, 
 she fully displayed at her uncle's, on the night of which she 
 had spoken — allowing her fastidious censors to see what was 
 in store for them, if they did not leave her and her Irishism un- 
 molested. 
 
 "So, you imagine," said she to one of her critics, "that we 
 laugh to divert you ; and that, therefore, you must be gods to 
 us. You are mistaken, my good lord, we do not laugh to amuse 
 you, but to amuse ourselves; we laugh because we like it; be- 
 cause we can't help it, in fact. What would the philosopher 
 of old, who defined man to be a laughing animal, say to you 
 English] — you high English, 1 mean"? Why he would say 
 you were'sa(//y English.' I have philosophy, you see, as 
 well as nature, on my side ; so pray rfo let me laugh, and allow 
 yourselves to laugh along with me." 
 
 Maria, thanks to her courage, kept her ground, among her 
 fashionable associates; and she became, at last, not so much 
 vulgar as odd ; but Maria knew that men of fashion have as 
 great an objection to odd girls, as to vulgar ones. " I see, 
 
10 CANVASSING. 
 
 plainly," said she, " that I shall never be able to marry among: 
 them: but some fool or other, with money, who is out of the 
 set, will think it a fine thing to take me, because I am in it ; 
 that is all I can expect, after all my battling for a place among 
 them. Isabel, you have a better chance than I have, you are 
 so much more quiet." 
 
 Maria was right. Her sister Isabel possessed a natural ti- 
 midity which made her more fitted for the impress for English 
 mannerism. Though not called beautiful, few could see her 
 without feeling her to be so. Her acquirements did not bear 
 quite so professional a stamp as those of her sister, but there 
 was more taste evinced in the manifestation of them. Her con- 
 versation was quiet, but interesting — animated, without being 
 positively gay ; graceful, and slightly dashed with romance. 
 Indeed, she was altogether better suited than her sister to have 
 succeeded among the " high English." But then, Isabel Wil- 
 mot had no money; and beauty, and elegance, and accomplish- 
 ments are such drugs in London ! Besides, she had some 
 strange and peculiar ways of thinking, which checked her suc- 
 cess in life. She never could be induced to imitate her sister's 
 "Bold strokes for a Husband;" and would even venture to re- 
 monstrate with her on such open love-making to the men. 
 
 " My dear, do not talk nonsense," her mother would say ; 
 *' your sister must do as others do — as all your acquaintances 
 either have done, are doing, or will do. Men will not make 
 love, now-a-days; they must, therefore, be made love to; — 
 one of your curls is out of place, my love." 
 
 And here Maria would chime in — " You are so ridiculous, 
 Isabel — wanting to play the violet, forsooth ; modest and retired, 
 waiting to be sought for ; prettily indifferent whether a hand 
 come to cull you or not; but this might have been very right 
 a century ago, my good child ; — when the men would woo, it 
 was perhaps right that women should wait to be wooed; but 
 " autres temps, autresmsews, ma belle,'''' — you violet young ladies 
 may now remain till you wither, before any one comes to pluck 
 you ; — the men of the present day expect us to court them.'''' 
 
 '•Truly! a fitting expectation," Isabel would rejoin: 'so 
 while they repose in their dignity, like the Eastern gentleman 
 on his couch, we are to play the part of Bayaderes, and after we 
 have danced and sung like Terpsichores and Syrens ; after we 
 have exhausted all our little wiles and graces, to charm their 
 apathy, we are to think ourselves repaid, if we win a smile in 
 return, from their high mightinesses. That I will never do- 
 never" — she would add, earnestly. 
 
CANVASSING. 1 1 
 
 «' Don't be so emphatic about nothing at all, my dear, 'tis 
 extreme ^ mauvais ton,^ ^^ her mother would answer. "You 
 need not marry at all, you know, if you don't choose it; but 
 all I wish to observe is, that if you do intend marrying, and 
 marrying in a certain rank, you must not expect the men to 
 look after you." 
 
 Now, Lady Anne had brought up her daughters to consider 
 a single life as any thing rather than a life of "blessedness;" 
 but though Isabel shivered at the thought of being an old maid, 
 she also shrunk at the idea of running after the men, though 
 daily exhorted to it by her dear mama's precepts, and her sis- 
 ter's example. She was too worldly-minded to be perfectly 
 high-minded ; and too high-minded to be perfectly worldly ; so 
 she halted between two sets of feelings and opinions; — a mar- 
 rying girl — and yet a dignified one. She had both a head and 
 a heart, and yet she aimed to establish herself among " the cer- 
 tain set," who, as it is proverbially said, do not care or pretend 
 to either. She felt chilled by their coldness, taught by their 
 hollowness, wearied by their apathy ; but then, rank, fashion, 
 fortune, floated as a bright vision before her eyes ; and, like 
 many other girls, she thought it possible, some day or other, 
 to reconcile her ambition with her affections. In fact, she was 
 incapable of sacrificing her feelings to her interests; but she 
 determined never to indulge the one at the expense of the other. 
 While in this state of vacillation, her father was obliged, in 
 consequence of having been robbed by his local agents, to re- 
 turn with his family from London to Ireland, where they had 
 been remaining now nearly two years in a solitude (comparatively 
 speaking), very little to the taste of either of the sisters. Isa- 
 bel would not listen to the soft speeches of any of her country 
 neighbours, or haply she might have heard " something to her 
 advantage." Amongst others, a certain Mr. McAlpine was 
 deeply smitten with her; — of him more anon. But though the 
 gentlemen thought her very handsome, they also thought she 
 gave herself rather too many airs; as for the ladies, they of 
 course abominated her; for it is allowed to a woman, by wo- 
 men, to be either pretty or clever; but, to be both together is 
 unpardonable ; and they, therefore, liked Maria better than 
 Isabel, because the men did not. 
 
 Still, " though devilish ugly," according to the phraseology 
 of her Irish male friends, Maria Wilmot was a " devilish" plea- 
 sant, off-hand girl ; no London airs, like the beauty ; no stuff 
 and nonsense about her, but the truth of a good-humoured, rat- 
 tling girl, " who said everything that came uppermost." 
 
13 CANVASSING. 
 
 Dear g-entlemen ! you were never more mistaken in your 
 lives. Maria Wilmot, vilh all her apparent abandon^ never 
 said anything for which she had not a motive. You imagined 
 that one who incessantly talked and laughed could "have had 
 no harm in her" — that is to say, no design upon you ; and all 
 the ill-natured things she said of herTellow-women, and all the 
 forward ones she said to yourselves, were, therefore, set down 
 y you to mere spirits and giddiness. 
 
 Maria, in truth, scarce ever lost presence of mind. She was 
 cased in armour of brass, nothing touched or disconcerted her; 
 and surely, if possession be eleven points in the law of the land, 
 impudence is eleven points in the game of life ; indeed, it is a 
 gift as valuable as talent in man, or as beauty in woman, for it 
 makes its possessor independent of either. We have enlarged 
 somewhat on this point of Maria's indiosyncracy, inasmuch as 
 without the perfect knowledge of her distinguishing characte- 
 ristic, the reader might be unable fully to comprehend her future 
 proceedings. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 On, or about the day that Lord Warringdon left London on 
 his way to Wilmot castle. Lady Anne and her daughters were 
 sitting in the breakfast-room of the afore-named edifice, reading, 
 and occasionally amusing themselves by watching the rain, 
 which poured in torrents outside the windows and even pene- 
 trated a little on their inside. Wilmot castle, originally a 
 shooting-lodge, had only recently become (for certain cogent 
 reasons which we do not choose to mention, but which the she- 
 riff of its county town could guess at,) the family residence. 
 Towers of various heights and forms, and of different orders of 
 architecture, classic, gothic, and oriental, according to the sug- 
 gestion of each successive adviser of the family, were' heaped 
 together with the coolest disregard of the suitable, the conve- 
 nient, or even of the comfortable. 
 
 *' What a day !" exclaimed Maria, yawning — " I wonder will 
 my papa bring in any people from the assizes 1" 
 
 "I'm sure," observed Isabel, "it is as well to be without 
 any, as to have such creatures as he is likely to bring." 
 
 " My dear, I make it a rule," returned Maria, "to be satis- 
 fied, wherever I am, with the best the country produces, whe- 
 
CANVASSING. 13 
 
 ther as regards eatables, wearables, or fiirtables. You can't 
 gather ' grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles :' and because I can't 
 get pine-apples, I will not sit down and starve, if there are plenty 
 even of good potatoes within my reach." 
 
 "That's what I call sound philoso[)hy, Maria." 
 "Excellent! for it's sound sense," agrfed Lady Anne, look- 
 ing off her book for a moment, to commend her elder daughter's 
 rationality. 
 
 "I assure you, Isabel," continued Maria, "if it were only to 
 keep your hand m, you would do well to flirt a little now and 
 then, with whatever God sends : 'why don't you take pattern 
 by Miss Maria?' as old nurse says, 'you see what elegant 
 divarsion she makes for herself, not all as one, as Miss 
 Isabel.'" 
 
 " That's all very well for nurse to say, but — " 
 " But," interrupted Maria, laughing, "not very well for me 
 to do; is that it, sentimental Isabel? For my part, I think 
 flirting not only an agreeable, but a very salutary, pastime. A 
 good flirting bout adds at least, ten years to i7iy life. I re- 
 member when you were a pretty good hand at it, yourself, 
 Isabel." 
 
 " So do I, too," replied Isabel smiling, " but not with such 
 men as you are talking about — I could not flirt with a man I did 
 not like." 
 
 "I could, then ; aye, and not only flirt with him, but — marry 
 him." 
 
 " Well !" replied Isabel, "lean much better understand a 
 woman's marrying a man she dislikes, than flirting with one 
 she dislikes." 
 
 "Upon what principle?" asked Maria. 
 
 "Upon the principle that a man might with great calmness 
 suffer a rope to be placed round his neck, although he will 
 hardly laugh, and jest, and bandy witty sayings with the hang- 
 man." 
 
 "Bravo, bravo!" exclaimed Maria, laughing, "a husband 
 compared to a hangman ! c^est unique ma there — but there's 
 Paudeen, I vow ! and I dare say he brings a letter from mv 
 father." 
 
 And she started off to the hall-door to watch Paudeen, puf- 
 fing and blowing, as he ascended the hill leading to the Castle. 
 Little Paudeen was one of the corps de reserve composed of er- 
 rand boys, and idling boys, who seemed just born into the 
 world for no other purpose than to supply, by their little bare 
 
 2 
 
14 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 legs, the occasional lapses of memory of the Castle Wilmot 
 household. 
 
 " Murdher ! we forgot to send for the salt ! The beef will 
 be spoilt intirely, for want of the salt ! Where in the world is 
 Paudeen ? Till I'd make him step across the mountain for the 
 salt." 
 
 But Paudeen would have been despatched the night before 
 " for the tay, that was forgot to be sint for, the same time as 
 the sugar." And one of Paudeen's compeers would be packed 
 off for the salt. And so, Paudeen was now returning, after 
 performing some confidental mission of this nature, from the 
 assize town. 
 
 " How are you, Paudeen?" said Maria, finely. 
 
 " I thank your honour, Miss :" replied Paudeen, pulling out 
 a lock of his hair, in his eagerness to make his best bow. He 
 would have pulled off his hat if he had one. 
 
 " Well, Paudeen, did you see the master!" — 
 
 "I did, plaze your honour:" replied the hatless, shoeless 
 page of Castle Wilmot. 
 
 " And when is he coming?" continued Maria. 
 
 " The day after to-morrow, he will be here, Miss :" rejoined 
 Paudeen. 
 
 " And do you know what prevented his coming yesterday V 
 
 " W^aiting for the gintleman, I b'lieve, Miss," 
 
 " What gentleman?" asked Maria, briskly. 
 
 "The gintleman from England, Miss." 
 
 " What has a gentleman from England to do with the master's 
 coming home, Paudeen ?" 
 
 " Sure it has everything to do with it, wherin the gintleman 
 is coming along with himself — came all the ways from Eng- 
 land, a purpose to ax the masther's lave to be made a mimber 
 of, Miss." 
 
 " Can it be Lord Warringdon, I wonder ?" said Maria, think- 
 ing aloud. 
 
 "That's the name. Miss — you have it, and you got the Mas- 
 ther's letter, didn't you. Miss, where he tould you all about it?" 
 
 " No," answered Maria, " we got no letter." 
 
 "Faith, and he sent it. Miss, for all that, by a brother of Pat 
 Murphy's ; but 'lis my opinion. Miss, he got drunk and lost the 
 letter ; 'case you know. Miss, he loves a dhrop. So, Miss, you 
 didn't get the bad places on the road mended, nor anything 
 ready, Miss? To be sure what a villian he is! the masther 
 will be mad, and no blame to him !" 
 
 Maria returned hastily to the apartment where she had left 
 
CANVASSING. 15 
 
 her mother and sister. " Good people," said she, " I am the 
 bearer of important tidings — our solitude is about to be broken 
 in upon by no less a personage than Viscount Warringdon." 
 
 "Nonsense, Maria!" exclaimed her sister. 
 
 "Truth, Isabel." 
 
 " Who says so V demanded Lady Anne. 
 
 "I have it on indisputable authority — that of Paudeen, who 
 has just returned from the scene of action — where he left my 
 father awaiting the noble Viscount's arrival." 
 
 "Very extraordinary that your father should not have men- 
 tioned this sooner!" replied Lady Anne. 
 
 " It appears thai he has, in a letter, but that the letter has 
 been lost." 
 
 "I am afraid there is not a single thing in the house fit for 
 the reception of such a person as Lord Warrino-don — do rino- 
 the bell, I must only do the best I can." ° ° 
 
 Pat Murphy answered the summons, and a few minutes after- 
 wards his voice was heard in the servants' hall, calling out in 
 a hasty manner, "send up Jim Flanagan to my lady." 
 
 "What for?" asked Mrs. McDonogh. 
 
 " Never you mind," was the surly°rejoinder. 
 
 " Never you mind, to me ! you baste! How dare you say 
 never mind, to me?" 
 
 "I say it agin, then," rejoined Pat, "and Pd say it to the 
 King of England, or the Pope, if he was in it, or the masther 
 himself, when such conthrary things happen." 
 
 " Oh, then, I'll tell you one thing, my man; and mind what 
 I say — don't be showing your ilUraanners to your masther's 
 nurse, whomsoever you may be impident too, for that would be 
 a worse day for you than ever your worst inemy wished to you." 
 
 Pat seemed to suspect as much, for he made no answer to 
 this denunciation, but turned round on the crowd who stood 
 gaping and listening to the dialogue. 
 
 " Why the devil don't ye send^'up Jim when I bid you?" 
 
 "And how the devil could we, when he isn't in iti" 
 
 "Tunder and ages ! then, where is he ?"— 
 
 " Gone home, to be sure— where else would he be V 
 
 "The curse o' Cromwell on him!" piously exclaimed Pat. 
 "I never knew him betther than to be always in the way, or 
 always out of it— Meehelleen, where are you ?" 
 
 " Here !" exclaimed a little sharp voice. 
 
 " Meehelleen, Ma vourneen, you must o-q by the first liaht in 
 the morning for Jim, and bid him come here, if he's alive, by 
 eight clock afore breakfast ; or, wait ! may be 'tis as well at 
 
16 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 once to tell him what he is wanting for; 'twill save time; so 
 bid him take a couple o' score of min to the road, to mend the 
 bad places — do you mind ]" 
 
 "I do:" replied Meehelleen, half asleep. 
 "Bad luck to them scoundrels on the grand jur}', that's al- 
 ways traversing the masiher's presintments," charitably ob- 
 served one of the attaches of the kitchen. 
 
 " You are a fool for thai, wish," responded Pat — "maybe if 
 the roads were bettherwe'd have some company thravelling on 
 them that mightn't be so convanient." 
 
 "A then, Pat," said a rosy-faced laundry-maid, suspected of 
 possessing more influence over Pat's surly humour than he cared 
 to acknowledge — "A then, tell us, an' God bless you, who's 
 expicted ]" 
 
 " The devil and his mother!" was the lover-like answer. 
 " The Lord save us ! don't bite our heads off, any how. The 
 cat may look at the king — any one may ax a question, I hope." 
 " Well then, indeed, Peggy," remarked ]\Irs. McDonogh — 
 "I think you might as well wait till your betthers were sarved, 
 before you put your spoon in the dish; more especially when 
 the discoorse is of family concarns ; and when / caii't get an 
 answer, 'tis not the likes of you that will ; but, indeed, I desarve 
 no betther, when I demane myself to join such company." 
 
 In hopes, however, that Pat would, sooner or later, make the 
 amende lionoruhle^ and communicate the desired information, 
 I\Irs. McDonogh retained her seat, and suspended her dignity 
 for a season. 
 
 Indeed, like many other people of importance, she found 
 grandeur a troublesome every-day appendage, and was not sorry 
 to exchange, sometimes, the stiffness of housekeeper-room eti- 
 quette for the more sociable conversation of the servants' hall. 
 
 A few moment's reflection had convinced Pat of the impro- 
 priety o^ answering so important a personage as Mrs. McDo- 
 nogh with the disrespect of which he had been guilty ; and, 
 after two or three muttered curses on the absent Jim Flanagan, 
 he re-addressed the good lady thus; 
 
 " Well, ma'am ; if I said anything out of the way, I ax your 
 pardon : you knov/, yourself, I wouldn't be the one to displase 
 the masther's dog, let alone his nurse. Sure, if I didn't love 
 him, and all belonging to him, as I do, and if I wouldn't go to 
 the hottest place in the other world for them, I needn't mind 
 who comes or laves the house. There's Tom Sassenach, for 
 you, who's always as mild as a girl the day of her wedding. 
 He takes the world asy. The masther saved him from being 
 
CANVASSING, 17 
 
 thranspoTted, in London, and, for all that, he wouldn't help us 
 tx) bate the process-server, because, indeed, he might take the 
 law of him, for an assault upon the king's highway. God help 
 his poor bothered English head, 'tisn't on the king's highway, 
 at all, man, says I, for 'twas up a' Doreen we caught the fellow, 
 Mrs. McDonogh, Ijut a devil a one of Tom would lift a stick; 
 and I'm not all's one as that mane-spirited cratur. I'd lose the 
 last dhrop of my blood for the masther ; and, you know, ma'am, 
 that many's the time I have done what one sthroke more would 
 have made murder of, to keep oflf them blood-thirsty-Orange- 
 men of process-servers." 
 
 Pat's audience, much as they desired this exordium shortened, 
 did not venture on imitating the means resorted to by impatient 
 members of the Lower House, when they wish to curtail long- 
 winded exposes. Pat was neither questioned nor coughed down, 
 but suffered to say his say. — The Irish are naturally a courteous 
 people. When it was evident he had finished, and not till then, 
 a buzz of approbation, and of approbation only, met his ear, 
 " True, for you, Pat, there never lived a better sarvant to a 
 good masther, than yourself, — divil abetter." 
 
 Now, in the Irish vocabulary, a good servant does not always 
 mean the same as in the English one. In fact, a good servant, 
 on the other side of the water, sometimes signifies an individual 
 who may be troublesome, drunken, and negligent, even disre- 
 spectful, but who would stand up for his master's dignity, and 
 defend his person at the peril of his own neck ; very useful 
 qualifications, it may be added, in a country, where, now and 
 tben, its gentry owe their personal liberty to their inaccessible 
 roads and a devoted tenantry. 
 
 " At the same time," continued Pat, " that I would lay down 
 my life for the masther, and why wouldn't I ? He saved my 
 father, in the rebellion, from dying, as none of his name ever 
 did before him, or will afiherhira, if it wouldn't be myself, that 
 might give one of the lads, with papers, a taste more of the 
 stick than he could convaniently carry. But for all that, and 
 well as I love him, by the powers ! he sometimes makes me 
 mad with him. Nothing must do him, but to write to ax that 
 lord from England, that's coming to canvass the county." 
 
 Many and various were the exclamations that now arose in 
 every variety of Irish intonation, from servant's hall and 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Blessed Virgin, purtectus!" exclaimed Mrs. Mc Donough, 
 "sure it's joking you are, Pat I a gintleman from England !" 
 
 " Bad cess to them villains of turkeys," cried the cook ; 
 2* 
 
18 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 " there isn't one of them fit to kill ! I have been breaking my 
 heart, this fortnight past, sthrivingto fatten 'em, and can't, God 
 help me !" 
 
 *' Devil a thing to ate or dhrink in the house, this blessed 
 night !" groaned the groom. I never knew the aqual of the mas- 
 ther, for doin' things hand over head, without so much as tell- 
 ing one before he does 'em." 
 
 "That he may brake his neck, I pray God, for all thethrouble 
 he is giving us," piously aspirated the housemaid, meaning the 
 expected stranger, however not her master. 
 
 "What matter, whether he does or not"?" interrupted the 
 coachman; "one would think, to hear ye all going on, there 
 never was seen a jintleman in the house afore ; what's good 
 enough for the quality of the counthry is good enough for him 
 I suppose." 
 
 "Don't bother us," said Pat; " We know that as well as 
 you can tell us. 'Tisn't that he's better than other quality, but 
 
 that he's more impudent. Them English is so d d concated, 
 
 passing their remarks on Ireland, and making their skit of all 
 they seen, when they go back again." 
 
 "Is he \'oung or ould, Pat," inquired the laundry-maid, mak- 
 ing a second attempt to extract information from her uncommu- 
 nicative admirer. 
 
 " What the devil does it signify, whether he is, or no 1" 
 
 " 'Tis you that's in the sweet timper to-night, sure enough," 
 retorted his mistress. " It does, then, signify everything whe- 
 ther a gintleman coming to the house is young or ould ; if he's 
 a young, rich gintleman, who knows what good may be insthore 
 for one of the young ladies'?" 
 
 " Oh, then, if he's any good at all, down on my binded knees 
 this night, I pray the saints in heaven, one of the young ladies 
 may get him. How proud I'd be, if he was to purpose for Miss 
 Maria ! she's such a darling, hearty, pleasant cratur. I wonder 
 which of 'em it will bel" 
 
 " You may spare yourself the trouble of wondhering about 
 it, for he'll take neither of 'em, I can tell you," said Pat. 
 "That's the way with them English always; they'll ate you 
 out of house and home, and then walk off with thimselves, fair 
 andasy. But it's Miss Isabel he'd take, if he took either; she's 
 such a darling, purty young lady." 
 
 Here a violent ringing of the parlour bell interrupted the col- 
 loquy. 
 
 « Hubbaboo I" exclaimed Pat ; " I forgot, intirely, to tell ye. 
 
CANVASSING. 19 
 
 my lady wants Winny directly ; — skelp off this minute, like a 
 lamp-lighter." 
 
 Winny was not very slow in obeying the summons, in hopes 
 of learning all the particulars concerning the alarming visit. 
 
 " Winny, my good girl," said Lady Anne, " you must get 
 the best room ready against the day after to-morrow, for a gen- 
 tlemen the master has asked here." 
 
 " Ah, then, mee Lady, sure it isn't here he'll sleep." 
 
 "Why, Winny, where can he sleep but here ]" 
 
 " Faicks, mee Lady, there's no sheets to put on the bed." 
 
 " No sheets I how do you mean V 
 
 " The masther, inee Lady, that ordered widow Fahy's cow 
 into the shrubbery, beyant, and myself didn't know the conthra- 
 riness of her, becase, mee lady, she's only a short time in the 
 place, — widow Fahy bought her of a man in the lower parish, 
 so I left themselves and herself together, mee lady." 
 
 *'You left what together?" said Lady Anne. "I don't un- 
 derstand what you're talking about." 
 
 "The sheets and tlie cow, mee Lady." 
 
 "Oh, very well, go on," said Lady Anne. 
 
 " Well, mee lady, I wint into ray dinner not thinking any 
 hairm would happen my sheets, or I would have made my lit- 
 tle sister stop with them ; and when I come back, to look to 
 see were they dhry, sorrow of a tatther of a sheet did I see, 
 but a rag sticking out of her mouth." 
 
 " Out of your sister's mouth?" asked Lady Anne, who, not 
 having been Irish bred and born, was seldom able to follow the 
 entanglements of an Irish sentence. 
 
 "i\ot at all, mee lady; my little sisther wasn't in it, more 
 is the pity. No! but stickin out of the cow's mouth it was; 
 mee lady, the sight left my eyes when I seen it, and a wakeness 
 came over me at the start I got." 
 
 " The upshot of it is," said Maria, " the cow has eaten the 
 sheets; isn't that it, Winney ?" 
 
 "It is, Miss: but, sure it isn't the sheets, itself, that's the 
 worst of it. We could borrow a pair of sheets from Mrs. Mo- 
 lony, who's always a good warrant to lend, only for the cur- 
 tains being spoiled, too." 
 
 " What ! did the cow eat the curtains, too ]" 
 
 " No, mee Lady, but Father John's brother!" 
 
 " Eat them .?" exclaimed Lady Anne. 
 
 " No, mee lady, tore 'em." 
 
 " How could he tear them ?" 
 
 " Father John's Brother, mee lady, that was at a wedding. 
 
20 CANVASSING. 
 
 Saturday was a week, and he come here becase 'twas late for 
 himself and his baste to be crossing the bogs. 
 
 " What has this to do with the cartains°being torn 1" inter- 
 rupted Lady Anne. 
 
 *' Sure, ray lady, it has everything to do with it, seeing he 
 was pleasant at the same time." 
 
 " What does she mean to say ■?" asked Lady Anne, turning 
 to Maria, who was enjoying the dialogue between the Irish ser- 
 vant and English Mistress, and thought it much too pretty a 
 one to be inclined to spoil it by a little explanation. 
 
 "I wish, Maria, you would not stand laughing there, but. 
 help me to understand this girl. "What on earth a man's be- 
 ing pleasant can have to do with tearing curtains, 1 can't ima- 
 gine." 
 
 *' But sure, I mane he was not himself, you know." 
 
 Lady Anne still looked puzzled. 
 
 " He tuk a sup, I mane ; you understand, don't you. Miss? 
 continued Wiuny, curtsying to Maria. 
 
 *' To be sure I do, Winny ; do you think I was born in Ire- 
 land for nothing 1" 
 
 Maria was particularly anxious to stand well with the lower 
 order, and have their good word ; besides, she was, indeed, 
 constitutionally good-humoured, and never ill-natured, except 
 when it was her interest to be so. 
 
 " Ah," thought Winny, " Miss Maria has more sinse in her 
 little finger, than my lady in her whole carcase. Well, Miss, 
 to make a long story short, right or wrong, he wanted more 
 liquor, and troth we were afeard to give it to him any more. 
 He axed the masther then, himself, and when the masther 
 wouldn't give it to him either, he went mad intirely. Then the 
 masther come down to see who it was making sich a noise in 
 the house, and when he seen who it was, he bid Pat Mur- 
 phy and Paudeen carry him up to bed, and when he wasn't 
 plazed with the reception he got, sure he tore the curtains in 
 ribbons, and broke the bed, and destroyed the room intirely. 
 Miss. I never seen him so pleasant, as he was that same 
 night." 
 
 " Yes, but, Winny, that has nothing to do with the best 
 room, you know :" observed Maria. 
 
 *' Avoch, Miss, sure its of the best room I am talking. Sure 
 its the best room he ruint this ways : sorrow may care what 
 capers he cut any where else but there, sure that what's kill- 
 ing me, Miss ;" continued Winny, dolefully. 
 
CANVASSING. 21 
 
 " And pray," interrupted Lady Anne, in displeasure, *' what 
 possessed you to put a drunken man into the best room ?" 
 
 " God sees and knows, it wasn't my fault, mee lady, but the 
 masther's, that tould me take care, for my life, would 1 put 
 him where your honour's ladyship could hear him bawling-, and 
 roaring-, and going on, for fear you wouldn't be plazed with the 
 noise he was making, mee lady ; and I had no place to put him 
 in out of the way, but the best room. Myself, and Paudeen, 
 and Pat Murphy, and all the other girls in the house, mee lady, 
 were striving an hour and more by the clock, to get him up 
 the garret stairs, but it failed us ; he kept kicking-, and pranc- 
 ing, and biting- like mad — sich other going on, I never seen, 
 for all I'm used to men in liquor. So I went to tell the mas- 
 ther it failed us to get him up the garret-stair — an' the masther, 
 he bid me put him in the best room. ' Faith, sir,' says I, ' I'm 
 afeard my lady will be mad.' ' No she won't,' said he, « do as 
 I bid yoii.' Troth, my lady, I'd be very sorry to do it at any 
 other bidding but his own." 
 
 Just at this moment a doleful exclamation from the group 
 that had gathered round the half-opened door, attracted Maria's 
 attention. 
 
 " Arab, Pat dear ! How will this be at all ! My lady will go 
 mad intirely, and no blame to her, in regard of the spoons." 
 "What spoons'?" asked Maria. 
 
 " The spoons of the house, Miss, that Barney Sullivan took 
 the loan of, without lave." 
 
 " Stole, I suppose you mean," observed Maria. 
 "Troth, and I b'live that's only another way of saying the 
 same thing. He borry'd them as though for his sisther's wed- 
 ding — you know the one that married a son of Mark Flana- 
 gan's, a sort of a half gentleman, that must be made much 
 of, so the masther bid me give 'em them, and when I tould the 
 masther I could not get them of him again, if I didn't bate him, 
 he told me not, and that he would see about him himself; but 
 he went to the 'sizes sure, and he forgot 'em." 
 
 ** And why did you not tell me, Pat, that the things in your 
 charge were missing?" — 
 
 "A sure, my lady, didn't the masther threaten he'd banish 
 me the place, if I let on to your ladyship about it? Faith, I'd 
 be verry sorry to be decavingyou my lady, in regard of a black- 
 guard of his kind. Barney Sullivan is no such great frind of 
 mine, as that I'd be telling lies to screen him from his desar- 
 vings." 
 
 *' Was ever anything like this !" exclaimed Isabel, for the 
 
22 
 
 CANVASSING, 
 
 first time taking a part in the conversation — she had hitherto 
 sat silent and provoked. 
 
 " Yes," answered Maria, "there have heen fifty things just 
 like it — one would imagine you were still in Grovesnor Square, 
 where there are no cows to eat sheets, nor Barney Sullivans to 
 steal spoons." 
 
 "We shall be disgraced, I see clearly," said Lady Anne, in 
 a desponding tone. " Even with the best appointed establish- 
 ment, we should hardly escape the criticism of a young Eng- 
 lish gentleman of fashion : but such a castle Rack-Rent as this, 
 would make us the ridicule of any one — and he is to be here 
 the day after to-morrow! I really do not know which way to 
 turn." 
 
 " We had better give out we have got the typhus fever in the 
 house, and that we must relinquish the pleasure of his com- 
 pany ;" said Maria — "but come, mamma, let you and Isabel 
 take yourselves off, and I will overlook the domestic economy 
 and settle it all capitally, you shall see." 
 
 After the door had closed on them, Maria began a review of 
 the cellar. "The champagne is gone long ago, I know, but 
 there's some madeira, and — " 
 
 " Madeira ! Miss Maria, sorrow a dhrop in the place as mush 
 as would blind yonr eye: the last dozen was drank the day 
 before the masther left home :" replied Pat. 
 
 " Bad enough;" remarked Maria, "still we have the Bur- 
 gundy, you know." 
 
 "Ah, then where. Miss?" inquired Pat. 
 
 "In the cellar I suppose :" answered Maria. 
 
 "Faicks and you have not. Miss, Mr. O'Higgerty got the 
 last of it, when he gave the grand dinner to the army, last 
 week." 
 
 " Hermitage, Frontignac, Hock, Vin de Grave, are none of 
 them forthcoming!" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " What does remain then !" 
 
 "Faith, Miss, it won't take long to say that— only a dozen 
 of port, and half-a-dozen of sherry !" and such was the com- 
 fortable announcement of the state of the cellar. 
 
 " And what's to be done about the dinner. Miss !" inquired 
 the terrified cook. " Me, that has neither duck, nor chicken, 
 nor turkey fit to kill. I never seen such schamers of poulthry ! 
 the world wouldn't fatten 'em — just as if they done it a purpose, 
 out of contrariness. May our blessed mother look down upon 
 me this night, in my thruble !" 
 
 i 
 
CANVASSING. 23 
 
 Maria's courage began to ooze out, but, however, she put a 
 good face on the matter, and after a little consultation and recol- 
 lection, the affair was arranged more creditably for the Wilmot 
 pride than could at one time have been expected. Borrowing 
 parties were sent out, in all directions, to repair the various 
 wants and losses already enumerated, and, by the eventful day, 
 Maria had the satisfaction of seeing that everything was tole- 
 rably right and proper. Lady Anne resumed her bland smiles, 
 and Isabel began to breathe freely once more ; and in this pleas- 
 ing state of mind we will leave them, and return to our friend 
 
 Lord Warringdon, who has just arrived at , and early in 
 
 the morning is preparing to start for Wilmot Castle, accompanied 
 by Mr. Wilmot himself. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The road to Wilmot Castle, never very good, was now, owingr 
 to the late rains, nearly impassable; and Mr. Wilmot, although 
 he had issued strict orders to '* little Paudeen" to bid Pat Mur- 
 phy to tell Jim Flanagan to give " a touch of mending" to the 
 bad places, entertained certain misgivings as to the manner in 
 which the said orders would be executed by the said Jim Fla- 
 nagan ; even should the said Paudeen not have forgotten to tell 
 the said Pat Murphy to tell the said Jim. 
 
 "I am devilishly afraid, Kelly," he said to his rnan, as he 
 was stepping into bed, the evening before they were to start; 
 " that Lord Warringdon's nice, London-built carriage will break 
 dow'n on the road to Wilmot Castle." 
 
 "Faith, sir, I wouldn't be surprised if it did." 
 
 " Had I not better tell him to leave it here, then 1 Costella 
 will take care of it; — v/hat do you think, Kelly ]" 
 
 "Faith, sir, if you take my advice, you will say nothing 
 about it, but leave it all to God. IMay be, it won't break down 
 at all, sir; and if it does, we must only pretend to be greatly 
 surprised on account of how bad the road is grown ; or, suppose 
 we lay the blame on the dhriver ; that will do betther. Jim is 
 to dhrive us (he is a tinant of your own, sir, from the other side 
 o' the county) ; and he won't mind, a ha'parth, getting the blame 
 instead of your road, sir ; and we can make it up to him some 
 other way, sir; it would sound so quare, sir, to be telling a 
 
24 CANVASSING. 
 
 sthranffe gentleman, just come to the coiinthry, that one hasn't 
 a road lit for him to thravel on, sir." 
 
 "By Jove, Kelly, I believe you are right," replied the mas- 
 ter; "no use exposing the nakedness of the land, if we can 
 help it; and, as you say, may be, we shan't break down ; and, 
 if we do, you can give Jim half a guinea to take the blame on 
 himself, poor devil !" 
 
 So Mr. Wilmot did not apprise his noble guest of the more 
 than probable doom of his highly-finished, London-built car- 
 riage. 
 
 "Where is the post-boy]" asked Lord Warringdon, of a tat- 
 terdemalion figure near him. 
 
 " Is it the dhriver you are axin' about, sir, — my lord, 1 
 mane"?" also asked, instead of answering (for he was Irish) the 
 person addressed ; and he respectfully took off a hat that had, 
 we suppose, once been good and shaped like other hats, but 
 that now bore evidence of hard service ; — " an', sure, I 'm the 
 boy you want, my lord." 
 
 His lordship showed some surprise at this piece of informa- 
 tion ; but Jim, though interpreting the surprise to be created by 
 his own un-posl-boy like appearance, afliected to take it quite 
 the other way. 
 
 " Faith ! it's myseP, and nobody else, that's to be your 
 dhriver, my lord; did ye think, sir, — my lord, I mane, — that 
 my master, Misther Costelloe, would put you off wid any one 
 but mysel' ? Faith, my lord, he would be very sorry to do 
 such a thing as that ; 'tis me that always dhrives the lords and 
 raimbers of parliament; for Misther Costelloe wouldn't let me 
 dhrive any of the commonality, at all, good or bad, but keeps 
 me for the grand quality intirely, such as your lordship's 
 honour, or Mr. Wilmot; yes, indeed, I'm his grandhee dhriver, 
 my lord." And Jim closed his harangue by giving a chuck to 
 his femoral habiliments and a knowing look at Mike Kelly. 
 
 " So, then," said Lord Warringdon, laughing, aye, English 
 and exclusive as he was, actually laughing at the singularly 
 unaristocratic appearance of the 'grandee dhriver." "So, 
 then, 1 am to consider it quite a compliment to have you for a 
 coachman ?" 
 
 "Oh! not to say intirely a compliment, my lord," replied ■ 
 Jim, twirling between finger and thumb the before-mentioned 
 hat, and smiling and looking modest. 
 
 "Not entirely?" asked Lord Warringdon i, " only almost, 
 Jim, is that if?" 
 
 " I b'lieve this is the way it is ; — a grand gintleman, like 
 
CANVASSING. 25 
 
 you, my lord, would not like, may be, to be behoulden to the 
 likes of me, for a compliment; so your honour's lordship can 
 make me any compliment you plaise, when we're parting, by 
 and bye." 
 
 "Very well," answered Lord Warrinordon, still amused at 
 Jim's way of arrangino- the punctilio of obligation, — " you pay 
 me the compliment of driving me, and I pay you a compliment 
 of another kind, equal in value." 
 
 "Long life to your lordship's honour," cried Jim; "that's 
 it, exactly ;" and off he walked to " give a touch" to the har- 
 ness. 
 
 "Jim, are those horses good T' inquired his lordship. 
 
 "Is it my bastes your honour's asking about 1 to be sure they 
 are ; don't you see 'em, my Lord V assuming a look of extreme 
 surprise. 
 
 "Ifl'osee them, Jim," replied the English lord, laughing 
 with all the bonhommie of a candidate for the " sweet voices" 
 of an Irish county; "and because I see they don't look good, 
 I want to know from you'if they really are." 
 
 " Looks are decaiteful, my lord, sometimes ; them, now, are 
 quality bastes, for all they don't seem so ; the raal quality I 
 mane, that has no concate about 'em, like your honour, for all 
 the world ; barring they don't look so like quality bastes as 
 your honour's lordship does like a quality gintleman. But 
 'tisn't every one, you know, my lord, that has the chance to be 
 born grand and iligant, and clever-looking," glancing, with a 
 smile half shy, half-servile, at the really distinguished figure of 
 Lord Warringdon. 
 
 Now, although the noble Viscount had read in so many bright 
 eyes, and had even heard from so many beautiful lips, that he 
 was one of the most distingue men that the owners of the 
 said eyes and lips had ever seen, he was not so blasSy with re- 
 spect to compliments on his personal appearance, as to hear 
 with unconcern the impression he had made upon a ragged 
 Irish post-boy; so he inquired no more into the merits of Jem's 
 "bastes," but, still laughing, jumped into the carriage. 
 
 "Curious people, these Irish fellows," he observed to Mr. 
 Wilmot, who was already seated, "how well the rogue turned 
 off my inquiries about his horses ! you could furnish all Europe 
 with diplomatists as well as soldiers." 
 
 "Very right; we are, indeed, a most devilishly troublesome 
 
 set of fellows; a nation of soldiers and cabinet ministers en 
 
 hrut^ but not so di fficult to manage, after all, if any one would 
 
 take the tro^Hbof trying; talk and laugh with our lower or- 
 
 ^^ 3 
 
1 
 
 26 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 ders, and you win them at once ; and, since you start on 
 this plan, I predict that your lordship will make a successful 
 canvass; you have already, 1 see, made a conquest of Jim," 
 he added, smiling: "but what are we waiting fori Kelly! 
 bid him drive on, and pretty fast, too, or we slialj be late on 
 the road; recollect we have five-and thirty miles to go; you 
 will excuse my taking the master on me," said he, turning to 
 his companion; " for the miles are Irish ones, too." 
 
 " Take care, for your life, would you dhrive fast, Jim," said 
 Kelly, as he mounted one of his master's horses, the other 
 having been given to Lord Warringdon's gentleman-in-waiting 
 — " Never mind what the masther says, Jim ; dhrive asy, and 
 God bless you, or you'll smash us to atoms." 
 
 *' A-thin, Mr. Kelly, one would think, to hear you, you thought 
 you were spaking to an ignoramus; sure it isn't the first time 
 I wint his honour's roads, nor won't be the last, either, plase 
 God ! Troth, I've a right to know 'em by this time, as well 
 as 'the nose in my face. 1 wouldn't dhrive hard, if you'd give 
 my weight in goold, since the tinrie I dhruv the officer's 
 ladies up to Misther McAl pine's. They never gave me pace 
 or ase till I wint smart ; well, I done as I was hid ; and, by 
 my conscience, if\ did, sure I smashed my pole." 
 
 " Murdher ! smashed your pole ! and spilt the ladies on the 
 road, Jim?" 
 
 *' Troth an' I didn't, Mr. Kelly." 
 
 *' A-thin, what did ye do with them, then, Jim 1" 
 
 " Dhruv 'em without a taste of a pole, good or bad." 
 
 "You did, Jim?" 
 
 "I did, in troth." 
 
 " A-lhin, tell us how, and God bless ye." 
 
 " Ah ! a way of my own, I have," replied Jim, looking very 
 knowing, "An' /wouldn't tell id to any body, 'case I'd lose 
 my custom, intirely, for dhriving through desperate places; 
 there's ne'er a boy at Mr. Castelloe's but mysel' that can go 
 that road, and come back alive; so 1 get all the jobs on id; 
 and they're the best to be had any where — always worth three 
 half-crowns more to me than any o' the others. So, Mr. Kelly^ 
 I'll do my endeavours not to smash the vahacle ; hut if I have 
 that bad luck, I'll do as you bid me, purtend that it was all my 
 own fault, or lay the blame on my poor bastes. Troth, the 
 young Lord wasn't out in regard of 'em; they're miserable 
 looking craturs, sure enough ; they were the worst [ could 
 find in'^he stable ; so 'twill be quite as aisy toj^e him think, 
 
CANVASSING. 27 
 
 if he sticks in a bog-hole, 'tis all their doin's, to say nothing of 
 the dhriver" — he added, smilingr roguishly. 
 
 At length they drove otT, followed by the blessings of the 
 crowd at the inn-door, in exchange for some more substantial 
 tokens of good will on the part of the new candidate, and that 
 of their old and popular representative. The road lay through 
 a wild country, with scarcely a trace of human habitation. 
 For the first few miles they whirled along tolerably well, and 
 Jim looked behind, every now and then, with a smile of triumph. 
 As they proceeded, however, the jolting became "rather disa- 
 greeable." A little further on, " very disagreeable," — and at 
 last Lord Warringdon exclaimed at it, " as damnably disatrree- 
 able." 
 
 " Jim !" he cried " drive more carefully, you are shaking me 
 to death !" 
 
 "Shaking you to death ! my God, am 1, my Lord 1 think o' 
 that, ril drive asy — that was just a bad spot that I didn't 
 know was in id, my Lord ; an' I wend her how it came in id ; 
 for this road gets the applause from all the roads in Ireland, 
 for its goodness, my Lord — 'tis as smooth as butlhermilk, 
 mostly." 
 
 "It is anything but that, now," muttered his Lordship. 
 
 Jolt after jolt came, and each time the veracious Jim assured 
 his Lordship that "'twas the last bad spot" on this best road 
 in Ireland. 
 
 "The devil himself must have possessed me, when I first 
 thought of coming into this infernal country," said the wretched 
 candidate to himself, as he looked on the dreary waste around, 
 and felt the rocks under him. "And I dare not complain — but 
 must grin with delight all the time I am becoming pounded 
 into a jelly !" 
 
 " Poor devil, I pity him, really I do, upon my soul !" mur- 
 mur£d Wilmot, as he looked on the compressed lips and con- 
 tracted brows of his youn^ companion, which bore evidence 
 alike to the extremity of his suffering, and the heroism of his 
 endurance,— "This road is really very bad," said he, with the 
 lone of a man surprised at the discovery of a certain quality 
 never before suspected to exist in an admired object—" I am 
 afraid you are sadly shaken, my dear Lord T" 
 
 " A little," replied the Viscount, endeavouring to suppress a 
 groan—" Oh it is nothing at all ; a mere triflef How far are 
 we from Castle Wilmot now ]" 
 
 " Not yet quite half-way," answered Mr. Wilmot. 
 
28 CANVASSING. 
 
 " My God ! I shall never qpI alive there," sighed his un- 
 fortunate ronnpanion to himself. 
 
 Mr. Wilmot did his best to beguile the tedium, and, alas! 
 tortures, of the journey, by telling amusing anecdotes of the 
 gentry and peasantry in his neighbourhood. Nay, he took 
 more interesting ground, and counted up the best interests, and 
 enlarged on the best way of conciliating them ; in fact, laboured 
 to combine instruction and entertainment in his discourse. And 
 Lord VVarritigdon tried all that man could try, to laugh at his 
 host's capital stories. He knew that, both for the sake of the 
 jester, and for the intrinsic value of the jest, if he had a laugh 
 in him, he should bestow it on the present occasion ; but the 
 most he could accomplish was a smile; and even that was a 
 miserable attempt, resembling rather the convulsion effected by 
 the galvanic battery, than the graceful indication of pleasure, 
 which usually set off the handsome mouth of the once capti- 
 vating, but now suffering "exclusive." 
 
 All he had hitherto endured, however, was but "the crump- 
 ling of the roses" compared with what followed. The concus- 
 sions became absolutely terrific — a seventy-four running aground 
 might experience something like the joltings and bumpings of 
 our poor carriage, as it swung from side to side ; now ascend- 
 ing to the heavens above, now descending to the depths below 
 — now Mr. Wilmot tumbling over Lord Warringdon, and now, 
 for variet}'^. Lord Warringdon tumbling over Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 "What luck we had, sir," said Kelly, putting his head in 
 at the carriage-window, and assuming a guileless, innocent 
 expression of face, which deceived even his master — " What 
 luck we had, to get this vagabone of a Jim to dhrive us — he's 
 as dhrunk as a piper." 
 
 "Is he really]" inquired Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 "Sure, if he wasn't dhrunk, and as dhrunk as a baste, too," 
 continued he, looking steadily at his master, and glancing with 
 a smile at Lord Warringdon, who sat with his head between 
 his hands, utterly exhausted, — " Sure if he wasn't, he wouldn't 
 be dhriving the way lie is; isn't he shaking you to bits? 
 doesn't that show he must be dhrunk, when any one but him- 
 self, the blackguard, would dhrive so aisy, you might thread a 
 needle, going along. I'm afraid you are terribly joulted, my 
 Lord ■?" added Mr. Kelly, in a commiserating tone. 
 "I am half dead," faintly articulated his Lordship. 
 " Upon my conscience," continued Kelly, "I've the greatest 
 mind in the world to dismount, and give thatdhrunken baste of 
 
CANVASSING. 29 
 
 3 Jim as fine a flogging as he ever got in his life, for his ifiipi- 
 dence." 
 
 *♦ For God's sake do not," cried Lord VVarringdon, " or we 
 shall be left on the road all night." 
 
 "Won't I my Lord ? Oh, very well, 1 won't if your Lord- 
 ship doesn't like Td do it," replied Kelly, affecting submission 
 to Lord Warringdon's request; "but if it wasn't for you, my 
 Lord, upon my word and credit, Jim Naughten would be very 
 little obleeoed to himself this inornin', I can tell him that. Jim ! 
 you dhrunken baste! how dare you dhrive that way? if it 
 wasn't for Lord Warringdon's begging you off, I'd bate you 
 while ever I could stand over ye, you villain, ye I" 
 
 " Long life to your Lordship !" roared Jim, " long life to 
 your honour's Lordship, Member of Parliament for the county 
 
 of jlonglife to him, he's a jewel of a boy — huzza ! huzza !" 
 
 and he whirled his hat over his head, playing all the antics be- 
 seeming his supposed condition. 
 
 Kelly cantered to his side — " I'm proud of ye, Jim ; I always 
 knew you were the devil for dhriving — but upon my word and 
 credit, Jim, you flog all ever I seen, for dhriving to-day. Any 
 one but yourself, would have had the carriage in smithereens 
 long ago. Faith, Jim, I think you must have a diarum from 
 the good people for dhriving." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Kelly, you pay me too many compliments en- 
 tirely, sir," replied Jim, trying to look abaslied — "I'm proud 
 to have your applause, but indeed, it far exceeds my desarvingrs, 
 Mr. Kelly." 
 
 Jim thought no such thing; on the contrary, no praise he 
 ever received, came up to his notions of his own merit on a 
 bad road. " How's the mastherl I'm afraid he's kilt." 
 
 " No, indeed, thank God, he isn't," replied Mr. Kelly, " he's 
 used to it, you know, Jim." 
 
 " And the other poor cratur 1" demanded Jim. 
 
 " Oh — he's bedevilled, intirely." 
 
 " A-thin is he? no wondher, troth ; God knows mysel' pities 
 him, the cratur !" and here Jim " gave a taste of the whip" to 
 his " bastes," and Mr. Kelly fell back to do the civilities by 
 Mr. Symmons, Lord Warringdon's gentleman ; not that Mr. 
 Kelly particularly affected Mr. Symmons, but because Mr. 
 Kelly stood in the light of host to Mr. Symmons, who had 
 hitherto ridden along, silent and disdainful, as if he were the 
 very incarnation of superciliousness ; Lord Warringdon's suc- 
 cess among the wild Irish not enough interesting him to induce 
 Mr. Symmons to compromise his own pretensions to ton^ by 
 3* 
 
30 CANVASSING. 
 
 condescendinop to commune with such utter barbarians. At 
 length, however, he broke silence. 
 
 *' I always thought that people of fortune in Ireland, kept 
 their carriages." 
 
 *' You thought very right, Mr. Symmons," replied Mr. 
 Kelly with his usual urbanity. 
 
 " But they are not like English ones, you know." 
 
 "To be sure they are; what else would they be like ?" re- 
 joined the Irishman of cast clothes. 
 
 "Why, English carriages are built for English roads; and 
 Irish carriages are contrived, of course, for Irish roads." 
 
 "Irish roads!" repeated Kelly, with affected astonishment, 
 but very genuine displeasure — "Irish roads," he continued, 
 resuming his former tone of civility, " are like English ones, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " Indeed, I suppose no such thing," replied Mr. Symmons. 
 
 "Why, what's the difference?" asked the other. 
 
 "Rather an important one," returned Mr. Symmons, sarcas- 
 tically. " The English roads are proverbially the best in Eu- 
 rope ; and the Irish ones, judging by my own experience, are 
 the worst. — As for this, to be candid with you, I never saw 
 anything like it, my good fellow." 
 
 " Well, 'tis something, any how, to see what one never seen 
 before," replied Mr. Kelly, with provoking quietness. " May 
 be you'll be seeing more surprising things than that again, be- 
 fore you lave us." 
 
 "Indeed !" rejoined the " exclusive" valet, not condescend- 
 ing, however, to make any inquiries touching these wonders. 
 " Pray when shall we arrive at the next town ?" 
 
 "There's no town in it," returned his companion, sulkily. 
 
 " No town !" exclaimed Mr. Symmons, much surprised. 
 " Well, village, or whatever you call it — where can I procure 
 a bowl of soup ?" 
 
 " Cock ye up with your bowl of soup !" muttered the angry 
 Hibernian — "yeimpident, concated whelp I" — then he conti- 
 nued aloud — " We don't stop at any place, only to beat the 
 horses." Kelly meant to bait, not to flagellate them, as his 
 occasionally affected fine pronunciation might have led the read- 
 er to imagine. 
 
 " I shall be starved, man," exclaimed Mr. Symmons; " why 
 the deuce didn't ye tell me this before ?" 
 
 " Why didn't I tell you what?" inquired Mr. Kelly, compo- 
 sedly. 
 
 "Why, that there is nothing to be got to eat in this beg — " 
 
CANVASSING. 31 
 
 he stopped abruptly, catching a glance of the Irishman's eye, 
 which he did not think encouraged his finishing the sentence. 
 " I meant, Mr. Kelly, to ask you why you did not tell me that 
 there was no Inn in this part of the country, and I should then 
 have put up a few sandwiches, or a cold chicken, or so, just to 
 keep up my strength a little." 
 
 "To tell you the thruth, Mr. Symmons, I thought when the 
 masthers done without could chickens, the servants might:" 
 returned Mr. Kelly, with imperturbable composure. 
 
 "Confound the fellow's impudence!" muttered Mr. Sym- 
 mons : "servants and masters, upon my word ! there's radical- 
 ism and equality with a vengeance. " Lord Warringdon," he 
 resumed, aloud, "can fast better than 1 can — I have a bad di- 
 gestion, and have been ordered by my physician to eat frequently 
 and at regular hours." 
 
 " The ape ! I wish to the Lord I had lave of the masther to 
 give him something of my own cooking, to help his digestion." 
 
 A silence of some moments ensued, which was broken a 
 second time by Mr. Symmons. 
 
 " Pray, when shall we come to your master's estate 1" 
 
 " My masther's estate !" cried Mr. Kelly, "sure what else 
 have you been thravelling through, all day ? and havn't half 
 gone over it yet;" he added, with all the pride of an Irish fol- 
 lower. 
 
 " Humph ! so all this bog," cried Mr. Symmons, laying some- 
 what offensive emphasis on the last word, "all this bog, then, 
 is the Wilmot estate — " and something very like a sneer play- 
 ed round Mr. vSymmons' mouth. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Kelly, very wrathful, "all this bog, and 
 some more bogs besides, and a great dale that isn't bog, belongs 
 to Misther Wilmot of Wilmot Castle — the first intherest in the 
 county, and the largest property in the province — upon my con- 
 science I" he muttered in a lower key — "I never had so much 
 throuble in my life to keep my hands off a concated ass of his 
 kind, than I have this blessed minute, not just to take and chuck 
 him, far and asy, into the middle of that same bog he's passing 
 his remark upon, so mighty busy !" 
 
 " I cannot imagine," proceeded Mr. Symmons, "where all 
 your voters come from — I have not seen a house yet, nor a tree, 
 uor anything giving lone the idea of human habitation. You 
 know the capital stories we have in England about Irish voters?" 
 he went on facetiously — " shall I tell you one of them ?" 
 ;^ " I'd advise ye not :" answered Kelly, speaking very quietly, 
 
32 CANVASSING. 
 
 but looking as if he were just in the humour to enforce his re- 
 conomendation if necessary by some argument more cogent than 
 words. 
 
 Just then, luckily perhaps, for Mr. Symmons' bones, Mr. 
 Kelly's attention was attracted towards Jim, whose cries of 
 " Hee-up ! hee-up !" resounded in every note of the Irish scale 
 of intonation ; and then Jim chirped, coaxed, and cursed, talked, 
 exhorted, and flogged ; did everything in his power, in fact, by 
 reason and coercion, to induce his horses to get out of the bog- 
 hole, into which they had sunk up to their shoulders ; but, alas 
 the harder he flogged, the deeper they floundered — he was at 
 his wit's ends. 
 
 " What's the matter, Jim ]" inquired Kelly, who had seen 
 the confusion, while engaged in his amiable colloquy with Mr. 
 Symmons, and had hastened to learn the cause. " What's the 
 matter, Jim ]" he repeated. 
 
 "Oh! my God!" returned Jim, impatiently — "havn't ye 
 eyes in your head, man? don't ye see what's the mattherl I'm 
 bogged, and, more be token, 'twas in this very same place I 
 smashed my pole in, last year: " the curse of the cross upon 
 it!'" 
 
 " Give 'em a taste, of the whip, Jim." 
 
 " Give 'em a taste of the divil ! A-thin, Mr. Kelly, will ye 
 jist throw a look at the craturs, and see the condition they are 
 in — up to their shoulders in bog ! What's this for, at all ]" 
 roared Jin)j tearing his hair in desperation and flinging his hat 
 on the ground — " What in the world will I do ? Mr. Kelly — 
 God bless you I and tell me what's to become of us, at all !" 
 
 *' What are you stopping for?" cried Mr. Wilmot from one 
 window. "Has any accident happened the carriage?" cried 
 Lord Warringdon, from the other. 
 
 " No sir — no my lord :" replied the veracious worthies ad- 
 dressed — "nothing at all, only a bit o' the harness that wint 
 wrono." 
 
 " Mr. Kelly — " re-demanded Jim, half-crying, " what will I 
 do at all ]" 
 
 Mr. Kelly mused a second ; then mounted the coach-box — 
 surveyed the country in all directions ; and his face suddenly 
 brightened — " Now we have it!" he exclaimed, joyfully — and 
 placing his bent fingers in his mouth, whistled shrilly and long. 
 Almost immediately, figures were discernible, moving along the 
 brow of a hill, that skirted the road — and in less than five 
 minutes, fifty or sixty stout fellows came jumping and hollow^ 
 ing across the bog. 
 
CANVASSING. 
 
 33 
 
 '^ Glory be to the Lord, for all his mercies this day !" sighed 
 Jim, makiner the sign of the cross. 
 
 " We are going to be robbed and murdered :" thought Mr. 
 Symmons — " these Irish monsters are capable of any atrocity ;" 
 and he was preparing to save himself from the ferocious 
 Mountaineers, by clapping spurs to his horse, but was prevent- 
 ed by a command from his master to examine into the state of 
 the springs of the carriage; Lord Warringdon having certain 
 misgivings as to the dependence to be placed on Jim's asser- 
 tion, " that nothing at all was the matter." 
 
 When the group of peasants saw that Mr. Wilmot was one 
 of the boi^ged travellers, they threw up their hats and shouted 
 for joy. 
 
 " Here ! boys !" cried Kelly, " lift it out, body and bones — 
 horses and all ! first three cheers for the masther, and then put 
 your shoulders to the wheels — here it goes ! a long pull, a 
 sthrong pull, and a pull altogether! now boys!" 
 
 As desired, they gave first the three cheers, so long and loud, 
 that Lord Warringdon pressed his hands to his ears — they then 
 "put their shoulders to the wheel," and placed the carriage 
 once more on Terra Firma. 
 
 " Thank ye, my men :" said Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 *' Thank ye, my fine fellows:" said Lord Warringdon. 
 
 " Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, to that, and more ;" return- 
 ed they, good-humouredly. 
 
 "This is Lord Warringdon, come to canvass the county;" 
 observed Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 "And yourselves, my honest fellows among the number;" 
 — added Lord Warringdon. 
 
 " Och ! the masther is the one you must ax, my lord :" re- 
 plied the spokesman, with a smile — " we always vote the way 
 the masther plazes, you know ;" he added, however, with the 
 courtesy characteristic, (in those days,) of an Irish peasant, and 
 
 more particularly of a Irish peasant. " Not but, indeed, 
 
 we'd be glad, t'would be for your iionour's lordship, he'd bid 
 us vote; ye're welcome to Ireland, and to the county of ." 
 
 "Thank ye, thank ye, my honest fellows — here's a couple of 
 guineas to drink your master's health." 
 
 "And here's something to drink success to Lord Warring- 
 don ;" said Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 " Long life to ye both !" cried many voices — "the masther 
 and the masther's frind for ever !" 
 
 " Lord Warringdon for ever !" cried Mr. Wilmot, who de- 
 
34 CANVASSING. 
 
 sired to give the candidate a more definite designation thah that 
 of " the masther's friend." 
 
 " Warringdon for ever!" they echoed — "Warringdon and 
 Wilmot for ever ! huzza ! huzza !" and they shouted after the 
 departing travellers, with all the energy and deafening clamour 
 of three-score of Irishmen, with money in their pockets and 
 good will in their hearts. 
 
 " Well, misther Symmons, what do ye think of Irish ^voters,'' 
 now ] what would ye think to tell one of them boys the comical 
 stories ye have in England about 'em ]" 
 
 Mr. Symmons was pleased to observe that •' they were fine 
 fellows," and there the conversation ended. 
 
 The road began to improve as they drew near to Castle Wilmot. 
 Traces of Jim Flanagan's handy-work became apparent, by the 
 diminution of jolts and accession of speed. Lord Warringdon, 
 over-powered with fatigue, had sunk into a pleasing oblivion 
 of aching bones. Mr. Wilmot amused himself with his thoughts. 
 Mr. Symmons was grand — Mr, Kelly, and his humble friend, 
 and ardent admirer, Jim Naughton, agreed that the above-men- 
 tioned Mr. Symmons "was a fantastical omadhoun, that would 
 never be good for anything till he got a taste of the shillelagh ;" 
 and thus all journeyed along, until the plantations of Castle 
 Wilmot gladdened their sight. Bonfires were burning on all 
 the heights, far and near, in honour of the master's return. A 
 huge one was blazing at the Castle Wilmot gate, in honour of 
 their noble guest ; and much whiskey was drunk, and much to- 
 bacco smoked, to testify their joy on his arrival ; " lashins," of 
 both those luxuries having been sent out by Lady Annp. Lord 
 Warringdon was aroused from his slumber at ten o'clock at 
 night, by a shout of welcome. In the confusion of the mo- 
 ment, he forgot where he was, and seeing the huge fire, and the 
 wild countenances and tattered garb of the revellers gathered 
 round it, he half-imagined he might have fallen among a set of 
 Irish cannibals, who had prepared a fire to roast him at. This 
 delusion was, however, but momentary. Mr. Wilmot's kind 
 voice, bidding him welcome, recalled him to a sense of his real 
 situation. He alighted, but could scarcely stand, so crippled, 
 jolted, and bruised was he. As the mob huzzaed, he tried to 
 bow and smile, however, and although nearly driven mad by 
 the deep guttural roar of the men, and the shrill scream of the 
 women and children, expressed himself delighted beyond mea- 
 sure at their flattering reception. 
 
 " Ye'ar late, sir ;" observed Pat Murphy, as he led the way. 
 
CANVASSING. 35 
 
 with lights into the house. " My lady, and the young ladies, 
 was mighty unasy about you're not coming to dinner, sir." 
 
 " The road was so bad," returned his master, " we could not 
 come sooner." 
 
 "The road bad ] was it indeed, sirT' exclaimed Pat, " 'tis 
 newly come to it, that's all I can say — ye're welcome, ray 
 lord." 
 
 "Thank ye, my good fellow :" replied his Lordship. • 
 
 "Are you lame, my lord 1 you seem to thread tinder." 
 
 "No — only stiff from the jolting:" he replied. 
 
 " That Jim must dhruv ye mighty bad ;" observed Pat. 
 
 " Bring us something to eat, directly, Pat;" said Mr. VVil- 
 mot, and meantime allow me to pioneer you to the drawing- 
 room, my lord." 
 
 But his lordship objected to appearing in such trim before 
 ladies ; it was therefore arranged that they should sup by them- 
 selves in another room; and defer the presentation till to- 
 morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 For some days after his arrival at Castle-Wilmot, Lord 
 \Yarringdon continued to feel the effects of Mr. Wilmot's roads, 
 and Jim Naughton's driving. Nothing, however, could be 
 more polite than were his assurances of satisfaction, and, in- 
 deed, admiration, of all he saw and heard, ate and drank, at 
 Castle Wilmot. 
 
 " My journey," said he, smiling, " seems quite like an in- 
 cident, in a fairy tale. After having wandered through grand 
 and extensive solitudes, under the care of a powerful enchanter, 
 at a stroke of his wand, the scene changes, and I find myself 
 in a noble and ancient castle, surrounded b}' luxuries of every 
 description ; by all that can charm the eye, or gratify the taste; 
 and, though last mentioned, not the least appreciated, the smiles 
 of fair and gentle ladies." 
 
 Under the united influences of capital living (he had game 
 and fish in perfection and abundance) and of cheerful society. 
 Lord Warringdon was "the moral of a nice gentleman," if Pat 
 Murphy be considered good authority ; — we think that he is. 
 
36 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 In fact, the candidate continued in hi^h good humour, amused 
 at everything, and even, in his turn, condescended to amuse. 
 
 "Amuse! Warringdon amuse! why he is one of us, you 
 know; the thing is impossible !" 
 
 Dear people ! we crave a moment's explanation. In the first 
 place, pray recollect that your noble and apathetic brother is 
 no longer in town ; alas ! not even in his elegant retirement in 
 the country : nay, that he no longer treads English soil, ♦♦ at 
 all, at all ; that, in fact, he is in Ireland. Now, unfortunately, 
 there is something in the very air of Ireland which acts on the 
 most pertinaciously rigid muscles, and makes those laugh who 
 never laughed before, and never may again. In the second place, 
 recollect that man is a gregarious animal. The individual, 
 separated by some unlucky chance from his own herd, will fall 
 in with another herd of his species. In the third place, con- 
 sider he was not only alone in a country were apathy is igno- 
 rantly mistaken for stupidity, but also that he was absolutely 
 necessitated, as a candidate, to make himself popular; and now, 
 have we, even partially, succeeded in vindicating your erring 
 friend ? 
 
 But, to continue, as we, story-tellers, say : 
 
 The young lord, recollecting his.father's caution concerning 
 Lady Anne's match-making talents, observed her carefully ; 
 and to his surprise and satisfaction, found in her habitual man- 
 ner a decided refutation of the alleged gift. 
 
 Her ladyship had been very pretty ; she was still interest- 
 ing, and even loveable ; and there were about her a softness 
 and simplicity almost approaching naivete^ which quite per- 
 cluded the supposition of the existence of arrieres pensees of any 
 kind. All seemed clear and open as the noon-day. 
 
 " What a fool my father must be," thought the experienced 
 Viscount, " to have suspected such an unaffected, unartificial 
 "woman as this is, of being a match-maker ! I never yet knew 
 him form a correct estimate of character ;" and so, principally 
 that he might have the satisfaction of proving his father wrong, 
 he was unwittingly running the road to prove him right. 
 
 But Lady Anne only puzzled Lord Warringdon. She was, 
 in truth, a consummate actress : a female Proteus, who, if it be- 
 came absolutely necessary, could change, at will, her very na- 
 ture. She loUowed, to the very letter, the scriptural injunction 
 of " being all things to all men ;" and her facility in penetratingr 
 the motives and views of others fully equalled the variety and 
 perfection of her own powers of transformation. She instantly 
 
CANVASSING. 37 
 
 saw, therefore, what was likely *' to take" with Lord War- 
 rino-don, and manoeuvred accordingly. 
 
 Upon hearing of his intended visit, she had arranged, at once 
 to marry him to one of her daughters ; but could not decide 
 which, till she should have slightly studied the '•'' carte du pays ^ 
 "Though educated with precisely the same care, my two 
 unmarried girls are provokingly dissimilar," she said to herself; 
 to henself^ observe ; for think not that Lady Anne kept any other 
 confidante : " had Isabel Maria's good sense, or had Maria Isa- 
 bel's beauty, I never could meet any difficulties in my path. 
 But I am, at present, placed thus: this man may, perhaps, be 
 attracted by Isabel's beauty ; but if he should happen to prove 
 ugly, or silly, the world will not get Isabel to take any pains 
 about him. Again ; Maria, who would make no difficulty as 
 to taking him, he may not choose to have; — and so, and in this 
 teasing way, I am continually thwarted in my best-laid plans." 
 After the Viscount's arrival, and that she had reconnoitred 
 him. Lady Anne decided on marrying him to her youngest 
 daughter. She felt, however, rather unwilling to hurt Maria's 
 feelings by abruptly announcing her fiat ; and trusted, there- 
 fore, to some favourable occasion for indirectly conveying it. 
 
 She and Maria were sitting alone, soon after the appearance 
 of their guest. 
 
 " I have been studying Warringdon's character very care- 
 fully," observed Lady Atme, " and he is suspicious." 
 " Most young men of fortune are," rejoined Maria. 
 " I know :" returned Lady Anne, " that^ however, I don't so 
 much mind ; one could easily throw him off his guard. But 
 I'm sorry to say he is a thorough man of the world ; has no 
 feeling; never will fall in love." 
 
 "'Tisn't necessary that he should," said Maria, rising to 
 poke the fire. 
 
 " Not always necessary, I grant you ; but certainly highly 
 desirable; and, in this case, I fear, absolutely indispensable." 
 " Why ?" asked Maria. 
 
 '♦ Because," answered her mother, " he is not the sort of 
 man one can easily persuade to fancy himself in love, when he 
 is not ; neither is he the sort of man to commit himself, by some 
 nonsensical speech, that means nothing, but which a girl's fa- 
 mily choose to call something, and which a father, or a brother, 
 calls him out for ; in a word, he is a man never carried away 
 by feeling ; always on his guard not to say what might be made 
 a handle of against him on some future occasion ; cold and cau- 
 tious, though apparently the very reverse." 
 
 4 
 
38 CANVASSING. 
 
 "Bad materials for our purpose," observed Maria; *' bdt 
 your conclusions jump with my own, mamma ; and so /, at any 
 rate, must consider them to be well founded ; and it is clear 
 that I can have no chance, and Isabel, I fear, but a bad one." 
 
 Lady Anne secretly rejoiced at this voluntary renouncing of 
 all claims on Lord Warringdon, on Maria's part ; yet seem- 
 ingly acquiescing in her daughter's opinion, observed, " I be- 
 lieve you are right; and, since you give up the pursuit, Maria, 
 we must jointly take measures in favour of Isabel ; for, although 
 I do consider it difficult to manage him, I do not, by any means, 
 look upon it as impossible. To begin our one little plot, then ; 
 — whatever either of us may think of Warrin^don, we must 
 say nothing to Isabel on the subject, but deceive her, like a 
 child, for her own good — she must imagine herself captivated 
 by him, or she will never even try to attract him ; that is, in a 
 serious, business-like way — you know all her romantic non- 
 sense about affections and sym[)athies. Now, Warringdon is 
 incapable of loving anything but himself, but she must not 
 think so, or she would not love him." 
 
 " But what is the use of making her love him," interrupted 
 Maria, " or even fancy she does, if he be, as you say, too cold 
 to fall in love, himself, and too cunning to suffer any body to 
 marry him, if he does not .?" 
 
 "Very true," rejoined Lady Anne, " but I will make him, 
 too, dream that he is in love." 
 
 " Dream it!" exclaimed Maria, laughing, " is it a blase man 
 like that] dear mammal what can you be thinking of? — a sim- 
 ple boy, just come of age, brought up in a country clergyman's 
 family, one might possibly persuade out of his own senses; but, 
 even you," she added, playfully tapping her mother's cheek, 
 " would fail in such an experiment on a man about town, like 
 our right honourable and well esteemed guest, Viscount War- 
 ringdon — dream it, indeed ! — never — never!" 
 
 Lady Anne listened with the utmost composure to her daugh- 
 ter's mockery, and proceeded thus: — "The difficulty you state 
 is a considerable one, I admit, indeed 1 have before hinted it 
 myself — yet, I hope, by my mode of attack, to prove it is not, 
 at least, insuperable — Lord Warringdon, "wherever he goes, 
 finds himself an object of attraction to daughters, and of specu- 
 lation to mothers — he is therefore continually on the qui vive, 
 like the garrison of a besieged town, in fear of a cotip de main, 
 in fact, he is — mark me, on his guard against designing mam- 
 mas ; but in me he shall nothing find save simplicity and inno- 
 cence." 
 
CANVASSING. 39 
 
 *' Yes, but as you want him to devour Isabel, and not your- 
 self, what good will all the simplicity and innocence in the 
 world, on your part, siornify 1" interrupted Maria, with a laugh. 
 "You must give me time, my dear Maria, to develope my 
 plans. He never can suspect so indifferent and unguarded a 
 mother as I shall appear to him to be; he must acquit me, at 
 once, of deep design — of malice prepense — of premeditated 
 evil. More than that. I shall make him think not only that I 
 do not want his alliance, but that I actually avoid it." 
 "And how will you contrive that]" 
 
 *' By appearing to have somebody else in view for Isabel." 
 "That would be an excellent method certainly, but who can 
 you have in view?" 
 
 " INIcAlpine," replied Lady Anne. 
 
 " ^IcAli)ine!" echoed Maria; " Warringdon will never 
 think that you could prefer such a creature to him.*' 
 
 " Yes, he must though ; for I shall give him 4o understand 
 that Isabel is engaged to Mc Alpine. You know he is dying 
 for her, and the least encouragement would be enough to brin° 
 him in her feet." ° ° 
 
 " Yes," said Maria, " but Isabel will never consent to a pro- 
 ject so full of what she would call artifice and deception." 
 
 " I don't intend that she shall know we have any project of 
 the kind — [ shall persuade her that I really wish her to marrv 
 McAlpine." ^ 
 
 " Still I cannot see, for the life of me, how persuading her to 
 marry McAlpine, is to be the means of marrying her to War- 
 ringdon." 
 
 " Ygu are really very dull this morning, my dear Maria. I 
 do not intend, of course, absolutely persuading' her to marry Mc 
 Alpine, only making her and every one else think that I do." 
 " Ah, yes, now I understand your meaning perfectly," re- 
 joined Maria, " but if Warringdon is not in love with her, him- 
 self, what will he care whom she marries ]" 
 
 " I know human nature, at least, men-of-fashion-nature, 
 better than you do, Maria. Lord Warringdon is a man of 
 pretension, vain of his person, vain of his'' fashion, vain of 
 his rank and position in society, vain of his talent (he has 
 some), he cannot, therefore, exist without beingr admired ; his 
 vanity then will be gratified by the preference which Isabel will 
 unconsciously betray, for she is a bad dissembler— and, on the 
 other hand, he will be piqued by ray apparent neglio-ence — so, 
 to spite the mother, he will marry the daughter— is not that a 
 tolerable scheme V 
 
40 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Very," answered Maria, musingr. 
 
 *• And feasible ]" asked her mother. 
 
 *' Humph, as for that, I have m}' doubts; to me it appears 
 somewhat theoretical." 
 
 " I wager you a Chantilly veil I succeed," said Lady Anne, 
 smiling. 
 
 *' Done !" cried Maria. And here the conversation was in- 
 terrupted by the entrance of visitors. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Upon all his canvassing visits, within riding distance. Lord 
 Warringdon was accompanied by the young ladies as well as 
 by their father ; Lady Anne's object beit)g to establish a certain 
 intimacy between the parties, before she stepped in, with Mr. 
 McAlpine, in her hand, to break it up. These excursions were, 
 like most equestrian parties of ladies and gentlemen, highly 
 favourable for beginning and continuing a flirtation. Indeed, 
 Lady Anne insisted that riding was infinitely more useful thaa 
 walking for getting on with the men, combining, as she said, 
 the advantages of a tete a tete (which you can always manage 
 without having the air of arranging), with all the gaiety and 
 frankness uarranled by social manners and intercourse. Then, 
 ladies are timid on horseback, and require many little offices 
 of gallantry and protection ; (by the M^ay, it is remarkable a 
 woman seldom screams outright, though ever so scared, if the 
 man she wishes to attract be at her side ; her.ear-piercing appeal 
 being reserved to arouse a dull, a careless, or a straying attend- 
 ant.) 
 
 Upon the favourable occasions alluded to, Isabel scarce ever 
 pretended to be alarmed, however, — we can say so much for 
 her; but, when a little frightened, at her horse sticking in a 
 bog, or backing towards the edge of a precipice, on a mountain 
 road, she certainly affected to be more so; encouraging, in fact, 
 rather than contending with her fears; for, though not tutored 
 by her mother, Isabel was aware how interesting a woman ap- 
 pears to a man when claiming, evidently against her own will, 
 or design, his protection. 
 
 Well, the Viscount proved a very attentive cavalier; why 
 so 1 as much for the sake of the daughter's beauty, as the fa- 
 
CANVASSINa. 41 
 
 ther's votes 1 Ask Lady Anne. But Lord Warringdon, him- 
 self, said io himself, that she chatted agreeably ; was^well-man- 
 nered, and, altogether, " a very nice person." 
 
 Poor Isabel, on her part, was even better disposed towards 
 him. — In her eyes he appeared to be more than "a very nice 
 person ;" — he was a loveable one. tShe thought him striking- 
 ly handsome, and possessing all the polish of high breeding, 
 without its coldness. We must add that he could be agreeable, 
 100, in many ways ; among the rest, by telling anecdotes of 
 people known to his auditors, either personally or by report; 
 or by repeating good things which he had heard; and, as the 
 actor often gets more credit by his personification of a character 
 than the author for its delineation of it, so Lord Warringdon 
 earned from Isabel a reputation for cleverness, merely on° the 
 strength of his recollections, and adaptation of the cleverness of 
 others. To conclude ; he had spent much time abroad; spoke 
 the foreign languages well, — for an Englishman, surprisingly 
 well ; knew a little of many things, and took the tone of know- 
 ing a great deal of all : in a word, was just the one to be a 
 pleasant fellow among men and a "nice creature" among women. 
 
 But suppose the Viscount had not been heir to an "earldom, 
 and a hundred thousand per annum, very little encumbered? 
 Would Isabel's usual penetration have failed, in that case, to 
 discern in him some points less to his advantage ] Again we 
 say, ask Lady Anne. And, like another personage, not to be 
 named, just as we speak of her ladyship, she re-appears on the 
 scene. 
 
 The time had come to avail herself of Mr. McAlpine ; — she 
 was a little puzzled how to get at him ; Mr. Wilmot entered the 
 room with a letter in his hand, announcing Mr. McAlpine's in* 
 tended arrival that evening, to dinner. 
 
 Lord Warringdon and Isabel had been looking over some 
 music, and he was requesting her to sing, and she was prepar- 
 ing to oblige him, when her mother exclaimed " Good news 
 Isabel, McAlpine is to be here almost immediately; so run 
 off," she continued, in a lower tone, but still loud enough to be 
 overheard by Lord Warringdon, "runoff and dress; I want 
 you to be in your best looks to-day." 
 
 Isabel stared in astonishment. — Her mother smiled : — Isabel 
 was completely at fault. 
 
 "It is not time to dress yet," she observed, returning to the 
 instrument. 
 
 "Isabel," resumed her mother, " I wish to speak with you a 
 moment." And so saying she left the room, followed by her 
 
 4* 
 
42 CANVASSING. 
 
 daughter, who could not help wondering why Mr. McAlpine** 
 arrival should be such good news to her, seeing she abominated 
 him ; and why she should take more pains with her toilette on 
 this day than on any preceding one. 
 
 Her mother addressed her thus : 
 
 " My dear Isabel, I have particular reasons, which I will ex- 
 plain to you some other time, for wishing you to please McAl- 
 pine." 
 
 "But I cannot endure him, mamma; you know I cannot, 
 interrupted Isabel. 
 
 •' lie is a worthy, excellent young man, and would make you 
 a very good husband." 
 
 " God forbid !" returned Isabel ; " I would rather die than 
 marry him." 
 
 "Folly, my dear; anyone who had not a prior attachment 
 might very well contrive to marry him, and to like him very 
 well, too; and pray do you like any one elsel" 
 
 "No;" replied Isabel, blushing and hesitating. 
 
 "Very well, then," observed Lady Anne, " I request that, 
 since you have nothing to object against Mr. McAlpine, except 
 that you do not happen to be desperately in love with him, you 
 will treat with more consideration than hitherto you have been 
 pleased to do ; and also that you will henceforward think and 
 act like other young women of your age and station, and not 
 reject eligible offers because ' this man is too tall ;' that ' too 
 short ;' one " too fair ;' another ' too dark ;' sombody else be- 
 cause he doesn't sing ; and somebody else because he sings too 
 much : your father can give you no money, and you are no lon- 
 ger a mere child ; I would advise you, as your sincere friend, 
 as well as your affectionatie mother, to consider your position 
 well, and if Mr. McAlpine remain favourably disposed towards 
 you, to accept his attentions; it will be much better than riding 
 about, talking nonsense to Lord Warringdon, who will be off, 
 to-morrow or next day, and if he happen to see you again, 
 scarce remember you, perhaps." 
 
 Isabel coloured deeply, partly from confusion, and partly from 
 indignation at her mother's supposition, but she remained silent. 
 
 " Do, my sweet Isabel, do as I wish you," continued Lady 
 Anne, kissing her cheek ; " you never will repent having fol- 
 lowed my advice." 
 
 She then quitted Isabel, who did not return for some time to 
 the sitting room. That she had not passed the interval in very 
 agreeable meditations might be inferred from a slight redness 
 about her eyes, and a languor and dejection of manner, that 
 
CANVASSING. 43 
 
 Struck and interested Lord Warringdon. He thought she had 
 never looked so well ; he told her so, and her pale cheek glowed, 
 and she looked away for a moment, and when their eyes met 
 again, hers were filled with tears. 
 
 "Lord Warringdon," said Mr. Wilmot, "before McAlpine 
 comes, I must tell you what sort of person you are about to 
 see. First, as the most important point, what he has, — then 
 what he is: he has ten thousand a year, unencumbered ; that, 
 you will say, concerns Maria and Isabel more than you, — but, 
 however, this concerns you, — he has the next best interest to 
 mine in the county ; — in politics he is a staunch tory, and so 
 he is likely to remain, for he has not yet half provided for his 
 poor relations." (N. B. This was in the good, the halcyon 
 days of toryism in Ireland, when the favorite candidate was 
 sure to be the one who would bestow, or promise, at least, the 
 greatest number of places.) Mr. Wilmot proceeded: "Mr. 
 McAlpine and I are excellent friends ; that's to say, we don't 
 either of us care if the other broke his neck." 
 
 •'^lydear! my dear!" interrupted Lady Anne, " hew can 
 you talk so carelessly? Lord Warringdon will really believe 
 you are serious; very extraordinar)' under our peculiar circum- 
 stances ;" looking over at Isabel, "you should not, indeed, my 
 love, say such things ; really it is quite shocking." She said 
 this in a hurried, deprecating tone, and then, resuming her usual 
 manner, — "recollect the liberal support he has always afforded 
 you, without stipulations of any kind, for a single friend." 
 
 " Oh, I recollect perfectly," replied her husband, laughing; 
 " he monopolizes all rny interest on the plea that he had not 
 bargained, like others, before-hand. By Jove ! his support was 
 like the barbarian allies of the Roman empire, a service that 
 cost dearer than his enmity." 
 
 Lady Anne fidgeted about while he was speaking, and seemed 
 exceedingly annoyed, but why he could not well compreliend^ not 
 being aware that Mr. McAlpine's failings were a forbidden 
 subject at Wilmot castle, so he continued : — "Though my 
 friend, McAlpine, is the soul of honour, lake care that you have 
 
 witnesses to your conversation, or no matter what,'* he 
 
 added, with a laugh. " But only if you have not a friend pre- 
 sent, you may have to employ one on less amiable business some 
 future day, as I was once obliged to do; and my friend McAl- 
 pine then immediately remembered all he had forgotten. Pistols 
 are wonderful helps to a treacherous memory." 
 
 "Did you ever hear anything like your father'?" exclaimed 
 Lady Anne, addressing her eldest daughter, " to talk in such a 
 way of McAlpine before Isabel — highly impr oper." 
 
44 CANVASSING. 
 
 " What's improper 1" inquired Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 Lady Anne remained silent, shaking her pretty little foot in 
 assumed displeasure. 
 
 " What's improper, Anne, my love ]" inquired he once more. 
 
 *' Your abuse of Mr. McAlpine, my dear." 
 
 " My abuse ! I am not abusing the man at all. I don't care 
 about him one way or the other." 
 
 " Yes ! but that is the very thing I complain of, — you ought 
 to care." 
 
 "Why, my lovel" 
 
 " My dear Wilmot," rejoined Lady Anne, " you must forget, 
 surely." 
 
 "I can't imagine," said he to himself, "what the devil she 
 is at." 
 
 The rapid approach of horsemen up the ascent to the castle 
 turned the conversation. A i'ew minutes afterwards, Mr. McAl- 
 pine made his appearance arnid the group. 
 
 "Delighted to see you," said Lady Anne, in her softest tone 
 of welcome. 
 
 "How dy'e do, my dear fellow," said Mr. Wilmot, "glad to 
 see you ;" — and Mr. Wilmot was glad to see him, because it 
 happened to be in his own house, and there his greatest enemy 
 would no longer be treated, or even considered as such. We 
 shall take advantage of the half hour before dinner to give a 
 sketch of the morale and physique of Mr. McAlpine, of McAl- 
 pine Castle. 
 
 To begin with his outward man, that being the most impor- 
 tant division of the two-fold nature of a young male acquaint- 
 ance. Mr. McAlpine was considered by all who had the pleasure 
 of knowing him, (except himself,) as a specially ill-looking 
 person. 'Tis fair to state, however, what really was his appear- 
 ance, in order that our readers may judge whether he or his 
 acquaintances were right. He was very tall, and very thin, 
 with a very short body and very long limbs, that were always 
 straying about to all points of the compass, as if each was set- 
 ting forward, by itself, on a voyage of discovery through the 
 world; his hair was very red, his eyes very white, his teeth very 
 yellow, his mouth very wide, and his nose very broad; so far 
 for his person. With respect to his mind. Nature had dealt a 
 little more favourably with him. Originally he had not been 
 quite deficient in intellect; but, unfortunately, his early educa- 
 tion had been neglected ; in fact Mr. McAlpine arrived at years 
 of discretion before he became heir-at-law to his present estate, 
 seren or eight good people having been in the entail upon it: 
 
CANVASSING. 45 
 
 gradually, however they died without "issue in tail male;" 
 and when he succeeded to the property, he could barely read 
 and write. He had sufficient good sense, however, to feel his 
 deficiencies, and gave a still rarer proof of understanding by 
 endeavouring to remedy them ; he bought good books, and read 
 and profited by them, and thus efl^ected wonders ; but, unluckily, 
 he imagined, comparing himself with himself, that as he now 
 knew much more than he formerly had done, he actually knew 
 more than any one had ever known before him. Eventually he 
 decided in his own mind that nothing could equal him in know- 
 ledge or beauty, and consequently put a high price on himself "in 
 Ihemarrying way ;" and though he was always talking of taking 
 a wife, never could be induced to decide, lest he might, as he said, 
 " throw himself away," While he was thus deliberating, Isabel 
 Wilmot returned from the Continent, the theme of universal ad- 
 miration. He soon came to the solemn determination " that she 
 was just the person worthy of becoming Mrs. McAlpine." He 
 did not, however, say too much in commendation of her, lest he 
 should raise the market on himself; only pronouncing her to 
 be " a nice girl, certainly, and if married to a man she loved, 
 one that would turn out a charming woman ; but all depended 
 on that; at present she thinks too much of herself a great c?a/e." 
 Occasionally Mr. McAlpine's pronunciation was somewhat 
 broad, and formed a curious and amusingcontrast with his high 
 flown style and sentimentality. "She wants animation," (we 
 mark thus a peculiar drawling emphasis in Mr. McAlpine's 
 articulation,) " because as yet she is indifferent about plasing, 
 but once let her love a man of a certain order of mind, and she 
 will be absolutely seraphic — she's clever, and accomplished, and 
 beautiful ; but she's not, as yet, interesting, because, as yet, she 
 has not loved." So, to give the finishing touch to Isabel's per- 
 fections, he did all in his power to inspire her with a passion; 
 but the young lady, some way, was deficient in taste as well as 
 gratitude, and by no means seconded Mr. McAlpine's benevolent 
 views for her improvement. 
 
 Maria thoi^ght it a thou^nd pities that the owner of McAl- 
 pine Castle should be lost lc^4he family, so she laughed, and 
 talked, and laboured, might and main, to get into Tiis good 
 graces, — all to no purpose ; a pleasant, lively, off-hand girl, 
 was his detestation. Take notice, Mr. Mc Alpine was all ro- 
 mance and refinement. " Maria Wilmot has no softness, no 
 sentiment, no manner; besides, I must have, he would sometimes 
 say, grinning, and displaying his terrific set of teeth, besides I 
 MUST have a fine woman — that is an indispensable necessary of life 
 
46 CANVASSING. 
 
 to rae ; beauty is the aliment of my existence. No — if I take 
 either, it shall be Isabel. I fix on her." But though he fixed 
 upon Isabel, Isabel did not fix upon him; he continued, how- 
 ever, to call her stiffness, reserve, and her coldness, modesty; 
 never for an instant suspected they could be anything else, 
 where he was in question. 
 
 Lady Anne had not quite yet decided whether she should 
 make her younger daughter marry him, or make him marry her 
 elder, when the arrival of Lord Warringdon caused her to change 
 the whole plan of operations. She now courted him upon 
 the principle that we offer a plate of meat to one lap-dog, in- 
 tended for another — by the way, this neat and appropriate si- 
 mile reminds us that it is time to return to our family party, 
 whom we left counting the minutes until dinner should be an- 
 nounced. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 All are now seated at dinner. Lord Warringdon's thoughts 
 and attentions (we will not say his affections, because, like lady 
 Anne, we are not quite sure he has any) are divided between a 
 plate of salmon, just out of the water, and the pretty downcast 
 eyes of his fair and flirting equestrian companion, Isabel. But 
 when we state that his attentions were thus divided, we do not 
 take upon ourselves to assert that the division was perfectly 
 equal, it might be, perhaps, somewhat like an Irish halving of 
 a thing — one half a little bigger than the other ; perhaps, also, 
 the bigger one might not have fallen to the lady's share. Un- 
 der the circumstances of the case, however, she might consider 
 herself peculiarly fortunate in having any portion at all ; for a 
 man of modern times, who thinks of the lady of his love, when 
 he has anything else to think of, particularly so good a thing as 
 salmon in season, gives a proof of the depth and intensity of 
 his passion, equal to that which blowing out his brains would 
 have been some forty years ago. Isabel, however, had been 
 placed by her mother in precisely the position best calculated 
 to ensure as much worship as was possible, to be, namely, 
 just opposite the viscount; so that whenever.his eyes were off 
 his plate, they naturally fell on his vis a vis. And, what we 
 look at, Lady Anne knew, we think of; and indeed Lord 
 
CANVASSING. 47 
 
 Warringdon was obliging enough not only to thiiik of Isabel, 
 but to think of her all that lady Anne was anxious he should 
 think, viz., that " she was a very lovely girl, that she seemed 
 to be very much inclined to fall in love with him, and that it 
 was a great pity to give so much beauty and taste to such a 
 stupid ugly fellow as McAlpine ;" said ugly fellow being at 
 the moment whispering with his mouth full, sundry soft things 
 to his fair, but listless neighbour, and, in the earnestness ofbis 
 discourse, leaning across her plate, and staring full in her 
 face, with his large white eyes, which he rolled about in the 
 most approved style of loverism. Isabel would have pawned a 
 joint of her pretty taper finger to have dared turn her back on 
 him, or to slap his face; and in her struggles to conceal her 
 disgust, for she knew that her mother's eye was^fixed on her, 
 she became silent and constrained. Now, any other man but 
 McAlpine would have been hereupon offended — he, on the con- 
 trary was charmed, for he interpreted the care with which she 
 avoided his soft glances, or interrupted his compliments, as un- 
 deniable proofs of a tender and absorbing passion, which, from 
 maidenly reserve, she laboured to conceal. 
 
 "Why did you not wait for the gentleman you speak ofl" 
 she asked, eagerly seizing on an observation just made, to turn 
 his attention from her beauty and his own admiration. 
 
 " Because," answered he, " Mr. Barham was not quite rea- 
 dy to accompany me — and I could not wait; for," lowering his 
 voice into a whisper, soft and tender as that of the boy-god 
 himself, he added, "I was languishing for a bame (beam) from 
 the sun of my soul, fair Isabel's bright eyes — for what is ex- 
 istence to me when absent from her, the source of light, and life, 
 and hope !" 
 
 '* But don't you think he may be offended 1" inquired Isabel, 
 not appearing to notice his twaddle. 
 
 *' I explained to him that I had important avocations at McAl- 
 pine Castle, which would prevent my having the pleasure of 
 accompanying him there. I have been expecting him these 
 three days past, and am half surprised I did not meet him here, 
 spell-bound by the fascinations of the captivating enchantress 
 ofWilmot Castle — the fair Isabelle — that cruel but charming 
 creature — whose gaze is death — who lures but to destroy." — 
 
 A loud knocking at the hall-door, interrupted Mr. Mc Al- 
 pine's speech — and caused such a sensation, among the whole 
 party, as would scarcely be credited, except by those who 
 know by experience what can be effected by the most trifling 
 
48 CANVASSING. 
 
 occurrence which promises to break up the usual routine of a 
 country-house life. While every one was wondering who it 
 could be, and each sat with his or her knife or fork arrested, 
 as if by a spell, in his or her hand ; while all ears were eagerly 
 bent to catch the glory due to first discoverers; and while all 
 eyes were riveted, as if they possessed the properly of lynx 
 vision, and would pierce the very walls; the door was softly 
 opened, and father John Molloy stole on tip-toe, into the room. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! 'tis only you, father John !" exclaimed 
 Maria. " I thought it was some prince in disguise, come to 
 crave hospitality, and who, in return for a dinner and a bed, 
 would fall in love with me — but never mind, sit down, father 
 John — here by me, and tell us some news." 
 
 *' 1 beg your pardon, Miss, for a minute, I have something to 
 say to your p'apa ;" and so saying, he crept round the table to 
 Mr. Wilmot, and made some observation in a low voice, to 
 which the other replied : 
 
 " Certainly — beg of him by all means to walk in — why did 
 you not bring him in at once, father John 1" 
 
 "I was delicate of taking a liberty, Mr. Wilmot, Sir," re- 
 plied he, looking at lady Anne, from whose mind he desired to 
 efface, by his present respectful demeanour, the somewhat un- 
 favourable impression made by his brother's conduct in the best 
 room. 
 
 ** I'll go myself;" said Wilmot, starting up, he suddenly 
 stopped short, however, and whispered to the priest, ^' you are 
 sure he isn't one of those fellows with papers ]" 
 
 "Ah, not at all, sir — he's a gentleman from England — an 
 elegant fellow as ever I'd wish to see, and mighty agreeable.'* 
 
 "Who are you talking about T" inquired Maria, pricking up 
 her ears, at the words " gentleman from England — elegant fel- 
 low, &c." 
 
 Lady Anne's sense of hearing, equally acute as that of her 
 daughter's, was roused by the same gratifying sounds, and * 
 inquired with pleasing alacrity — 
 
 "What is the matter, my love] Is there any one coming, 
 Mr. Molloy?" 
 
 Both the persons addressed had, however, disappeared before 
 her question had reached their ears. Meantime, the party, with 
 the exception of Lady Anne and Maria, proceeded in their 
 agreeable occupations, and waited patiently until time should 
 unravel the mystery, if mystery there were. But Miss Wilmot 
 and her mother sat on thorns, during the few seconds of Mr. 
 W^ilmot's absence; and their satisfaction maybe imagined, but 
 
CANVASSING. 49 
 
 certainly not described, at seeing him return, accompanied by 
 a fair, and rather good-looking- and gentlemanlike young man. 
 
 "This gentleman," said Mr. Wilmot, ushering him in, "was 
 found by father John, upset by a drunken driver, about tea 
 miles off — the man had quite lost his way — so Mr. Molloy 
 very properly became his guide and conducted iiim here. Lady 
 Anne, and my daughters, as well as myself, will do all in our 
 power," he added, smiling, "to induce you to forgive our bad 
 roads and worse drivers." 
 
 ^ During the progress of this speech, bows and smiles on both 
 sides had been exchanged, and the traveller had accepted the 
 proffered seat near Maria. 
 
 " God bless me ! can that be you, Mr. Barham 1" exclaimed 
 Mr. McAlpine, " I had not the laste idea it was you — how d'ye 
 do? I'm very glad to see you at last— Wilmot, this is the 
 gentleman 1 told you 1 had been expecting." 
 
 "Really — who could have thought it ? is it possible? how- 
 very odd V &c., &c., ran from mouth to mouth, as is usual on 
 such occasions as the present. 
 
 " I am afraid you are very much fatigued ;" observed lady 
 Anne, in the soft accents habitual to her when addressincr the 
 young of the other sex. 
 
 " Oh no ! I am much obliged to you, not in the least;" re- 
 plied Mr. Barham, "quite delighted, I assure you-— I think it 
 capital fun, being overturned in a bog-hole — I like it of all 
 things — 'tis quite an adventure, you know, and so Irish, like 
 what one sees in a play, you know — never would happen one 
 in England, if one was travelling for ever." 
 
 "Then you have never been in Ireland before, I suppose ?" 
 observed Maria. 
 
 " Never ; and I'm so glad I've come !" 
 " You like it then ? 
 
 "Oh yes, of all things — never laughed so much in all my 
 life as since I have been in Ireland. To-day, I thought I should 
 have died I laughed so, when I was thrown out of The carriage 
 —it was capital ! there was the driver in such a fright, you 
 know, for fear I was killed, and when he found I wasn't a bit 
 hurt, he got afraid I'd complain of him to his master; and 
 began cursing his horses, and swearing 'twas their fault, and 
 not his ; and then he tried to get me up, and couldn't, he was so 
 drunk— then he fell over me, and neither of us could stir,I was 
 laughing so, and he was so drunk ; and there we should' have 
 lam all night I suppose, only your friend Mr. Molly was kind 
 enough to bring me here. 
 
 5 
 
50 CANVASSING. 
 
 "Very liappy to have had the pleasure of seeing you," re- 
 plied Maria, in her usual good-natured tone — " He seems a sad 
 fool, poor young man," thought she. " I wonder, is ho rich V 
 Her thoughts upon this point were, in the course of the evening, 
 most satisfactorily terminated by a scrap of dialogue she over- 
 heard between him and the Viscount. 
 
 " Pray, may I ask," said Lord Warringdon, "are you one of 
 the Barhams of Leicestershire T" 
 
 "To be sure I am ; Barham of Cralcourt, myself: you know 
 the Cralcourt hounds ?" 
 
 "Famous all over England," rejoined Lord Warringdon. 
 " So, you are Barham of Cralcourt ; your father used to be 
 greatly on the turf. Has he many horses running now V 
 
 " No, I don't think he has," returned the other, laughing, 
 " unless he has found some in Heaven — he has been dead these 
 two years." 
 
 " Happy fellow," observed Lord Warringdon, " your own 
 roaster — ' the world before you where to choose' like our first 
 parents." 
 
 " Not my own master yet — I'm not to be of age for a year- 
 and-a-half, you know; and I have got such a tiresome old fellow 
 for a guardian ; keeps me so tight, you can't think; Sir Wil- 
 loughby Turner of Mandeville Park ; lives near Melton, you 
 know ; I can't bear him — he has got three such ugly daughters, 
 you can't think." 
 
 Maria, who had edged her chair close to Mr. Barham's, on 
 the discovery that he was a rich minor (the Cralcourt estate 
 was eighteen thousand per annum), here joined the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Do you mean," she asked, laughing, " that your guardian's 
 having three ugly daughters is the original cause, or only an 
 additional one, for not liking him 1 Poor man ; you should 
 pity, rather than dislike him for that." 
 
 " Well, so I do ; I pity him very much, I'm sure; and them, 
 too, poor girls ; for I'm sure they will never get married — unless 
 Sir Willoughby gets people to marry 'em, the way he wanted 
 me ; but there was no reason I should, when I didn't like it, 
 was there T" 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Maria, as frankly as if she was in no 
 way concerned, in a question which touched ugly girls, who 
 wanted to find husbands. But, indeed, never, on similar occa- 
 sions, did she betray anything like esprit de corps,- she could 
 laugh as heartily at a jest against plain women, or husband- 
 hunting ones, as if she were a beauty, and had refused half her 
 
CANVASSING. 51 
 
 male acquaintances. Who, then, could suspect the plain, but 
 good-humoured, laughing, Maria Wilmot, of being dangerous 
 or designing 1 Certainly not Mr. Barhamof Cralcourt, whom, 
 from this hour, she marked as her victim. Encouraged by her 
 approbation of the exertion of free-will he had evinced, with 
 respect to marrying either of the Miss Turners, he proceeded 
 with his confidential communications thus; 
 
 " So when I found he wanted me to marry Ellen Turner, 
 whether I would or no — I cut and ran." 
 
 " You were quite right," observed Maria, " I like to see 
 young men have proper spirit." 
 
 "1 told him, you know, I was going to Paris ; and he began 
 to give me such a lot of advice about rouge et noir, and to keep 
 out of mischief, and all that sort of thing; so I promised I 
 would ; and he asked me how long I should stay, and I said 
 about three months ; so I should not be in the least surprised if 
 they were all by this time in Paris, after me; and wondering 
 why they can't find me." 
 
 '* So you did not go to Paris, after allV 
 
 ■"Lord bless you, no; I guessed they would be after me, so 
 I came here; they will be so surprised when they hear Em in 
 Ireland ; don't you think they willl" 
 
 *' Capital !" exclaimed Maria, laughing, (she could laugh, as 
 other women cry or faint, whenever she chose) — " Capital ; I 
 give you credit for that idea." 
 
 *' But the best of it is, they can't hear a word of it, for a long 
 wOiile, for nobody knows where I am gone, I kept it such a 
 secret ! I did not even bring a servant with me, for fear he 
 might tell — ^just for a lark, you know. I was determined to 
 have some fun by myself at least — wasn't I right T" 
 
 Maria here burst into one of her best fits of laughing, partly 
 natural, partly affected, to please Mr. Barbara's un-aristocratic 
 laughter-loving propensities. 
 
 *' What are you laughing atl do tell me, Miss Wilmot," 
 laughing already himself, from sympathy. 
 
 '•Why, I was thinking, Mr. Barham, that your friends will 
 be sure to look fur you, every day, at the Morgue /" 
 
 "The Morgue P'' repeated he, nearly screaming with delight 
 — " Oh ! so they will, Em positive ! — 1 never thought of that — 
 how good ! Oh ! what capital fun !" — and he almost fell off his 
 chair in a convulsion of glee, at Maria's happy idea. " Oh, 
 Miss Wilmot, you will kill me," continued he, when sufficiently 
 recovered from his transport to articulate intelligibly — " Hang 
 roe if 1 have done anything but laugh, laugh, ever since I ar- 
 
52 CANVASSING. 
 
 rived in Ireland ! I never saw such a place for fun in my life. 
 I wonder Irish people ever leave Ireland ; they never can laugh 
 half so much any where else. I should like so to be an Irisli- 
 man ! Oh ! Miss Wilmot, Mr. Molly told me such a droll story, 
 coming along, about somebody playing him a trick at a funeral ; 
 I don't exactly recollect what it was, though. I wish you would 
 ask him to tell it over again, will you ? ° I should be so much 
 obliged to you." 
 
 Maria was very well disposed to call in the assistance of so 
 faithful an ally as Father John, to aid her virtuous exertions in 
 the task of entertaining their new guest. 
 
 " Father John, I want you — here's a petitioner for one of your 
 good stories." 
 
 *' What good story, Miss Maria?" inquired Father John, 
 quite surprised to find he was considered.a teller of good stories. 
 
 " Oh ! the one about the funeral, Pilr. Molloy, if you please," 
 said Mr. Barham. 
 
 "The one about the funeral," repeated Father John, slowly 
 and musingly ; " upon my word and credit, Mr. Barham, it fails 
 me to remember what story yon mane about a funeral. Can't 
 you recollect some of the perticklars "?" 
 
 " Somebody you thought was dying, and who was not." 
 
 " Oh ! 1 remember now — Dan Murphy — But that's no story 
 at all, Mr. Barham, but the blessed truth, I'm sorry to say ; not 
 but that I laugh sometimes myself, when I think how I was 
 nicked out of my corpse ;" and the good-humoured priest again 
 laughed heartily at the recollection. 
 
 " Oh, it is all so good, Mr. Molloy ; pray tell it again, will 
 you?" 
 
 Lord Warringdon here joined the group, and added his solici- 
 tations to those of Mr. Barham, for the "funny corpse-story," 
 though not, by many degrees, so great an amateur of fun as his 
 Leicestershire compatriot. Lord Warringdon had sufficiently 
 benefited by Irish air to be able to listen, with tolerable satis- 
 faction, to an Irish anecdote ; besides, he was canvassing the 
 county, and, of course, the priests. 
 
 " Pray, my dear sir, oblige us," he said. 
 
 " With all the pleasure in life, my lord. Most happy to con- 
 tribute to your entertainment, gentlemen. But, upon ray word, 
 I'm afraid you'll be mighty disappointed, if you expect any 
 great amusement, for 'lis nothing but just what happened to my- 
 self and Father Costelloe : that's my shuperior in the parish, 
 the parish priest, you know." 
 
CANVASSING. 53 
 
 "I thought," interrupted Mr. Barham, " you were the parish 
 ■priest, yourself." 
 
 " I wish to the Lord I was," rejoined Mr. MoUoy : " no, God 
 "help me ! I'm only the coadjator, — the curate you know," ob- 
 serving- that his English auditors did not understand the term. 
 " Well, myself, and Father Costelloe, and Mrs. Priest, — that's 
 the priest's niece-in-law, married to one Costelloe, that keeps 
 a public house hard by Father Costelloe's,— we call her Mrs. 
 Priest because there are so many Costelloes in the place, we'd 
 never know which was which, if we did not call her by some 
 name that wasn't her own; well, they and I were talking of 
 one thing or other, one night, over our punch, when, all of a 
 sudden, there comes the sorrows of a sassarara at the door; the 
 Lord save us, says I ; who have we got here 1 ' Who has the 
 assurance and impertinence to come to my door at this unseeso- 
 nable hour of the night T cries Father Costelloe, spaking in his 
 fine English manner. (Take care, God bless you. Miss Maria, 
 and don't tell him I say so). ' For one farthing,' says he, 'I'd 
 keen the fellow, (cane, he meant) ' whoever he is, for his impu- 
 dence.' I forgot to say it was Shrove-Tuesday, of all the days 
 in the year. How do you know, Mr. Costelloe V says I ; {he 
 thinks it grand to be called Mr.) how do you know says I, but 
 it might be a crature coming to get married, smart out of hand, 
 afore lent. ' Mr. Molloy,' says he, drawing hinriself up the w^ay 
 he does when he wants to be mighty grand entirely (you know, 
 MissJMarial) ; * I would not choose, for the best wedding in my 
 parish, nor the best funeral, either, to be disturbed at my re- 
 pasts.' How comical you are, thinks I : any way, it wouldn't 
 be you that would get the ra'al disturbance, God help me! 
 there isn't a man in the parish, gentlemen," said he, turning 
 to his auditors, -'that earns his victuals harder than myself; — 
 rain, snow, or hail, at cock crow, or pitch dark, away I am, 
 tramping the bogs and mountains, while other people, that gets 
 the two shares and more of the dues, are lying snug in their 
 beds, or sitting over their warm fire and comfortable tumbler. 
 But, what can't be cured must be endured,— no use fretting; 
 grief killed the eat^ we're told, so, Fll finish my story. May 
 be, says I, it might be a crature that isn't expecfed.^^ 
 
 " Somebody drying," said Maria to the gentlemen, " not ex- 
 pected to live,'''' 
 
 "Do you think, says he, I would suffer myself to be disturb- 
 ed, at this hour, by the best corpse in my parish 1 Well, in the 
 middle of this, in walks ]\Irs. Priest : I forgot to say, she had 
 slipped out of the room, half an hour before, but I never per- 
 
54 CaKVAssing. 
 
 ceived it, * Guess the news, gentlemen,' says she, seeming 
 mighty plased. * My grandmother ! says I.' ' No, ra'al good 
 news,' says she ; 'Dan Murphy won't pass the night.' ' Don't 
 bother us,' says I ; 'sure he's always dying, and a sorrow a 
 one of him is dead yet, — God forgive me for cursing,' says I. 
 ' Well, he's dying now in ra'al earnest.' ' How do you know V 
 says I. ' Wasn't his son here, a minute ago, tearing the house 
 down, like mad ]' ' And where is he now ]' says I ; ' till I spake 
 to him.' — 'You can't spake to him now,' says she, 'for he's 
 gone up to the castle, to spake to Pat Murphy, his cousin, to 
 tell him all about it, that he may be ready to attend the funeral, 
 and bring what's wanting, you know;' looking mighty knowing 
 at me. ' Arrah ! no : it's joking, you are, Mrs. Priest,' says 1 ; 
 for she's always at her thricks and schames, making fools of 
 Father Costelloe and myself, telling us this one is going to be 
 married, and that one expected, so I'm always on ray guard with 
 her; but this turn she spoke so sarious, and looked so plazed, I 
 was thricked entirely, and made sure poor Dan was dying in 
 earnest at last : God knows 'twas time for him, if ever he in- 
 tended it. But his equal for toughness I never seen: he has 
 had Mrs. Finn, Mrs. Wilson, and the doctor at the dispensary 
 at him, for these five years back, and even they couldn't send 
 him off. Not an Easlher came, but we expected our Easther 
 dinner of him,— for his funeral would be the finest in the parish, 
 there's such a dale of Murphys in it, and so well oflf as they are ! 
 the snuggest men to be seen in the province. But what made 
 me give in to the joke, entirely, was the hurry Father Costolloe 
 was in to get me off, — he wouldn't give me time to finish my 
 tumbler, or chat a bit with Mrs. Priest. 
 
 " Well, it was pitch-dark,— raining cats and dogs, and the 
 wind blowing so, you'd think 'twas ould Nick cooling his tay, 
 — such a night I never seen for hardship and contrariness, — my 
 horse and myself coming down every minute. Father Costel- 
 loe broke the crature's knees the last time he dined here; and 
 'tisn't the first horse he sarved so, and no wonder, poor man, 
 he grows so-corpulent ! Well, at last I come to my journey's 
 end. When I got to the poor man's door, I put on a mighty 
 grave face, — you'd think my life was bound up in poor Pat 
 Murphy's : not but I was ra'ally sorry for the crature, now that 
 I thought he was dying in earnest, and that all would be soon 
 over wilh him. 
 
 " I fastened my horse to the latch of the door: ' God save all 
 here,' says I. " Cead vdlle fallha^'^ says Kutty, Dan's wife, 
 smiling, and looking mighty plased> ' Them women,' thinks 
 
CANVASSING. 55 
 
 J to myself, *are the dickens, sure enough ! see, now, how well 
 plased Kutty is, and her husband, who was always a good one 
 to her, going from her, the crature !' — ' Is he sinsible, Kutty,' 
 says I. 'Sinsible! Father John ] to be sure he is; why 
 wouldn't he? he's not bad enough for that, yet.' Ah, then, 
 how much worse would you have him, Kutty,' says I, ' if you 
 wouldn't have him dead intirely ; — can he spake, Kutty 1' says 
 I. 'Ah, then, why wouldn't he spake, Father John]' says 
 she. Myself couldn't make head or tail of her, ' so,' says I, 
 * bring me to him, Kutty, says I, and then I'll see myself how 
 he is.' ' God bless your reverence, 'tis you that are fond of 
 him, sure enough,' says she, ' to come all the ways this blessed 
 night to see him ; FU sind for him, Father John,' says she. 
 ' Send for him !' says I, ' what in the world do you mane, wo- 
 man V says I. * Fll send for him to Derrymanagoslogh, I mane. 
 Father John,' says she. 'It's a wonder he wouldn't rather die 
 in his own house,' says I. 'So he would, if it was dying he 
 was,' says she. ' Why, what else is he doing, thenV says I. 
 ' Smoking and drinking, like the rest of the company, 1 b'lieve,' 
 says she. ' \Vhat company are you talking of, at all, woman'?' 
 says I. ' Ah, sure, he's gone to the lower parish, beyant, to a 
 dragging home of a daughther of a first cousin of his sisther's 
 husband, that's married to a dacent boy, a cousin of his own.' 
 ' Murder alive!' says I to myself, 'and ail the slavery 1 got 
 driving like mad through the bogs, and my elegant tumbler of 
 punch left cooling!' Well, 1 thought it did no good to be cross 
 to poor Kutty, because her husband wasn't dying just to con- 
 vanience me and Father Costelloe ; so I put the best face I 
 could upon the matter, and so I said I was mighty happy to 
 find Dan was so much better, and off I set home." 
 
 " Oh ! just tell me, before you go any farther, what you mean 
 by a dragging home," interrupted Mr. Barham. 
 
 " A dragging home, you know, is the same as a hauling 
 home," returned Father John. 
 
 " Yes, but I don't know what that means either," replied the 
 young Englishman. 
 
 " Well, then, I'll tell you what it manes : — a dragging home, 
 or hauling home, is when a girl of one parish is married to a 
 boy of another, and that 'tis too far for the young man's people 
 to come to go to the wedding ; when she comes home to her 
 husband's friends, they have another wedding, equal to the first, 
 and that's what they call a dragging home." 
 
 " Thank you, for your explanation," said Lord Warringdon, 
 *' and now let u5 hear the sequel of your amusing adventure*" 
 
56 CANVASSING. 
 
 " You're extremely polite, my lord ; but, indeed, I'm afraid 
 I'm tiring you, and the rest of the company, with such a long 
 rigmarole, about nothing at all." 
 
 " Oh, no," exclaimed Mr. Barham, eagerly ; " I'm sure every 
 body must like to hear it, 'tis so funny, isn't it. Miss Wilmot? 
 Now wouldn't you all like to hear the rest of it]" appealing to 
 the company at large. 
 
 Mr. McAlpine replied to the question by a look of the most 
 ineffable contempt. He deemed laughing one of the seven 
 deadly sins against Romanus and gentility, his two favourite 
 divinities : and, as he never felt inclined to indulge in it him- 
 self, affirmed that no one who had either head or heart ever did. 
 
 " What a soulless creature that Barham must be to laugh as 
 he does; don't you think so, my fair enchantress," said he, 
 still staring and looking tender at his victim, poor Isabel. 
 
 " It is very happy for him to be able to laugh," she answered, 
 half crying from vexation. 
 
 "Come, come, — the story, the story — you like it, don't you, 
 Lady Anne?" cried Barham. 
 
 Lady Anne, from politeness, and Mr. Wilmot, from good-na- 
 ture, always seemed to enjoy what amused others; they had, 
 therefore, listened as attentively to Father John's adventure as 
 if they had not heard it a dozen times before; and now placidly 
 awaited its conclusion. 
 
 Father John proceeded thus : — " All the way coming back, I 
 was thinking how I'd be even with Mrs. Priest for the thrick 
 she played me. The next morning, before I got up, a mes- 
 sage from her to me» begging me to come and have a collation 
 after mass, with herself and Father Costelloe. — She always 
 gets share of his breakfast, for she'd go to the dickens for tay ; 
 God forgive her, poor woman ; I guessed well enough the ra- 
 son of her civility — 'twas just to see how crest-fallen I'd look, 
 after my fine jaunt for nothing; but I nicked her, as you'll see. 
 — ' How are you. Father John V says she. — ' Very well, thank 
 you, ma'am,' says I. ' How did you lave poor Dan,' .says she, 
 putting a comical face en herself. 'I didn't see him at all,' 
 says L 'How's that?' says she. 'Because I wouldn't be 
 let,' says I. ' How do you mane you wouldn't be let?' says 
 she. ' Only just because Mrs. Wilson and the ministher were 
 within-side, reading to him, out of a thract,' says I. ' Reading 
 to him out of a thract,' says she; 'the Lord save us from all 
 harm!' making the sign of the cross. 'Reading to him ! out of 
 a thract !' cried Father Costelloe, who just then come down 
 stalls from his devotions. ' The apostate I he deserves to bd 
 
CANVASSING. 57 
 
 cursed from the altar !' — his face was all manner of colours, 
 and swelled up the bigness of his body a'most. ' Och, then,' 
 says T, ' you may keep your breath to cool your porridge, Mr. 
 Costelloe ; for if you were cursing him from Sunday morning 
 till Saturday night, he wouldn't care a pinch of snuff about 
 yourself or your curses.' 'The bastely turncoat,' said Mrs. 
 Priest, pouring out a cup of elegant strong tay for herself. * Not 
 care about me nor my curses !' cries Father Costelloe, mightily 
 displeased. ' I request, sir, ' you'll spake more respectfully 
 when you address your superior.' * How will ye have me 
 spake respectful, when I'mspakingthe way Protestants spake T' 
 * You were spaking of one of my flock, sir; you don't call 
 them Protestants, I suppose,' says he, as mad as could be. 
 ' Not all of 'em — only Dan Murphy ; he's as black a new light 
 as Mrs. Wilson, or the minister himself, by this time,' says I. 
 ' I don't b'lieve any such thing,' says he. ' Oh very well, Mr. 
 Costelloe, you needn't if you don't like.' So I said no more, 
 but sat down to my collation. I was mightily fitagued after 
 my duties that morning; but Father Costelloe was too mad to 
 ate a bit. ' Pray what rasons did the turncoat give for his 
 apostacy V *I wasn't let see him at all,' says I; 'but his wife 
 tould me he turned partly because he liked the Protestants, and 
 partly to spite us.' 'Spite iis/ What does that mean? He 
 must mean to spite you, Mr. Molloy — You've been negligent of 
 your duty, sir.' ' Faith, I haven't, Mr. Costelloe ; and 'tisn't 
 me he means, but yourself, that's to say, Mrs. Priest.' ' Me !' 
 says she, trembling, and turning as white as a sheet, for she's 
 greatly in dread of displasing Father Costelloe, and no blame 
 to her : ' What have I to do with a villian of his kind turning 
 Protestant]' ' I don't know,' said I, ' whether he tells thrulh 
 or no, but the rason he gives is that you refused a son of his 
 liquor, on score; and himself and his son swore, by this and 
 that, they'd be revenged on you and Father Costelloe, and 
 cheat you out of his funeral.' ' You unfortunate woman I' said 
 Father Costelloe, looking at her as if she would ate her up 
 alive — and she shaking like a lafe. ' Oh ! Father Costelloe, 
 dear,' says she, 'forgive me this once. Oh! for the sake of 
 
 ' 'Go! this minute and ask Dan Murphy's pardon, 
 
 and his son's, and tell 'em they're welcome to every dhrop of 
 liquor in your house, whether they pay for it or not.' If you 
 seen the wry face she made, for she's the greatest skin-flint, 
 and the proudest and most concated woman in the parish, in 
 regard of being married to the priest's nepliew. ' Wliy don't 
 you go at once ]' says Father Costelloe. 'I'm waiting sir,' 
 
58 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 says she, mighty mild, 'just to finish my drop of tay.' ' Your 
 tay, woman,' says he, bouncing off his chair as if he was 
 shot; * if you don't go this minute, bit nor sup, tay, nor mate, 
 shall you ever have in my house. What's a drop of ditch- 
 water of its kind, compared to my losing the best funeral in the 
 parish, to say nothing of the poor man's soul, and all by your 
 own fault'?' So, away she went, laving her tay after her, and 
 starving with the hunger, all the way to Dan Rlurphy's, on a 
 pillion ; and had to hire a man to^ sit before her, which vexed her 
 well, I promise you. Nothing could equal the surprise of the 
 Murphys when she began pallalooing, and cxy'mg peccavi for not 
 giving thein lick, and offering them everything in her house for 
 nothing. 13 ut when she began talking of Mrs. Wilson and the 
 minister, they thought her going mad entirely ; and when the 
 murder came out, at last, back she came to us, fit to be tied, mad, 
 outrageous. ' What made you,' says she, ' have the assurance 
 to make a fool of me, Misthress Priest?' ' One good turn de- 
 serves another.' ' I'll tell Father Costelloe of you,' says she. 
 ' ril tell Father Costelloe ot'i/oii,^ says I ; so there then it ended ; 
 and there ends my story — gentlemen and ladies, and I'm much 
 indebted to you for your plasing attention." 
 
 " It is rather we who are indebted to yon, sir," politely ob- 
 served Lord Warringdon, "I assure you I have been much 
 amused." 
 
 *'Raally," observed McAlpine, to Isabel, " he ought to be 
 ashamed to say so ; a man of Lord Warringdon's habits and 
 education should be suparior to finding amusement in the con- 
 versation of a man of no mind ; he can have no mind himself." 
 
 *' I beg your pardon, you happen to be mistaken, twice in a 
 breath;" replied Isabel, sharply, "father John has a strong 
 brogue; but he has mind too ; and as to Lord Warringdon, he 
 has taste, as well as mind." 
 
 I' Oh, I believe I must allow him to have taste; for on one 
 point, at laste, we agree — that of admiring the same lady — but, 
 now, with respect to the other quaalification ; a great dale de- 
 pends upon what would be our different definitions of a man of 
 mind ; what would you define a man of mind to be ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I'm a bad hand at definitions :" answered Isabel, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " What a libel on your own intellectual powers !" cried Mr. 
 McAlpine, "you that shine aqually in the flowery fields of the 
 imagination, or the sublime heights of the understanding. 
 Come now ; you must not be afraid of me ; and you must have 
 a Utile more confidence in yourself;" he continued, tenderly en- 
 
CANVASSING. 59 
 
 couraging her supposed timidity — " Come, fair Isabel, I'm 
 waitinor for your definition." 
 
 "A definition of what]" inquired Lord Warringdon, who, 
 for the first time that evening, found an opportunity of seating 
 himself near Isabel. He had more than once previously en- 
 deavoured to make his way to her, but had been constantly in- 
 terrupted en route by Lady Anne, who always contrived, just 
 on those occasions, to have something particular to say to him; 
 he could not imagine how it all happened. 
 
 Are our readers more sagacious than his Lordship 1 But, 
 accustomed as he was, in all things, great or small, to have his 
 own way, opposition, however unintentional, or accidental, ir- 
 ritated his impatience, and confirmed into determinate will what 
 had originally been, perhaps, but a caprice. Each time, there- 
 fore, that Lady Anne (even though but accidentally as he sup- 
 posed) had intercepted him, he grew but still more resolved to 
 accomplish his aim of the moment ; in the meanwhile, he 
 glanced at Isabel the oftener, because he could not at once make 
 up to her; and thus noticed in her something of interest, which 
 otherwise must have escaped him. He remarked her listless, 
 pre-occupied air ; he remarked that she never voluntarily ad- 
 dressed her companion, and that when obliged, from politeness, 
 to reply to his observations, her eyes were directed to the floor, 
 or to the ceiling, or to father John, or to Mr. Barham ; to any, 
 or every point, nay, fittingly to himself, in fact, rather than to 
 the face of the person who was addressing her; and now the 
 viscount's curiosity became augmented anew, and he watched 
 her attentively. 
 
 It was evident that Isabel desired to be free of her compan- 
 ion ; she did not, however, pout or toss her head, in manifesta- 
 tion of her feelings ; an occasional contraction of her expressive 
 brow alone betrayed her impatience of the constraint imposed 
 upon her ; indicaiingeven vexation, onh' just so far as became one 
 whose mind was as polished as her manners. For the first time 
 Lord Warringdon looked with interest upon an unmarried wo- 
 man, who was not an heiress. He had seen Isabel much more 
 brilliant in beauty than upon that evening; but he had never 
 felt her to be so loveable; even those who have no feeling 
 themselves are touched by an unconscious, delicate show of it 
 in others, particularly when, as in the present case, the abstract 
 quality is illustrated by a pretty face. No ; never had he 
 thought her eye-lashes so long and so dark as now, when he 
 saw them almost reflected on a transparent cheek, pale from 
 suppressed emotion. Nor had her light brown hair, which fell 
 
60 CANVASSING. 
 
 in rich natural clusters about her face and neck, ever Appeared 
 to him so luxuriant and beautiful as at present, when it shaded 
 a countenance no longer lighted up by vivacity, and, (the bet- 
 ter part of beauty,) the expression of a quick succession of 
 thought — but breathing a gentle and unobtrusive pensiveness. 
 
 "What a pity," thought he, "to throw away so graceful a 
 creature upon that brute !" 
 
 The look of delighted surprise with which Isabel started 
 from her dull inertion, at the sound of his voice, when he came 
 up, and asked, as has been mentioned — " A definition of w^hatV 
 and the radiant smile with which she welcomed him, were not 
 lost upon so acute an observer of female nature as Lord War- 
 ringdon. 
 
 " Her cheek is not pale now," thought he, "nor does she 
 turn away her eyes when she looks at we. Her look is, indeed, 
 timid, but not avoiding." 
 
 Isabel felt that the words of his question were nothing — but 
 its tone much. Isabel felt this, and her face beamed with joy 
 and intelligence. 
 
 "The statue of Pygmalion," thought he, " warmed into 
 life!" 
 
 But Isabel answered his question. "Mr. McAlpine insists 
 on my defining a man of mind ; the idea of asking a woman for 
 a definition ! to require us to imprison our vague, fleeting, im- 
 palpable, and often as men say, irrational impressions, and im- 
 aginings within the limit of a cold, precise, philosophical rule. 
 I appeal to you, now, is it not unfair V 
 
 " Mr. McAlpine, don't let her off," said Lord Warringdon, 
 " a definition from her would be impayahle — there would be 
 such sweet — " 
 
 " Confusion ! you were going to say," interrupted Isabel, 
 laughing — " so I'll save you the confusion of finishing a sen- 
 tence so courageously begun." 
 
 " No !" said he, " such sweet freshness and feeling, and — " 
 
 " Nonsense — " again interrupted Isabel. '* But it is quite 
 true, you must never expect anything precise, or raisonne, in 
 our ideas. We are nothing but ' a bundle of sympathies,' you 
 know% creatures who never think according to reason, but ac- 
 cording to feeling: in one word, women think with their 
 hearts.""" 
 
 " They could not think with anything half so good," rejoined 
 Lord Warringdon — " allons commencez,^^ 
 
 Isabel laughed again, and shook her head. Mr. McAlpine 
 was inexpressibly gratified at the change that had taken place 
 
CANVASSING. 61 
 
 in her manner, since Lord Warringdon had interrupted their 
 tete a tete. 
 
 " She feels more at ease now, that she's no longer alone with 
 me. How soon one can see when a woman raally loves — the 
 very manes she takes to conceal her passion betrays it — come 
 now," said he, in a tone half-tender, half-playful — " come, I 
 insist on your definition ; I'll not take the laste excuse." 
 
 Just at this moment, very much to Mr. McAlpine's annoy- 
 ance, Maria joined the group — she had committed Mr. Barham 
 to the safe guardianship of father John, her zealous ally on all 
 occasions, and her indefatigable proneur ,- being, therefore, re- 
 lieved, for a season at least, from such close application to her 
 own interests, she was willing to dispose of a few moments' 
 leisure to her sister's advantage. 
 
 " I wish," thought she, " that McAlpine would take himself 
 off, and leave Warringdon and Isabel together;" and, aware of 
 McAlpine's refined antipathy to the love of jesting, and ridicule 
 of sentiment, she judged that her own presence would most ef- 
 fectually secure his departure. 
 
 " Well, good people," said she, " what high and weighty 
 matters are you discussing here] Isabel, I see, is picking her 
 glove to pieces, so I conclude she's the umpire chosen to decide 
 on the contending opinions of Great Britain and Ireland. Now, 
 my advice to you is, to say out at once, boldly, yes, or no, 
 whatever may be the point at issue. Better to offend either or 
 both, (your pardon, gentlemen,) than spoil a pair of Paris 
 gloves." 
 
 "Your tariff of our worth is certainly highly flattering ;" ob- 
 served Lord Warringdon, smilingly. 
 
 '^Ohl I don't profess to be polite :" replied Maria, "you 
 must know I'm odd, and odd people are never expected to be 
 civil ; and you can't think what a comfort that is. But come ! 
 what's the subject of your contestation? Let us see if I can't 
 settle it, as fairly and more fearlessly than Isabel. Love, poli- 
 tics, religion, or literature? under which of these four grand 
 divisions of squabbling have you ranged yourselves for battle, 
 heroes of white Albion and green Erin ?" 
 
 "Our conversation has nothing to do with any of the topics 
 you have enumerated ; neither was it a dispute, but a discus- 
 sion ;" observed McAlpine, annoyed at Maria's jesting manner 
 of treating all his favourite subjects : " your sister is going to 
 oblige me (if you'll allow her to speak,) with her idaas of a 
 man of mind." 
 
 " Well, Isabel — proceed, I entreat — I'm all attention ;" said 
 6 
 
6!2 
 
 CANVASSlNGi 
 
 Maria, assuming an attitude of mock-gravity, which enraged 
 McAlpine, but made Lord Warringdon laugh. " Come, Isabel," 
 she ran on, perceiving that her sister still remained silent, 
 "enlighten us with 3'our wisdom." 
 
 " Nonsense, Maria," said Isabel ; " I have already told these 
 gentlemen that I never could define anything; and I'm quite 
 tired of having to repeat the same thing so often." 
 
 " So you won't oblige me]" murmured McAlpine, in a tone 
 of tender reproach. 
 
 " I did not think," observed Lord Warringdon, " you were 
 so unpersuadable." 
 
 "What stupid creatures men are," resumed Maria; "you 
 never can guess a woman's real motive for doing, or not doing, 
 any one given thing. Here's my poor, guileless, innocent sis- 
 ter, accused of disobligingness by one gentleman, and of unper- 
 suadableness by another, two most cruel and undeserved charges; 
 for she is dying to oblige the one, and could be persuaded to 
 anything by the other ; while the motive for her silence is sim- 
 ply this : she fears that her description of what she imagines to 
 be an interesting man may not sufficiently appear a fancy por- 
 trait ; and that, therefore, one or the other of you may think he 
 discerns his own features in the beau ideal sketch of her imagi- 
 nation." 
 
 " I do wish," said Isabel, blushing very deeply and looking 
 extremely offended ; " I do wish, Maria, you would not speak 
 as you do, without thinking; Mr. McAlpine, of course, knows 
 you are only jesting ; but Lord Warringdon will ceally think 
 that — " she stopped abruptly, aware how ill-judged was any 
 comment on Maria's speech, and how much consciousness of its 
 truth her very anxiety betrayed. Maria, who never talked at 
 random, had contemplated this very result; and, having attain- 
 ed it, and attracted Lord Warringdon's attention, she now 
 stepped into her sister's aid. 
 
 " Mr. McAlpine, since Isabel will not oblige you, I will. 
 Now, I define a man of mind to be the man who has a mind for 
 me, and that's what I call a jewel of a definition;" she went 
 on, mimcking father John's intonations. 
 
 Isabel and Lord Warringdon laughed, but Mr. McAlpine 
 looked at her with ineffable disgust, as he muttered to himself — 
 
 " The idaa of any woman confessing such utter feminine de- 
 gradation and want of sentiment ! She's an abominable crea- 
 ture." — 
 
 But though Maria's jest upon so sacred a subject had dis- 
 pleased Mr. McAlpine, it delighted Mr. Barham; who, on 
 
CANVASSING. 63 
 
 hearing the laugh, came flying across the room to inquire its 
 cause. 
 
 " Oh — bravo ! oh ! how well you do mimic Mr. Molly ! 'tis 
 so like ;" and he sprang about the room in delight. 
 
 " What's that you're all laughing at]" inquired father John. 
 
 " Oh ! something so droll, but 1 can't tell you what, because 
 you might be cross." 
 
 " Not he !" cried Maria ; " father John is never cross at any- 
 thing / say or do ; are you, father John ]" 
 
 " Ah, you rogue, I guess well wliat you're doing; telling 
 some diverting lie of me ; but you're welcome," added he, 
 looking kindly at his favourite ; " you're welcome, whatever 
 you say." 
 
 " He's very near it, isn't he, Miss Wilmotl" asked Mr. Bar- 
 ham; "I'll tell him, shall H yes I will. Miss Wilmot was 
 giving an imitation of you, Mr. Molly ; so like you'd have 
 died yourself to hear her !" and he ran to join the priest. 
 
 "I wouldn't doubt her," replied the good-humoured father 
 John; 'tisn't the first time she done it, I'll engage; no, nor it 
 won't be the last time either." 
 
 "Did you hear what she said about the man of mind, Mr. 
 Molly?" 
 
 *' A man of what mind V inquired father John. 
 
 *' Oh, not a man of any particular mind — only a man of mind 
 in general, you know." 
 
 *' Faith, I do not know," said Father John. 
 
 Maria perceiving one gentleman could not understand, nor 
 the other explain, took upon herself the office of interpreter. 
 When she had done — 
 
 *' Ha I ha ! ha ! upon my word, that's an excellent idea of a 
 man of mind:" praised father John, shaking his plump sides. 
 — " I'll tell you one thing. Miss IMaria, — whoever has a mind 
 for you, will show he has sense, at any rate, to choose the 
 pleasantest crature from this to yourself, whoever the others 
 may be ; that's what I call a fine, hearty, sinsible young wo- 
 man :" he continued, turning to Mr. Barham — " one that says 
 out at once whatever comes into her head, without throubling 
 herself what any body thinks of her ; and that's the girl for my 
 money ! and a pleasant crature ; always saying one droll thing 
 or other, enough to make a corpse laugh." 
 
 " Well, do you know I thought she was very droll, though I 
 never heard any one say she was reckoned so — I begin to un- 
 derstand Irish humour, I think, though 1 havn't been long here, 
 yet ; but is she as droll as you are, Mr. Molly 1" • 
 
64 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Droll as me, is it 1 Troth she is, and far droller, than ever 
 I will be." 
 
 '• But has she such nice stories as that about the funeral, Mr. 
 Molly ? I wish you'd mention what stories she does tell — will 
 you ]" 
 
 " I don't remember, upon my word, exactly, at the present 
 moment, any story of hers, in perticklar; but, indeed, 1 nearly 
 lost my life by a joke of hers, onct." 
 
 " Oh, did you]" exclaimed Mr. Barham, in ecstasy : — "do 
 tell me how 1" 
 
 " I was ating a potaty, hot out of the pot, one day, below in 
 the kitchen, and she came in, I forget for what, now ; and she 
 beg-an telling me some quare thing or other, and myself began 
 to laugh ; and, troth, the potaty stuck in my throat, and I had 
 liked to be choked ; and would never have ate a bit again, I'm 
 sure, only she thumped me between the shoulders, and forced 
 the potaty out of me." 
 
 "Oh, how funny !" cried Mr. Barham,— "how I wish I had 
 been there ! — I should have so liked to have seen you choking, 
 Mr. Molly." ^ 
 
 " I have never seen the aqual of him for idiosy ; he can't even 
 call my own name right," muttered father .Tohn. "Troth, and 
 if 'twould be the same to you, I'd rather you seen some one else 
 choking." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't mean, you know, that I should like you to be 
 choked, in earnest; only it must have looked so funny to see 
 you all black in the face, and Miss Wilmot slapping your 
 back ! What was it she told you that made you laugh so ]" 
 
 " I forget, indeed, what it was ! 'tis a good while ago, 
 now." 
 
 " Well ! a story of your own, then, Mr. Molly ! Do pray 
 tell me something funny." 
 
 " I hav'nt a funny story in the world, Mr. Barham, that I 
 hav'nt told you already." 
 
 Poor Mr. Barham looked exceedingly disappointed. 
 " Well, the same over again ! — Will you, Mr. Molly, if you 
 please V 
 
 "Ah ! my God ! was there ever any poor man so persecuted 
 as I am, and all on account of the bad luck 1 had to tell him the 
 thrick 1 played on Mrs. Priest ! One would think I had no- 
 thing to do, from morning to night, but remembering funny sto- 
 ries to divart him. I wish I was in my bed out of his way. 
 Miss Maria, my honey," cried he, " I want to spake to you a 
 
CANVASSING. 65 
 
 inoment — whisper. This young man is killing me ; I can't 
 stand him any longer, my pet." 
 
 " Why, what is he doing, Father John 1" 
 
 »* Bothering me to death for funny stories, as he calls 
 them." 
 
 ** Well ; can't you tell him some V 
 
 "What else have I been doing all night 1 but, any how, I 
 can't stop now, for I have to read my office before I go to bed, 
 you know; and it's getting late ; so God bless you;" and fa- 
 ther John stole quietly out of the room, to the great discom- 
 fiture of Mr. Barham : — Maria, the only person of the party 
 who could supply the place of Father John, being engaged talk- 
 ing with Mr. McAlpine, Lord Warringdon, and her sister. 
 — Aware, in f^ict, of Mc Alpine's horror of anything savour- 
 ing of a jest on any subject, but more especially on one of 
 a poetical kind, she had sent back Mr. Barham to Father 
 John's charge, on a quest for " funny stories," and indulged 
 herself in allusions to them, purely for the purpose of scaring 
 away Mr. McAlpine, and leaving Lord Warringdon and her 
 sister tete a tete. But this was the more difficult to accomplish, 
 as Mr. McAlpine had never been so pleasingly impressed 
 with the " idaa of Isabel's attachment," as upon that evening. 
 — " Her constrained and timid manner when alone with me — 
 her gaiety and animation when Warringdon joined us — her 
 charming reluctance to define a man of mind, for fear I should 
 penetrate her sacret, and who it was that raalized her roman- 
 tic idaa of perfection ; and then, her sweet agitation at her 
 sister's indelicate allusion to the raal motive for her refusing 
 to oblige me; — everything conspires to give me the delight- 
 ful assurance that I am fondly, tenderly, and devotedly be- 
 loved by this fascinating crature." — Such was the tenor of 
 Mr. McAlpine's cogitation, as he arose to effec this escape 
 from the coarseness and vulgarity of Maria's conversation. 
 
 " I am going to lave you for a moment," he said to Isabel ; 
 and, accompanying this announcement, at once afflicting and 
 consolatory (inasmuch as the intimation of his departure was 
 softened by the assurance of his speedy return,) by a look of 
 mingled triumph and tenderness, at the one sister, and of un- 
 mingied and unmeasured abhorrence at the other — he dragged 
 his lazy length across the room, and seated himself near Lady 
 Anne, who welcomed him with one of her most seducing smiles, 
 in which Mr. McAlpine read delight at his attention to her 
 daughter, and a strong though vain effort to conceal that de- 
 light. Isabel and Lord Warringdon also caught this expres- 
 6* 
 
66 CANVASSING. 
 
 sion of Lady Anne's countenance, and discerned another feeling 
 mingled with it; — nanoely, displeasure towards Lord Warring- 
 don, for having-, by his gaucherie^ interrupted the more than 
 probable termination of Mr. McAlpine's assiduities, that even- 
 ing ; and also against her daughter, for having preferred a flir- 
 tation with one gentleman, to a declaration from the other. 
 And now, for the first time in his life. Lord Warringdon beheld 
 a mother angry, and a daughter frightened, at his assiduities; 
 — for Isabel grew pale and constrained as she had previously 
 done, when talking with, or rather when talked to, by McAI- 
 pine, although the Viscount felt that the same cause did not 
 now produce the similar effect. The conversation, hitherto, so 
 flowing and animated, became broken and spiritless. 
 
 "Your Father and I," he observed, after a pause of some 
 seconds, " are going to ride to-morrow to a Mr. Molony's, who 
 has votes — Will you come V 
 
 " Maria will, 1 dare say." 
 
 " That is truly an Irish answer," he said, laughing. " I did 
 not ask whether Maria would, but whether you v,'ould — No 
 diplomatic subterfuges will avail you with me, however. I 
 <iemand an honest answer; — Yes — or No — " 
 
 " No" — replied Isabel, laughing — but Lord Warringdon per- 
 ceived that her laugh was affected, and also divined that, al- 
 though she said tlie No, so courageously, her heart sunk be- 
 cause she dared not say — Yes. 
 
 " I thought you liked riding V looking disappointed at her 
 refusal. 
 
 " So I do," said she, trying to seem perfectly indifferent. 
 
 " It must be, then, that you don't like your proposed com- 
 panions ; which of them is the obnoxious person 1 Mr. Wilmot 
 or myself?" 
 
 A slight tremour of her voice did not escape him, as she an- 
 swered with affected carelessness, — " Neither one nor the other ; 
 my only motive for declining your invitation is, that it will not 
 be in my power to accept it." 
 
 " So you won't come and help me, as you have done hereto- 
 fore, to win the hearts of the men of % But I am quite in 
 
 the black-book, I see ; you'll neither speak to me, nor look at 
 me, ever since the arrival of your mama's friend, the adoring, 
 adorable, and, doubtless, adored, Mr. McAlpine." 
 
 Isabel darted a look of indignant surprise at him, and, rising 
 abruptly, left the room. In her look he read something more 
 than astonishment, or even displeasure, something that expres- 
 sed, as distinctly as if she had given utterance to the feeling — 
 
CANVASSING. 67 
 
 " You are ungenerous in saying this ; for you not only know 
 perfectly well that I abominate McAlpine, but you also are 
 aware that I like yourself." 
 
 Lord Warringdon dreamt that night that he was in love with 
 Isabel Wilmot, and when he awoke, he did not laugh at his 
 dream. 
 
 "If she had a hundred or even fifty thousand pounds," 
 thought he — If is a great peace-maker in love as well as 
 war. — When a man or woman comes to an if, there are hopes 
 or fears, as the case may be, that all is not sound " in the state 
 of Denmark." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 After breakfast next morning, Mr. Barham set off grouse 
 shooting, escorted by Pat Murphy ; and Mr. McAlpine remained 
 at home to talk sentiment and read Lord Byron to Isabel ; Mr. 
 Wilmot and Lord Warringdon were just mounting their horses 
 on their canvassing expedition ; and Isabel was standing at the 
 window, ostensibly to admire her father's Arab, which was 
 prancing and curvetting with all the vanity of conscious beauty, 
 never suspecting that part, at least, of the admiration he excited 
 was owing to the chance of his having that day for his rider his 
 master's guest rather than his master himself. 
 
 Lord \Varringdon looked up at the window, and smiled when 
 he saw Isabel ; " Wish me success," cried he, as he kissed his 
 hand and rode off. 
 
 "Come away from the window, my dear !" said Lady Anne. 
 " Lord Warringdon can mount his horse, I suppose, without 
 your superintendence. I must say I never saw such conduct in 
 any young woman, circumstanced as you are; — engaged, I may 
 say, to one man, and yet carrying on a flirtation with another. 
 I really have not patience with such want of sense, and want 
 of honour. I have not the slightest doubt that McAlpine would 
 have proposed for you last night, had you behaved with com- 
 mon decency ; but just as he was making up his mind to speak, 
 you set on foot a trashy conversation with Lord Warringdon, who 
 has no more serious intentions about you than he has about 
 me; he is just laughing at you, — that you may rely upon. 
 Maria," said she, turning to her other daughter, " I shall be 
 
68 CANVASSING. 
 
 obliged by your talking to your sister on ibis business ; perhaps 
 you may have more influence on her than 1 have ;" and so say- 
 ing, she quitted the room wilh an air of displeasure. 
 
 *' I am a miserable creature," exclaimed Isabel. 
 
 " Because mamma won't let you look out of the window at 
 Lord Warringdonl" asked her sister, laughing. 
 
 Isabel coloured. " I care very little about Lord Warringdon, as 
 it happens," said she, in a tone of disdain. " It is not neces- 
 sary, I suppose, to be in love wilh him in order to be miserable 
 at the thought of being forced to marry McAlpine. Maria, if 
 you knew how I loathe this horrid McAlpine, I am sure you 
 would pity me, — even mamma would. I will tell her that I 
 really cannot marry him; shall I, Maria?" 
 
 " Why, as for that, I don't see what use there would be in 
 any such avowal. You know she made poor Louisa marry a 
 man old enough to be her grand-father, and that all Louisa's 
 protestations of disgust were nothing in the balance against fifty 
 thousand per annum and a peerage. The grand object of mam- 
 ma's life has been, you know, to marry her daughters advanta- 
 geously. We may break our hearts (such of us as have one) 
 afterwards if we like, — ihat will not be her fault, but ours ; she 
 does her duty, slie gets us good matches, and leaves all the rest, 
 like a good christian, to Providence. It would be, therefore, 
 quite useless to tell her that you dislike McAlpine ; she knows 
 already that you do. To avoid marrying him, you must marry 
 somebody else ; that is your only chance of escape." 
 
 " Heaven help me ! I have none, then," exclaimed Isabel, 
 despairingly. 
 
 "Yes, you have," replied Maria, who feared driving her sis- 
 ter to utter desperation. Yes, you have a chance, and a brilliant 
 one. " I am sure Lord Warringdon admires you ; whether he 
 is sufficiently e.s/jriY to marry you, is another story. Try what 
 you can effect with him; but take care that mamma shall see 
 nothing of your proceedings, or she would stop you at once, for 
 she fears losing McAlpine and not succeeding with Warring- 
 don. Besides, to tell you the truth, she has taken it into her head 
 that the admiration is rather on your side than his, and that you 
 may make yourself ridiculous, and " 
 
 *' I am really much indebted to her for her flattering estima- 
 tion of me," interrupted Isabel, highly affronted; "lam not 
 quite mean enough to fall in love with a man who cares nothing 
 about me, nor silly enough to fancy he does, if he really does 
 not. Maria, too, sees that he admires me," thought she to her- 
 self; " my wishes have not, then, (juite deceived me, and I havt 
 
CANVASSING. 69 
 
 a hope, not only of escaping McAlpine, but of securing the only 
 man I ever really loved." 
 
 Isabel did not give utterance to these thoughts. There never 
 had existed between the sisters thathabit of confidence on every 
 subject which forms the chief bond of love between sisters in 
 general. They lived together, indeed, rather on the footing of 
 intimate companions than of trusting and trusted friends ; nei- 
 ther of them, however, being deficient in affection for the other. 
 They liked one another better than any other women of their 
 acquaintance ; they laughed or reasoned together as the case 
 might be, but they seldom talked. And, perhaps, this constraint 
 was natural between two persons whose ways of thinking were 
 so dissimilar. Isabel, however, we must add, felt more cau- 
 tious of Maria than Maria of her. Maria would much oftener 
 speak of her "designs," as she called them, than Isabel of her 
 attachments. But although, on the present occasion, Isabel hid 
 her secret thoughts from her sister, Maria, who had a portion 
 of her mother's power of divination, saw what was passing in 
 mind, — saw that her own hint about Lord Warringdon was ex- 
 tremely acceptable, and would be forthwith acted upon. Nor 
 had Isabel ever before thought so highly of Maria's good sense 
 and penetration as she now did. Aware, however, of Maria's 
 objection to " love talk," she changed the subject to one more 
 interesting to her sister. 
 
 " What sort of a young man is Mr. Barbara 1" 
 
 " Quite a fool," replied Maria, composedly. 
 
 *' I wonder, then, Maria, why you should waste your time 
 talking to him." 
 
 " I do not waste my time at all ; I put it out to the best inte- 
 rest imaginable, — cent, per cent., or rather thousand per cent. 
 He has eighteen thousand a year, and a fine place in Leices- 
 tershire." 
 
 " Yes, but what is his fine place to us 1" 
 
 " His fine place is nothing to either of us, at present, I grant 
 you ; it never will be anything to you, I know, inasmuch as 
 you strike at nobler quarry ; — but it will be a great deal, I ex- 
 pect, to me." 
 
 *' Why, Maria, you surely would not marry that silly boy ?" 
 
 "Wouldn't n naboMish* as Father John says; I wish, my 
 dear, I had the refusing of him, if he was twice the fool he is, — 
 a ditficult thing, by the bye." 
 
 "Dear Maria, how can you, with your strength and variety 
 of intellect, seriously contemplate marrying an idiot 1'* 
 
 * Never mind. 
 
70 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Isabel," said Maria, for once in her life speaking with emo- 
 tion, " what has this intellect you talk of effected for me 1 have 
 not all the pretty fools, or ugly heiresses, who started into life 
 with me, been married before me 1 Show me the man who 
 marries a woman because she has intellect. He may forgive it 
 in a pretty woman, — he certainly will in a rich one, — but she 
 who is neither wealthy nor handsome, and yet possesses it, how 
 does she fare?" 
 
 " Why, my dear Maria, I never met a clever man yet who 
 did not say that he preferred your conversation to that of all 
 the women he knew." 
 
 *' Psha, my dear Isabel, what care I about their preferring 
 my conversation "? do they prefer myself? Let us come to the 
 point, — which of them has proposed for me? for, after all, dis- 
 guise the thing as we please, that is the grand object to which 
 our perfections of any kind, and the admiration they excite, na- 
 turally tend. You remember the Frenchman who, whenever he 
 heard of a beautiful poem, or heroic action, used to say, ' Tout 
 cefa, depuis le Marechal de France, jusqu'^au Saretien, se fait in- 
 dubitabkment pour avoir de quoi, mettre dans la bouche, et accompUr 
 les his de la mastication selon moi, est le vrai resiiltat des choses les 
 plus rares de ce monde.^ Now, for 'mastication,' read 'marriage,' 
 and the Frenchman's opinions are mine. Does au empty com- 
 pliment on my talents repay me, think you, for the trouble I 
 have taken in cultivating them? Clever men 'converse'' with 
 me, 'tis true, but they make love to others, and, what is worse, 
 marry them. So that I have long ago seen that mere clever- 
 ness would never answer; and, from the moment I became sure 
 o( that, I began to say and do strange, sometimes startling, 
 things, till I made them call me odd, in London ; and till I was 
 followed by all the fools about town, whom my reputation for 
 mere talent had, in the first instance, frightened away. Well, 
 I came home here ; and here I play the buffoon, making people, 
 like that poor silly Barham, laugh, in order to produce effect, 
 in any way ; so that, if I do marry, I shall owe my success, not 
 to my talents, but to my absurdity ;— not to my sense, but to 
 iny nonsense. No, my dear Isabel, credit me, talent is infi- 
 nitely in a woman's way. What a pity I was not born a man, 
 and in good stirring times ; then I should have made Europe 
 ring with my name ; now, all my energies can get me nothing 
 but a husband, and that husband a fool." 
 
 " Maria, you deserve a better fate than that," exclaimed Isa- 
 bel, struck by the energy, misplaced as it was, of her sister's 
 Riind ; and, suddenly perceiving the secret spring of actions, 
 
CANVASSING. 71 
 
 and of opinions, which had so often puzzled her, in all her pre- 
 vious examinations of Maria's character. 
 
 " Bah I" said Maria, " one fate is as good as another, in the 
 long run ; a cloudy ntiorning may change into a bright noon ; — 
 it may be very pleasant to be married to a fool, for anything you 
 or I know to the contrary ; and, suppose it should not, why, in 
 a hundred years' time it will be all the same to me, whether I 
 had been married to Lord Byron or Mr. Barhnm ; or whether I 
 had set the world in a blaze, like Helen, or Cleopatra ; or had 
 been shown about at a fair, as a rival to the pig-faced lady. At 
 the epoch I allude to, Mrs. Barham and Lady Warringdon will 
 look alike," continued she, playfully taking her sister by the 
 chin : "A little courage is all that is necessary for anything: 
 do you not recollect how much easier it was, when we wer^ 
 both children, to persuade me to have a tooth out, than you? 
 you would cry ; and mamma would say, ' do, my sweet Isabel ; 
 you will be so much prettier, you know, when that ugly tooth 
 is out, and that the others have room to range ; and your mouth 
 will be quite spoiled, if you keep it in ; indeed it will, my 
 pretty:' but still you cried, and wrung your little hands, in an 
 agony of indecision, as to which of the two appalling misfor- 
 tunes you would prefer, — the pain of losing a tooth, or the hor- 
 ror of injuring your beauty." 
 
 Isabel laughed : — " Oh, yes, I remember all those pangs of 
 mine so well ! and you, on the contrary, used to submit, with 
 the greatest apparent composure, to a similar operation." 
 
 " Yes, chiefly because I had no beauty to lose; and mamma 
 needed only to remind me of all the inconvenience I had already 
 suffered, from the aching tooth, and inform me of all that was 
 yet in store for me; and how I should be kept awake all night 
 by it, and, consequently, rendered unable to attend to my lessons 
 in the morning; and that, then it was likely my cousin, little 
 Anne Rochford, would get before me. This was enough — I 
 made up my mind at once ; for I could have better borne to have 
 every tooth in my head dragged out, than to have let 'my cousin, 
 little Anne Rochford, get before me.' And upon exactly such 
 a principle I have acted through life. When once convinced 
 that a certain object is necessary to my welfare, I aim at that 
 object, steadily, unswervingly — there may be difficulties accom- 
 panying its pursuits — unpleasant, nay, painful ones ; I disre- 
 gard them ; I overlook the means, and contemplate only the re- 
 sult. And hearken, Isabel. I have applied this principle more 
 especially to my matrimonial speculation. This instant, I 
 would take anybody who could make somebody of me; for you 
 
72 CANVASSING. 
 
 know, as well as I do, that a woman who is not married is no- 
 body. I heard my mother say this first : I looked about me, 
 and saw that she was right — and I determined to marry, and 
 become somebody as soon as possible. And my first stroke 
 was for a distinguished marriage — but I was checked somewhat 
 in my aspirations after distinction by overhearing the same lady 
 deplore to my aunt ' how plain poor Maria was, and how sadly 
 difficult it would be to marry her.' Now, upon hearing this 
 awkward fact, a girl of much sensibility, or mind, (as your 
 adoring Mr. McAlpine might say,) would have gone to her 
 room, and cried herself into fits — I acted more wisely. I asked 
 mamma if anything could supply the want of beauty in a girll 
 * Yes,' answered she, 'accomplishments, fashion, and above all, 
 knowledge of the world ;' well, I worked away, day and night, 
 at the accomplishments ; and I studied human character care- 
 fully — and shall I tell you what has been the result of this lat- 
 ter branch of my pursuits'? dislike and contempt of the men — 
 disgust and contempt of the women." 
 
 *' With such an opinion of society, I should be indifferent as 
 to the place I was to occupy in it;" observed Isabel. 
 
 "Bad! bad logic, Isabel;" rejoined Maria, "ambition, 
 whether its object be the acquisition of an empire, or of a hus- 
 band, is yet in its nature pretty much the same. Caesar had 
 not, I dare say, a more favourable opinion of his fellows than I 
 have, yet he spent a life to win a name amongst them. Perhaps 
 this very contempt of your species increases your desire for 
 distinction; for, who can reconcile himself to be nothing in the 
 eyes of those who are already nothing in his ? But, to go on 
 with my autobiography. I saw that, to attain my object, I 
 must not boggle at a few disagreeable adjuncts — I determined, 
 therefore, to take the first tolerable match that God might send, 
 and not be particular about a little folly or ugliness — old age or 
 bad temper — I was not fastidious, you will acknowledge; yet, 
 was I successful 1 I had sense, and I had not beauty — so alas ! 
 no one came a wooing to me. Oh, how I have moved heaven 
 and earth to gain even McAlpine." 
 
 " Dear Maria," cried Isabel, " I wonder the very thought of 
 him did not make you sick." 
 
 " I dare say it might have had that effect, if I had allowed 
 myself to think at all about him, but I thought only on McAl- 
 pine castle, and ten thousand a year ! a carriage and servants of 
 my own; in fact, of an establishment! And that's the only 
 way to manage on those occasions. Never allow yourself to 
 think of the man at all, only of the fortune. And now, does 
 
CANVASSING. T^-' 
 
 not this expoie of my present position and future expectations 
 convince you that tiie distincruislied talents you are graciously 
 pleased to attribute to me, luy fair sister, have been hitherto, 
 and are likely always to remain, useless ornaments'? and, there- 
 fore, that it would be the height of folly in me, to object to the 
 folly of Mr. Barham." 
 
 Before Isabel had time to reply, the door opened suddenly, 
 and the identical person of whom they were talking bounded 
 into the room. 
 
 "Oh ! INIiss Wilmot, is it true]" 
 "Is what true]" counter-questioned Maria. 
 "Is it true that you are goin^ to have a ball]" 
 " Quite true;" she answered. 
 
 " Oh what fun it will be — an Irish ball — how capital;" and 
 he spun about the room like a tetotum. " Pat Murphy told me 
 all about it; but I thought he was only trotting me ; and Lady 
 Anne has been so kind as to ask me to stay here as long as I 
 like. McAlpine castle, she tells me, is such a stoopid place — 
 no fun at all going on there — I'm so glad I was overturned on 
 way to it." 
 
 " So atn I, too ;" thought ]\Iaria. 
 
 " Do you know," continued ^Ir. Barham, " that I think Mr. 
 McAlpine rather stoopid himself] I never should take him for 
 an Irishman ; he never makes one laugh, does he, now ] I'm so 
 glad I have come here, instead of going to him — I hope you 
 will have the ball soon — guess how many quadrilles I danced 
 once ]" 
 
 " Nine ;" answered Maria. 
 
 " What do you say to twenty-four]" cried he, triumphantly, 
 "and wasn't a bit tired afterwards." 
 
 " Bless me ! I never heard of such a thing:" said Maria, 
 looking astonished, " I declare I think you must be jesting, 
 Mr. Barham." 
 
 " Oh no ; quite serious, I assure you, so you see, I shall do 
 capitally in Ireland, sham I] you must know I fancy myself 
 quite an Irishman already. I asked Pat Murphy and Mr. Mol- 
 ly, if they did not think so, and they said they did. Would you 
 believe, that I know all your servants' names already] such 
 funny names ! they made me laugh so. When 1 go back to 
 England, 1 intend bringing some Irish servants with me, just 
 to make me laugh, and remind me of the pleasant time I am 
 spending here." 
 
 " Please God," thought Maria, "you shall take something 
 back that will still better remind you of " the pleasant time you 
 
74 CANVASSING. 
 
 are spending here :" she added aloud, "is this the only pre 
 vince of Ireland that you have visited ]" 
 
 " Oh no, I have been all over it. I have been to the Giant's 
 Causeway, such a funny place as it is — such lots of rocks, and 
 thing-s heaped one over the other — and the lakes of Killarney; 
 I saw them loo ; I caught some trout in one of them, and broil- 
 ed them on the arbutus myself — I wouldn't let any body assist 
 me — such fun as I had — I fell into the lake and was nearly 
 drowned, but the guide jumped after me and caught me just as 
 I was sinking, it was very good-natured of him, wasn't it? 
 so I gave him twenty pounds — he deserved that I am sure, and 
 a great deal more for saving me — did he not, Miss WilmotV 
 
 " Indeed, he did, treble the sum;" responded Maria, with 
 alacrity — " you paid him, however, very generously, I am sure 
 he gave you abundance of blessings." 
 
 " Oh yes, such a lot of 'em — he told me I was some King or 
 potentate in disguise ; and when I told him I was only an Eng- 
 lish gentleman, travelling about just for a lark — he said he 
 wished all English gentlemen were like me — and that I was the 
 truth of a gentleman — fori had the purse of an Englishman, 
 and the heart of an Irishman. Wan't that a compliment, Miss 
 Wilmotr' 
 
 Before Miss Wilmot had time to answer, he ran on, "You 
 can't imagine how surprised I was when I felt myself in the 
 water. I had not been thinking of anything particular, you 
 know — ^just sailing about to see the lions of the place; and I 
 got tired looking at them at last; and so leaned b^ick just to 
 take a snooze for a minute or two ; when pop, I fell overboard ! 
 that was my first adventure on coming to Ireland ; and my se- 
 cond was, when I fell into the bog-hole, here — I hope I shall 
 have some more — I wonder what my third will be, what do 
 you think. Miss Wilmot?" 
 
 "To be married to ine, I hope;" thought Maria. 
 
 " Do guess, Miss Wilmot, do;" urged Mr. Barham. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Maria, " it may be to fight a duel." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so?" he exclaimed eagerly — "I should 
 like that of all things — a duel in Ireland ! what capital fun 
 'tvi'ould be ! so Irish I I should have such laughing with my 
 T;hums at King's wMien I go back to Cambridge, about my 
 Irish duel ! they will call me Paddy Barham ; don't you think 
 they will, Miss Wilmot? — I hope they will — I would give any 
 thing to be called Paddy Barbara." 
 
 "But sometimes," said Maria, "people are killed in Irish 
 
CANVASSING. 75 
 
 duels; men shoot, as well as laugh, unfortunately, in this merry, 
 murderous country of ours." 
 
 " J should not like to be killed at all," said Mr. Barham, 
 looking- rather put out ; — " I should hate to die ; — I havn't had 
 much fun yet; such a tiresome stoopid thing as it is to be 
 dead!" 
 
 Mr. Barham paused a few moments, struck with the possi- 
 bility of so funny a thing as an Irish duel terminating in so 
 stoopid a thing as death. 
 
 "But, after all. Miss Wilmot," said he, resuming his usual 
 expression of inexpressiveness, "after all, very few persons 
 arc killed in duels, they are only wounded mostly. — Now, you 
 must know, I should not mind being wounded at all, \\ hen I 
 was at Eton, my master (the boy I was fag to, you know) used 
 to promise me a guinea for every pin I should stick into my 
 hand in half-an-hour — guess how many I got at once." 
 
 "Six, perhaps," said Maria. 
 
 " What do you say to two dozen ! — so, you see I should not 
 mind a little pain for fun. — But I should have a great objection 
 to being killed — shouldn't you ] • Oh ! Miss Wilmot, will you 
 have the kindness to play me an Irish jig 1 Mr. Molly says 
 you play so well !" 
 
 " Heaven be praised," said Maria to herself, as she moved 
 toward the piano — "he will now hold his tongue for a few 
 minutes, at any rate ; how thankful I am he did not take it 
 into his head to ask me for an Irish story !" 
 
 "What a funny tune!" exclaimed Mr, Barham, enchanted — 
 "How well you do play ! — Oh, ]\Iiss Wilmot, will you do me 
 a still greater favour? — Will you dance the jig now you have 
 played it for me] — I want so to learn jigs, — else I shall not be 
 able to dance at your ball, you know V 
 
 "Why. you don't suppose we shall dance jigs, do you?" 
 said Maria, laughing. 
 
 " I always thought," replied Mr. Barham, laughing too, as 
 he invariably did when 1 e saw any body else laugh, even though 
 it might be, as in the present instance, at himself, — I always 
 thought the jig was the National dance of Ireland." 
 
 "Among the peasantry," observed Maria. 
 
 "Well, what then will you dance 1" inquired Mr. Barham. 
 
 "Quadrilles and waltzes." 
 
 " Quadrilles and waltzes!" he repeated in a tone of disap- 
 pointment — " Psha ! — I'm tired of them ,- tiresome, stoopid 
 things ! — I'm so sorry ! I made sure of such fun ! Why, I might 
 
76 CANVASSING. 
 
 as well be in England, if you dance nothing but quadrilles and 
 waltzes ! — To be in Ireland, and not dance jigs — how tiresonne! 
 I have been three weeks in Ireland, and I have not seen a jig 
 danf'ed yet !" 
 
 " Have you not, really? — I'll see what I can do for you at 
 the ball, then ; but 1 can't promise. To lell you the truth, I'm 
 afraid all our rank and fashion will go into fits at the notion of 
 such a thing as jigs any where but in a poor man's cabin, or a 
 gentleman's kitchen. But at any rate, you can both dance and 
 see them danced, to your heart's content, if you don't mind 
 going into the servant's hall — I'll send for Paddy the piper, 
 directly, if you like, for this evening," 
 
 " Oh thank you ! thank you ! dear Miss Wilrnot!" his eyes 
 already jig-dancing with delight, as he exclaimed, — "A piper! 
 a real Irish piper ! oh, what capital fun ! an Irish piper! — and 
 Lish servants dancing Irish jigs! — 1 would not have missed 
 coming to Ireland for a thousand pounds! I wouldn't, I de- 
 clare !" 
 
 *'Nor would I have had you miss it for double the sum!" 
 said Maria to herself. 
 
 Just at this moment, a little bare-legged, red-headed boy, 
 peeped in, and having surveyed the room, was preparing to 
 withdraw again, exclaimed, "She isn't in it;" when he was 
 stopped by Maria. 
 
 " What are you looking for, Michelleen 1" 
 
 *' Lookin' every place for my lady, I am, Miss ; an' can't 
 find her." 
 
 *' Why — what do you want of her, Michelleen ?" 
 
 " The masther, Miss, that sent me for her." 
 
 " So, m\' father is returned, is he T" said Isabel, hastily 
 throwing aside the book she had taken up on Mr. Barham's 
 entrance — "I did not expect hijTi back so soon !" — which ob- 
 servation, had it been the faithful transcript of her thoughts, 
 would have run thus — " So, Lord Warringdon is returned. I 
 did not expect him back so soon !" " Where is my father, 
 Michelleen?" 
 
 " Below, in the kitchen. Miss." 
 
 " What is he doing there ]" 
 
 "Seeing afther the English Lord — mysel' never can't re- 
 mimber the name he has on him, Miss." 
 
 " Seeing after him," repeated Isabel — " how do you mean 1" 
 
 *' Oh, nothing very pertickler, Miss, only a fall he got from 
 his horse." 
 
CANVASSING. 77 
 
 " Good Heavens !" exclaimed Isabel, hastily — " Is he hurt! 
 Michelleen, can't you answer]" 
 
 " Troth ! I don't know, Miss ; but I dare say he is — Paudeen 
 tould me he heerd Mistlier Kelly telling Tom Landnigan, Mis- 
 ther McAlpine's man, that Pat Murphy said 'twas Mrs. McDo- 
 nough's opinion he'd never ate a bit again." 
 
 " Nonsense, Michelleen," interrupted Maria, perceiving 
 Isabel grow deadly pale, — " What rigmarole story have you 
 got at there ] — unhat does Mrs. McDonough know about the 
 matter]" 
 
 " Facks, I don't know, Miss, but every one in the counthry 
 does be sayin' Mrs. McDonough is mighty knowledgeable in 
 regard of physics an' cures — How well she said, whin Barny 
 Sullivan's horse was clifted and smashed intirely, that he^d 
 river ate a bit agin, INIiss V 
 
 " Yes — but Lord Warringdon has not been clifted nor smashed 
 intirely, like Barny Sullivan's horse ! so Mrs. McDonough may 
 be wrong after all, Michelleen. But, pray, why didn't you 
 say at once that he was hurt V 
 
 "Sure the masther didn't bid me, Miss, tell any body but my 
 Lady." 
 
 "The master didn't bid you, Michelleen!" cried Maria — 
 ■" Couldn't your own sense tell you that much, child? So, I 
 suppose if the master happened to fall from his own horse, and 
 wasn't able to speak, 5'^ou wouldn't tell any body, because, in- 
 deed, he didn't bid you ]" 
 
 " Hubbaboo I I'd riz the counthry, let alone the house, if 
 the masther hurled his little finger; not to talk of breaking his 
 bones, God betixt us an' harum," cried little Michelleen, 
 making the sign of the cross. 
 
 " Why, then, didn't you tell us that Lord Warringdon got the 
 fall ]" inquired Maria. 
 
 " Sure, Miss, I didn't think it signified, in regard of his bein' 
 a foreigner, an' — " 
 
 "Didn't think it signified]" cried Isabel, indignantly — 
 " W'hat an ill-natured little creature you must be !" 
 
 Michelleen hung his head, and scraped the floor with the 
 largest digit of his not very clean little foot. Mr. Barham was 
 so busy, watching the little Irish boy shifting from one bare 
 mottled leg to another, scratching his head and scraping the 
 floor, while undergoing this interrogatory, that he never ob- 
 served how much more important a circumstance Miss Isabella 
 Wilmot seemed to consider Lord Warrinsfdon's havino- fallen 
 1* ^ 
 
78 CANVASSING. 
 
 from his horse, and •' never likely to ate a bit again," than 
 Michelleen thought it. 
 
 *' Come, Isabel, love," said Maria, "let as go and see how 
 the case really stands." 
 
 Michelleen, in hio-h glee at escaping any further examination 
 from the young ladies, scampered off to ascertain, for his own 
 satisfaction, whether " the English Lord was only kilt, or actu- 
 ally kilt dead ;" and Mr. Barham scampered off after Michelleen. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, Isabel," said Maria, as she felt her 
 sister's hand tremble on her arm — "you may be certain it is 
 nothing very serious, or my father would have sent no message 
 by that stupid, blundering Michelleen." 
 
 Her supposition proved correct. They found Lord Warring- 
 don standing in the midst of a group of idlers, talking to Mr. 
 W ilmot, who was inspecting the letter-bag, just arrived via 
 Andy Mr. Donogh, surnamed Andy the Post. The viscount 
 looked a little paler than usual, and his arm was in a sling; 
 otherwise, he did not appear by any means in a state to justify 
 the ominous prediction of Mrs. McDonogh, as detailed by 
 Michelleen on Paudeen's authority, which prediction really ran 
 thus: 
 
 *' 'Tis well he was not hurted so he'd never ate a bit again — 
 for there's many a one lost his life upon a smaller provication." 
 
 " I'm glad to find you still in the land of the living, my lord, 
 and likely to continue there;" said Maria — " Michelleen all but 
 buried you." 
 
 " Oh, 'tis a mere trifle — " returned Lord Warringdon, smil- 
 ing, " a sprained wrist, only — fortunately, the accident occurred 
 close to the dispensary, so the injury was promptly remedied." 
 
 " 1 hope you do not suffer much pain ]" said Isabel, who had 
 beg-un to recover her self-possession. The tone and look by 
 which these simple words were accompanied left no doubt on 
 the mind of the person to whom they were addressed of the sin- 
 cerity with which they were uttered — confirmed too as they 
 were by the agitation he had remarked on her first entering the 
 kitchen. What man ever fails to notice the interest he inspires? 
 
 "Here are letters for you, my lord !" said Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 The party were leaving the kitchen when Barham called after 
 Maria : 
 
 " Oh — Miss Wilmot, you are forgetting the Piper." 
 
 " Perhaps, as Lord Warringdon has met this accident," re- 
 plied Maria, " it might be as well to defer it till another even- 
 ing — the noise might be disagreeable to him." 
 
CANVASSING. 
 
 " Oh no — I heg you don't alter your arranfrcraents on my ac- 
 count — the pain is very trifling-, and the Piper will serve rather 
 to amuse than annoy me." 
 
 " You are quite right, Lord Warringdon :" exclaimed Bar- 
 ham, delighted, " I assure you a little fun is the best cure in 
 the world for pain of any kind :" and, so saying, off he gallop- 
 ed in search of a messenger, to carry Maria's mandate to Paddy 
 Bacha^ commanding his attendance that evening. 
 
80 CANVASSING. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Ha I" exclaimed Lord WarrinCTdon, as he cast his eye over 
 the letter just handed him by Mr. Wilmot, "My father tells me 
 that parliament is to be dissolved immediately. What shall I 
 do ] this unlucky sprain will prevent my holding a pen, and yet 
 I ought not to lose a moment in addressing the county. Is there 
 any one here who would have the charity to lend me a hand, 
 while I dictate ?" said he, looking round on the group. 
 
 " You shall have Isabel," said Lady Anne good-humouredly. 
 "She is always her father's secretary; and, as he happens to 
 be very lazy, he does not allow her pen much rest, I assure 
 you ; and, thanks to such good practice, she has become quite 
 aufait^ — a capital electioneering address-writing young lady, 
 I can tell you ; so here she is, at your service. You have no 
 objection, have you, my love ]" she added, in a stage-whisper, 
 to her daughter, while she settled one of her pretty, soft curls. 
 " I'll explain to McAlpine, you know, and, I dare say, he 
 will forgive my disposing of you for this morning; so politics 
 and business to-day, — love and Byron to-morrow," she conti- 
 nued, smiling archly. "Well, good people, I will no longer 
 disturb you. Come, my dear Wilmot, you and I are de troji^ 
 here ; — au rcvoiry She nodded good-humouredly, and left the 
 room. 
 
 " I have many apologies to make to you," said Lord Warring- 
 don, for having so unceremoniously accepted Lady Anne's offer 
 of your assistance ; particularly," added he, smiling sarcasti- 
 cally, " as I understand you have made other arrangements for 
 the day." 
 
 " I am not aware of any engagement that I would not will- 
 ingly have given up, to be of service to you," replied Isabel, 
 in a faltering tone ; but, fearing she had said too much, she 
 added, blushing, " or, indeed, to any person, under the same 
 circumstances." 
 
CANVASSING. 81 
 
 "Thank you for that flatterina qualification," rejoined the 
 viscount, laughing, and contemplating his fair secretary with 
 all the self-complacency of a gratified, vain man. 
 
 " Is your arm comfortable now V she asked, anxious to es- 
 cape from his scrutinizing look. "I fancy the sling is rather 
 high;— shall I lower it?" 
 
 Her companion felt more than half inclined to have answered 
 the question by touching with his lips the pretty little trem- 
 bling hand of the fair querist ; had she been married, in all pro- 
 bability he would have done so; but, in these days, to kiss a 
 single woman's hand, is tantamount to a declaration. And so 
 the admiring, but prudent visrount, contented himself with 
 thanking her, in words, for her kindness. " ^he is a nice crea- 
 ture," thought he; " what a pity she has not money!" 
 
 For an hour or two, the young politicians continued im- 
 mersed in Ixisiness. Cut, as everything must have an end, the 
 address was, at lengtli, composed and copied out. The viscount 
 found himself assisted by Isabel, not only in the manual execu- 
 tion, but also in the composition of the document; yet, her as- 
 sistance had been given with so much tact, that she appeared 
 rather to have quickly seized, and skilfully embodied his ideas, 
 than to h ive suggested any of her own ; so that he himself 
 seemed even to deserve the whole credit of the performance. 
 Never before, indeed, had he been able to clothe his thoughts 
 in such neat and close expressions ; his self-love was, therefore, 
 gratified ; and being in good humour with himself, he was na- 
 turally so with the person who had proved instrumental in pro- 
 ducing this self-complacency. 
 
 For some time previous to this morning, Lord Warringdon 
 had been tiring of being nothing but an Epouvavl ail des Maris^ 
 and had desired to play a role in public life. But, unfortunately, 
 he was blessed with more pretension than application; and he 
 had often wished to possess and to have constantly near him 
 some person capable of supplying his want of energy, but who 
 would, meantime, be satisfied to allow him all the credit due to 
 success and its results, not only from society, but from his very 
 self. He was aware, however, that such devoted ncss could be 
 expected from a woman only, from a wife, in fact: and where 
 could he find a woman uniting the ability and the affection ne- 
 cessary for such an office 1 In fact, for more than a year he 
 had been asking himself this question, and in the course of this 
 morning it at length occurred to him that Isabel Wilmot was 
 an answer to it. As for Isabel, her care of the amour propre of 
 
82 CANVASSING. 
 
 her companion had been prompted simply by affection; — by the 
 unwilled, but unerrinor skill of the heart; yet. had she acted 
 from prudence and calculation, she could not have devised a 
 better plan for advancing her interests. For, in these days of 
 Utilitarianism, when every generous impulse is arrested by a 
 "CU2 io/20," the woman who succeeds in impressing a man with 
 the notion that she can be useful to him has presented to his 
 mind an argumentum at hotiiinem, that, sooner or later, will 
 work to her advantage, nay, help to get her a husband. 
 
 A characteristic of genius is, not that it can exactly create 
 circumstances, but that it knows how to emplo)" them. Lady 
 Anne could not have made her husband's Arab take fright at an 
 old woman, and throw its rider, upon that day, more than upon 
 any other; still less could she have ensured to the said young 
 rider a sprained wrist, instead of a broken neck or leg. Neither 
 could Lady Anne have influenced his Britannic Majesty to dis- 
 solve his faithful Lords and Commons, just at this lime, for the 
 purpose of sr/nchro?iizing with the viscount's tumble off his ex- 
 Otic horse. Still, however, was Lady Anne able to turn these 
 events to good account. Her ladyship's previous manoeuvring 
 had so completely mystified her young guest that he never sus- 
 pected her of any motive, but that of good nature, in her selec- 
 tion of Isabel for his amanuensis. 
 
 When Lady Anne returned, she found the young pair seated, 
 side by side, chatting over the fire. Lord Warringdon's arm on 
 the back of Isabel's chair, quite lover-like. 
 
 " Fie! fie ! there you are talking, you idle creatures, instead 
 of writing; it should have been business first, and play after- 
 wards, as we say to the children ! Oh, you naughty two !" 
 said she, playfully tapping her daughter's cheek, and Lord 
 Warringdon's shoulder. 
 
 " Thus do I disprove your foul calumny," replied he, in the 
 same tone, holding up his address. 
 
 " No ! have you really finished it? how quick you have been, 
 — admirable!" cried she; "nothing can be better; — so dexter- 
 ously composed ; — no one interest sacrificed to that of another; 
 those who wish that sinecures should be kept, because they 
 have a chance of getting them ; and those who wish to have 
 them abolished, because they never expect ^to profit by them ; — 
 those who want the National debt taken off, and those who 
 would like to increase the pension list: those who cry out for 
 Catholic emancipation, and those who insist on keeping up the 
 Protestant ascendancy; each and all may claim Warringdon as 
 
CANVASSING. 83 
 
 their champion. Yes; the gradations of form and colour are 
 skilfully managed, indeed, in this piece of political Mosaic! 
 Bravo, my lord! How clever that girl is!" said she to her- 
 self; then, turning to her daughter, " What a capital diploma- 
 tist this member of ours will make ; here is finesse enough for 
 an European empire wasted on an Irish county !" 
 
 Lady Anne was aware that the great object of Lord War- 
 ringdon's ambition, for some time, had been to figure as a cabi- 
 net minister, Now she saw him smile, highly gratified. 
 
 *' I am very much flattered that you approve it; but recollect 
 that I had an invaluable assistant in your fair daughter," he po- 
 litely added. 
 
 " Oh, as for my poor Isabel," replied the mother, kissing her 
 daughter's snowy forehead, "I don't imagine that she could 
 have been of any service to you. — No, you are not quite diplo' 
 mate enough to persuade me you think that." Then, lowering 
 her voice as she addressed her daughter, " McAlpine is in the 
 next room ; you may now go and chat with him, love, for he is 
 quite moping and miserable without you." 
 
 Lady Anne perceived, with much satisfaction, that Lord 
 Warringdon's eyes followed Isabel, as she moved reluctantly 
 out of the room ; and when the door closed on her graceful 
 figure, and when he turned round to look at the fire, that he ap- 
 peared in a very bad humour. 
 
 " Poor McAlpine," said she laughing, " has been quite like 
 a fish out of water, all day. My heart smites me for having 
 taken Isabel away from him : but he's so good humoured about 
 it, poor fellow ; — the most amiable being in the world,." 
 
 Lord Warringdon brushed up his dark curls, and leaned back 
 in his chair, with all the nonchalance of an exclusive, listening 
 to an irksome subject. 
 
 " What do you think of my son-in-law elect!" said she, after 
 a pause. 
 
 " Candidly ]" inquired he, with affected indifference. 
 
 " Oh, by all means," replied she. 
 
 "Candidly, then, I think him a devilish ill-lookino-, stupid 
 fellow." 
 
 "I don't at all agree with you my lord," said she, with well- 
 acted warmth ; " he is the reverse of stupid, he possesses con- 
 siderable talent; and, as for looks, men never judge fairly of 
 one another, there ; — heis quite as well to be liked al the gene- 
 rality of people," glancing somewhat offensively at her 'com- 
 panion. 
 
 The corners of his lordship's handsome mouth curled into an 
 expression of quiet disdain. " My dear Lady Anne, recollect I 
 
84 CANVASSING. 
 
 did not obtrude my opinion of Mr. McAlpine, — you rather 
 pressed me tor it." 
 
 Lady Anne shook her foot a few seconds, a gesture Lord 
 Warringdon had remarked in her as indicative of displeasure; 
 he hummed an opera air. "I should be very much obliored to 
 you, my Lord," she continued, "not to be as candid with my 
 dauo;hter as you have been with myself, in your criticisms upon 
 a person about to become a member of my family. Girls are 
 foolish and romantic, and imagine they must be passionately 
 attached to a man in order to marry him ; and I, therefore, make 
 it a personal request that you, in future, keep your opinion of 
 Mr. McAlpine to yourself. It might do Isabel irreparable in- 
 jury, by setting her against him." 
 
 "Setting her against Mr. McAlpine!" repealed he, sarcasti- 
 cally ; " how could that be possible T I understood you to say 
 he was quite the beait ideal of your imagination, tlie quintes- 
 sence of all perfection, moral and physical." 
 
 "Allow me to set you right, my lord," replied she, with 
 much offended dignity ; " I am perfectly aware that ^Ir. McAl- 
 pine is not a Colonel C. in beauty, nor a Lord L. G. in talent; 
 all I said was, that he had as much of both as people in gene- 
 ral," laying emphasis on the last words. " And I add this, that 
 he is a most excellent, kind-hearted, high-principled, honoura- 
 ble young man, passionately attached to my daughter, who be- 
 gins, at length, to appreciate his merit, and to see that she has 
 a much better chance of happiness with him than with a beauty, 
 a genius, or a man of fashion. 
 
 " Cest possible,''^ replied his lordship, with an indidiffer- 
 ence intended to be provoking; *^ Moi j'e ne dispute Jamais, 
 surtout avec les dames, — will you permit me to touch the bell for 
 my servant? 'tis time to dress for dinner." 
 
 Lady Anne bowed stiffly, and Lord Warringdon determined 
 to inform Isabel, the very first opportunity, of his opinion con- 
 cerning Mr. McAlpine, should slie, indeed, happen to be igno- 
 rant of it. 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Wil- 
 mot and Mi.ria, followed by xMr. Barham, laughing as usual, 
 "ready to die." 
 
 As soon as she thought that she might resume her usual 
 blandness towards the Viscount, she turned to her husband ; — 
 " You have not seen Lord Warringdon's.address yet, I believe; 
 — 'tis really admirable." 
 
 '* Oh, I recognize Isabel's touches here," said the careless, 
 undesigning father, pleased at this additional evidence of his 
 daughter's talents. 
 
CANVASSING. 85 
 
 "Yes," said Lady Anne, rising and touching her husband's 
 shoulder, as she leaned over him; ''You know Lord VVarringdon 
 sprained his wrist, and could not write ; so it is in Isabel's 
 hand-writing; but that does not signify." 
 
 "Oh, no, to be sure," rejoined Wilmot, understanding his 
 wife's liint; — "'Tis excellent, my dear Lord, — cannot possibly 
 be better: here, Maria, have you seen it 1" 
 
 *' What is it all about ?" inquired Mr. Barham, struck by the 
 admiration which this sheet of paper excited, as it passed from 
 hand to hand; — "Is it a hoax Lord Warringdon has been 
 writing, Miss Wilmot T" 
 
 " Why, really, 'tis very much the same thing," replied she, 
 laughing; "'tis an address to the county." 
 
 " Oh, is that all ? — something political only," said he, in a 
 tone of disappointment. "I wonder that people ever trouble 
 themselves about politics, stoopid things!" 
 
 About two hours after dinner, the door opened, and Pat Mur- 
 phy entered, smiling. 
 
 "Is he come?" cried Barham. 
 
 "He is, sir." 
 
 *'0h, Miss Wilmot, he's come: good news. Lord Warring- 
 don, he's come." And away he flew, clapping his hands, fol- 
 lowed by Maria. 
 
 "What in the world's the matter with him T" cried Mr. 
 McAlpine ; " who is it that's come 1" 
 
 "No less a personage than Paddy jBowc^a," said Mr. Wil- 
 mot, laughing. 
 
 "Ra'ally, I'm astonished at your patience. Lady Anne, with 
 such a silly, uninteresting crature as he is : I am ra'ally ex- 
 thramely annoyed that I have been the manes of inflicting him 
 on you." 
 
 " Pray don't say a word about it, my dear friend," replied 
 Lady Anne, with one of her most gracious smiles. "Any 
 guest of yours would be welcome here." 
 
 "Unfortunately," resumed Mr. McAlpine, "I could not take 
 him away without going myself; and how could I do thatl 
 how could I," he added, whispering tenderly to Isabel, who 
 was seated between him and the Viscount, " how could I have 
 the courage to tear myself from her I adore, — from the idol of 
 my soul, — the soft star of my destiny 1 What would my fair 
 charmer have said, in that case, of her truant knight !" 
 
 "1 was just going to ask you to accompany me to the revels, 
 below," said Lord Warringdon." 
 
86 CANVASSING. 
 
 *'And why notl" replied Isabel, eagerly; "I am quite 
 ready." 
 
 " Oh, no, I must not take you away a second time, from ' love 
 and Byron,' said he, glancing alternately at Mr. McAlpine and 
 Lady Anne. " Your mamma and I have had a battle royal, to- 
 day, about the ' beau fufit?;^ and she has commanded me, on 
 pain of her imperial displeasure, never to say, or even to think, 
 that Byron could have a fitter interpreter, or Love a more elo- 
 quent or persuasive votary; and, moreover, that it must be 
 felony, without benefit of clergy, to let you suppose that I, or 
 any body else, could ever imagine greater perfection. I never 
 saw a woman so much in love witii her daughter's lover in all 
 my life ; more than you yourself, I think, la belle Fiancee." 
 
 "You have chosen a disagreeable subject, my Lord," said 
 she, colouring ; " I should be obliged by your changing it." 
 
 " Your wishes are laws to me, my fair secretary," said he, 
 bowing with mock deference ; " never again will I say aught 
 to disturb your equanimity ; — am I forgiven 1 and will you take 
 my arm, and accompany me to where they are 'tripping on the 
 light fantastic toe,' as the Morning Post has it V 
 
 Isabel smiled forgiveness, and they quitted the room to- 
 gether. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 When Lord Warringdon and Isabel entered the servants' 
 hall, they were received with the same manifestations of joy 
 which had greeted Maria and Mr. Barham. The huzzaing and 
 clapping of hands was, indeed, excessively gratifying ; but it 
 was also excessively deafening ; inasmuch as every member 
 of the Castle Wilmot household, reinforced by travellers "go- 
 ing the road," who had lounged in for their dinner, and the 
 idlers of the neighbourhood, who had been attracted by the 
 piper, contributed, each and all, their utmost strength of palms 
 and lungs, to do honour to the " quality." The acclamations 
 for the last come couple even surpassed, perhaps, those which 
 had welcomed the first — for in addition to the company already 
 
CANVASSING. 87 
 
 alluded to, great numbers of the McAlpine tenants (who had 
 strayed over to Castle Wilmot to see their master, in conse- 
 quence of some one of the multitudinous occurrences which an 
 Irish tenant is perpetually in the habit of referring to his land- 
 lord,) were present; and they, looking upon Miss Isabel Wil- 
 mot, as their master's property, received her with all the respect 
 and warmth due to their future mistress ; crying out, " High 
 for Miss Isabel Wilmot! high for Masther McAlpine!" a 
 couple already occupied " the flure," — viz., Peggy the pretty 
 laundry-maid, and JimNaughton, of sa^js-pole-driving memory, 
 who had "stepped in with his horses," on his way homewards 
 to Masther Costelloe,from some break-neck excursion. Peggy 
 acknowledged the entrance of " the quality," by a curtsey, 
 as she sidled along in her dance, and kept her eyes modestly 
 bent on the ground, never by any chance raising them to the 
 face of her partner. Jim, on his part, evinced his sense of their 
 presence, by whirling his hand round his head, and jumping 
 more vigorously than he had done before, and cutting five or 
 six times in the air. 
 
 *'The lower orders of England," observed Isabel to Lord 
 Warringdon, "suspend their merriment either from respect, or 
 shyness, upon the appearance of tlieir superiors ; but our people, 
 who have a truer sense of what real politeness consists in, 
 laugh and dance as before, rightly inferring that their masters 
 and mistresses have come purposely to witness their pleasantry, 
 and, therefore, that respect and attention are best evinced by 
 making an effort to amuse. 
 
 Mr. Barham was almost in convulsions of laughter at the 
 "funny piper, and the funny dancing." 
 
 " God save all here;" cried a voice behind him. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Molly, is that you 1 I am so glad to see you — " 
 said he, seizing the priest's hands and nearly wringing them 
 off — " I have missed you so much, you can't think ! I was just 
 wondering what had become of you! — What capital fun this is, 
 Mr. Molly 1" 
 
 " What fun, Mr. Barbara ] myself don't see any fun, where 
 isitl" 
 
 "Why there;" rejoined Mr. Barham, pointing to the dancers 
 — "don't you see the droll postilion dancing?" 
 
 " A what, droll postilion ? let's thry and see :" cried father 
 John, looking over Barbara's shoulder. " Pooh — 'tis nobody 
 but Jim Naughton dancing the way he always does. I never 
 seen one like him," said he, turning to Maria, " for seeing fun, 
 
88 CANVASSING* 
 
 where nobody else but himself can see it. /don't see anything 
 so mighty comical in a little girl and boy dancing ; one would 
 think it was dancing on their heads they were, or doing some 
 quare trick or other : he does be laughing so; them English 
 has no sinse at all, Miss Maria, honey." 
 
 "Perhaps, we should laugh as heartily as he does, if we 
 saw all this for the first time, father John :" observed Maria. 
 
 " May be so, agra^ you know better than me." 
 
 The first dance ended, and punch and even good raw whis- 
 key, were handed about. 
 
 The priest took a glass, and, holding it over his head — 
 *' Here's to the health of the young ladies, and good husbands 
 to them, and soon — hip, hip, hurrah !" 
 
 This tost was received with huzzas and laughter, interspersed 
 with cries of " Amin — amin — long life to 'em, the darlins — aye, 
 troth, good husbands to them, and soon^ — and the sooner the 
 betther!" 
 
 "An' now the gintleman's healths:" cried a voice in the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Let each of the young ladies dhrink the health of the 
 gintleman that's wid her :" this amendment was welcomed with 
 cries of, " success to ye Jim — my blessing to ye !" 
 
 " Very well — " said Maria, laughing good humouredly, 
 " here's to the health of William Barham, Esq., of Cralcourt, 
 Leicestershire, and may he always continue as fond of fun and 
 of Ireland as he is at this present moment — hip, hip, hurrah !" 
 
 " Glory to ye ! comical crature ye are, sure enough !" ex- 
 claimed the laughing and applauding crowd. 
 
 " Now, Miss Isabel !" but Miss Isabel hesitated — " 'tis your 
 turn now, agra ,-'''' said Mrs. McDonough — "why don't you 
 take patlhern afther your sisther, my honey — do, asthorema cree^ 
 or else," continued she, lowering her voice, " the tinants will be 
 thinking 'tis proud ye are — there's my darling:"- cried she tri- 
 umphantly, as Isabel prepared to oblige her — "I knew well the 
 delight of my heart, wouldn't refuse her father's ould nurse." 
 
 "Whisht! whisht! hould your bother — don't you see she is 
 going to spake — don't be making sich a noise :" roared one to 
 another, as they began to applaud before she had begun to 
 speak. 
 
 Silence was at length obtained, and all eyes were fixed on 
 Isabel as she gave her toast — 
 
 " Here's to the health of Lord Warringdon, and may he, as 
 our representative, ever prove the friend of the county, and of 
 
CANVASSING. 89 
 
 Ireland in general, and," she added, falteringly, "live long and 
 happily!" 
 
 *' And a pretty Irish wife to him :" added Jim Naughton — 
 "Troth, he might go farther and fare worse;" glancing at 
 Isabel ; and the cries of " Success to ye Jim ! — high for Miss 
 Isabel ! high for her, the darling purty, quiet little cratur ! and 
 a good husband to her, and soon !" quite confounded the poor 
 girl. 
 
 Lord Warringdon perceived her embarrassment, and bowing, 
 and smiling his thanks for the honour she had done him, took 
 the glass from her trembling hand. 
 
 "To the health of Mr. Wilmot and his family !" said he — 
 " my best wish for Ireland is, that all her landlords may be 
 like him, and all her women like his daughters." 
 
 " Glory to ye — glory to ye, my lord — long life to ye !" 
 shouted the people, as they thundered forth their sympathy in 
 his wishes for Ireland, and for what they deemed the first 
 family in Ireland. 
 
 "What a darlin' purty couple, himsel' and Miss Isabel 
 would make :" observed Peggy the laundry-maid, to her ad- 
 mirer, Pat Murphy. 
 
 " They would so :" agreed Pat, who happened to be in a par- 
 ticularly complaisant humour that evening — " they would so, 
 a'most as purty a couple as yoursel' and mysel', Peggy." 
 
 "The divil's impidence you have, sure enough," cried 
 Peggy, " to be comparing the likes of uz to the likes of them ! 
 But, now Pat," she added, in a coaxing tone, don't you see 
 yoursel', I was right?" 
 
 " When, asthore 1 when you tould me I was the darlin' of 
 your heart, is if? you war, indeed, Peggy." 
 
 " Faith, I never tould you that," replied the bashful Peggy, 
 " I'd be very sorry to be telling an unthruth ;" spite of herself, 
 however, smiling slily. 
 
 " Well, may be," rejoined Pat, " you mightn't spake intirely 
 so plain as that; any how, you tould it me, the way I'd under- 
 stand, 'tis that was your raianing." 
 
 " Don't bother us," interrupted his gentle mistress, "tisn't 
 that I mane at all, you know very well. No — but wasn't I 
 right when I said, who know'd but maybe the English lord 
 and one of the young ladies would be a match — wasn't I right, 
 Pat?" 
 
 "To be sure you war — arnt you always right, ma colleen 
 
90 CANVASSING. 
 
 dhasP^^ replied he, gallantly, at the same time causing her to 
 exclaim — 
 
 "Behave now, Pat Murphy! bad cess to your impidence ! 
 your aqual for impidence, Pat Murphy, I never seen, and the 
 quallity by, and all — bad manners to ye." 
 
 " The Lord save us ! forgive us this oust, and God bless ye, 
 Peggy — I forgot the quallity was in it — I'll wait agin till they're 
 gone, ma vourneen.^' 
 
 " Faith, my advice to ye is to keep your hands to yoursel' 
 for good an' all, Pat Murphy, an' behave yoursel', whether the 
 quallity is in it or no — or let who will be in it." 
 
 " 'Tis you would be mad, sure enough, if I tuck ye at your 
 word ;" rejoined Pat, laughing provokingly. 
 
 " Scnadth wanordth /* Pat Murphy ! how dare ye say that? 
 I've the greatest mind in the world to give ye" — Pat advanced 
 his face with a coxcombical expression that enraged his prudish 
 mistress — and she raised a somewhat large hand, and let it fall 
 heavily on his cheek — " Take that, ye concated omadhoun 
 ye !"— 
 
 Pat laughed and rubbed his cheek — "ye laned rather heavy, 
 Peggy, my pet — you've a'most smashed my jaw, my honey." 
 
 Mr. Barham, who had been listening to the colloquy, and who 
 had succeeded in stifling his laughter, by nearly stifling himself 
 in his pocket-handkerchief, could no longer restrain his delight, 
 but clapping his hands in ecstacy at such a specimen of Irish 
 flirtation, crying out, " You served him right — how good ! oh 
 what capital fun !" 
 
 The piper struck up a merry tune, and Winny, the housemaid, 
 came up and dropped a curtsey — "Mr. Barham, if you plaze, 
 sir," said she, smiling and blushing. 
 
 " What is it? do you wish to sit down V asked he civilly, 
 making room for her. 
 
 " It's axing you to dance, she is, sir ;" said Peggy. 
 
 " Is she really ? I am very much obliged to you, Winny, but 
 I'm sadly afraid I don't know how to dance a jig yet ; I should 
 put you out, I'm sure." 
 
 " Oh, not at all, sir ;" replied the girls, chiming in together — 
 " 'tis mighty asy, you have nothing in the world to do, sir, only 
 just to humour the tune, and whatever side of the room your 
 partner does be, to keep opposite to her." 
 
 * A hungry cry in the morning to ye \ 
 
CANVASSING. 91 
 
 " And whin its over, sir," interrupted Pat, "just to put your 
 arm round her purty little waist, and say thank ye, my Pet, and 
 shoot the action to the word, sir." 
 
 " What a funny fellow you are !" cried Mr. Barham." 
 
 " Hon Id your bother, Pat Murphy !" said Wiuny, reddening 
 with offended modesty. 
 
 The crowd cheered the young Englishman as he stood up to 
 dance. 
 
 " Ax your partner what tune she'll have, sir :" whispered Jim 
 Naughton. 
 
 Barham adopted the suggestion. 
 
 " Oh, 'lis all the same to me, sir, whatever yoursel' would 
 like, would be pleasing to me." 
 
 " No, let you choose, Winny — you know best what tune will 
 suit us." 
 
 " Ax her, sir, would she have ♦ tattered Jack Walsh.' " 
 
 *' Oh, what a funny name :" cried Barham. 
 
 "Clioke me! Jim Naughton !" cried Winny, frowning. 
 
 " Perhaps you do not like to dance that tune ?" observed 
 Barham, good-naturedly — " you can choose any other you like 
 better." J ^ 
 
 "Oh, there's nothing she likes so well as that, sir:" inter- 
 rupted Jim, laughing — " she doats down upon it." 
 
 " You have some joke about it, I am sure, Jim — do tell me 
 what it is, there's a good fellow !" cried Barham, eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing at all, sir, only a boy, a friend of mine, one 
 Jack Walsh, that does be dhriving along with mysel', for mis- 
 ther Costelloe ; and himsel' and Winny does be mighty great 
 together, he's her bachelor, you know, sir." 
 
 "Faith, an' he isn't:" interrupted Winny, scowling at her . 
 lover's fides achates, Jim Naughton. 
 
 " An' he's a great fighter and roisterer at fairs, an' pattherns, 
 sir," continued Jim, " an' one turn he got the worst of it, at the 
 fair of Derrymanagoslogh, hard by the castle here; an' he 
 come in here the same night to Winny with his clothes tore to 
 tatthers, the most miserable looking cratur ever you seen, sir, 
 an' ever sence we called him tatthered Jack Walsh, after the 
 jig — an' Winny does be mad, on account of the joke about her 
 bachelor. Whenever you want to make Winny come up stairs 
 smart to you, sir, you've nothing to do hut to call out over the 
 bannister, ' Tatthered Jack Walsh,' an' 'tis, she will skelp aft 
 to ye, in a jiffy, sir." 
 
92 * CANVASSING. 
 
 Barham enjoyed amazingly this piece of Irish wit — while 
 waiting for some tune which should suit Winny's taste, and 
 yet not furnish Jim with materials for mischievous applications. 
 Barham talked to his partner. 
 
 " So, in Ireland, the women ask the men to dance — what 
 funny girls you must be ! but when you want to be married, do 
 ye ask the men to marry ye 1" 
 
 "Ax the min to marry us, is it"? Musha, faith an' we don't 
 — why would we 1 Thank God, there's no occasion, indeed, 
 we'd be giving oursel's that throuble any how, they've good 
 warrants to say that much for themsel's. Faith, they'd have to 
 wait long enough if they waited till we'd ax 'em — pity, indeed !" 
 Here the jig struck up : " now, if you plase, Mr. Barham." 
 
 Barham, who had rather a good ear, contrived " to humour 
 the tune," very tolerably for a first attempt ; and his love of fun 
 inspired him with all the agility necessary — he jumped and 
 shouldered very much in the style of Jim Naughton, to the in- 
 expressible delight and admiration of the bye-standers. 
 
 *' What an iligant match himsel' an' Miss Maria would be !" 
 observed Peggy, " they have such gaining ways with them, 
 jist cut off the same patthern the pair of 'em are — an' so found 
 as he is of her — evermore running afther her, you'd think he'd 
 lose his life when she's out of his sight a minute — axing about 
 her, an' looking every place for her— an' thin such screeching 
 laughing as they do be having together, whin he finds her onst 
 more." 
 
 " Pooh ! he is no match for her, he has no sense :" remarked 
 Bartly the groom. 
 
 "'Tis you that's the judge sure enough, whether he has or 
 no;" retorted Peggy. 
 
 " What matthers about his sinse 1" observed the cook, " she 
 has enough, I'll be bound, for hersel' an' himsel'." 
 
 "T'will be a match, you'll see :" insisted Peggy. 
 
 "It won't;" cried the groom. 
 
 *' It will ;" reiterated Peggy — " an', moreover, Miss Isabel 
 an' the English lord will be another match, as sure as my name 
 is Peggy Flanagan." 
 
 " Oh thin your name isn't Peggy Flanagan, so," interrupted 
 Mr. McAlpine's groom, " that will never be a match I can tell 
 you — " 
 
 " Why won't iti" demanded Peggy — 
 
 *' Becase," answered he, " my masther Mr. McAlpine will 
 niver let her lave this country — he intends keeping her for him- 
 
CANVASSING. 93 
 
 sel' — he dotes down upon her, an' well he may, for she's a 
 most beautiful, iligant, finely edicated young lady, as ever 
 you'd wish to see — ^jist the moral for himsel', for all the world 
 — they're as like one another as two pays — every one in the 
 counthry does be saying they're made a purpose for one another 
 — you niver seen sich a way as he does be going on about her, 
 up at the castle — there a most iligant mare he has, he has called 
 afther her — an' a boat he has on the lake that gais by her name, 
 too — un' he does be making poethry on her, out of a poethry 
 book he has up at the castle, at home — an' he does be repeating 
 the poethry when he does be out riding — an' I'm credibly in- 
 formed," continued he, lowering his voice, "that he's come 
 here this turn a purpose to make his purposals for her, out o' 
 hand — see there ! how he's jist come, along with her ladyship 
 —look at himsel' an' Miss Isabel, now — Isn't he coorting her, 
 like mad, this minute — see how well he can't take his eyes off 
 her, but does be whispering to her, something I'll be bound 
 she's mighty pleased to hear, see how purty an' modest she 
 keeps lookin' on the ground." 
 
 " JNIy blessing to her— she's in the right of it !" muttered 
 Peggy unheard by the last speaker — " not to be looking on an 
 ugly yallow cratur of his kind — poor girl, as I am Mrs. McDo- 
 nogh, I'd rather beg the world over with one I'd like, than 
 I'd be sittinor on a throne of ooold with the likes of him, beside 
 the-" ° ^ 
 
 "Mysel' don't so much mis-like him, truth," observed Win- 
 ny, who had just joined the group of Castle Wilmot followers, 
 then occupied descanting out of hearing of the McAlpines on 
 the ill-favoured visage of their Lord — *' he's'always a good war- 
 rant to give me five or six tinpinny bits, if he stops but the 
 night — an' T never seen a gintleman less trouble in his room, 
 than himsel' — he's a mighty clane gintleman, Peggy — mighty 
 clane, itsel' — the one jug o' wather, an' the one towel lasts him 
 for a for'night — an' thin such other splashing and washing, an' 
 slopping an' lathering as other gintlemen keeps, one 'must be 
 always running every minute to give a touch at the flure, 
 
 Peggy—" 
 
 " I'm not saying whether he's a clane gintleman or no,' re- 
 joined Peggy — " I have nothing to say to him good or bad, 
 thank God ! all I'm saying is, that the English Lord would be 
 far beyant him, in regard of husband for Miss Isabel — " 
 
 " Avoch — to be sure, he would, Peggy — it w'ill be a match 
 you'll see, Peggy." 
 
 •'A' to be sure it will— isn't that whatl'm saying all night?" 
 
94 CANVASSING. 
 
 " When my master Mr. McAlpine marries Miss Isabel Wil- 
 mot," observed Tom Landrigan, Mr. McAlpine's man, to Mr. 
 Kelly and Pat Murphy, "what rejoicing there will be all over 
 the counthry! what an eligant wedding we'll have; Castle 
 Wilmot, and McAlpine castle will carry everything before 
 'em —the two finest intherests in the county, Mr. Kelly — they 
 'II return the two mimbers, asy — "Faith they would so — ob- 
 served Mr. Kelly — " as asy as they'd swallow a tumbler o' 
 punch — " 
 
 " Aye troth — " said Pat. 
 
 Mr. Kelly and Pat Murphy, as men and politicians, were less 
 annoyed by Mr. McAlpine's " yallowness" than the females of 
 the household. To return " two mimbers of the county" was, 
 in their opinion, the culminating point of human grandeur; and 
 Mr. McAlpine having the greatest number of freeholders after 
 their master, was of course the next greatest man in their eyes, 
 and a far more important personage than Viscount Warringdon, 
 consequently a much more desirable alliance for the family. In 
 the glorious days of the '•''forty shillmgers,^^ a gentleman's im- 
 portance was estimated not so much by the productiveness of 
 his acres as by their quantity, and the number of ragged human 
 beings he could contrive to pen upon them. Lord Warringdon 
 might be the first man in England, for anything Mr. Kelly or 
 Pat Murphy knew or cared to the contrary, but he was not " the 
 first man in the county" any how, nor the second neither. The 
 Castle Wilmot household divided, however, on this question. 
 The men being all for Mr. McAlpine, the women for Lord War- 
 ringdon, " because he was a beautiful gintleman, and so grand 
 looking;" because Mrs. McDonogh had said that Mr. Symraons 
 had tould her that the finest ladies in the land were fighting who 
 should have him, an' that he could have his pick and choose 
 whenever he liked of 'em, married or no, — an' that he lived in 
 the greatest state and grandeur, with the greatest retinue of ser- 
 vants that ever was seen. 
 
 " Pat, you'll see 'twill be the English lord she marries," said 
 Peggy. 
 
 "It won't," rejoined Pat. 
 
 " iVa6oc/isA,-_you'll see if it won't. Mrs. McDonogh, ma'am, 
 won't it?" ^ 
 
 " Of coorse it will," answered Mrs. McDonogh. 
 
 " Why of coorse 1" asked Pat. 
 
 " I am not going to inform you, Pat Murphy, what private 
 
CANVASSING. ^5 
 
 reasons I have for thinking so," returned Mrs.McDonogh, con- 
 sequentially. 
 
 "One thing I'm sure of, at any rate," said Peggy, "hersel' 
 and Miss Maria will be married soon, whomsoever it may be 
 to, on account of the dhrame I had." 
 
 "What dhrame, Peggy V inquired Mrs. McDonogh. 
 
 " A great dhrame I had, ma'am, about cats and dogs'^fightino-." 
 
 »' Aye, that's a fine dhrame, — you couldn't have°a better one 
 for marriage, Peggy." 
 
 " So I always heerd tell, ma'am, that to dhrame of cats an' 
 dogs fighting was the finest sign in the world of a marriage." 
 
 "Tell us your dhrame, an' God bless you, Peggy," said 
 Mrs. McDonogh. 
 
 "Dhraming I was, ma'am, that I was silting below, in the 
 scullery, dhrying my clothes, becase the chimbly smoked so in 
 the laundhry, I was afeard they'd be all black ; an' while I was 
 sitting there, wondhering how long they took to dhry, there 
 come in a big black dog, with red eyes." 
 
 " Are ye sure his eyes was red, Peggy ?" demanded Mrs. 
 McDonogh. 
 
 *'I am ma'am,— and he kept running about every place, as 
 though he was looking for something. Mysel' got frickened, 
 he looked so big an' terrible; an' I was staling out unknownst, 
 
 when I heerd a cat mewing outside the scullery window, sich 
 
 othermewing, Mrs. McDonogh, you niver heard. In my dhrame 
 I thought 'twas Kutty Murphy's cat, that run wild, an' used to 
 be keeping in the shrubbery beyant, an' the little boys that used 
 to be throwin' stones at her, you know ; the masther bid 'em 
 take care for their lives would they do the like again. Well, I 
 thought 'twas Kutty Murphy's cat, so I opened the window, 
 and let her in, for fear the masther would be mad if I did'nt; 
 and if I did, hersel' and himsel' began fighting. Och ! Mrs. 
 McDonogh, they bate all ever you seen ! tearing an' scratching, 
 an' snarling, an' spitting, like mad. My heart was bateing like 
 anything when I woke, Mrs. McDonogh." 
 
 " That's a fine dhrame, Peggy, I'll explain it to you." 
 
 "Thank'ee, ma'am." 
 
 "The big black dog," resumed Mrs. McDonogh, "is a 
 gintleman of great fortune an' clever appearance; you remim- 
 ber my axing ye, Peggy, were ye sure of the colour of his 
 eyes 1 " 
 
96 CANVASSING. 
 
 " I do, ma'am," ifejoined the dreamer. 
 
 "Red eyes," continued the expounder, "is a sign he comes 
 from England ; an' look in' about every place is a sicrn he comes 
 over here" for something parlicklar, — ye know the English lord 
 come lookin' for the county ; the cat mewing is Miss Isabel, — 
 ye know she's not so hearty as what Miss Maria does be ; then, 
 you know, hersel' an' himsel' fighting is a sign it's married they 
 will be." 
 
 " That's jist what I was thinking mysell', ma'am. " \\'ell, 
 afther that, Mrs. McDonogh, I fell asleep the second time, and 
 I thought mysel' and my little sisther was below at the river, ^ 
 wringing out the clothes, an I felt something scrape my arm au' I 
 looked back, an' what should I see, but a little, small white 
 dog, with a collar about his neck ; an' he kept scrapin', scrapin,' 
 even till I looked up, an', faith, there was a cat, a mighty ugly 
 one, itsel', above in the three ; a small, miserable-looking 
 cratur, as ever you seen ! an' while I was lookin' at her, she 
 turned into a cat as big as a horse; and she jumped off the 
 three, all of a suddent, and tuk the little dog, and began rand- 
 lin' him. Well ma'am, they fought, and tore each other to bits, 
 an' she finished by atin' him, intirely, ail to his collar, an' she 
 tuk that in her mouth, an' wint an' scraped, scraped, even till 
 she made a hole in the ground, an' put the collar in it, — and 
 then I woke, for Winny gave a kick in the bed." 
 
 " That's a fine dhrame, too, Peggy: the small, little white 
 dog is Mr. Barham : an' the collar is a sign he has a fine for- 
 tune ; an' the scrapin' is a sign he's always talkin' ; the cat in 
 the three is Miss Maria ; an' lookin' miserable is a sign that 
 she isn't so at all, Peggy ; — dhrames, you know, always goes 
 by conthraries : — well, then, her changing to be as big as a 
 horse, is a sign she's to have a fine, large house, and a great 
 dale of children." 
 
 " The Lord be praised !" cried Peggy. 
 
 " Well, Peggy, her throttling the little dog is a sign she'll 
 have more sinse than him; an' ating him up alive, of coorse, is 
 a sign its man an wife they'll be." 
 
 " An' the collar, Mrs. McDonogh, what does' that mane, 
 ma'am?" 
 
 *' Oh, the collar, Peggy, is a sign there will be no ind to the 
 grandeur an' prosperity she's to live in ; — an', moreover, that 
 she's to have the upper hand of him ; — for she tuk the collar of 
 him, you remimber, Peggy?" 
 
CANVASSING. 97 
 
 " Alusha, that it may be so 1" ejaculated Peggy. " God sees 
 and knows, Mrs. Mc Donogh, there isn't a night nor morning I 
 don't pray for husbands for 'em both. Miss Isabel isn't so intire- 
 ly lauchtj* a cratur as Miss Maria, but she's a mild, quiet little 
 cratur, never gives a sour look, nor cross word ; — the Lord pur- 
 tect 'em both ! Miss Maria more especially. What in the world's 
 that they're screeching about there, beyant, Barry Sullivan 1" 
 
 "Pat Sullivan, Mr. Mc Alpine's foster-brother, that's axing 
 Miss Isabel to dancC; and Misther Mc Alpine's tinants are clap- 
 ping her," replied Barney. 
 
 " Mc Alpine and Wilmot for ever!" cried the Mc Alpine fol- 
 lowers; "high for Misther Mc Alpine !-^high for Miss Wil- 
 mot !" 
 
 " Them tinants of Mri Mc Alpine are mighty impident, ar'n't 
 they, ma'am?" questioned Peggy of her oracle, Mrs. Mc Donogh ; 
 " You'd think, to hear 'ern going on, their masther had nothing 
 in the world to do, but jist to come coortin', and got for axin !" 
 
 " What matthers what ignorant people of their description 
 think at all ?" replied Mrs. Mc Donogh, shrugging her shoulders, 
 as she cast a look at the yelling, hand^jlapping Mc Alpine's fol- 
 lowers. 
 
 " What manner of breeding can the likes of them have, who 
 has no experience of life] hould your chat," said she, angrily, to 
 one at her side^ who was roaring out for ' Miss Isabel and Mis- 
 ther Mc Alpine;' " hould your tongue, — don't you see she don't 
 like it]" 
 
 " She does like it," interrupted Pat, afraid of offending the 
 Mc Alpine consequence; " she likes it well, I promise you; only 
 she's ashamed, because Mr. Mc Alpine is by." 
 
 Mr. Mc Alpine, though he seldom condescended to dance, 
 thought that this occasion might prove one of the few exceptions 
 to his general rule ; and to reward the fair Isabel for her gracious- 
 ness, in dancing with his foster-brother, and to show his sense of 
 the compliment, thereby paid himself, he stood up and relieved 
 his follower, an expression which means that he took the man's 
 place in the dance, who, according to the usual etiquette, imme- 
 diately sat down. The shouting and cries of " High for Miss 
 Isabel! high for Misther Mc Alpine!" redoubled, to his delight, 
 and her annoyance, and to the gratification of the men, and infi- 
 nite displeasure of the women of the Castle-Wilmot establish- 
 ment. Winny, from her occasional attendance on Lord War- 
 ringdon's room, ae well as on account of getting a compliment 
 
 • In this sense, gracteuse. 
 9 
 
9& CANVASSING* 
 
 from him, now and then, on her rosy cheeks and blue eyes, when 
 they accidentally met on the stairs, was on talking terms witb 
 the Viscount; hence she now addressed him thus: — If I was a 
 fine, diver gintleman, I wouldn't let a nice young lady have 
 such a yallow face as that, for a partner ; glancing at Mr. Mc 
 Alpine, " when I'd have a good one of my own to put in its 
 place," laughing, slyly, as she looked up at Lord Warrin^don. 
 
 "Perhaps, she might be displeased, Winny," replied he, 
 smiling at the compliment and insinuation it conveyed. 
 
 " Displeased, is it V cried Winny ; " Musha faith, an' she 
 wouldn't; an' why would she] she has her eyes in her head." 
 
 Lord Warringdon took the hint, and, imitating what he had 
 seen others do, relieved Mr. Mc Alpine, who looked waxing very 
 indignant, thereupon; Isabel, however, did not; — her previous 
 flush of vexation was immediately replaced by one of another ex- 
 pression. 
 
 The people regarded his brdship's movement as a jest, per- 
 mitted by the ru^les of the dance, to separate and disconcert the 
 lovers; and a jest being always well received by the Irish peo- 
 ple, particularly from a superior, his good-humour in thus joining 
 in the amusements of the evening, notwithstanding his fall in 
 the morning, helped him on wonderfully as a candidate; and he 
 was rewarded by shouts of laughter, and cries of " Warringdon 
 for ever! success to him! high for the English lord!" 
 
 " He's a fine, cliver gentleman," observed the Me Alpine ser- 
 vants: " I'd be glad the masther would vote for him; he has no 
 pride nor consate about him at all." 
 
 " Thrue for ye!" cried Jim Naughton; he's a ra'al gentleman, 
 every inch of him; — he made me a compliment of a five-pound 
 note, for dhrivin' him up here; and though he thought (the cra- 
 ture) 'twas all my fault he stuck in the bog-hole, an' his bones 
 broke a'most in comin' along, devil a word he said cross, or out 
 of the way, to mc: and before he set out, breakin' his heart 
 laughin' at one thing or other, jokin' with mysel', you'd think 
 'twas his born brother I was, faith, you would. Pat Sullivan, I 
 hope," he continued, turning to Peggy, and whispering, in order 
 that Pat Sullivan might not overhear him, "I hope it's him she'll 
 marry, an' not Misther Mc Alpine, with his big, yallow teeth, 
 an' poor, little, miserable, squeezed-up, starved, carcass; like a 
 weazle he is, for all the world, an' nothing but skin an' bone, no 
 substance in him at all; the English lord would make two of 
 him, Peggy. By my conscience! if I was a young lady, I 
 wouldn't^look at him, itsel', let alone marrying him: and he's a 
 great negur, as ever you seen, in his own house, Peggy." 
 
 " A-thin, is he, Jim 7 well, to be sure, an' them tinants of his, 
 
CANVA.SSING. 99 
 
 that does be braggin' so out of him, what a fine house he keeps, 
 an' how he's like the masther, for all the world — evermore 
 giving", giving." 
 
 *' Oh, the liar of the world!" cried Jim; "like the masther, 
 indeed I they must be the divils, intirely, if they say that. The 
 time I druve the officers' ladies there, you know, Peggy, an' that 
 I smashed my pole, an' druve 'em without a tatther of a pole, 
 good or bad; you remimber hearing tell of that, Peggy]" 
 
 "To be sure I did; — sure the whole counthry was talking of 
 nothing else," replied Peggy. 
 
 " Ay?" said Jim, smiling with much self-complacency; " well, 
 my dear, he wasn't plased because mysel' and my horses was 
 stoppin' at the house, waitin' till Pd mend my pole. I heerd him 
 axing Tom Lanidigan, his body man, what I was doin' in it, so 
 Jong. Like the masther, indeed! that supposin' you war the 
 devil, out of hell, not to talk of a dacent boy, if you stopped in it 
 a year would think 'twas too soon you were goin' away,— bad 
 manners to themsel's an their companions, the liars of the world ! 
 he's no more like the masther than Pra like the Lord Leftenant, 
 Peggyr 
 
100 CANVASSING. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Lady Anne and Maria were overwhelmed with business for 
 some days, makinor preparations for the party — settling whom 
 they must invite, and whom tliey need not — those they should 
 ask to dinner, and those they could not possibly have room for — 
 those to whom they should offer beds, and those whom they might 
 leave to the care of their guardian angels on their return home- 
 wards, &c. &c. The party being given in honour of the candi- 
 date, it was, of course, necessary to invite the principal consti- 
 tuents of the county, unfortunately, many of the principal con- 
 stituents of the county had nice pretty daughters, or sisters, or 
 wives. How then was Lady Anne to reconcile attention to her 
 guest's interest with her maternal anxiety for her daughters] 
 
 " I am sadly puzzled, Maria," said she: "I must ask the men; 
 and yet it don't always suit me to ask the women — I can't ask 
 the men without the women, I am afraid]" 
 
 " Oh yes, you can — whenever there are pretty girls you don't 
 choose to ask, tell them you have no beds to offer, they will un- 
 derstand that perfectly — every body knows it is easy to make up 
 a barrack room for the men — one can stow them any where, but 
 that one can't dispose so unceremoniously of ladies; at any rate, 
 one couldn't ask whole families in the lump, that way — one must 
 make some selection when one has half a county to be civil to, 
 and that being the case, you can easily manage to pick out the 
 ugly or vulgar girl of a house — the compliment is equally felt by 
 the family; the pretty sisters will be disappointed, to be sure, 
 but the father and mother as well as herself, will be charmed 
 with your kindness." 
 
 " Very true," replied Lady Anne — "and we must ask the Ca^ 
 tholic Bishop and O'Reilly, to dinner, to give Warringdon the 
 better opportunity for conciliating them — they have no women, 
 thank God." 
 
 " Don't forget the Colonel and field officers, and a few Cap- 
 tains or so, of the regiment — we want the band — and military 
 men always set off a party so much," observed Maria, 
 
CANVASSING. lOl 
 
 '"Remember,-' said Lady Anne, "that we write to Kitty Mc 
 Alpine." 
 
 " Oh, by all means, she possesses, in perfection, the requisites 
 tor admittance; her brother in petticoats ; ugly enouorh in all con- 
 science," laughed Maria. 
 
 " We may ask all the lady Pembertons, I think, Maria." 
 
 " Oh yes, all — it would take one a century to decide which 
 was the least hideous." 
 
 " What shall we do about the Rvans? the girls are both ex- 
 ceedingly pretty." 
 
 "Yes, but they are also exceedingly vulgar,"— answered 
 Maria. 
 
 " Ah, very well, I forgot that. Now, about Eliza Fitzgerald. 
 1 am sadly annoyed. I can't possibly avoid having a bed for her. 
 Mr. Fitzgerald, member for the county, and friend and colleague 
 of your father; and yet she is a beautiful, accomplished, elegant- 
 minded votTng woman." 
 
 " Yes, but she isn't fashionable— knows none of the people 
 whom every body who is somebody knows." 
 
 "Her figure, my dear Maria, is splendid— there she has deci- 
 dedly the advantage over Isabel— in other points, the attractions 
 are balanced ; her features are more regular, but the expression 
 less engaging, than Isabel's ; but her person— I repeat, impossi- 
 ble not to be struck by her." 
 
 "Granted," replied Maria, "but she's deep blue indigo. Do 
 you imagine that all the beauty, accomplishments, and majesty 
 on earth would atone in Warringdon's opinion, or, indeed, ili 
 that of any man, for the high crime and misdemeanor of readino- 
 Greek, and what is worse, talking of it? by the way, you appea'r 
 to me to give yourself an immensity of needless trouble, picking 
 out ugly girls for him— he would no more marrv one of these 
 pretty nobodies than lie would fly." 
 
 " You don't call Miss Fitzgerald a nobody, my dear Maria." 
 " I don't call her a nobody positively, but relatively she is— 
 nobody in town knows her— so she will be noboJy to our Vis- 
 count. Besides, you ought to know by this time that it isn't quite 
 so easy a matter to make young men fall in love with everv 
 pretty girl they see.'"'^ 
 
 " 1 am not afraid of his falling in love with her— but I am 
 alarmed lest his admiration be diverted from Isabel by seein^r 
 beauty of another kind— the great thing is never to suffer a man 
 to see what is capable of dividing his attention. Let Warring- 
 don find Isabel superior to all around her, and he will fancy her 
 superior to all he ever saw before. I see I'm making way with 
 him, and to lose him now, after all the trouble I have been at. 
 
 9* 
 
102 CANVASSING. 
 
 would be really dreadful, you are sure I need have no apprehen- 
 sions about Eliza Fitzgerald ?" 
 
 " None upon earth," replied Maria, 
 
 Lady Anne still pondered. 
 
 " Well," said Maria, laughing, " not convinced yef!" 
 
 *' Oh yes, I am easy now ; that is, about Isabel." 
 
 " What are you uneasy about, then ?" 
 
 " I was thinking of you, my love." 
 
 " Of me ! what about me ]" 
 
 " Why, I was thinking," replied Lady Anne, " whether it were 
 possible she could do you any harm, by interfering with Bar- 
 ham." 
 -' Maria again laughed — 
 
 " La, mamma, what a bugbear you make to yourself of Eliza 
 Fitzgerald ! the idea of her interfering with poor Barham — she, 
 up in the clouds, hunting sublimity, and lie in the kitchen, look- 
 ing for fun ! Why, she will talk to him about an epic poem, and 
 lie will ask her for a droll story, and then they will fly off at a 
 tangent." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Lady Anne ; " my mind is now quite at 
 ease: by the way, I think Barham begins to like you." 
 
 " Not he ! he doesn't care a pin about me." — 
 
 " He is always running after you, I know." 
 
 " Yes," replied Maria, " as he does after father John, to be 
 made laugh." 
 
 " He must be a sad bore to you, my dear Maria." 
 
 " Yes, I find this courting of mine tant soil pen ennuyant^ but 
 it can't be helped." 
 
 Invitations were despatched all over the county, and great was 
 the commotion excited, and various were the reports circulated 
 as to the precise motive whereon was founded the giving of this 
 said ball. Some said it was an electioneering party — others said 
 it was a marriage party — and a third group insisted that it was 
 to unite both: that is, as a compliment to Lord Warringdon the 
 candidate, and Mr. McAlpine tlie son-in-law, at one and the same 
 time. Vehicles, of all descriptions, were put in requisition, from 
 the carriage-and-four down to the jaunting car; nay, some did 
 not disdain even a common peasant's "car," for once in a way, 
 to convey their daughters to a ball at "the Castle," and to a rich 
 young wifeless English lord ; for the fact of his celibacy had 
 spread like wild fire tiirough the country. 
 
 "You must all put into the lottery, young ladies. Lord War- 
 ringdon is not married yet," said Lady Anne, either vivd voce, or 
 by means of a pretty little billet, to all her prime favourites: to 
 wit, all the cross-eyed, red-haired, brogueaneering young ladies 
 
CANVASSING. 108 
 
 of her acquaintance — so, not a girl among" them but rose the 
 morning of the eventful day a viscountess in anticipation. 
 
 And upon the said morning, Lady Anne sent all her gentlemen 
 out to ride, iraniediately after breakfast, in order, as she informed 
 them, to turn the house out of windows comfortably during their 
 absence. The viscount outstaid the rest of the party, and only 
 returned in time to take luncheon and dress for dinner; — as soon 
 as the last operation had been efiected, he descended to the draw- 
 ing-room, where he found a large party assembled — chiefly gen- 
 tlemen; and among the number were two whose appearance 
 struck him as being more courtly than any he had yet seen in the 
 
 county of . The elder, a dignified, intelligent-looking 
 
 man, was standing at the window, talking to Mr. Wilmot, who 
 listened to him with much deference. The younger was sitting 
 near Isabel, speaking earnestly with her, while she appeared 
 quite engrossed by his conversation; occasionally lowering her 
 eyes and blushing, as he made some observations in a seemingly 
 playful tone: and Lord Warringdon remarked that the blush was 
 accompanied by a smile, and that the eyes were withdrawn only 
 for a second or two, and then raised up again to those of her com- 
 panion. And his lordship also observed that the eyes last alluded 
 to were superb dark ones ; and that their owner had brilliant 
 teeth, and a very fine expression of countenance into the bar- 
 gain. 
 
 " Devilish good looking fellow," he muttered ; " perhaps this 
 is the man she likes, and not me. If he be a lover (and what 
 other liaison can there be between such a handsome man and such 
 a pretty girl,) he is certainly an accepted one ; his manner is sa 
 gay and secure, — hers so easy and confidential ; — that of both so 
 good-humoured and friendly, nay, affectionate:" and, as he cogi- 
 tated thus, he bit his lips, and knit his brows, settling in his own 
 mind that the elder gentleman was father to the younger. 
 
 Lord Warringdon had studied, unobserved by them, the two 
 groups we have noticed; in fact, his entrance into the room was 
 not observed, until Lady Anne's keen eye discovered him, and 
 drew her husband's attention to his noble guest. 
 
 " My love, you forget that this is khe first time that Lord War- 
 ringdon and the Bishop have met." 
 
 "I beg ten thousand pardons, my dear lord," said Wilmot, 
 turning round, "I was so absorbed in politics here, that I did not 
 perceive you ; allow me to introduce my particular and valued 
 friend, the Catholic Bishop of to your lordship." 
 
 ''He can't be the father, then," thought the viscount, as he 
 bowed his most gracious bow, and smiled his most insinuating^ 
 vote-asking smile. 
 
104 CANVASSING. 
 
 *' O'Reilly, where are you?" cried Mr. Wilinot. 
 
 The handsome stranger advanced. 
 
 " My lord, permit me to present to you another friend of mine, 
 —Mr. O'Reilly." 
 
 Lord Warringdon smiled and bowed, less graciously, however, 
 than on the former occasion ; and he observed that the stranger 
 looked over at Isabel, and smiled also, and that she returned his 
 smile, slightly colouring. 
 
 " If you have any friends at Rome, my lord," said Mr. Wil- 
 mot, " Mr. O'Reilly can, perhaps, give you intelligence of them; 
 he is just returned from the imperial city, laden with music, poe- 
 try, painting, cameos, and enthusiasm." 
 
 "And good-nature, I beg you will add," interrupted O'Reilly, 
 " for permitting you to laugh at me thus, without quarrelling 
 with you." 
 
 Lord Warringdon had not much leisure for indulging in specu- 
 lations concerning Mr. O'Reilly, as he Was obliged to play the 
 amiable to the " good interests " scattered in groups round the 
 room. He had to laugh and chat with those he already knew; — 
 bow and smile to, and compliment those whom he saw for the 
 first time, such as Lord and Lady Templemore, and the five 
 Lady Pembertons, Mr. and Miss Fitzgerald, and the Colonel of 
 the regiment ; " that he might not be extreme to mark what was 
 done amiss" in the rioting way, when, with heads full of whis- 
 key, and hands of shilelahs, the freeholders of the county should 
 rush to the onslaught, to decide whether Lord Warringdon or 
 Mr. Archer were the most fitting man to represent them. 
 
 At length dinner was' announced. Lord Templemore handed 
 down Lady Anne: Mr. Wilmot gave his arm to Lady Temple- 
 more, and Lord Warringdon, just as he was looking about for 
 Isabel, was requested by Lady Anne to take care of Lady Mary 
 Pemberton : Mr. Mc Alpine offered his arm to Isabel, but Lord 
 W. remarked that she affected not to see it, and, unasked, placed 
 her arm within O'Reilly's. At table the Viscount was flanked 
 on the one side by the Bishopj on the other by Lady Mary ; just 
 opposite to him was Isabel, between Mr. Mc Alpine and Mr. 
 O'Reilly : she was in her best looks, all grace and animation, 
 laughing and chatting with O'^Reilly. 
 
 " The confounded little flirt," muttered his lordship, between 
 his teeth, as he turned round to see if he could not employ his 
 time as agreeably witii his companion as she was doing with 
 hers. Of this lady he had had but an imperfect glimpse in the 
 drawing-room, so he was but ill prepared for what he now saw 
 in the full blaze of light, viz., a pale, cross-eyed, white-haired 
 girl, with a neck rivaling in length that of the far-famed giraSe: 
 of the Jardin-des-Plantes. 
 
CANVASSING. 105 
 
 " Devilishly impertinent of Lady Anne to place me near such 
 a scarecrow as this." He surveyed the table ; — there was not a 
 face, within view, worth looking at, except Isabel's ; the female 
 party, being-, in fact, almost made up of married women, only 
 three girls among them : namely, the flirting Isabel, right oppo- 
 site to him, as has been mentioned ; Lady Mary Pemberton, 
 close at his side, too ugly for him even to take wine with; and 
 Miss Fitzgerald, who, sitting at a distance, at his side of the 
 table, he could not see at all. 
 
 His lordship felt and looked much disconcerted ; and his ill- 
 humour was not a little increased by having, more than once, 
 detected a scrutmizing glance of O'Reilly's provokingly fine 
 eyes directed at himself; after each of which critical regards, 
 Mr. O'Reilly would turn and say something in a low voice to 
 Isabel, and Isabel would blush, and he would laugh gaily : and, 
 added to all this, his lordship's audacious, yet sportive, analyzer, 
 would again smile across the table, into his lordship's very eyes, 
 and, in a kind of triumph, as it were, insupportable to his va- 
 nity. 
 
 " Curse him and her, too !" muttered the Viscount; " the artful 
 little devil : I always heard that Irish women were the most con- 
 founded flirts upon earth, and, judging by Miss Isabel Wilmot, I 
 am certain it is a true saying : the idea of making me a pis aller, 
 — a somebody to flirt with, just to keep her hand in, when no- 
 body she liked better was here ! and to be so near caught by her 
 apparently guileless, unsophisticated character, and devoted af- 
 fection ! It was God's mercy, I did not, in a moment of weak- 
 ness, make some foolish speech I could afterwards have cut my 
 tongue out for having made ; she is telling him a pack of lies, 
 this moment, I dare say, about my admiration of her ; and making 
 prodigious sport with him, for having continued constant; but 
 I'll spoil her game, that she may depend on : I'll not ask her to 
 dance, even, I am determined : confound her, again I I never saw 
 such a piece of deceit in all my life." 
 
 The Catholic Bishop had to repeat an observation twice to this 
 candidate for one of the most Catholic counties in Ireland, so 
 completely was the politician absorbed in the man. 
 
 He, the dangerous Warringdon ! for whose attentions the love- 
 liest and most fashionable were contending, to be placed by a 
 gawky fright nobody knew, and the beauty of the company sit- 
 ting opposite, her whole heart, tongue, and eyes engrossed by 
 another ! It was an insult not to be borne ! 
 
 " Have you secured Mr. Mc Alpine's interest, my lord?" in- 
 quired the Bishop, for the third time. 
 
 "Oh, yes; he and Lady Anne intend this; he shall marry her» 
 --but " 
 
106 CANVASSING. 
 
 " I heg your pardon, my lord," interrupted the Bishop, smiUngf, 
 " that is not an answer to my question : I was not asking- whether 
 Mr. Mc Alpine intended bestowino^ himself on Miss Wilmot, but 
 whether he intended bestowing his votes on your lordship." 
 
 "A thousand pardons, my lord, I misunderstood," returned the 
 Viscount, colouring with indignation against himself, for the un- 
 conscious and unintentional proof he had just given of the en- 
 grossment of his thoughts. "No: — I have repeatedly sounded 
 Mr. Mc Alpine, but have never yet been able to elicit any thing 
 specific in the way of a promise. Lady Anne tells me, however, 
 that he expresses himself to her favourably towards me; and 
 that he approves my line of politics; and he throws to me, him- 
 self, hints about two brothers, three brothers-in-law, and half-a- 
 dozen cousins in want of places, sinecures, if possible ! and I pro- 
 mise to storm the treasury for them ; but still, some way or other, 
 I can't bring him to the point." 
 
 "No; I dare say not," returned the Bishop; "Mr. Mc Alpine 
 is a sad, slippery gentleman, in canvassing the county, I am 
 sorry to tell you : his vanity, as well as his interest, will prevent 
 his declaring himself till the very day of the election ; for, besides 
 making better terms for his votes, he will show that, whatever 
 side he throws his interest into will kick the beam, and he will 
 have the credit, as well as profit, of being the casting voice. Mr. 
 Wilmot could tell your lordship curious stories about him; — he 
 has always had more trouble with the Mc Alpine interest than 
 the whole county put together." 
 
 " What do you say, my lord, with regard to a contest?" asked 
 liOrd Warringdon. " I was led, at first, to suppose there would 
 be none ; but, within the last week, I hear that Mr. Archer is 
 determined to stand; for that he has married an English wife, 
 and no longer wants the sinews of war." 
 
 " That is all true," observed the Bishop ; " but money cannot, in 
 this county, supply the want of interest : we take an equivalent 
 for our votes, indeed, but we don't exactly sell them for hard 
 cash. Now, Mr. Archer stands almost exclusively, as you are, 
 of course, aware, on the Orange interest ; an interest you also 
 know, which, in this county, is in the ratio of one to a hundred. 
 I understand he has been coaxing Mr. Mc Alpine, but has not, as 
 yet, obtained a promise of marriage, no more than your lordship; 
 and, unless backed by him, he cannot come to the poll; he has 
 not even ground to stand upon." 
 
 Here the Bishop's voice was drowned by a peal of laughter 
 from one of the side tables, at which Maria presided, and around 
 "which she had collected a band of choice spirits, composed of 
 young men who had good interests, young ladies anxious to stand 
 
. CANVASSING. 107 
 
 well with young men of good interests, and a few officers reported 
 to be sons of men of fortune. 
 
 Cries of" Capital ! Bravo ! Miss Wilmot, upon my soul, I never 
 heard a better thing ! Miss Wilmot, I give you credit for that ! 
 you are a larking girl ! you are a knowing one !" were vociferated 
 amidst shouts of laughter, to which, however, Mr. Barham did 
 not lend a note; and a gentle tittering, accompanied by exclama- 
 tions of, " How droll ! how pleasant Miss Wilmot is !" proved satis- 
 factorily to the company that Miss Wilmot's wit, though so noi- 
 sily applauded by the gentlemen, nevertheless, was not of a de- 
 scription to shock the ladies of the party. 
 
 We would fain hope that our gentle reader takes sufficient 
 interest in our fun-hunting friend, Mr. Barham, to regret his 
 absence from the laughing band, and to have felt both regret and 
 surprise at a fact so inconsistent with the above-mentioned gen- 
 tleman's usual line of conduct. Nor do we hesitate to doubt that 
 our said gentle reader is busy in conjectures as to the- why and 
 wherefore of this extraordinary circumstance. " Has the poor 
 young man met an untimely end ] tumbled over a precipice, or 
 tumbled into a bog-hole] has he fallen a victim to the typhus, 
 (cholera was not then in vogue,) or to a fit of laughter ? In a 
 word, what has become of him? something must have occurred. 
 He never surely would voluntarily have quitted the festivities of 
 Castle Wilmot; and if at Castle Wilmot, he would as surely have 
 made one at the merry side-table party." In this manner do we 
 imagine our reader to cogitate— and we feel considerable pleasure 
 in being able to relieve his mind of all anxiety concerning our 
 good-natured friend. He has been neither " clifted nor bogged," 
 neither dead of typhus fever nor of laughing. He is at Castle 
 Wilmot, although not one of the side-table party — and the only 
 reason he is not there is that he is somewhere else — to wit, 
 at the principal table, seated, by Lady Anne's arrangement, near 
 Miss Fitzgerald. "Nothing like contrast," thought her lady- 
 ship — and her ladyship thought right, " he will relish Maria's 
 funny stories more than ever after Miss Fitzgerald's aphorisma" 
 With peals of laughter ringing in his ears, this votary of fun was, 
 therefore, doomed, sore against his will, to listen to the voice of 
 wisdom from the rnby lips of the fair Eliza. Understanding from 
 Lady Anne, that Mr. Barham was a young man of fortune, fresh 
 from the university. Miss Fitzgerald, having associated, it appears, 
 very little with young gentlemen from college, imagined she 
 should have a delightful chat on classical literature with Mr. 
 Barham, and receive some learned elucidations of passages which 
 had puzzled her. 
 
 " Pray, may I ask," she said, in the sweetest of sweet brogues 
 
108 CANVASSING. 
 
 imaginable, " may I ask you, Mr. Barham, whether you considef 
 Bloomfield's edition of ^schylus a good one, or whether you 
 would recommend any other." 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure I don't know," replied Barham — "I think one edi* 
 tion is just as good as another ; I never could see any difference, 
 for my part." 
 
 " Perhaps not in the text, but with respect to the commenta- 
 ries ; you surely find some of them much clearer, fuller, and 
 more satisfactory than others 3" 
 
 " I declare I don't know whether they are or not, for I never 
 read any," he replied. 
 
 " Of course you would not require the same explanations that 
 I should, but still there are so many difficulties arising from 
 allusions to national customs, and expressions, and political 
 events, the influence of which, being confined within narrow 
 limits, although at a former time of local importance, have not 
 fallen under the notice of the historian ; — and these points 
 would be obscure to the most perfect classical scholar. — How 
 much we are indebted to the scholiasts ! but for those learned 
 men, how little of the ancient literature would have descended 
 to posterity I — Oh ! long ago, the greater part of it must have 
 been consigned to oblivion !" 
 
 " You are quite right. Miss Fitzgerald,— I wish to heaven it 
 had," cried Barham, who had heard only the last sentence of the 
 foregoing speech ; — his attention during the first part of the ha- 
 rangue having been engaged in conjecturing what funny story 
 Miss Wilmot could be telling. 
 
 " You are quite right ; I should be devilish glad, I assure you, 
 that every Greek and Latin book in the world had been lost long 
 ago, — stupid pack of trash !" — 
 
 Miss Fitzgerald opened her fine eyes in amazement. 
 •' Oh, Miss Fitzgerald, you are Irish. Will you do me a great 
 favour." 
 
 " If it is in my power," politely answered the young lady ; 
 though not now hoping, as some minutes before she had done, 
 that the favour asked would be a request to be permitted to look 
 at her Italian translation of Xenophon's defence of Socrates; 
 a morceau of which every body acquainted with the Fitzge- 
 rald family had heard ; — and as the Fitzgerald family included 
 half the county, Miss Fitzgerald thought that it included half the 
 world. 
 
 Mr. Barham might, however, entreat her to favour him with a 
 little music by and by ; — he had heard doubtless of her proficiency 
 as a pianiste. 
 
 " What is this favour, Mr. Barham 1" said she. 
 
CXNVASStKG. 109 
 
 ''^ Oh! ibat you would tell me gome droll etor'y to make mo 
 kugh, like Miss Wilmot, — will you J I ehould be so much obliged 
 to you ! They shan't have all the laughing to themselves at the 
 other table, shall they 1 — 
 
 Miss Fitzgerald was absolutely petrified, she, the best piano- 
 forte player ; the best French and Italian, and Ihe only Greek, 
 scholar in the county ; to be asked to tell funny stories, to make 
 people laugh !-^ 
 
 "I never tell funny stories, Mr. Barhani," she replied, giving 
 him a look that would have done honour to Minerva hereelf, so 
 fraught was it with wisdom and indignation. 
 
 "Oh, don't you!" he ran on. — "What a pity! — I took into 
 my head, somehow, you were quite an Irish girl ;— never having 
 been out of Ireland, as lady Anne told me; — so I made sure I 
 should liud you as funny again as Miss Wilmot." 
 
 "Now, we are told comparisv)ns are alvx-ays odious, but of all 
 comparisons those between ladies arc the most odious, — and if 
 there be such a thing as the superlative of a superlative, the com- 
 parison just made was, to the person addressed, the mostodiousof 
 the most odious. The greatest insult, in fact, that could be of- 
 fered to Eliza Fitzgerald waste compare her vi'ith Maria Wilmot, 
 whom she envied tor her popularity, though she despised the 
 means by which she had attained it; disapproving, at the same 
 time, her conduct, and resenting iier ridicule. 
 
 " What a senseless, tasteless inane young man !" thought Miss 
 Fitzgerald. 
 
 " What a stoopid girl she is, to be sure !" muttered Mr. Bar- 
 ham, as he turned from side to siuc, and loaned back in his chair, 
 in imminent danger of dislocating the dorsal vertebrse, so great 
 was his eagerness to catch a word of what was going forward at 
 the side table. The conversation between this well-matched 
 pair began to flag, and soon ceased altogether. 
 
 Shortly after, the ladies withdrew, to the infinite delight of the 
 gentlemen, and to their shame be it spoken. 
 
 For some time after, the candidate drank, and laughed, and 
 listened to stories, "capital stories;" did a:l in his power, in fact, 
 to appear a right good fellow. As soon, however, as he could do 
 go, with propriety and due attention to his reputation, iie eflpctcd 
 his escape to the drawing-room ; the bishop and Mr. O'Reilly, 
 he perceived, having previously made their retreat. 
 
 Loud peals of laughter pursued him almost to the drawing- 
 room door; but, just as he was about to enter it, sounds of a dff- 
 lerent nature met his ear, that is to say, the soft, clear notes 
 of a female voice, supported and strengthened by the mellow 
 
 10 > 
 
no CANVA9SIKG, 
 
 tones of a deep, rich tenor, raodulated into the most exquisite har- 
 mony. 
 
 " Who can these be ]" thought he. He went in, and saw 
 that the singers were Isabel Wilmot and her admirer, Mr. 
 O'Reilly. 
 
 Now, strange as it may appear, it was the first time he had 
 ever heard Isabel sing. Her mother, aware how much the im- 
 pression, in those cases depends upon surprise and effect, had al- 
 ways discovered that her daughter had a cold, or was out of voice, 
 whenever his lordship proposed music : and, by these means, she 
 accomplished two desirable objects ; first, the augmentation of 
 his curiosity ; second, a proof of ber total indifference about 
 showing off her daughter to bim. 
 
 Lord Warringdon bad a good deal of factitious feeling, of that 
 morbid excitability of temperament which would bring tears to 
 his eyes at a finely-executed air by Pasta, though he might hear, 
 unmoved, of the death of a friend ; on the present occasion, so 
 pleased and touched was he by the singers, that he momentarily 
 forgot the sins of the individuals. 
 
 "Bravo, bravo! Signora! Bravo, Signer!" he cried. 
 
 *' Ha !" exclaimed Isabel, with pleased surprise ; " 'tis you, 
 my lord ? you have left the dining-room early.' 
 
 " And should have come away much earlier, had I the least 
 idea I should have heard such music. Why did you not give me 
 a hint, Mr. O'Reilly, and bring me with you 1 I have frequently 
 petitioned Miss Isabel Wilmot to sing, but never could prevail on 
 her, however, to do so ; but if I had once got in, she could not 
 well turn me out; and then I might have had the benefit of her 
 desire to oblige you," said he, in a cold, offended tone. 
 
 "Is this a true bill, Signora Isabellal" demanded Mr. O'Reilly. 
 "Has Lord Warringdon asked you to sing, and have you been 
 churl enough to refuse]" 
 
 Here Lady Anne touched Lord Warringdon's arm: — "Just 
 look at Mc Alpine !" 
 
 " What for ?" asked his lordship, rather ill-humouredly. 
 
 " See how proud he looks, poor fellow, of Isabel's performance! 
 She always sings so well with O'Reilly." 
 
 "I dare say she does," assented the Viscount, significantly. 
 
 "Isabel, my love," said her mother, "look out another duett, 
 quick, before the crowd pours in. O'Reilly, you know, don't like 
 singing in general company :" then, lowering her voice, " sing 
 the air Mc Alpine likes so much; — he is quite delighted with 
 you this evening, I can tell you." 
 
 Lord Warringdon overheard this, and observed O'Reilly smile, 
 as he whispered to Isabel, who appeared to hesitate. 
 
CANVASSING. Ill 
 
 ** I was just ofoing to sing somethinor Lord Warringdon asked 
 rae for," she said, timidly. 
 
 " Do as I desire you, my dear," rejoined her mother, in an af- 
 fectionately peremptory tone. 
 
 Mr. Mc Alpine now placed himself in his usual position, when 
 listening to the lady of his love; that is, stretched across the in- 
 strument, staring her full in the face, and beating time out of 
 time. 
 
 " How that poor girl is persecuted !" observed O'Reilly, in a 
 commiserating tone, to Lord Warringdon, glancing at Mc Al- 
 pine. 
 
 " How do you know the lady considers it persecution "?" asked 
 the Viscount, coldly ; " unless Miss Wilmot be an exception to 
 her sex, she will not consider admiration as persecution." 
 
 "Recollect that admiration, in this case, is coupled with the 
 pretensions of a suitor," said O'Reilly. 
 
 " I dont't see how that should make the admiration less ac- 
 ceptable; — I always understood the grand object of young ladies 
 was to convert their suitors into husbands." 
 
 " Yes," replied O'Reilly, " when they don't happen to like 
 somebody else." 
 
 " And pray who may the happy man be, who is favoured by 
 Miss Isabel Wilmot's attachment 1" said the Viscount, sarcasti- 
 cally. 
 
 O'Reilly smiled- " Oh, that's a secret, my lord, I can never 
 reveal till the lady gives me permission." 
 
 Lord Warringdon repaid him with one of his searching looks. 
 
 O'Reilly hummed a few bars of an old Venetian Barcarolle, 
 
 "What a cursed puppy !" thought the noble Viscount; "and 
 the mother such a blind buzzard as not to perceive what is going 
 on between him and her coquette of a daughter." 
 
 " Isabel, my love," cried Lady Anne, " let O'Reilly hear your 
 harp once more; it used to be his favourite instrument." 
 
 Though the harp was close to the sofa upon which my lord 
 was lounging, biting his lips, he never rose to carry it towards 
 its beautiful owner, and the lady and her harp might both have 
 tumbled down, for any thing he cared, in his present mood. "A 
 more impertinent woman than that Lady Anne I never met; if 
 I was a married man, or a half-pay officer, she could not have 
 treated me with more perfect indifference, — more downright 
 disrespect, than she has done ever since I came into her house; 
 she has not even let her daughter play, or sing, for me ! upon my 
 word, not a mother duchess in England woul^ presume to treat 
 me thus !" 
 
112 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 While he was thus vvrathfully ruminating, h\a attention, spite 
 of himself, was arrested by Isabel's playing;. Her execution waa 
 not remarkable for rapidity, but her touch, was beautif«l, so full 
 and round, yet soft, clear, and bell-like. Then her style was 
 charged with sentiment and delivery, and her expression ex- 
 quisite, rendered more touching even than usual, by her an-xiety 
 to interest one in that room whom ehe perceived, for some cause 
 or other she could not divine, was displeased with her. 
 
 The appeal was not made in vain. As we have before said, 
 loord VVarringdon had a good deal of musical feeling. Ho lis- 
 tened for some time in admiration of the performance, without, 
 however, deigning to look at the performer. At length, he suf- 
 fered Ills eyes, to rest on the fair musician. 
 
 Now, Isabel Wilmot had a very pretty little f(3ot, and a singu* 
 larly beautiful hand and arm ; and the fall of her shoulders was 
 always considered peculiarly graceful ; for all these good reasons 
 her mother had selected the harp, as- her instrument; and, for the 
 same good reasons. Lord Warringdon thought, as he now gazed 
 on her, that Lady Anne had evinced much jodgment in her se- 
 lection. "A man might love such a creature as that," sa,id he to 
 himself, " if she were not such a confounded little flirt!" 
 
 Carriages were heard rolling round to the entrance, and a ge- 
 neral movement took place, vvhich disturbed the current of his 
 lordship's thoughts, or, probably, he might have ended by perfect- 
 ly reconciling himself to the fair Isabel, and have been induced, 
 even contrary to his determination, to open the ball with her. 
 
 As soon as the music struck up, Mr. Barham,and all the young 
 officers, and as many of the country gentlemen as had heads in 
 dancing condition, made their appearance in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Wilmot, such fun as I have had !" said Mr. Barhain, 
 holding his sides, ' ready to die;' "such fun! Mr, Molony has 
 just knocked me down." 
 
 •' Knocked you down ! why, how did it happen]" 
 
 " Oh, not in earnest, you know ; he was just showing me how 
 he knocked down Mr. McAlpine, one day, and he fetched me 
 such a thump on my shoulder, that I fell under the table! ah, I 
 laughed so, I thought I should have died ! so Irish !" 
 
 *^ You are not hurt then 1" observed Maria. 
 
 " No, only a little stiff, but dancing will set me to rights im- 
 mediately. Are you engaged this quadrille, Miss Wilmot 1" 
 
 Maria infofraed him that she was. 
 
 "How tiresome! well, will you introduce me to a partner, 
 then ? a funny one^ you know." 
 
 " I think," observed Maria, " that you ought to dance with Miss 
 Fitzgerald, as you sat near her at dinner. 
 
CANVASSING. 113 
 
 Barham recoiled in horror — " Oh, not if you were to give mc a 
 thousand pounds, Miss VVilmot !" 
 
 " Upon my word, 1 pity you much," Maria said, laughing' : 
 "Why, Miss Fitzgerald is the beauty, as well as the genius, of 
 the country. She reads Greek, and writes poetry, you must 
 know." 
 
 " I don't care whether she does or no," he replied, rather dog- 
 gedly — " I got enough of her at dinner, I can tell you. What do 
 you say to her talking all the time about Greek and Latin ; and 
 when I asked her for a funny story, she stared at me as if I had a 
 hundred heads ! Disagreeable girl ! I would sooner not dance 
 all night, than dance with her. What laughing you had, all of 
 you, at the other table ! How I did wish to be among you ! you 
 will not forget to tell me what it was all about to-morrow ? Oh ! 
 Miss Wilmot, make haste and introduce me to some funny girl or 
 other, for the quadrille is already beginning." 
 
 "Will you have one of the Miss O'lliggertys?" 
 ■ " Oh yes ! that's such a nice Irish name ! I'm sure I should 
 like one of them." 
 
 Maria led him up to the eldest Miss O'Higgerty ; daughter tc» 
 the well-known attorney of that name, who, together with his fa- 
 mily, were invited ostensibly to secure his services at the ap- 
 proaching election, to Lord Warringdon, but those intimately ac- 
 quainted with the Wilmots were aware that the fact of Mr. 
 O'Higgerty having some heavy untaxed bills of costs against the 
 Castle Wilmot estate had a considerable share in obtaining for 
 himself, and his four bouncing, red-cheeked daughters, admittance 
 among the "tip-top grandees "of the county. 
 
 "I don't like quadrilles and waltzes, at all," observed Mr. 
 Barham, to his partner, " but Miss Wilmot has promised to let us 
 dance jigs by and by. That will bo much pleasanter, will it 
 not?" 
 
 " Jigs !" echoed the young lady, with a look of consternation. 
 "How could Miss Wilmot think of such a thing? The idaa ! for 
 mercy's sake, who ever heard of dancing jio^s in company ?" 
 
 "A jig!" cried one — "a jig!" repeated another — and "jig! 
 jig! jig!" ran round the room, in all imaginable varieties of tone 
 and accent, expressive of amazement. 
 
 " So you should not like to dance a jig V continued Mr. Bar- 
 ham. "I wonder at that — I should have thought you just the 
 girl to enjoy it! such a regular Irish name ! and such a capital 
 brogue and all !" 
 
 The young lady answered with some little warmth — " What 
 an idaa you must have of Ireland, Mr. Rirham ! good Irish socie- 
 ty, you know, is just the same as English — no difference in life — 
 10* 
 
114 
 
 OAKVASMNG^ 
 
 I hope you dont't form so unfavourable an idaa of us as to rma' 
 gine you would see any thing in good society in Ireland different 
 from what you would see in England I" 
 
 " Well, 1 declare, I can't understand that at all," replied Mr. 
 Barham. " If I were an Irishman, I should always be trying to 
 be as Irish as possible. I would dress, and dance, and talk, and 
 walk, and eat, and drink, and live differently from every botiy 
 else in the world, so that the moment I came into a room, people 
 would say, I'm sure that gentleman must be Irish. I would just 
 go on the way they do in a play. I would be always swearing, 
 and saying funny things, and fighting duels, and running in debt, 
 and in fact, doing all sorts of out of the way things. My good- 
 ness! what's the use of being Irish, if one does just the same as 
 if one was English — so very stupid that would be!" 
 
 " I don't think gentility can ever be stupid," Miss O'Higgerty 
 replied, with a toss of her head — " at laste, according to my 
 idaas. God forbid I'd ever see the day that Irish ladies and gen- 
 tlemen would be different from other ladies and gentlemen — 
 God forbid I'd ever see them put themselves upon an aquality 
 with the peasantry of the country, and dance jigs ! There's rason 
 in every thing, Mr. Barham." 
 
 Now all this time, Mr. Barham had not been listening to a 
 single word that she was saying; his whole attention having 
 been absorbed watching Maria Wilmot and her partner, (who 
 happened to be his vis a vis,) as they talked and laughed toge- 
 ther, and he was very sinfully envying their gaiety, and puz- 
 zling his poor brains in conjecture as to what it was all about. 
 
 Lord Warringdon, much to his surprise during the evening, 
 had not observed, among the dancers, the gay admirer of his ad- 
 mired Isabel. Yet he could not have been flirting with her^ 
 for she had danced every set. What could have become of 
 him I 
 
 The Viscount strolled into the card-room, and there he found 
 Mr. O'Reilly, and Lady Anne, talking so earnestly, that he had 
 come close enough to distinguish his own name, pronounced in a 
 laughing tone, by Mr. O'Reilly, before either of them was aware 
 of his approach. 
 
 Lady Anne rose. " Can you tell me, my lord, whom Isabel is 
 dancing withl" 
 
 " I really did not happen to observe," he carelessly replied. 
 
 For once in his life, at least, the young gentleman did not tell 
 the truth. He knew perfectly well, not only who Isabel was 
 then dancing with, but had observed who had been her partners 
 throughout Uie eveniog. Neither bad he failed to remark that 
 
CANVASSING. 115 
 
 she had danced languidly. " Because," thought he, " O'Reilly 
 is not near her." 
 
 " How comes it, Mr. O'Reilly, that you are not dancing this 
 evening]" Lord VVarringdon said, as they now stood together, 
 looking on at a whist party. 
 
 " f never dance, mv lord." 
 
 "You do not like ill" 
 
 " Yes, 1 liked it, when a boy." 
 
 '^ It is not your years, however, that need prevent you now, I 
 should imagine]" said the Viscount, smiling. 
 
 " No, not exactly my years ; but it is not usual i&r men of my 
 profession, at any age to dance," 
 
 "A young barrister, I suppose," thought Lord Warringdon. 
 "I was not aware, Mr. O'Reilly, that the Irish bar was under 
 such absurd shackles of convaiances P'^ 
 
 " Nor are they, I imagine," Mr. O'Reilly replied. 
 
 " Except in proscribing waltzes and quadrilles," the Viscount 
 answered. 
 
 " You have been misinformed in that respect, my lord. Bar- 
 risters may waltz all night if they please, provided they gain 
 their client's cause in the morning; perhaps, even they have a 
 better chance of persuading twelve sober, steady men out of their 
 senses, from having the evening before succeeded in making fools 
 of a dozen or two of pretty girls." 
 
 " Why do you not try its efficacy yourself, then ]" the Viscount 
 asked. 
 
 " i would, if the causes / had to plead, my lord, were of a na- 
 ture to be assisted by talking nonsense to young ladies." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! you are a sober chancery lawyer!" 
 
 Mr. O'Reilly looked surprised. 
 
 '* I thought that your lordship was aware of my profession — I 
 am a Roman Cathalic clergyman." 
 
 " You !" Lord Warringdon exclaimed, looking in his turn 
 astonished, and not a little pleased also — "You! a Catholic 
 priest ! I never should have thought so." 
 
 " No 1 Is my appearance then so very unclerical, my lord ?" 
 Mr. O'Reilly inquired, smilingly. 
 
 " Humph ! I don't exactly know how to answer that question. 
 A man need not certainly be a worse priest for happening at the 
 same time to be a good-looking fellow; and singing as if he were 
 in the land of song ; and talking to pretty girls; but someway, if 
 I were a Catholic husband, I should rather my wife had any other 
 confessor." 
 
 O'Reilly coloured, and answered gravely — "If you were a 
 Catholic husband, my lord, you would know better, I hope, than 
 
Il6 CANVASSING. 
 
 you seem to do at present what are, and wliat are not, the quali- 
 fications to be avoided in a confessor — and wliether Catholic, or 
 Protestant, I hope you may never marry a woman you might not 
 trust with a person more dangerous than myself, if I were a mere 
 man of the world. But I should think, my lord, that you need not 
 fear any rival," he added, politely. 
 
 The Viscount bowed, and smiled — and after a short pause, re- 
 sumed the conversation. 
 
 " Do you know, that I imagined, you were the accepted lover 
 of the young lady you sat next at dinner to-day." 
 
 "Excellent! Oh, come, I shall tell her that directly," said 
 O'Reilly, laughing. " Well, certainly I must have played my 
 role of confidante to perfection, since I appeared so interested, 
 and sympathizing, as to be taken for the lover himself!" 
 
 " But who is this loverl" the Viscount inquired. 
 
 Mr. O'Reilly gave him one of those scrutinizing looks which 
 had so much provoked his lordship during the former part of the 
 day. 
 
 " Is it any body I know'?" Lord Warringdon continued. 
 
 " You may think that you know him, my lord. But, come, 
 come, you must not tamper with the secrets of the confessional, 
 you know — besides, I want to see this fair mistress of mine." 
 
 Lord Warringdon took O'Reilly's arm, and they returned to- 
 gether to the ball-room. 
 
 Isabel was making the tour of the apartments with her partner, 
 on whom, however, she appeared to bestow less than her usual at- 
 tention, whilst he, on his part, was all assiduity. Lord War- 
 rino-don remarked that Isabel frequently looked uneasily around 
 her^ as if in search of somebody, and when, at length their eyes 
 met, that hers were instantly withdrawn, and that turning to the 
 young officer, her late partner, (who was, by the way, eldest son 
 of an^English baronet, of very large fortune, in the north of Eng- 
 land,) she talked, and laughed, and did all in her power to evince 
 perfect indifference to his approach, and although she saw him 
 elbowintr his way to her, followed by O'Reilly, never conde- 
 scended to look at, or smile upon him. 
 
 "Will you dance the next quadrille with mel" the Viscount 
 said, in his softest tone, and with his sweetest smile. 
 
 "I regret that I am engaged for the whole evening, my lord," 
 she replied, with a graceful, haughty movement of her pretty 
 head, which Lord Warringdon thought quite bewitching, her 
 displeasure arising, as he saw clearly, from pique at his previous 
 inattention. 
 
 " She has spirit, I see, as well as tenderness," said the Viscount 
 to himself— and he liked her the better. He would soon have 
 
CANVASSING. 117 
 
 tired of an affection tliat could not have been piqned. He, there- 
 fore, felt, as well as looked, disappointed at Isabel's answer. 
 
 " Yon are not engaged for the whole of the evening, surely T' 
 he said in a low, gentle voice. " You must dance once at least 
 with me, or I shall think that I have had the misfortune to offend 
 you ; and that would give me real concern." 
 
 He looked so sorry, and so handsome, that it was quite impos- 
 sible for Isabel to keep up her dignity any longer. 
 
 " If you are disengaged then for the eighth quadrille, my lord, 
 I shall be very happy to dance it with you," trying to repeat 
 these words of course, as if tliey were but words of course to 
 her. 
 
 "I cannot but admire the composure with which you dispose 
 of yourself, withoHt asking my consent," said O'Reilly, with 
 mock gravity. 
 
 "Your consent!" repeated Isabel, "pray why should I ask 
 your consent ] I am not one of your flock, am I ]" 
 
 " Not one of my flock, indeed ! don't you know that I have 
 even higher authority over you than that of priest, or confessor 
 — that is to say the authority of an affianced husband 1" 
 
 " What on earth, are you talking about]" Isabel asked with 
 surprise. 
 
 " And how is it possible. Miss Isabel Wilmot, that you can 
 have the face to deny that I am yoiir lover, the secret and fa- 
 voured rival of mamma's knight of the castle] you need not 
 mind le beau viscount here — for he knows all about it — in fact, 
 he was the first to discover our attachment — so acknowledge the 
 truth at once, and I dare say he will use his influence in our be^ 
 lialf, and induce mamma to consent to our secret union] come, my 
 gentle, blushing, Isabel, speak to our friend." And he imitatecl 
 the tone and look of Mr. Mc Alpine so perfectly, that, notwith- 
 standing Isabel's embarrassment at some of the allusions in Mr. 
 O'Reilly's speech, she joined in Lord Warringdon's laugh. But 
 though somewhat confused, she was also made very happy by 
 this same speech, finding in it a clew to her lover's sudden change 
 of manner towards her. 
 
 Lady Anne joined the group. 
 
 '^ My lord, if you are not engaged this set, I wish you would 
 allow me to introduce you to a young lady." 
 
 " My dear lady Anne, what else have you been wishing, and 
 doing, all night, than inflicting young ladies upon me] and, by 
 the way, a more diabolically hideous set of young ladies I never 
 had the felicity to encounter. I really must sit this quadrille, or 
 I shall die, and, moreover, have to lay my death at your door. 
 Only think, how it \\'\\\ figure in the Morning Post — ' On the 
 
118 . CANVASSING. 
 
 25th of this month, died at Castle VVilmot, in the county of 
 
 Viscount Warringdon, eldest son of Earl Glenville, of a surfeit 
 of ugly partners.' " 
 
 "Oh, come, nonsense," Lady Anne said, laughing-, and walk- 
 ing him away. " What does it signify about the daughters' 
 looks, if you get the fathers' votes ] I think it a cheap purchase, 
 for my part." 
 
 •' You do ? I have not, then, the honour of agreeing with you. 
 But do tell me how it happens that your women are not prettier 
 in this part of Ireland ] The men, most of them, are very fine- 
 looking fellows, and have a good, dashing air about them, but the 
 women are plain and " 
 
 " Come, come, you must not be so ungallant. At any rate, 
 you shall not, this time, have to complain of the want of attrac- 
 tion in your partner, for I am going to introduce you to MissFitz* 
 gerald, the most beautiful girl in our county." 
 
 "Not while your daughter remains in it]" 
 
 " Oh, Isabel cannot be termed beautiful ; — she is an elegant, 
 interesting girl, but that is all ; whereas, Miss Fitzgerald's face 
 and figure are faultless. But, however, many agree with you in 
 preferring Isabel. Do you know I never could account for the 
 extraordinary admiration she has excited, for I really and unaf- 
 fectedly have always considered her overrated. Then, again, 
 Miss Fitzgerald has much more acquirement than Isabel, — she 
 speaks seven languages, — my daughter only knows French and 
 Italian." 
 
 " An abundance, my dear Lady Anne, for any woman to know. 
 French for the ball-room, — Italian for the boudoir. I shall bring 
 in a bill into this new parliament to make it felony, without benefit 
 of clergy, for a lady to learn more. These young ladies, of 
 seven-language power, are absolute inflictions." 
 
 " She is an admirable classical scholar, too." 
 
 "Angels and ministers of grace defend me !" the Viscount ex- 
 claimed, throwing himself into an attitude. I'll empty all these 
 veins, and shed my dear blood, drop by drop, to please or serve 
 you, but this I cannot, dare not do." 
 
 *' You ridiculous creature," interrupted Lady Anne, laughing. 
 " Come on, — oh, you must, indeed, or neither she nor her father 
 will ever forgive you." 
 
 " Necessity has no law," he said, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 He assumed, however, his most insinuating smile, when he 
 asked the favour of dancing the next quadrille with Miss Fitz- 
 gerald. 
 
 Now this young lady was, indeed, not only a profound classi- 
 cal scholar, and admirable pianoforte player, but she was also 
 
CANVASSING. 119 
 
 tn enlightened politician, and this branch of her knowledge she 
 now brought forward for the special entertainment and edifica- 
 tion of the new candidate, who, however, unfortunately happened 
 to dislike politics as much as Mr. Barham did Greek: all the 
 European governments, in succession, underwent her critical 
 examination, in the intervals of " avant deux " and " chassez 
 croisez^ 
 
 " What a handsome bore that woman is !" said the Viscount 
 to himself, as he resigned the learned Eliza to her new partner. 
 
 At length, the seven quadrilles, which stood between Isabel 
 and Lord Warringdon's, were got through, and he had just come 
 to claim her, when Lady Anne stepped up to them. 
 
 " Ob, my lord, I want to introduce you to Miss Mo Alpine." 
 
 " Impossible, my dear Lady Anne, I am already engaged.'* 
 
 " To whom, may I ask 1" 
 
 " To Miss Isabel Wilmot." 
 
 " Oh, wiiat does that signify? — Isabel can easily find another 
 partner, and she will equally give you credit, for your good in- 
 tention in her favour. You don't, I suppose, want to make a 
 conquest of her," — she added, laughing. 
 
 Lord Warringdon felt the hand on his arm slightly tremble, 
 as Lady Anne thus seemed so quietly to take for granted their 
 utter indifference to one another. liistinctively, he pressed the 
 little soft hand, as he replaced it on his arm. 
 
 "Oh really, Lady Anne, you must excuse me, this time." 
 
 "And, oh really, Lord Warringdon, I can do no such thing,' 
 she answered playfully. — " Come away, my dear Isabel, we must 
 not give this lazy candidate of ours any excuse," and she drew 
 her daughter's arm within hers, and walked her off. 
 
 "Was there ever such a provoking persecuting marplot 1" the 
 Viscount muttered, as he made his bow to Miss Mc Alpine. 
 
 The band struck up a waltz, he deposited his hideous one on 
 the first vacant seat, and looked round for Isabel — whom he dis- 
 covered at last, Mr. Mc Alpine sitting near her and Icughing, as 
 was his custom, on three chairs at once, and rolling his large un- 
 meaning eyes; and just as he was apologizing to her, for not 
 asking her to waltz, being " afraid," as he said, of " throwing 
 her down," (the usual finale of his waltzing enterprises,) and ag 
 she was smiling forgiveness, Lord Warringdon walked up to 
 them : 
 
 " You waltz, do you not 1" he asked. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Let us be off then, before la chere maman makes a reappear- 
 ance with a new fright in her hands — one would think all the hi- 
 deousness of the county had rendezvoused here to-night— come, 
 
"1^ CANVASSlN*G. 
 
 la belina, carina, JUrlina,'^ lie said, playfully putting his arm 
 round her waist. 
 
 The whole room was in admiration of the graceful movements 
 of this handsome couple, and none more so than Lady Anne her- 
 self, although, when they paused a moment to take breath, she 
 asked her daughter in a displeased tone — 
 
 " Why are you not dancing with Mr. Mc Alpine, my dearV 
 
 "Because, mamma, Mr. Mc Alpine never waltzes, you know." 
 
 *• Allans donc,^'' said the Viscount, replacing his arm. But Isa- 
 bel hesitated, for she saw that her mother was offended. 
 
 *' Why, what is the matter? are you tired]" he asked. 
 
 "No," answered Isabel, colouring. "But mamma does not 
 wish me to waltz." 
 
 "Oh, 1 beg pardon — I was not aware of your mamma's objec- 
 tion to it, or, of course, 1 should not have asked you." 
 
 Lady Anne continued to bite her lips and play with her fan. 
 Isabel sat down and turned her back on Mr. Mc Alpine, and Lord 
 Warringdon turned his on Lady Anne. 
 
 " Confound the woman !" he muttered, as he folded his arms, 
 and stretched out his legs. 
 
 " I thought you were going to waltz, my lord ]" Lady Anne 
 observed, in her sweetest and most guileless manner. 
 
 " I was, but your ladyship prevented me," he answered. 
 
 " There are plenty of valseuses in the roou), besides my daugh- 
 ter ; for instance. Miss Mc Clintock, who waltzes beautifully ; shall 
 I introduce you V 
 
 Now, Miss Mc Clintock had a pair of staring light blue eyes, by 
 p.o means to the taste of his young lordship, so he met the offer 
 rather coldly. 
 
 " I am much obliged to your ladyship, but I have changed my 
 mind, and do not intend waltzing all the evening," 
 
 "As you please, my lord," she replied, with offended dignity. 
 
 " Mr. Mc Alpine ! will you have the kindness to give your arm 
 to Isabel as far as the next room, for I am sadly afraid xtf her 
 taking cold here." 
 
 Poor Isabel was ready to cry from vexation, but how soon would 
 her tears have been converted into smiles, could she have seen 
 the glance of indignation and offended pride which the Viscount 
 darted at her mother! 
 
 During the remainder of the evening, he scarcely condescended 
 even to speak with his hostess, who, in consequence, retired to 
 rest that night, full of the most joyful, and brilliant anticipations. 
 O'Reilly had mentioned to her Lord Warringdon's amusing sup- 
 position with regard to himself, and thus the ill-humour which 
 had been observable in his manner during the former part of tlie 
 
CANVASSING. 121 
 
 cveninof, was most satisfactorily accounted for. The apathetic 
 Viscount was jealous ! the manosuvring- mother clapped her hands 
 in delight. 
 
 "He must not, however, my dear O'Reilly, be allowed to frit- 
 ter away his feelings, in the empty attentions and unmeaning 
 gallantries of a ball-room. So, I must keep my eye upon him, and 
 prevent his speaking with her this evening; nothing like thwart- 
 ing, and counter-plotting, for such a temperament as his — in order 
 to give impetus to his otherwise evanescent impressions, — So, if 
 I do not allow him to flirt with her to-night, he will rise to-mor- 
 row downright in love with her.'' 
 
 And, as our readers may have observed, to this plan she had 
 pertinaciously adhered throughout the remainder of the eve- 
 ning. 
 
 11 
 
t22 ©A^RVASSIWC^^ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Did Lord Warringdon awake, the morning after the ball, 
 "downright in love " with Isabel WihnotT 
 
 We do not choose to speak too decidedly on the subject, but 
 our belief is that some progress iias been made in causing his 
 lordship to thaw ; inasmuch as the attentions which he had ori- 
 ginally paid Isabel, merely to supplant her lover, and outwit her 
 mother, (the person he liked best to outwit, after a husband,) 
 without any ulterior object beyond the amusement of the hour, he 
 now offered from interest in herself. For the first time in his 
 life, he was sure of having inspired a genuine and spontaneous af- 
 fection, wholly unprompted by interested speculations, evidently 
 discouraged as it was by her family; and again, this attachment 
 was so delicately indicated, so dignified by reserve and womanly 
 pride, that he never could venture to presume upon his discovery 
 of its existence. 
 
 And how did Isabel awake the morning after the ball? 
 
 Why, very iiappy, and very tired — for she had passed the whole 
 night thinking of all that Warringdon had said, and all he had 
 not said, but which he very likely would have said, had not her 
 mother, either accidentally, or designedly, interfered to prevent 
 him, by never allowing them to remain a moment together. 
 
 "Oh yes!" said she, to herself, " now I am sure he loves me! 
 for what an instantaneous change took place in his manner, from 
 the time he discovered that O'Reilly was not a rival. Dear, dear 
 Warringdon! generous, disinterested Warringdon! howl love 
 you ! but I would not for worlds you knew yet how deeply 1 how 
 devotedly!" 
 
 Naturally of an affectionate disposition, and meeting no return 
 of tenderness from her own family, she had a superabundance of 
 love at her disposal, all of which she now bestowed on the hand- 
 some, fashionable, agreeable Viscount, quite sure there was in 
 the transaction a strictly honest exchange of commodities. 
 
 On the evening of that day, the usual family party, with the 
 addition of Mr. O'Reilly, were assembled in the drawing-room. 
 
CANVASSING. 123 
 
 Mr. Wilmot, and his agreeable reverence, were talking politics. 
 Maria and Mr. Barham trash. Lady Anne and Mr. Mc Alpine 
 sentiment. And Lord VVarringdon was sitting- near Isabel, 
 making love, or at least, something so a kin to it that she quite 
 spoiled a papier 7nach^ box which slie had intended for her 
 mamma. 
 
 These conversational duetts, carried on for some time, in an 
 under tone, were at length interrupted by Lady Anne. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Mc Alpine, 1 will 'take the sense of the house,' 
 ^upon this motion. Wilmot and Mr, O'Reilly, do leave off count- 
 ing votes for one mom.ent. Lord Warringdon and Mr. Barham, 
 suspend your flirtations with my daughters, if you please, and 
 give me your several opinions upon a certain knotty point, which 
 threatens to disturb the hitherto-unbroken amity that has sub- 
 sisted between Mr. Mc Alpine and myself" 
 
 All the gentlemen, except Lord Warringdon, obeyed her com- 
 mands. 
 
 " State the case, Lady Anne," Mr. O'Reilly said. 
 "Why, you must know, gentlemen, Mr. Mc Alpine has the 
 audacity to tell me that he prefers Irish, to English, women I 
 According to him, they are prettier, wiser, better, more capable 
 of loving, and more worthy of being loved ; more engaging as 
 girls, more estimable as women ^ more devoted mistresses, °and 
 more attached wives; fonder mothers, kinder friends, and — 
 Heaven knows what besides! In one word, the enumeration of 
 the points of superiority, if noted down, would reach from this to 
 Mc Alpine Castle. Now, is not this too bad] Come, Wilmot, 
 what do you say ? Which are you for, English or Irish V 
 
 " Oh ! I enter my vato (veto) against recaiving his vote at all," 
 Mr. Mc Alpine interposed ; for he will judge of English women 
 -according to his own exparience, and attribute to them generally 
 the perfections peculiar to Lady Anne Wilmot." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Mc Alpine," said Mr. Wilmot, laughing, 
 *'for saving me the trouble of making a civil speech to mv own 
 -wife." ^ 
 
 "Well, now the speech lias been made for you, pray give U3 
 your vote," said Lady Anne. 
 
 " \yhy, that happens to be rather a puzzling sort of vote ; — my 
 wife is English, and my daughters are Irish,— how can I decide 
 i)etween them ] Now I have it:— I would recommend English 
 -women to my own sons, (wishing they may be as happy as myself) 
 ^and Irish women to the sons of other people." 
 
 " Bravo, Signor Padre !" Maria exclaimed. " I like that dis^ 
 tmction passing well. Now, Mr. O'Reilly, it is your turn." 
 ■" Oh, I have nothing to say to any cxf you, English, or Irish : 
 
124 CANVASSING. 
 
 and, as my vocation is not that of gallantry, I may be allowed, 
 perhaps, to add, I am not at all sorry for it, inasmuch as I think 
 that man the happiest who thinks least about you." 
 
 "What a sacrilageous idaa !" Mr. Mc Alpine cried. 
 
 " Oh, capital ! I think you are quite right, Mr. O'Reilly. A 
 wife is such a stoopid, cross sort of thing, — always scolding, or 
 advising one ! there you must be as sober as a judge ; no fun af- 
 ter once a man is married : so I am determined to be an old 
 bachelor, — positively I ami" exclaimed Barham. 
 
 " Positively you shall not be, though," thought Lady Anne, 
 and so thought Maria. 
 
 "Well, now let us count up the votes. Mr. Mc Alpine gives 
 a plumper to the Irish; Mr. Wilmot appears inclined to split his 
 vote ; Mr. O'Reilly and Mr. Barham will have nothing to say to 
 either of us, so I aQ\ afraid the Irish have it. Oh, but J was for- 
 getting ! Lord Warringdon has not given his opinion yet. Come, 
 ray lord, which are you for, English, or Irish 1" asked Lady 
 Anne. 
 
 She was extremely happy to find that his lordship had not been 
 attending to a single syllable of the previous discussion, so that 
 she had to repeat the conversation all over again. 
 
 " Now, my lord, that I have put you in possession of this most 
 difficult case, pray let us, at once, have the benefit of your critical 
 and fastidious taste, knowledge, and experience. Recollect, that 
 you are English, and that you are this day the sole champion of 
 your country, for Mr. Barham proves a recreant knight. Now, 
 therefore. Viscount Warringdon, ' for St. George and Eng- 
 land V " 
 
 " Recollect, my lord," Maria cried, " that although you belong 
 to England, you are in Ireland ; that we are two to one here, 
 at present ; and that Isabel and I have long nails ; so your vote 
 or your eyes, my lord ; — ' high for St. Patrick and Ireland ' !" 
 
 "Was ever man placed in a more diflScult predicament? 
 Honour, patriotism, and Lady Anne, on one side ; gratitude, 
 long nails, and the Miss Wilmots on the other ! Fair ladies, 
 thus do I decide between motives and attractions so equally 
 balanced : — I am for J]nglish women generally, but Irish women 
 particularly." 
 
 " Oh, you mane you prefer English ladies to flirt with, but 
 you would be more sariously attached to an Irish woman." 
 ' " Oui, si elle te ressemblait, belle, bonne et spirituelle,^' the Vis- 
 count whispered in Isabel's ear. " Just so, Mr. Mc Alpine," he 
 said aloud. 
 
 " Now, I move, that the ladies' opinions of the relative me- 
 rits of the gentlemen of both countries, be collected ;-^we are 
 
CANVASSING. ^^5 
 
 ^ying" to know what they think of up," observed Mr. Mc Al- 
 pine. 
 
 "Let us see: Lord Warrinfji-don and Mr. Barham, are Eng- 
 lish, — Mr. Mc Alpine Irish, — two to one, so I ara for the English," 
 Maria said. 
 
 " You foriret your father and Mr. O'Reilly." 
 "No, I don't tbro-et them, mamma ; but you know they count 
 for nothing-; — the one, a married man, the other a man who never 
 will marry : — they are as if they were not." 
 
 "f cannot say that I feel extraordinarily flattered by your 
 vote, Miss Wilmot; the preference, as you admit, being merely 
 accidental ; and now, for your sister's," Lord Warringdon said, 
 turning to Isabel. " Remember," he added, " that I was for the 
 Irishwomen, so you must, in common gratitude, decide in fa- 
 vour of Englishmen. Now, ' St. George and England,' again, 
 fair Isabel." 
 
 " No, no, my lord, you gave the lovely daughters of Erin but 
 half your heart, — bnt I give them the whole of mine ; remem- 
 ber that, gentle Isabel, and be sure you decide for St. Patrick 
 and Ireland." 
 
 " Silence in the court ! do not prejudice the minds of the jury," 
 Maria exclaimed. 
 
 " I imitate the laudable exnmple of prudence and impartiality 
 set me by Lord Warringdon. So I am for the English generally, 
 but the Irish pnrticularly," said Isabel, smiling. 
 
 " Maligne que dis tu la .?" Lord Warringdon playfully whis- 
 pered. 
 
 Mr. Mc Alpine rewarded the fair speaker witli a look of unut- 
 terable tenderness; his largo white eyes rolling from side to side, 
 like a ship in a heavy gale of wind, and appearing every moment 
 upon the point of fairly tumblmg out, " body and bones," as our 
 friend, Mr. Kelly, would say. 
 
 Lady Anne thought fit, just then, to challenge the Viscount to 
 a game at chess, hoping that Mc Alpine's vanity, evidently ex- 
 cited by what be seemed to consider a decided expression of Isa- 
 bel's preference, might hurry him (if allowed the opportunity) 
 into making his proposals in form, and thus quickening the Vis- 
 count's movements. When Lord Warringdon accepted her in- 
 vitation, she placed the chess-board sufTicicntly near Mc Alpine 
 and Isabel for him to overhear whatever conversation should pass 
 between tl>em. 
 
 The players had scarcely seated themselves, when Mr. Mc 
 Alpine began thus, in a low tone, to Isabel : — 
 
 " Ye.s you are, indeed, a woman capable of appreciating an 
 irishman ! your pjcferencc evinces both sense and taste, such 
 11* 
 
126 CANVASSIMO. 
 
 as I should ever expect to find in the most charming of her 
 ■ex." 
 
 " Oh, I did not mean literally, what I said, Mr. Mc Alpine; I 
 was merely laughing with Lord Warringdon, for I really do not 
 prefer Irishmen." 
 
 "You raally do not prefer Irishmen] You are the greatest 
 little rogue in the world !" he said, archly; " as if I did not know 
 what you like better than you do yourself; at laste, better than 
 you pretend," he added, resuming his usual languishing tone. 
 " I am aware that you have too much taste and romance of sen- 
 timent, to be interested by an Irishman of the common run ; 
 swaggering fellows, ready to fight every man, and make love to 
 every woman they meet. No, my charming Isabel, my sweet 
 modest, shrinking lily of the vale! No, an Irishman of that 
 class could never be the object of a timid and delicate affection 
 such as yours !— But could not my gentle Isabel love a refined 
 and accomplished Irishman? — A man of mind, capable of under- 
 standing and appreciating the soft; tenderness of her character ; 
 one on whom she could lane for support and encouragement; 
 one whose ardour would be tempered with sensibility, and ex- 
 alted by enthusiasm; one who would repay her devoted attach- 
 ment with all the intensity of passion, ail the elegance of taste, 
 and all the romance of sentiment: one who could brathe 
 (breathe) but in the atmosphere of her presence ; one who could 
 live but on her words, and whose sunshine was her smiles. — 
 Could you not love such an Irishman as that, enchanting crature 
 of love and beauty ]" he whispered, grinning a smile of mingled 
 sentiment and archness. 
 
 "Really, Mr. Mc Alpine, I " 
 
 A look from her mother cut short Isabel's sentence, and she 
 stopped abruptly, colouring, and embarrassed. 
 
 Mr. Mc Alpine smiled with complacency on her timid attempt 
 at a disavowal of her love, and proceeded thus: — 
 
 "The man on whom you bestowed your first and virgin affec- 
 tions must never have loved before he met you — he may have 
 had passing gallantries, but none that need excite an unasy sen- 
 timent in your gentle bosom ; you must be the first woman he 
 ever raally loved; the first he ever sariously contemplflted re- 
 signing his liberty to, and committing his honour and pace of 
 mind to; he must be able to sny with truth — 
 
 " My adorable Isabel— I may have admired others, but I 
 never loved but you — from the first moment I beheld your beau- 
 teous form, my fate was saled; for you alone have raalized the 
 romantic idaas and anticipations of my impassioned character; 
 ypu are the bright, soft dhrame of my soul! the crature of my 
 
CANVASSING. 127 
 
 imagination ; the object of my first, and most passionate aspira- 
 tions! — Yes! you are, indeed, worthy of being the inspiration of 
 poetic fancy; the chosen of a man of mind. Yet, rich as you are 
 in youth, beauty, accomplishments, elegance, refinement, taste, 
 and mind; of gentle birth, and polished manners, surrounded, in 
 a word by fascinations of every description, I should, however, 
 have escaped the thrawldom of your varied and potent charms, if I 
 had not had rason to believe myself the object of an attachment 
 as enthusiastic on your part as upon mine. 
 
 "And what man has the right to spake thus, my own fair Isa- 
 bel ? Is it not Mc Alpine ! your adoring, and let me hope, 
 not wn-adored Mc Alpine ? — Oh, for the bliss of hearing from your 
 own soft lips this rapturous confirmation of my hopes ! — Ah, do 
 let my longing ears drink in the blushing and modest reluctant 
 avowal of your pure and gentle tenderness ! — spake, my soft 
 charmer, though it be but a word, one little yes, — to the man 
 who adores you — or a glance will suffice, for I have long been 
 acquainted with the soft language of your bright eyes."" 
 
 Each time, that unfortunate Isabel had parted her pretty cherry 
 lips, to convey a decided negative to Mr. Mc Alpine's hopes, she 
 caught a frowning expression on her mother's brow, which had 
 enforced her silence ; and under this martyrdom of her patience 
 and feeling: 
 
 "You know," continued Mr. Mc Alpine, with a tone and look 
 of melting tenderness. " You know what interpretation, gentle- 
 men, on these occasions, arc allowed to put on the silence of la- 
 dies. Do you not, my gentle, timid love]" 
 
 Isabel could endure it no longer, — she bounded from her seat, 
 throwing down the poker and tongs, and trampling on the lame 
 extremities of her father, Mr. O'Reilly, and two lap dogs, in the 
 precipitation of her retreat from the voice of love. 
 
 " What a modest crature 1" tenderly soliloquized Mr. Mc Al- 
 pine. 
 
 " My dear Isabel ! do pray look before you," her mother ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 But the fair fugitive was already at the other side of the door. 
 
 " Nay, there she is out into her romantic moonshine, — I know 
 her ways." 
 
 "But how very awkward she is sometimes !" Lady Anne con- 
 tinued — "Maria! rub poor little Fido's paw, will you? — lam 
 afraid he is sadly hurt, — "tis your move, my lord." 
 
 He moved ; and moved wrong. 
 
 "Check to your King!" she cried. 
 
 He made another move, also a false one. 
 
 " Check mate !" — and Lady Anne laughed triumphantly- 
 
128 CANVASSIKG. 
 
 ** I am SO delighted to have beaten you at last ! — either I have 
 played better, or you worse, than usual." 
 
 Why had the Viscount become so suddenly absent and taciturn'? 
 Was he out of sorts, at having- been beaten at chess, or was he 
 thinking of Mr. Archer, and the election] 
 
 " Maria, I wish that you and O'Reilly would sing something," 
 said Lady Anne. 
 
 Her daughter joyfully assented, glad to be relieved for awhile 
 from the trouble of feeding Mr. Barham with good stories. 
 
 "What a pleasant girl she is!" the Leicestershire minor ob- 
 served to the young candidate. 
 "Very!" he answered, musing. 
 "Pity she is so ugly, though, is it not?" 
 " Ugly !" repeated the Viscount, with a stare of astonishment. 
 — " Why, she happens to be one of the prettiest women I have 
 ever seen." 
 
 "Indeed ! do you think so?" 
 
 " Why, v»'ho the deuce thinks otherwise," demanded his lord- 
 ship, with a warmth unusual to him. And he rchipsed into his 
 former silence and moodiness, and shortly after left the room ; 
 Mr, Barham remaining rooted to the spot, lost in wonderment at 
 Maria Wil mot's being considered by Lord Warringdon as one of 
 the prettiest women he had ever seen. 
 
 " Well ! I am sure I never should have thought of any one ad- 
 miring her as a beauty. Her eyes are not bad, I think — and she 
 has good white teeth, — but then her skin is horrid brown ; and 
 her mouth so very wide, the widest I ever saw, except Mr. Mc 
 Alpine's. — Perhaps 'tis her figure that he admires, some people 
 like large women, but then she is so very stout and short : howe- 
 ver, he must be right, I suppose ; for I know that he is reckoned a 
 better judge of a horse than any man at Melton." 
 
 While thus cogitating^ he had placed himself opposite Maria, 
 and remained staring vacantly into her face, during the whole of 
 the time she was singing. 
 
 " What on earth can the fool of a boy be thinking of, I won- 
 der !" said to herself the object of his not very flattering rumina- 
 tions, as she caught his fixed gaze. "A silver penny for your 
 thoughts, Mr. Barham!" 
 
 "My thoughts!" he repeated, hesitating and looking more 
 silly even than usual. — " I was not thinkiu:^- of any thing parti- 
 cular, — I was only just thinking of you and" 
 
 " Much obliged to ye, sir," she interrupted, crossing her handd 
 before her, and dropping a country girl sort of courtesy, " thankee, 
 fiir, for your compliment — Thinking of nothing particular, only 
 i)fraer' 
 
Canvassing. 12ft 
 
 "Oh, you will kill me, if you make me laugh so, MissWilmot, 
 you do make such fun of one. Well, 1 will tell you really what 
 I was thinking-. I was thinking how well you were looking this 
 evening, — so handsome !" I may as well say so, he thought, as 
 Lord VVarringdon says that she docs. 
 
 " Poor, foolish boy! I suppose he is tipsy," Maria muttered. 
 Why, my dear creature, what is come over you this evening'? 
 you are grown quite civil." 
 
 " But am I not always civil to you. Miss Wilmotl I am sure 
 I intend to be so to you, and every body !" 
 
 " There again ! — me, and every body, bless the dear man! — 
 His compliments are like Penelope's weaving, for he unsays the 
 last moment what he said the moment before, — so you don't care 
 more for me than you do for any one else in the house !" 
 
 " Oh, indeed I do. Miss Wilmot, I like you better, a great deal 
 better, than any of them, I like you more than any body I ever 
 knew, except Father John, what a pity it is that priests cannot 
 marry ! he and you would be such a nice match ! only he is a 
 little too old for you." 
 
 " Oh, not at all, if there were no other difficulty than Father 
 John's age, it would be all very well ; I would much sooner mar- 
 ry a man old enough to be my father, than I would a person 
 younger than myself^ — I could not bear the idea of that!" 
 
 " You are quite right. Miss Wilmot, — I wish that every body 
 thought as you do. — There is Ellen Turner, she was full as old 
 as you, and she wanted greatly to marry me, you know, and a 
 great many other girls too; so you see every body has not such 
 sense as you have, and as for fun, there is nobody like you ; — at 
 your ball there was not any girl so droll as you ; do you know I 
 was rather disappointed at that night, — first, and foremost, Fa- 
 ther John was not there, then no one would dance a jig with me, 
 they were all stitf, and stuck up, like English girls, only they 
 spoke w'ith a brogue, I am sure I never should have taken them 
 to be Irish. Oh, but Miss Wilmot, I had nearly forgotten, you 
 have not told me what you were all laughing at the other day at 
 dinner!" 
 
 " I wish to heaven I was once married to him, that I might 
 not be worried in this way, to amuse him." 
 
 She laughed, however, and looked the picture of good hu- 
 mour, while she prepared to gratify her persecuting compa- 
 nion. 
 
 And now, we will leave her relating her funniest story, and 
 he laughing his noisiest laugh, and see what has become of the 
 other couple of lovers; first, however, giving a passing glance at 
 
130 CANVASSING. 
 
 Lady Anne, and Mr. Mc Alpine, who are engaged in a low and 
 -earnest conversation; he telling her of the mutual tenderness 
 which subsists between her daughter and himself; and she lis- 
 tening, with all the smiling attention of a mother, whose favourite 
 project has been attained. 
 
CANVASSING. 13t 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Isabel did not, indeed, as Ijcr mother had conjectured, content 
 herself with flying merely from the room which contained Mr. 
 Mc Alpine, but also from the roof which covered him ; in truth, 
 she never stopped to take breath till she had reached a spot in 
 the grounds, of late her favourite haunt, because it had been ad- 
 mired by Lord Warringdon, — and where she had often saun- 
 tered with him — a pretty little walk, (just affording room for 
 two,) in a shrubbery, through which ran a clear, rapid, winding 
 stream. She sunk, feverish and tired, upon a bank, and sat for 
 some time, looking up at the moon, and down on the water, as if 
 she had come out for no other purpose than to pay them a visit; 
 at length, however, she aroused from her inaction, and began 
 pacing up and down the narrow path, and talking to herself. 
 
 " Yes; my hour is come. Warringdon loves me, I am sure — 
 but is he sutficiently his own master to be able to follow his in- 
 clinations] — and if he be not, what is to become of mc] — for 
 now, that Mc Alpine has actually proposed, my mother will be- 
 gin her system of quiet persecution. Oh, do I not know herl 
 Though she is aware full well that my wedding this man will be 
 a step to my burial, she will have no pity on me — no remorse — 
 but will smilingly doom me to that most appalling of all horrible 
 fates, companionship for life with a man my very soul sickens 
 at! And then, to love another, oh that cruel aggravation ! from 
 my heart T wish," she said, clasping her hands in agony, " I had* 
 never seen Warringdon's face !" 
 
 " Why]" asked Warringdon, close at her ear. 
 
 She screamed faintly at beholding near her the very face she 
 had just been wishing never to have seen, — and 
 
 "My lord," she said, drawing up her graceful figure, "you 
 have acted unwarrantably in thus intruding upon me," and was 
 in the act of moving away, when stopped by Lord Warringdon. 
 
 " No, no," he said, taking her hand, " you must not go till you 
 have answered my question. Why do you wish that you had 
 never seen me]" 
 
 "Oh that I was dead!" she cried, bursting into a passion of 
 tears, and struggling to disengage her hand. 
 
133 CANVASSING. 
 
 ""Nay, dear, gentle Isabel, you must not wish to die, but to 
 Jive — to live for me!" he said, pressing to his lips the fair hand 
 he still continuod to retain. 
 
 The young Viscount happened to be one of those people who 
 cannot bear to look upon anguish, though they may have little 
 renaorse about causing it — he could not therefore contemplate, 
 unmoved, the unostentatious sorrow of a woman who devotedly 
 loved him, and whom he in return also loved, not devotedly, to be 
 sure, but at any rate as well as he could any thing that was not 
 himself 
 
 He had come out to seek her he scarcely knew why, and had 
 found her trailing in grief on his name: is it very surprising, then, 
 if, for once in his life, he was guilty of imprudence? 
 
 Kind reader, pray imagine half an hour, or thereabouts, spent 
 in assurances of attachment, as s ncere for the moment, on the 
 Viscount's part, as on that of his fair companion. 
 
 When they returned to the drawing-room, they found Lady 
 Anne and Mr. Mc Alpine still in close chat; and Maria still talk- 
 ing, and Mr. Barham still lauiihing. 
 
 One glance at the daughter told the mother all that liad oc- 
 curred ; and her heart bounded, although her face remained calm 
 as usual. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, my lord, for bringing in that 
 naughty girl of mine. Dear child, you should not walk by moon- 
 light; 'tis very unwholesome, indeed. You will have such a cold 
 to-morrow, my sweet love ! Now, my dear girl, I must insist on 
 your going to bed immediately. Mr. Mc Alpine — may I trouble 
 you to touch the bell — I wish to know whether there be a fire in 
 her room. Maria, you look pale, my love, after your dancing 
 last night. Go to your beds, both of you, my sweet girls!" 
 
 Need we observe that Lady Anne was anxious to break up the 
 party, that she might have an opportunity of eliciting from his 
 lordship a declaration in form, before he should have had time 
 to sleep off any portion of his present vivid impressions, in the 
 same way she had just succeeded in entrapping Mr. Mc Alpine 
 into promisinsT his vote. By dismissing her daughters, she also 
 disembarrassed her.-elf of Mr. Barham, who ran after Maria, to 
 hear the sequel of her last story ; anfl of Mr. Mc Alpine, who 
 trailed after Isabel, to have " one last look of her he adored^" be- 
 fore he retired to rest. 
 
 " God bless you ! pleasant dreams !" his hostess said, giving him 
 a significant, affect onUe nod. 
 
 As soon as she ^ound herself alone with the Viscount, Mr. Wil- 
 mot and Mr. O'Reilly being too absorbed in politics to be any 
 restraint on her, she thus opened the attack : — 
 
[ 
 
 CANVASSING. 135 
 
 " Can you keep a secret, my lord 1 Mr. Mc Alpine has this 
 evening' proposed for Isabel ;" and her face beamed with maternal 
 joy and tenderness. 
 
 " Indeed ! and is he accepted V tl<3 Viscount inquired, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Surely !" she replied. 
 
 •* That is to say, accepted by your ladyship, but not by your 
 ladyship's daughter, I take it." 
 
 " Why, how do you know 1" she asked with well-feigned 
 alarm. 
 
 " Only because, to my knowledge, she has accepted somebody 
 else." 
 
 " Somebody else ! Impossible, my lord !— who could she prefer 
 to Mr. Mc Alpine r' 
 
 "A very inferior person, I certainly must allow," he replied, 
 coolly, " for the object of her preference happens to be my un- 
 worthy self." 
 
 " You, my lord ! — you must surely be jesting". I never was 
 aware that you admired my daughter, or that she was attached to 
 you — you cannot therefore bo serious." 
 
 The Viscount repeated his assertion. 
 
 " I must say then, my lord, that both you and she have placed 
 me in a very awkward situation. As for my daughter, her con- 
 duct is most shameful and disingenuous ; she has suffered me ac- 
 tually to pledge myself, to Mr. Mc Alpine ; what «wi I to say to 
 him !" and she appeared much agitated and displeased. 
 
 " Oh, say merely that you and your daughter are of different 
 opinions with respect to his merit; and that the young lady hap- 
 pens to have bad taste, and prefers me, — that's all." 
 
 " Early in our acquaintance, if I mistake not, I informed your 
 lordship how my daughter was circumstanced ; permit me to add, 
 that you have not acted towards me with the openness ray con- 
 fidence merited." 
 
 The Viscount looked at her composedly, but said nothing. 
 
 " However," she continued, "I leave my daughter free to de- 
 cide between her suitors; of course her choice concerns herself 
 more than it does me ; all I wish is that she had known her own 
 mind a little sooner, and could have spared me the pain of 
 having to undeceive Mr. Mc Alpine,"— then making as it were 
 an effort to be civil, she added, " I trust that you will not attribute 
 any portion of the regret I feel (and which I do not hesitate to 
 acknowledge,) at the failure of my favourite project, to a want of 
 personal consideration for your lordship. I am perfectly aware 
 liow many mothers would rejoice in securing so flattering a con- 
 nexion for their daughters. But, my lord, recollect that I have 
 
 12 
 
134 CANVASSING. 
 
 known Mc Alpine from boyhood up to the present moment, and 
 a more noble-minded, amiable being there never breathed ! His 
 love for Isabel is absolute idolatry ; I could, therefore, have no 
 doubt of his making' her happy. Then again, my lord, some little 
 selfishness mingled with my other feelings. I was anxious to 
 have my favourite child settled near me, that I might still watch 
 over her with a mother's care ; and should, by any possibility, 
 some slight misunderstanding occur in the young menage^ I 
 could explain and advise, and dear Mc Alpine would have lis- 
 tened to me with all the deference of a son, for he knows I love 
 him like a son of my own. Poor fellow, what a blow this will be 
 to him ! I quite dread to meet him !" 
 
 " What a long tiresome story about nothing !" said the Vis- 
 count to himself. 
 
 " Well, Lady Anne, all I can say, is that I regret to have been 
 the occasion of disturbing such glowing visions of domestic fe- 
 licity. It is certainly peculiarly unfortunate that you have not 
 been able to inspire your daughter with your enthusiasm for Mr. 
 Mc Alpine. But there is no accounting for the strange fancies 
 of young ladies, sometimes; they do not always see with their 
 mamma's eyes, and so much the worse for themselves; but, my 
 dear Lady Anne, it is twelve o'clock!— time for honest folks like 
 you and me to go to bed. — Bon soir .'" 
 
 His hostess held out her hand to him, with a smile grave, but 
 kind, just the smile in fact which a mother gives the man she 
 aecepts, but does not rejoice in, as a son-in-law. 
 
CA.NTASSIKO. 135 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mr. Mc Alpine had been all night dreaming of his Isabel, and 
 was now lying absorbed in blissful anticipations of the happy time 
 •when he and the " beloved of his soul," would go sailing about 
 the lake, opposite " the Castle," making love; when the door softly 
 opened, and Tom Landnigan, his own man, made his appearance. 
 
 "Is that you, Tom r' 
 
 *' It is sir, veritably," answered Tom. 
 
 " Is Miss Isabel up yet, Toral" 
 
 " She is, sir. I have a bit of a letter she gave me for you, 
 about half an hour ago, sir, but I was loath to disturb you, coming 
 in with it."— 
 
 *' Ah, that's the way to dale with the women — lave them to 
 themselves, and you see how soon they come running after us'. 
 The little logue is afraid now I am displeased, because I did not 
 follow her out of the room, when she made off from me last night, 
 and thinks to get round me again. My gentle crature, I never 
 could be angry with you, even for a moment," said Mr. Mc Al- 
 pine, to himself. " Tom, open the shutters and give me the let- 
 ter — and fetch me the warm water, till I dress." 
 
 Mr. Mc Alpine carried the perfumed missive of " the lady 
 whom he served," to his lips, and then broke the seal. 
 
 Instead of " my adored Peter," he was surprised to read, " mv 
 valued friend." He looked at the signature; it was Anne, not 
 Isabel Wilmot; but the similarity of hand-writing of the mother 
 and daughter had more than once produced similar mistakes. 
 He, however, read on — 
 
 "This is the seventh attempt I have made this morning to ad- 
 dress you; I have in vain sought words strong enough to depict 
 my feelings ; my affection for you, my indignation against Lord 
 Warringdon, and my surprise and deep displeasure at my daugh- 
 ter's unparalleled duplicity. 
 
 " When you first paid your addresses to her, I had reason to 
 believe her ardently, though secretly, attached to you; I, there- 
 fore, did all in my power to encourage your attentions. I find, 
 but too late, that I have misled you, that I have deceived yx>u, in 
 
136 CANVASSING. 
 
 fact, but alas! my noble, confiding youngf friend, believe me, I 
 was myself deceived, and I regrret to add, by^my own child." 
 
 " On mentioninsr to Lord Warringdon, in the joy of my heart, 
 last night, the fulfilment of my long cherished hope, namely, the 
 union between you and the dearest of ail my children, he ac- 
 quainted me that my daughter had been for some time engaged 
 to himself; her reluctance, therefore, to answer you a short tmie 
 before, which we both naturally attributed to mere girlish non- 
 sense and timidity, was, it now appears, occasioned by a con- 
 sciousness of her unworthy double-dealing conduct by you and 
 myself 
 
 "I have passed a miserable night, and am totally unable this 
 morning to meet you ; overpowered as I am by shame and wretch- 
 edness. 
 
 "Though I may not call you son, continue to regard me as 
 your friend. Allow me to hope that we may yet meet as here- 
 tofore, when the present painful impression on our minds shall 
 have worn away. Mean while, my amiable, excellent young 
 friend, accept my fervent prayers for your happiness, and, above 
 all, for your wedded happiness with a woman more worthy your 
 generous and romantic feelings, than, I grieve to say, my mis- 
 judging and ungrateful daughter has proved herself to be. 
 
 Ever believe me, 
 ' Sincerely and aifectionately yours, 
 
 Anns VviLM<yr." 
 
 If the fair writer of the epistle found herself, as she states, to- 
 tally unable to " depict " her own feelings, we may be pardoned 
 if we confess ourselves equally at a loss to describe those of the 
 reader of it. He laid down the letter, and he took it up again ; 
 he rubbed hi* eyes, and he twisted his night-cap from side to side, 
 as he tried to ascertain whether he was sleeping or waking. He, 
 the tender, reficed, romantic, intellectual, impassioned, capti- 
 vating Peter Mc Alpine, rejected I and a paltry, titled man of fa- 
 shion preferred! His astonishment and indignation knew no 
 bounds. At first, he intended leaving Castle Wilmot before 
 breakfast, and not again meeting the undeserving and ungrate- 
 ful object of his late adoration ; but a few moments' consideration 
 convinced him that a rido of seventeen miles, Irish ones, more* 
 over, fasting, would be an exploit equally disagreeable and unne- 
 cessary, seeing there was no reason that because he happened to 
 be a rejected lover, he should also be ,a starved man — so he de- 
 cided (wisely as we think,) not only on eating his breakfast, pre- 
 vious to his departure, but even of making as good a one as ever 
 he had done in all his life before, whether in or out of love. 
 
\ 
 
 CANVASSING. 137" 
 
 "After all," he soliloquized as he descended the stiir-casc, 
 "'tis worse for her than for me, a great dale. I have ten thou- 
 sand a year in actual possession. Warringdon's father may live 
 to make an old man of him, and, main time, he will often be hard 
 run for money ; and as for the men themselves, I flatter myself-^" 
 and he grinned with much self-complacency, " no one but her- 
 self would make the comparison." 
 
 He found all the party, with the exception of Lady Anne, and 
 Mr. O'Reilly assembled. Lord Warringdon and Isabel chatting 
 at the window; she looking very pretty, and he, very, very gal- 
 lant. Maria, as usual, " killing" Mr. Barham. 
 
 Mr. Wilmot and his eldest daughter advanced, and shook 
 hands with their guest — and Lord Warringdon and Isabel 
 bowed. 
 
 " Where is Lady Anne and Mr. O'Reilly 1" he inquired, in hia 
 usual tone. 
 
 " Mamma is very unwell, indeed," replied Maria ; " so much 
 €0 that she has ordered her breakfast up to her room : and Mr. 
 O'Reilly was sent for express, very early this morning, by one 
 of his parishioners." 
 
 " How funny Mr. Mc Alpine must feel !" Barham observed, 
 in a whisper, to Maria, who had just been imparting to Ijim tlie 
 •domestic intelligence of the day. " If I asked somebody to mar- 
 ry me, and she would not have me, I should feel so odd, should 
 not youl but 1 never intend marrying, — don't you think that I am 
 right. Miss Wilmot?" 
 
 Maria assured him that she highly approved his determination. 
 
 "lam very glad your sister is going to make such a good 
 match ! but I wish he had chosen you instead of her :— should you 
 like to be married, Miss Wilmot 1" 
 
 " No!" replied Maria. 
 
 " Oh, but 1 wish you were, though; — yo« would keep such a 
 nice, pleasant house ! would you not ask me to it, for the sake of 
 ^Id times, and all the laughing we have had together 1" 
 
 "Oh, whenever I marry, I intend that you shall consider my 
 house as your hon>e, Mr. Barham !" 
 
 " I am sure I am greatly obliged to you. Miss Wilmot. I 
 should so like to be at your house! Now, will you promise fne 
 one thing] wherever you are married, will you ask me to your 
 wedding? I would come any distance to it." 
 
 "I promise you," replied Maria, holding out her hand to him, 
 ■*' that as sure as I shall be at my own wedding, so sure shall 
 you !" 
 
 " Oh ! thank you, thank you, Miss Wilmot ! I hope it will be 
 .«)on." 
 
 12* 
 
133 CANVASSING^ 
 
 ♦' So do I, from the bottom of my heart !^ said Matia to her- 
 self. 
 
 " What a lot of ham, and chicken, and thing-g, Mr. Mc Alpine 
 is eating," Barham Continued ; " I never should take him for a 
 rejected lover, should youl" 
 
 "Have you any commands, ladies and gentlemen, for Mount 
 Pleasant V Mr. Mc Alpine inquired : "I shall start from here in 
 an hour's time." 
 
 " Oh, you must not go so soon, Mc Alpine ; stay with us a little 
 longer," Mr. Wilmot insisted, good-naturedly. 
 
 " Thank you, I raally cannot. Lord Templemore has been, 
 for some time, e.xtramely pressing with me to go and see him, 
 and I promised him faithfully I would, when I saw him here the 
 other day : what a pleasant, good-humoured man he is ! and his 
 daughters I like of all things, particularly Lady Mary ; I danced 
 with her at your ball, and I was raally extremely interested in 
 her conversation ; though not strictly handsome, she is a very 
 stylish-looking girl, and has a great dale of mind ;" and he glanced 
 over at Isabel, as much as to say, " you see I don't intend wearing 
 the willow for you." 
 
 Lord Templemore had, in fact, for some time, been supposed 
 very desirous of bestowing one of his five frightful daughters on 
 his friend, Mr. Mc Alpine. Hitherto, however, the good Earl's 
 generous intentions had been frustrated by Mr. Mc Alpine's 
 own opposition to the scheme ; but now, thanks to Miss Isabel 
 Wilmot's blindness, that obstacle was removed ; and Mr. Mc Al- 
 pine gallopped from the hall-door of Castle Wilmot with the in- 
 tention of raising one of Lady Pemberton's to the enviable station 
 of wife to a " man of mind." 
 
 And now that the stimulus afforded by Mc Alpine's preten- 
 sions no longer existed, Lady Anne began to apprehend that 
 the Viscount's passion might cool ; she, therefore, decided on 
 leaving Castle Wilmot, and removing to the assize town, where 
 the candidate would have so much electioneering business on 
 hand, as to leave him no leisure for repentance or ennui. It 
 was, therefore settled, that Lord Warringdon, Mr. Barham, the 
 Miss Wilmote, and their mamma, were to setoff immediately, 
 leaving Mr. Wilmot ostensibly to send down the freeholders, 
 but we have reason to think that the motive assigned was not 
 the real one ; and we believe that the father of the Miss Wil- 
 mots was just as anxious to keep out of sight of the High 
 Sheriff as the young ladies were to keep within that of their two 
 English guesta 
 
CANVASSING. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 On the evening previous to the day appointed for the opening 
 of the poll, a small group of gentlemen stood at one of the win- 
 dows of Lord Warringdon's committee-room, looking out on 
 the laughing, shouting good-humoured crowd, assembled in the 
 street below, 
 
 "There is not a man of Archer's in town yet," said Malony, 
 one of Lord Warringdon's committee, to another gentleman 
 of his party ; " he will never come to the poll, — you will 
 see." 
 
 *'0h, I hope he will, thought," interrupted Mr. Barham, who 
 was leaning half out of the window, contemplating this noisy 
 scene with infinite glee; " or else I shall lose all the sport, and I 
 may never happen to see another Irish election. What capital 
 fun it must be, to be sure !" 
 
 " Ay, faith it is, capital fun, indeed !" observed Mr. Malony. 
 "What do you say, my lord," he continued, addressing the 
 Viscount, " to my having carried a dozen messages, on one 
 election, for Mr. Wilmot, and sending six on my own account 1 
 He fought five of his, but all mine apologized, — the black- 
 guards 1" 
 
 " Oh, what famous fun it must be ! I hope in goodness there 
 will be a contest, Mr. Malony, don't you V^ 
 
 " Why, to say the truth, for my own share, I would desire no- 
 thing better, but, of course, on Lord Warringdon's account, I 
 Avish there may not be one." 
 
 " Oh, what harm would it do him !" Barham asked. 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, do you know the expense of a contest- 
 ed election)" 
 
 " Pshaw ! what is the use of money, but to amuse oneself? I 
 
140 CANVASSING. 
 
 am sure I would rather spend it on fun than on any thing else in 
 the world." 
 
 "Well, what do you say now, O'Reilly]" Mr. Malony demand- 
 ed, triumphantly,— "do you still hold out that there will be a 
 contest r' 
 
 "Yes, for Archer's friends speak as resolutely as ever." 
 
 " Pooh ! they may bluster, but, take my word for it, they 
 will never come to the poll. Hav'n't we all the great in- 
 terests of the county ] and which have theyl not even Me Al- 
 pine's." 
 
 "Don't be too sure of him, I advise you ; Archer has been for 
 the last week at Mount Pleasant, tampering, you will find, with 
 Lord Templemore, and talking over Mc Alpine." 
 
 " Talking over the devil, man !" exclaimed Malony, impa- 
 tiently, — " how can he go in the teeth of his promise ]— did he 
 not tell Lady Anne and Mr. Wilmot, his and their interest should 
 go together ]" 
 
 " And would this be the first time of his saying one thing 
 and doing another T Don't you know he is an eel, that can 
 wriggle himself out of the closest tied and most elaborately 
 eonstmcted knot^ ever devised by the ingenuity of manl — 
 more particularly on this occasion, that he has wounded feelings 
 to talk about." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha! — the deuce mend him! Isabel Wilmot served 
 him right, cursed, prosing fool ! but no matter for that, he pro- 
 mised, and there's an end of it; — he can't— he dare not — go 
 back at it. If he owes you a grudge^^" Mr. Malony continued, turn- 
 ing to Lord Warringdon, " in the name of heaven, why does he 
 not call you out, and shoot you at once ; — that would be a hand- 
 gome, gentlemanlike way of settling the business. But, curse it ! 
 to break one's promise to a man, because he and you happened to 
 like the same girl, and she chose you rather than him, — that 
 would be confounded shabby ! — I tell you what, my lord, if I had 
 teen in his place, I would have shot you as dead as a door nail ; 
 but I would have voted for you all the same, because I pro- 
 mised." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! bravo, paddy ! shoot him first, and vote for him af- 
 terwards ! Oh, what a capital ball !" shouted Barham, clapping 
 Malony on the back. 
 
 "I did not say so, man," Malony replied, rather sulkily. 
 
 " Oh you did ! you positively did ! ' I'd have shot you as dead 
 «s a door nail, but I would have voted for you all the same,' — those 
 were your very words; oh, 'tis a regular bull!" and Barham 
 cubbed his hands, with delight. 
 
 -** It is Ro bull at all, I tell you," insisted Mc. Malony, " Pray, 
 
CANVASSING. 14l 
 
 why might I not shoot him, and vote for liim, at the same timel — 
 vote for him first, of course, and shoot him afterwards. You 
 should not take a man up till he is down, my good fellow." 
 
 " Oh, but you were down I the way you say it now is not the 
 way you said it at first, — no, no ! that's no go. It was a regular 
 bull ! so there's no use in denying it. I hope I sha'n't forget to 
 tell it to Miss VVilmot, — what fun we shall have !" 
 
 " Take a friend's advice, and make fun of something else," 
 said Mr. Malony, slowly and emphatically. 
 
 " I don't see why I may not laugh at you, as well as any body 
 else, Mr. Malony ?" 
 
 " You must not, if! bid you not." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I shall, though," Barham insisted, with boyish obsti- 
 nacy. 
 
 " I tell you once more, that I advise you not," said Mr. Malo- 
 -iiy, looking very dark. 
 
 " Suppose I don't choose to take your advice, what then 1" que- 
 ried Barham. 
 
 " Why then I will show an English ass what he gets by med- 
 dling with an Irish bull !" and the tall and formidable Mr. Malony 
 squared his broad shoulders, and scowled from beneath his heavy 
 beetle brows, at the simple wilful boy. 
 
 "An English ass!" cried Barham, his smooth, almost childish, 
 fixce rppayingr, ns wpH •''° '^ "^yp ?M**i the menacing looks of hiS 
 antagonist : " how dare you call me ap English assf'' and his hand 
 was raised to suit the action to the words, when his arm was ar- 
 rested by Mr. O'Reilly. 
 
 "Nonsense, Barham, he did not mean it — it was only a jest." 
 
 "A jest ! no, no, — I am not quite greenhorn enough to be made 
 believe that a thing is a jest which is not one. Tiiank you, Mr. 
 O'Reilly, not quite ass enough for that ! — Let me go, I say !" and 
 Barham struggled violently, though ineffectually, in O'Reilly's 
 grasp. 
 
 "Malony," said the young priest, who, by virtue of the sanctity 
 of his profession, might venture to approach the tiger in his wrath; 
 " is it worth while to quarrel with a friend for a foolish word?— 
 any man may take a jest, — come ; say that you are sorry for the 
 expressions you made use of, and shake hands, — Malony !" 
 
 "Mr. O'Reilly, mind your own business, if you please, and don't 
 give yourself any trouble about mine," Mr. Malony replied. 
 
 " Let me go, let mc go !" Barham still continued to vociferate, 
 " I want to give him his answer." 
 
 "And what might that answer be 1" demanded Mr. Malony. 
 
 " A pitch into your face !" roared Mr. Barham. 
 
 " Now we are quits then I" replied Malony, tossing his glove 
 
 k 
 
142 CANVA.SSING. 
 
 to Barham. " Any one that wants me," he added, looking at the 
 young Englishman, " will find me at Costelloe's hotel. Good 
 morning to you, gentlemen i" and he stalked out of the room very 
 like an angry turkey-cock. 
 
 " You have done a very silly thing, Barham," said O'Reilly, 
 "to think of quarrelling with the greatest fire-eater in the coun- 
 ty, for the sake of a stupid jest ; I wish you had not said what you 
 did about the blow, and we might have ^ot you out of it, after all !' ' 
 
 "And pray how do you know, Mr. O'Reilly, that I wanted you 
 to get me out of it 7 — do you think I am afraid of him ? — no, — nor 
 wouldn't if he was twice as big and^s savage as he is. — I don't 
 care one straw about himself, or his fire-eating, I can tell him. 
 Oh, Lord Warringdon, we are both English, — will you then be 
 my friend, and take a message for me to him 1" 
 
 "Why, I should indeed be most happy to oblige you, my dear 
 Barham," replied his lordship, "but you are aware that Mr. Ma- 
 iony is one of my most zealous and efficient electioneering 
 friends ; so that I could not possibly act against him." 
 
 " Oh, very well, I must only do the best T can ;" and Barham 
 sallied forth in quest of a friend, (a friend 1) to arrange prelimi- 
 naries for getting himself shot, or making him shoot anothdr per- 
 son as soon as possible. 
 
 "I must go immediately, and have them bound over," said 
 O'Reitly. 
 
 " Do, for pity's sake '." replied the Viscount, " it would be a 
 cursed nuisance, indeed," he added, as the door closed after O'Reil* 
 ly, and he was left alone, " if this Malony should be shot ; it would 
 place me in a very ticklish position with regard to my election. 
 Confound the pair of them, they deserve to be both shot for their 
 folly !" and his lordship looked over his memorandum book, to 
 Bee how many remained on his lists, to be conciliated,-^and how, 
 A^d why^ / 
 
CANVASSING. 14S 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Did ye hear the report, Miss Maria T' asked Pat Murphy^ 
 the following morning after he had in vain fidgetted about the 
 room, in hopes of exciting her attention, or that of Lady Anne. 
 
 "No, what report, Patl" 
 
 " The one. Miss, about Mr. Barham and Mr, Malony." 
 
 "Why, what has happened to them 7" 
 
 "A terrible thing. Miss — 'twas Jim Naughtcn tould rae, an' 
 he has a good right to know, wherein, 'twas himsei' that dhruve 
 him — he couldn't think what in the world was the matther whin 
 Misther Costelloe called him out of his sleep this morning, and 
 says he to him, Jim, says he — " 
 
 " Oh, never mind, Pat," interrupted Maria, " what Mister 
 Costelloe said to Jim, only tell us at once what Jim said to 
 you." 
 
 " Sure, Miss, that's what I'm doin' — all I'm tellin' you is what 
 Jim tould me." 
 
 " * Jim,' says Misther Costelloe, ' get up this minute, an' dhrive 
 as fast as if the divil was at your heels, to the barracks, for 
 Misther Barham that's goin' to fight a duel with Mr. Molony, 
 beyant at Kilmore, at break o' day." 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Lady Anne, "Barham gone to 
 fight with Malony ! 'Tis all over with us, my dear Maria," she 
 added, in a low voice ; " and after all the trouble we have had ! 
 It is really too provoking." 
 
 " Bad enough," replied Maria, in the same tone ; " however, 
 you know all is not always lost that is in danger. Come, Pat, 
 finish your story, and as quickly as you can." 
 
 "I will. Miss." 
 
 " By the powers, then, says Jim, I'm goin' to dhrive a man I'll 
 niver dhrive agin any how, the crature, if it's wid Mr. Malony 
 he's goin' to fight, Misther Costelloe ; for he's the divil itsel' wid 
 the pistuls, the greatest fire-ater in the Province, barrin' the 
 maetber." 
 
144 CANVASSING. 
 
 "Och, Jim," says Mr. Costelloe, " who is there we'd think of 
 comparing' with Mr. Wilmot, in regard of fire-atinoc ; he's the 
 wondher of Ireland, not to talk of the Province, Jim." 
 
 " You never seen a man, mce lady, fondher of another than 
 what Mr. Costelloe is of the masther; — and good right he has, 
 troth; — isn't it the masther made him what he is? and Mrs. 
 Costelloe fondher agin, an' — " 
 
 " Oh yes, Im sure they are, Pat, as fond as possible of my 
 father, and we are greatly obliged to them, but go on, and tell us 
 what has become of Mr. Barham," interrupted Maria, rather im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " Well, Miss, Jim got up, and dhruve Mr. Barham, and his 
 second, Capt. Williams, the fine cliver-looking gentleman that 
 was up at the Castle the night of the ball, you remember. Miss? 
 an Englishman, with big whiskers. Well, Father O'Reilly 
 thought to bind 'em over, an' sint to Costelloe's to thry and catch 
 ""em ; but, faith, Misther Malony was too many for him; and he 
 hid himscl' and Misther Barham between the matthrasses of one 
 of the beds, and there they were suffocating, an' afeard o' their 
 lives they'd be nabbed, but by great good look they warn't ; not 
 but, indeed, Misther Barham a'most ruined it all by his foolish- 
 ness, laugiiin' so, you'd think the life would lave him, shakin' 
 undher the bed, an' Misther Malony fit to be tied, he was so mad 
 wid him, but not darin' to spake, for fear would the peace officers 
 hear him. Well, as soon as they wint, he made Misther Barham 
 
 fo sleep at the barracks, to be out of harum's way, an' he wint 
 imsel' to a frind of his at Kilmore, to be on the spot airly." 
 
 "Well, and how are they both now, Pat?" demanded both 
 ladies at once, taking advantage of the narrator's stopping to draw 
 his breath. 
 
 " Faith, raee Lady, badly enough. Misther Malony is kilt as 
 dead as a herring, and Misther Barham is lying, not expected to 
 live, at a small public house Father O'Reilly brought him to." 
 
 "Heavenly Powers!" exclaimed Lady Anne. 
 
 "I never believe half what I hear," observed Maria. " What 
 was the quarrel about, Pat?" 
 
 "About a lady. Miss." 
 
 "A lady !" cried Maria, "what lady?" 
 
 "Pat, order the carriage! I will see O'Reilly immediately ; 
 that is the only way of ascertaining the truth of the story." 
 
 " If he should die?" said Lady Anne. 
 
 "It would be a bad business," answered Maria. 
 
 " Deplorable, indeed!" sighed Lady Anne, 
 
 She stepped into her carriage, and drove off. 
 
CANVASSING. 179 
 
 The streets were thronged with Castle Wilmot freeholders 
 hurrahing-, and shouting- "" Warring-don forever," — Jim Naugh- 
 ten's report of the English lord's generosity, and of his being 
 in "every perticklar, the thruth of a gintleman," (in support of 
 which assertion, the compliment of the five pound note was not 
 forgotten,) had already secured him an overwhelming majority 
 of the dhrivers, butchers, grocers, and butchers' and grocers' 
 boys, waiters, ostlers, carmen, beggars, and such like gentry of 
 the town — and Jim was now flying about in all directions, wav- 
 ing his hat, and jumping over his stick, collecting his boys, and 
 exhorting them for the honour of God, and of their town, to be 
 sure and°break the head of every Archer, who should dare shew 
 himself in their free, loyal, and religious streets. _ 
 
 Here might be seen groups of gentlemen, gesticulating, and 
 thumping one another's shoulders, in their eagerness to prove, 
 for the hundredth time, a position already admitted as incontro- 
 vertible ; viz., the superior wisdom, valour, and social import- 
 ance of every individual composing the party to which they 
 belonged, and of the consequent certainty of their triumph. A 
 little further on might be observed some member of the Ro- 
 man Catholic priesthood, more quietly, but not less zealously, 
 haranguing as attentive audience on the liberal and enlightened 
 principles of the Right Honourable Viscount, who was pro- 
 claimed by them, and admitted by their listeners, to be an hon- 
 our to England, and anticipated as a blessing to Ireland. 
 
 Nor were the female part of the population indifferent specta- 
 tors of the preparations for the approaching struggle, which en- 
 grossed their husbands, fathers, lovers, brothers, or friends; 
 there they were, elbowing, scolding, and all but shooting who- 
 ever presumed to gainsay their fiat, that Lord Warringdon, and 
 none but he, should be returned for their town. 
 
 The ladies being among his most zealous advocates, — first, 
 because he was not an Orangeman ; and, secondly, because he 
 was young and handsome: — the old ones might be seen hurry- 
 ing to chapel to pray for him, while the young ones, sauntering 
 up and down the square, listening to the band, or standing look- 
 ing out at window, flirted for him ; exhorting those already 
 his friends, confirming the vacillating, and endeavouring, by 
 smiles, or poutings, to cajole, or frighten, his declared enemies, 
 — kneeling to some, almost embracing others; and how could 
 they do less for so handsome, so gallant a candidate, who had 
 given a ball at the assembly-rooms, and had danced with "every 
 girl of consequence" in the room? Besides, he had such beau- 
 tiful dark eyes, and he made such an elegant bow, and another 
 13 
 
180 CANVASSING. 
 
 besides, which they did not, however, add, but which we will 
 do for them, — " Besides, he had all the dashing young men of 
 the county on his side !" 
 
 Nor were the females of lower degree less energetic in his 
 behalf, groups of them were gathered ravmd the shop doors, or 
 hall doors, insisting to one another, and all of the worthier gen- 
 der {soi discmf,) they could get to listen to them, " that it would 
 be a murther outright, a mortal sin, troth it would, to disappoint 
 such a darlin', purty, free-spoken, free-givin' gintleman, the 
 frind and son-in-law to be of misther Wilmot, the Lord prosper 
 and purtect him!" 
 
 We say that all this " might be seen," but we do not take 
 upon ourselves to assert that Lady Anne observed all, or, in- 
 deed, any of the bustling, good-humoured, lively scenes passing 
 around her, so completely was her interest in Warringdon's 
 election lost in her fears for Barham's life. 
 
 She was roused from her somewhat unpleasant reflections, by 
 loud and vehement shouts of w-elcome, from the mob of the 
 town, and " loyal" and affectionate greetings from the Castle 
 AYilmot tenantry, when they recognized the carriage, as Bartly 
 Kilfoy tried to steer it through the dense mass of human beings, 
 which encumbered its progress without overturning it or crush- 
 ing them. 
 
 " High for her ladyship! high for the master! hurrah for the 
 English lord! Warringdon for ever! Wilmot for ever! success 
 to them, and the divil's curse to their inemies!" and various 
 other equally " neat and appropriate" expressions of zeal and 
 attachment, were poured forth in chorus from hundreds of rough 
 throats. 
 
 " Whisht, boys, whisht! and God bless ye!" cried Bartly Kil- 
 foy, " or ye'll frighten the horses!" 
 
 "Frightin 'em! is it the Castle Wilmot horses to be fright- 
 ened at the boys hurrahing for their master? faith, they have a 
 good right to be used to it, by this time, any how." 
 
 But The Castle Wilmot horses, like some ladies, were capri- 
 cious animals, and chose, despite of the good reason just ad- 
 duced, to be nervous and agitated, so they began to plunge, and 
 lash, Bartley Kilfoy to coax and curse by turns, and Lady Anne 
 to scream. 
 
 " Never fear, my lady, never fear!" cried the wild crowd, 
 around her. " Take them stupid bastes off, Bartly, and we'll 
 dhraw her ladyship ourselves." 
 
 And now a violent contest ensued between " her own boys," 
 as they called themselves, and " the boys of the town," for the 
 
- CANVASSING. 181 
 
 honour of drawing her. And while they roared, and cursed, 
 and shouldered one another, the unfortunate victim of their gal- 
 lant contention was knocked from side to side of the disputed 
 vehicle, till she lay exhausted, scarcely able even to shriek out 
 to them, to " keep the peace." 
 
 "Oh we will, me lady, and why notl sure arn't we pacea- 
 ble] quite paceable — get out o' that ye vagabones, and don't he 
 frightening her ladyship! what call have ye to her at alii we 
 are her own boys — glory be to God, and knows how she ought 
 to be thrated." 
 
 " An' isn't she in our townl 'tis we that has the best right 
 to her — so be off this moment, or we'll make ye — be off, ye 
 sheep-stalersl" vociferated the boys of the town. 
 
 "Ye bred and born murdhering villains, how dare ye call 
 us that?" roared the insulted Castle Wilmots — and up flew hun- 
 dreds of shillelaghs, and off flew hundreds of hats, as the said 
 shillelaghs descended, accompanied by yells and execrations, 
 such as none but Irishmen can utter, and which poor Lady 
 Anne listened to in an agony of terror. 
 
 Just at that moment Mr. O'Reilly appeared; flung himself 
 in the midst of the crowd, and down went the sticks at once. 
 
 "'Tis our own towm, you know, father O'Reilly!" one party 
 submissively represented. 
 
 " We are her own boys:" expostulated the others. 
 
 " I am ashamed of ye all, town and country;" answered the 
 young priest, " gather up your sticks and hats, you quarrelsome, 
 good for nothing fellows, and begone! a pretty way, indeed, of 
 shewing your respect for a lady, to frighten her out of her 
 senses — 1 am ashamed of ye!" 
 
 " My dear O'Reilly," said Lady Anne, " I have been in 
 search of you for the last hour, to hear something about unfor- 
 tunate Barham; he is mortally wounded, I understand." 
 
 " Oh no! no such thing— 'tis a mere flesh wound, and he will 
 be as well as ever, in a day or two." 
 
 "Thank God!" piously ejaculated Lady Anne. 
 
 " But," he continued, " poor Molony's arm is broken." ""^ 
 
 " Oh, only that! I heard that he was killed;" Lady Anne 
 replied with indifference. " But, tell me, was the quarrel about 
 a ladyV 
 
 O'Reilly laughed—" Make your mind easy, on that head! no 
 —the dispute was about a bull, not a lady. By the way, Bar- 
 ham, with all his folly and foolishness, is a fine fellow: you 
 will not have to find the courage, as well as sense, of the me- 
 
182 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 7iage^ and that is some comfort. I am glad, more glad than I 
 can tell, that at least, in that respect, he is not unworthy of 
 Maria Wilmot; not utterly contemptible; still it is a terrible 
 sacrifice!" 
 
 ""Nonsense, my dear O'Reilly — sixteen thousand a year may 
 reconcile any woman to a fool — and I am very sorry I cannot 
 add another epithet — for the more courage he has, the more dif- 
 ficult it will be to manage him — I shall never be able to frighten 
 hiiii, I fear." 
 
 O'Reilly shrugged his shoulders, sighed, and jumped into 
 the carriage, and they proceeded to the court-house. 
 
 To their astonishment, the first person they saw on reaching 
 the hustings, was Barham, pushing a way for himself, and his 
 late antagonist, who was shouting with pain and enthusiasm. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Molony, how could you be mad enough 
 to come here with a broken arm?" asked O'Reilly, who had 
 run after the duellists of the morning, atid bosom-friends of mid- 
 day. 
 
 " What matter about it] I wanted to see the sport; I was 
 going mad there at Costelloe's, listening to the hurrahing, and 
 I, in bed, having nothing to do with it. I begged the doctor, 
 and people for God sake to let me come, but they wouldn't — 
 so I waited awhile, and presently they all set off here, and left 
 me — and then I got up softly and went to Barham's room, to 
 ask him to help me on with my clotlies, and there I found him 
 dressing too, so we agreed to come away together — we nicked 
 them, didn't we Barham?" 
 
 "I think," observed O'Reilly smiling, "that you will find 
 yourself 'nicked' into a fever-a-piece for this exploit." 
 
 " Capital fun!" exclaimed Barham, '• do you know, Malony, 
 I was just thinking how droll it is that you and I should be 
 here such good friends, arm in arm, after what happened this 
 morning?" 
 
 "Oh, not at all, my dear fellow — you are often ten times bet- 
 ter friends than ever with a man after fighting him; that is to 
 say, if you don't happen to kill him, you know — it brings you 
 acquainted with a man at once — you see directly what he is 
 made of — now for instance, only for that little misunderstanding 
 between us, T might never have liked you, or respected you as 
 I do at present; for now 1 see you are a stout fellow, as well as 
 a right good-natured one, and a devilish good -shot, into the 
 bargain, and I assure you I am uncommonly glad I did not kill 
 you this morning." 
 
CANVASSING. 183 
 
 " Thank you, I am very much obliged to you, Molony, for 
 all your good-nature — and believe me, the regard is mutual," 
 answered Barham, grasping the hand of his companion.— 
 
 "Listen, listen," cried O'Reilley, "Warringdon is going to 
 speak." 
 
 ><^We will not, however, trouble our readers with a detail of 
 his lordship's harangue; we think it sufficient to state that it 
 contained the usual common-places, about himself and his con- 
 stituency, profession of devotion to their interests, praise of him- 
 self, and abuse of his opponent, to be found in all public dis- 
 plays of the same nature, throughout the united Empire, with 
 the addition, in this case, of much vehement and energetic de- 
 clamation in favour of civil and religious liberty, and assurances 
 of his ardent zeal in the " great cause." 
 
 His oration was received with loud acclamation, and cries of 
 "Warringdon for ever! The true friend of Ireland and the 
 county! no double daling in him! but comes to the point at 
 once, and spakes his mind plainly." 
 
 Mr. Archer then came forward, and was received with o-roans, 
 and hisses, not a few, cries of " Down with the Orangeman! 
 down with the black protestant! that wants to keep all the 
 loaves and fishes to himself! and down with the thraitors and 
 tyrants that support him! to the divil wid them all!" 
 
 The show of hands was declared, by the High Sheriff, to be 
 in favour of Viscount Warringdon. But Mr. Archer's friends 
 demanded a poll; and accordingly, a man was polled on each 
 side, and the court-house was soon after cleared of its noisy 
 occupants, both parties talking big of their hopes of the morrow, 
 when the " battle" was to begin in earnest. 
 
 13^ 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 The eventful morning came, and the whole town was alive at 
 the dawn of day; crowds of partizans of all ages and ranks 
 gathering- round the committee-rooms of the opposing candi- 
 dates; electioneering agents, oratorizing, explaining, or mysti- 
 fying, as suited their purpose; looking over certificates, and 
 '" making Pat Conny sinsihle he was only to be Pat Conny the 
 first time he voted, but Dennis Sleevan, the second time, in re- 
 gard of poor Dennis not being convanient just then, because he 
 was berried last week; and reminding Martin Donovan, he 
 musn't forget to slip a flea inside his lase, that he might swear 
 with a safe conscience, that the life in it was still in existence," 
 and other trifling, though necessary, arrangements, for the pro- 
 per carrying on of their employer's interests; and voters v/ere 
 eating, drinking, shouting, laughing, and whirling their ferrals 
 to give them "the raal fighting touch," and among the noisiest 
 of the noisy, as in duty bound, were the Castle Wilmot boys, 
 who strove hard, by all the means in their power, to keep up the 
 honour of " the family," and make as much riot as possible. 
 
 " Which of you has seen or heard any thing of McAlpine?" 
 demanded Mr. Malony, as he entered Lord Warringdon's com- 
 mittee-room, his face flushed from pain and impatience. 
 
 " Still at Mount Pleasant, I suppose," replied one of the 
 group he addressed. 
 
 *' Still at Mount Pleasant! confound him! what is he doing 
 therel" 
 
 " Making love to Lady Mary Pemberton, I hear." 
 
 " Making love to the devil, man! — why isn't he here? who 
 ever heard of a man leaving his freeholders to themselves in 
 this way] how can he tell who they vote for when he's not on 
 the spot? Making love indeed! the bletherem skite of a fellow! 
 always bothering some woman or other with his cursed poetry, 
 or romance, and she wishing him at the devil all the while, for 
 
 <-\ 
 
CANVASSING. 185 
 
 his pains. I bring up my men myself, my Lord; I take care 
 that nobody dare meddle with a freeholder of mine, or I'd pat a 
 bullet throuorh his head, and distrain every beast belonging to 
 the tenant who dared even to think of voting according to his 
 own vagaries. Making love, indeed — the numbskull!" 
 
 Mr. Malony's invective against the romantic Mr. McAlpine 
 was cut short by Father John Molloy's entrance, looking as if 
 he were the bearer of portentous information. Lord Warring- 
 don advanced, and shook hands most cordially with "his kind 
 and excellent friend, Mr. Molloy." 
 
 " My lord, I am credibly informed that there's a batch of Mc 
 Alpines in town, along with Archer's men!" and the worthy 
 priest accompanied this startling intelligence with an ominous 
 shake of the head. 
 
 "Pooh! pooh! Father John: 'tis impossible," Malony inter- 
 rupted. " Is it the McAlpine servants who are at rack-rents, 
 and dare not call their souls their own! Do you think they 
 would have the courage to vote against his orders'? not they." 
 
 " But, Mr. Malony, what do you say, if 'tis by his orders 
 they are voting]" 
 
 " Do you suppose he wants to have cold lead lodged in his 
 brains?" quietly demanded, in his turn, Mr. Malony. 
 
 " But, my dear sir, have you ascertained that Mr. McAlpine 
 has sent down his men for Mr. Archer]" queried the Viscount. 
 
 " Why, my Lord, I have it on good authority that he has. A 
 sister of Pat .Sullivan's wife (Mr. McAlpine's foster-brother, 
 you know, Mr. Malony) told Mrs. Mc Donogh's daughter's hus- 
 band, a first cousin of her own, and nurse to Mr. Wilmot, that 
 Mr. McAlpine's agent, Misther Fahy, had sent back orders to 
 Pat Sullivan, for all the men, them that lived by the say-side, 
 and them that did not, to come down by wather, unknownst, for 
 fear would any of the Castle Wilmots murdher 'em, if they 
 come by the road; but to take care for his life would Pat Sulli- 
 van let on, 'twas his masther that bid him." 
 
 Here " Rascal, scoundrel, blackguard, liar, coward," and other 
 synonymous and equally euphonious epithets arose from all 
 parts of the room, coupled with the name of Peter McAlpine 
 of McAlpine castle. 
 
 "The only way in the world is to send him a message at 
 once," observed Mr. Malony. " Here, my Lord, sit down, I'll 
 get you a pen and ink in a minute; — now for it!" he cried, 
 clapping the table with the only hand he had at liberty. 
 
 " Now for it!" echoed all the bye-standers. 
 
 " The cannibals!" muttered the Viscount. " But," he added. 
 
186 CANVASSING. 
 
 aloud, "before I send Mr. McAlpine a message, I think we 
 should have better authority than that of foster-brothers and 
 nurses. How can we tell whether one word of this story be 
 true? My respected friend here, Mr. Molloy, does not give it 
 on his own authority, or it would, of course, be conclusive." 
 
 " Oh, well, — may be so," Mr. Malony reluctantly acquiesced. 
 " However," he added, " you may as well write the letter, my 
 Lord, to have it ready to send when we want it, for I dare say, 
 before the election is over, he will be playing us a trick, and 
 then we have our challenge written, and nothing to do but to 
 dash it off; and even if we shouldn't want it for him, we shall 
 for somebody else; with a few alterations, you know, the same 
 copy will serve for a dozen different people." 
 
 Lord Warringdon did not much relish the idea of an assort- 
 ment of ready-made challenges, but, however, he was too pru- 
 dent to object to the proposal; and, in a very few minutes, a letter 
 full of flogging, posting, and shooting, dictated by Mr. Malony, 
 and penned by his lordship, was read aloud, to the great delight 
 and admiration of the company at large. 
 
 " Do you know, I am in great hopes that you will have to 
 fight McAlpine: it would make you so popular with the mob! 
 for the fi(jhtin^ candidate has always the best chance, you know, 
 of being the sitting member. I assure you, Mr. Wilmot would 
 not have kept the county so long, but for his handiness with 
 the pistols. He fought four men one morning before breakfast, 
 and wounded them all, — don't you remember, O'Leary?" Mr. 
 Malony added, turning to thefelectioneering agent, en chef. 
 
 "Aye, faith, Mr. Malony, but he was left for dead himself, 
 you recollect." 
 
 " I know he was; but what does that signify? he gained his 
 return by it, and never would else; for the opposite party, by 
 bribing, and tricking, and telling lies, of one kind or other, 
 had contrived to get eight hundred ahead of us, and we had but 
 three days left to pull up. Well, my Lord, the mob got out- 
 rageous when they heard Mr. Wilmot was badly wounded, and 
 they threatened to burn the town, if he died without being 
 elected. In all your life you never saw such a row; the women 
 running about screeching, and clapping their hands, and swear- 
 ing they'd have the lives of them that took his; the men shout- 
 ing, and cursing like mad. 1 had my skull fractured by the way, 
 but only in a mistake, you know; the poor fellows took me for 
 somebody else." 
 
 " Pleasant mistake!" thought his lordship. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Malony, and how did it all endl" 
 
CAXVASSING. , 187 
 
 " Oh, as well as possible, my lord: the army was called out, 
 but the Colonel was a friend of ours, and behaved very hand- 
 somely, so we beat the other party fairly out of the town, and 
 Mr. Wilmot was elected that very day." 
 
 " Mr. Malony, I beg pardon for interrupting you," said Fa- 
 ther John; "hadn't we better see after them McAlpines; they'll 
 slip through our fingers else. I was thinking of going myself 
 
 into the booth, to watch them as they come in, and know 
 
 the truth at once." 
 
 This idea met universal approbation, and accordingly Father 
 
 John hurried to the booth, the strong-hold of the McAlpine 
 
 interest. 
 
 A batch of the suspected freeholders had arrived before him, 
 and a ragged, half-starved, miserable-looking creature, was now 
 undergoing the usual interrogatives by the deputy assessors. 
 
 " Who do I vote for, is it? 1 vote for for, by my con- 
 science, then, I can't remember the name just at this present 
 minute. Misther Fahy, Misther Fahyl which of 'em is it you 
 tould me to vote fori" demanded the puzzled freeholder, in a 
 stage-whisper. 
 
 " Archer. Hav'nt I been able to bate that into your head 
 yet, ye omadhoun?" inquired, in his turn, Mr. McAlpine's con- 
 fidential man of business. 
 
 " Omadhoun! Mister Fahy?" repeated the voter: " faith an' 
 the 'cutest boy in the county 'ud be bothered when he's never 
 tould two days runnin' the same thing: — one time I'm to vote 
 for the English Lord; then I am'nt, but it's for Misther Archer 
 I'm to wote, how are we to know what's wanting of us at all?" 
 This dialogue excited shouts of jeering laughter from the 
 Warringdon party, and cries of " Success to ye! your scholar 
 does you credit Misther Fahy! he's a nate boy at his A, B, C." 
 " Silence!" cried the deputy assessor. " Your vote, my 
 honest man." 
 
 "Archer! why don't you spake out at onst, ye ohnshuch?" 
 whispered Mr. Fahy, angrily, in the ear of his very stupid, and 
 now somewhat sulky, pupil. 
 
 " Oh, it's for the English lord he's goin' to vote," loudly and 
 scoffingly laughed the Warringdons. 
 
 " By the powers! then, it isn't. I'll wote for neither of 'em; 
 — but for my own masther, Mr. McAlpine, and nobody else," 
 replied the persecuted and displeased freeholder. 
 
 " Mr. McAlpine is not a candidate, my honest man," replied 
 the deputy assessor. 
 
188 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Well, for Miss Kitty, then!" 
 
 This answer was received with, shouts of laughter by the 
 Warringdous, and with muttered curses by the Archers. 
 
 " Ladies are never elected to serve in parliament, my honest 
 inan. You must, therefore, take your choice of the three can- 
 didates in question, Viscount Warringdon, Mr Fitzgerald, and 
 Mr. Archer; and make up your mind at once, if you please, for 
 you are stopping the poll all this time." 
 
 " Faith! an' with the blessing of God, 1 won't stop it any 
 longer," and the indignant voter suddenly turned round and 
 took to his heels. 
 
 He was succeeded by another of the batch, who got through 
 his lesson more creditable to himself, and Mr. Fahy. 
 
 " My blessing to ye, Phanick O'Dea!" said Father John, 
 "how long is it sence you turned Protestant]" 
 
 "Me turn Protestan', is it. Father John! The Lord save us!" 
 And Phanick crossed himself reverentially. " Sure I'm no Pro- 
 testan', nor one belongin' to me; the heavens betwixt us an' 
 harum!" 
 
 " If you arn't a protestant, and a bitther black one, too, how 
 do ye come to vote for the orange candidate, my man?" 
 
 " Avoch, Father John, sure it isn't of our own will we're 
 voting! didn't Pat Sullivan threaten to burn the houses over 
 our heads and banish us the place, if we didn't wote the way 
 we were ordheredl An' how would we stand the counthry, 
 Father John, if we didn't? always in arrares of rint, you 
 know." 
 
 " But, Phanick, didn't your Masther promise the English 
 Lord; how can he go back of that, nowl" 
 
 Phanick twisted his hat between his fingers, shifted from 
 one leg to the other, was silent a moment. 
 
 " It isn't for the likes of us, you know, your Reverence, to 
 be faulting him, whatever he'd do: sure he'd sweep us off the 
 face of the earth if we didn't do his biddin!" 
 " But do ye know it is his biddin', Phanick?" 
 " Sure if it wasn't, would Pat Sullivan be goin' on the way 
 he was, sthrivin' to get us down, and threatnin' our lives, if we 
 wouldn't be said by him?" 
 
 " Michelleen! Mavourneen! are ye there?" Father John cried, 
 turning towards the crowd of Castle Wilmot freeholders and 
 idlers, who crowded the booth. 
 
 The same little bare-legged, red-headed boy, already intro- 
 duced to our readers, obeyed the summons, and, after having 
 
CANVASSING. 189 
 
 performed his customary salam of pulling forward his hair, and 
 
 scraping his foot, awaited deferentially the priest's commands. 
 
 " Michelleen, be off this minute, as fast as ye can set fat to 
 
 the ground, to Lord Warringdon's committee-room, and " 
 
 And Michelleen was gallopping off, when recalled by Father 
 John. 
 
 " Come back, ye little omadhoun! is it goin' ye are without 
 knowin' what it is ye are goin' for]" He continued, — " go to 
 the committee-room, and tell Mr. Malony I want to spake to 
 him immediately; — now away with ye, my man!" 
 
 In a few minutes Michelleen re-appeared, ushering in Mr. 
 Malony. 
 
 " Well, Father John, what is it 1" 
 
 " Which of us was right about McAlpine? here are his men 
 votin' for Archer, and by his orders, as 1 have found out by one 
 of ' themselves.' " 
 
 " Ha! 1 wouldn't doubt him, the slippery rascal!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Malony. " Where in the world did I leave the challenge!" 
 he continued, searching his pockets. " Oh, I forgot, it is in 
 the committee-room. Alichelleen! run and tell Mr. O'Leary to 
 get an express ready directly for INIount Pleasant, and to send 
 him after me to Lord Warringdon's committee-room. The 
 only way to deal with such a fellow as McAlpine is to frighten 
 him. Father John; or, if he is not to be frightened, shoot him 
 like a dog." 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The answer to the hostile message arrived in due course, and 
 was as follows: — 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 You appear to me to have made an extraordinary mis- 
 take, for I am under no promise to support you, nor ever was; 
 you must remember 1 always declined engaging myself. It is 
 true that I have declared my intention of voting for you, but I 
 never bound myself by a distinct promise. A declaration is 
 one thing, — a promise another. Such being the state of the 
 case between us, I have promised to support Mr. Archer, and 
 cannot see how, in so doing, I deserve the imputation contained 
 
190 CANVASSING. 
 
 in your lordship's favour, received this day, of" dishonourable 
 conduct." However, as you have been led, as you say, to de- 
 pend upon my support, I will manage thus: — I give my personal 
 vote (as I have promised) to Mr. Archer, and my people I leave 
 to themselves. 
 
 1 have the honour to remain, &c." 
 
 " It is all right, you see," observed the young Viscount, not 
 sorry to be rid of a pistolling match, to his friends assembled 
 in full divan. 
 
 "All right, my Lord! all right? any thing but that; — all 
 wrong, you mean!" exclaimed Mr. Malony. 
 
 " Why, does he not leave his men to themselves? and is not 
 that just what we wanted?" asked the candidate. 
 
 " Oh, the schemer! doesn't he know well they dare not go 
 against his orders, already given? And the poltroon won't 
 fight! you see how he backs out of that! I don't know what 
 we are to do with him, at all," said Mr. Malony, rather de- 
 spondingly. 
 
 " Never mind now, don't be one bit unasy," interposed Fa- 
 ther John; "but give me the letter, and I'll go among the 
 tenants. Lave McAlpine with me Mr. Malony, and I'll settle 
 him, I promise you." 
 
 And now what had been only noise and confusion, became 
 wild tumult, and deafening roar. The freed freeholders of the 
 McAlpine estate, found their newly accorded liberty of think- 
 ing and acting for themselves a perilous as well as puzzling 
 privilege; beset on one side by Father John's eloquence, and 
 the Warringdon shillelagh; and on the other, by Mr. Archer's 
 money, and fear of their master. 
 
 " Do you want to deny your religion, ye unfortunate mis- 
 guided cratures?" Father John cried, "oh thatever I should live 
 to see a man of my flock voting for an orange candidate and pro- 
 testant ascendancy; and the downfall of their own ancient thrue 
 and holy religion! and when I'll be witness agin ye at the 
 last day, that I warned ye, but that ye wouldn't give heed to 
 me; how will it be with ye then, boys?" 
 
 " Avoch, Father John, bad enough! sure we'd be said by you 
 afore the w^orld, and why not only for the masther, but Father 
 John? Oh! if we displase him, how will it be with us at all, 
 and our long wake little families?" 
 
 " But don't ye see his writing, boys? — what more would ye 
 have! sure he laves you to plaze yourselves, — doesn't he, my 
 men?" 
 
 His auditors, however, still hesitated. 
 
CANVASSING. 191 
 
 " If he shouldn't mane what he says, Father John?" 
 
 *' Och, is it making a liar of your masther ye are?" queried 
 the orator with a half laugh. 
 
 "God help us!" they groaned; "well, Father John, we'll 
 do your bidden, and vote for the English Lord." 
 
 " Do at your peril!" would say Mr. Fahy; " do, and I'll 
 dhrive every mother son of ye, not a baste ye have, that shan't 
 be in the pound twenty-four hours after you give that vote." 
 
 " Ohra, murdher! what's to become of us at all!" cried the 
 poor trembling wretches. 
 
 And then an electioneering agent for Archer would whisper, 
 " A couple of pounds a head boys, an' the best of ating an' 
 drinking, what do ye say to that?" 
 
 " Which way do ye wote, ye vellians of the world?" the Jim 
 Naughten's boys, and the Castle Wilmot's would roar, whirl- 
 ing their " ferrals." 
 
 " For ye, for ye!" they cried, more influenced by the dread 
 of hell-fire in prospect, and of a sound drubbing at the moment, 
 than by love of money, or even fear of being made houseless. 
 
 " Success to ye! glory to ye! hurrah for the thrue and staunch 
 friends of their religion; high for the McAlpines!" the War- 
 ringdon's shouted. 
 
 " Ye impident blackguards! ye shall pay for this, — take my 
 word for it, every identical man o' ye!" the infuriated agent 
 vociferated. And, perceiving some signs of vacillation of pur- 
 pose in the crowd, he added: 
 
 " If there are any among ye will stand by their masther and 
 their cabins, and the bastes, and their children, let 'em come 
 over to my side!" 
 
 A few answered the appeal. 
 
 " Ah the renegades! the apostates! the vellains;" the Castle 
 Wilmots howled, as they rushed on the small and terrified 
 band. 
 
 The yells and shrieks became so appalling, and there occurred 
 so many bleeding heads and fractured fingers^ that the military 
 were called out, to restore order; and indeed, after shooting two 
 or three, iftid wounding twice as many more, the military par- 
 tially succeeded in this object. 
 
 But the McAlpines took advantage of the general confusion, 
 " to slip away unknown," and return quietly to their own 
 homes, leaving the Archers and Warringdons, to dispute as to 
 whom they by right belonged: and great was the astonishment 
 and indignation of both parties, when they discovered the ab- 
 sence of the objects of their contention. 
 
 14 
 
1 92 CANVASSING. 
 
 The Warringdons did not, however, take any step to bring 
 back the fugitives, inasmuch as their previous anxiety to gain 
 them had been prompted rather by a desire to detach them from 
 Archer (who had no chance of succeeding but through the 
 McAlpine interest) than by any want of an accession of voters. 
 
 But the Archers were determined not to resign, without a 
 struggle, their only hope; so a deputation of gentlemen of that 
 party, immediately set off in pursuit of the flying freeholders, 
 escorted by a detachment of military to protect them through 
 ** the enemy's country." 
 
 They overtook tlie run-^a-ways not far from a village on the 
 Castle Wilmot estate; and first they tried persuasion, then 
 threats; and were proceeding to blows, when the McAlpines 
 ran for refuge into the village, and the Archer gentlemen know* 
 ing that its male inhabitants were absent at the election, fear- 
 lessly pursued them to their retreat, and had already managed 
 to secure a dozen of the less fleet-footed of the poor fellows, 
 when, to their surprise, yells and execrations rose on all sides, 
 and presently there issued from each house, a shrieking, cursing 
 fury, with her dark hair hanging about her shoulders, and her 
 apron full of stones. 
 
 *' Bad luck to ye, souls an' bodies! how dare ye come next 
 or nigh us! d'ye think becase our min is'nt in it, that ye'U not 
 find them that are able for ye 1 be off this minute, or by the 
 powers, we'll make ye! be off! and don't dare lay your hand on 
 them dacent, quiet boys, or we won't lave a skreed o' ye to- 
 gether!" so screamed these fair defenders of the Castle Wil- 
 mot territory, and of its right to procure those who claimed 
 sanctuary in it. 
 
 The gentlemen, in defiance of these threats, continued to ad- 
 vance, and the amazons immediately saluted them with a vol- 
 ley of stones, and one of the party was knocked off his horse. 
 The women huzzaed, and the gentlemen swore. 
 
 " Read the Riot Act!" commanded one of the Archers, who 
 was a magistrate. 
 
 " To the divil with yourselves, and your Riot Act! ye mane- 
 spirited palthroons! ye orange villains!" cried the ladies, and 
 they continued to scream, curse, and fling stones. 
 
 " Fire, sir, on that mob of rioters!" said the magistrate above 
 mentioned, .to the officer commanding the detachment. 
 
 " Not where the only rioters are women, sir," replied the 
 young military man. 
 
 " Fire on the men then!" — said the magistrate. 
 
 " The men are perfecfly quiet, standing with their arms folded, 
 
CANVASSING. 193 
 
 looking on; I could not possibly fire under such circumstances. 
 My duty only is to protect youl" 
 
 " Then why do you not protect us?" demanded the Archer 
 gentlemen. 
 
 " I should, if the assailants were Jmen," replied the young 
 officer. " But what can I do with a mob of women!" 
 
 " Hurrah for the red-coats!" shouted the fair rioters, who 
 had stood quiet and silent, while doubtful as to the result of the 
 colloquy between the civil and military authorities; " long life 
 to 'em! 'tis them that knows how to trate the women! not like 
 them cadgers from the town beyant; — them mudhering villains 
 of process sarvers, that's thinkin' to get inside of the mas- 
 ther's son-in-law, the schamers of the world! — " 
 
 " It's a long march ye tuk, sir," said the speaker-woman and 
 ringleader of the party, turning to the officer. " May be you 
 would like a dhrop of whiskey and a fresh egg^ or some throut 
 out of the river, or a roasted prateel — if we had betther, we'd 
 give it, but whatever it is, you have the ' cead mille fallha !' 
 with it, any how; and something for your men too, the era- 
 turs." 
 
 The officer thankfully assented to the proposal, and there was 
 a temporary cessation of hostilities. 
 
 " Make 'em give us back our min, sir," said the amazon 
 coaxingly; — " do, and the Lord prosper ye! we won't pelt 'em 
 any more, an' we'll give 'em something to ate into the bargin, 
 for they're starving wid the hunger, God help 'em! will ye, 
 agra, give us back them poor craturs?" 
 
 The good-humoured young man laughed, and promised his 
 mediation; but the gentlemen scornfully rejected the terms, and 
 had therefore to return faint from want of food, and harassed by 
 the women who hung on their rear, pelting and cursing to the 
 very outskirts of The town, which they regained half nearly 
 dead, from fatigue, hunger, and bruises. Here they conducted 
 the freeholders to an eating-house, where they were ordered 
 " lashings of mate and whiskey," in exchange for their liberty. 
 
 "This is eligantfine ating, to be sure, Thady," observed one 
 of them, — "but how will it be with us whin we go backl The 
 Castle Wilmots will murdher us!" 
 
 " Faith, they will so," said Jim Naughten, who happened 
 just then to walk in, ostensibly to make love to a daughter of 
 the woman of the house, who was a cousin of his own, but 
 truth obliges us to state our belief that his visit was rather di- 
 plomatic than gallant; be that as it may, it is more his cousin's 
 affair than ours. 
 
194 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Faith," you may be sure," continued this Job's comforter, 
 " of as fine a bating as ever ye got in your lives; — I wish I was 
 as sure of a fine estate. Ye must have great courage, boys, to 
 think of standin' the counthry at all, after doing what ye're 
 goin' to do. Not a fair, nor patthern, ye won't get murdhered 
 at, — an' if you want a hundherd of malt, or a stone of salt, or if 
 your wife has a lock of wool, or a thrifle of flax to sell, troth ye 
 must do without it, or be comin' jdown every hand's turn by 
 wather, for fear of the Castle Wilmot boys." 
 
 " We know that, as well as ye can tell us, Jim," groaned his 
 auditors. " But if we wote agin the masther's ordhers, sor- 
 row a thing we'll have to buy or sell at all; didn't we run out 
 of the town to get quit of 'em all, an' didn't the Archers bring 
 the army a top of us, weren't we made prisoners." 
 " Why did ye let 'emT" 
 
 " Why did ye let 'em, is it] asy said, Jim, but troth, if ye 
 were in it yoursel' you w'd fine it far harder to help, than you 
 think for; I dont care a ha'porth about a stroke of a stick, becase 
 I'm used to it ever since I was small, but the baynet, Jim, is a 
 quare thing, I wouldn't like a prod of it at-all-at-all." 
 
 " Pooh, whatharum would it do youl" asked Jim, " see how 
 the Castle Wilmot women were not afear'd of it." 
 
 " Why would theyl whatever they done, they knew well; 
 the sogers wouldn't touch em." 
 
 " Well, no matther for that now," Jim interrupted; " what 
 do ye intend to do, boys?" 
 
 " What do we intend doin' is ill we intend doin' whatever 
 we can't help doin' JimI" 
 
 " Lads, will ye wote for ArcherT" 
 
 " What else can we do, when the masthev bids us, you know"? 
 
 troth if we don't, he'll sell our skins, let alone our bastes!" 
 
 " He won't be long over ye, any how," relied Jim. 
 
 "How's that]" demanded his auditors, eagerly. 
 
 " Don't ye know that Letterbrough is a lase of the Castle 
 
 Wilmot lands, that Mr. McAlpine's father held for three lives; 
 
 two of 'em are up, an' the last one is an ould woman that's 
 
 dying every year of the rheumatics; so ye never can tell the 
 
 minute ye'll come back to your raal masther; he's the one you 
 
 ought to mind; — the one that owns the land, isn't it boys] — the 
 
 man that, whether tinant or no, if ye were brought up before the 
 
 grand jury, for being too fond of mutton, or too ready with the 
 
 stick, would stand your friend, whin your own masther, as ye 
 
 call him, w'd be sittin' fair an' asy by his parlour fire, writin' 
 
 love lelthers, or readin' out of a book; and a negur he is into 
 
CANVASSING. 195 
 
 the bargain, that begrudges a dacent boy that w'd be goin' the 
 road, his bit an' sup, an' a mouthful of hay for his bastes!" 
 
 " A thin would he, Tiral" interrogated the much-shocked 
 Letterbroughs. 
 
 " A thin would he?" repeated Jim, deridingly;" — Don't ye 
 know he would] — didn't he do it bymysel', an' bad manners to 
 him] but no matter about that now; I wasn't thrustin' to him, 
 thank God, for mate or dhrink; I had my own masther to go to, 
 the Lord be praised; the man that has a sate by his fire, for 
 who's would come in, and lashings of the best of ating an' 
 dhrinking, an' a ccad mille faltha^ an' a tap on the shouldher 
 into the bargain ; an' all this you have good rason to know, 
 boys, for many's the time we sat together in his chimbly cor- 
 ner, an' himsel' in the kitchen talkin' to us as free as if we were 
 gintlemin." 
 
 " We know that too, Jim," interrupted the freeholders; sure 
 there is'nt his aqual in the country round, for the kind heart an' 
 the open hand; an' if t'was himsel' that was standin' Jim, d'ye 
 think we'd refuse him our sowls, let alone our wotes] no, troth, 
 ^e'd pitch McAlpine to the devil for him, an' why not, but'" — 
 
 "That's right, boys, "said Jim, not allowing the speaker to 
 finish his sentence, — " I'm sure you would, but you know his 
 son-in-law is himsel' in a manner; behave the way ye ought 
 now, an' I promise you, that you won't lose by it; — supposin' 
 itseP that McAlpine banishes you off the lands, has'nt the 
 masther room an' to spare for ye, an' half the country besides?" 
 
 "But what will we do? the Archers have a hould of us now, 
 Jim," replied Jim's auditors, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Well, stay with them, sure," but, he added laughing, 
 " vote for us." 
 
 " Oh yea! how will that be at all?" queried the astonished 
 McAlpines. 
 
 " I'll make ye sinsible of it to-morrow boys," — replied the 
 orator; — I'll be with ye airly by the first light, and now God be 
 wid ye!" — and so saying Jim walked off, shouting his favourite 
 tune of "tattered Jack Welsh," his only regret being, that 
 Winny was not present to be " grigged" by it. 
 
 14* 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The following morning the Letterbrough freeholders were 
 conve)'ed through the town in carriages, escorted by gentlemen 
 mounted and armed, the mob roaring " Warringdon for ever! 
 high for the English lord! Warringdon and emancipation! Down 
 with the Archers! the Orangemen! down with McAlpine, the 
 thraitor! down with 'em all! to the divel with the whole of 
 em"?" accompanying this kind consignment of Mr. Archer and 
 his friends, by throwing hands-full of mud, dead cats, and, occa- 
 sionally, a stone or two, at the carriage; venturing, however, 
 rather cautiously on the last mark of disapprobation, being de- 
 terred by the pistols which peeped from the bosoms of the 
 Archers. ' ' 
 
 At length the cavalcade reached their destination, and the 
 
 freeholders were ushered- into the booth. They were 
 
 received with loud plaudits by the Archer party, and cries of 
 "Fine fellows! true to their landlord!" and by groans and 
 hisses, curses and ferocious scowls, and muttered threats, by 
 the Warringdons. 
 
 " Don't suffer yourselves to be intimidated, my honest men," 
 said Mr. Archer's agent. " The Warringdon party may 
 threaten, but they dare not injure you. Mr. Wilmot is a 
 mighty great man, no doubt," he continued sneeringly, " and 
 his tenants are fine bludgeoneers, but never you mind; the 
 king happens to be a greater man than Mr. Wilmot ; and as 
 for his tenants, the first among them that lifts a stick against 
 ye shall be lodged iu the county jail." 
 
 " Aye, aye !" shouted the Castle Wilmots, in derision, 
 " when you've caught us ! once we are on our own mountains, 
 d'ye think we'll be aisily had? Oh ye ! what a chance you 
 have of us ! an' so ye think we'll wait for your lave to rise our 
 sticks ; — ye're comical fellows, troth !" 
 
 " Silence, silence !" the deputy assessor called out. " Come, 
 my lads, your votes, whatever they are ; give them at once, 
 and don't be afraid. 
 
 " We won't sir," replied a little crabbed, half-starved look- 
 ing man, advancing from the group. 
 
CANVASSING. 197 
 
 " What is your name T' asked the deputy assessor. 
 
 " Thady Sullivan." 
 
 " Are you twenty-one years of age V 
 
 " Twenty-one years of age, is it ir repeated Thady. " Faith, 
 I wish I was thrustin' to that same ! I am so, and a good 
 many years to the back of it, more's the pity." 
 
 " Are you a freeholder of the county V 
 
 " Sure if I was'nt, 1 wouldn't be here !" answered Thady. 
 
 " Have you the clear yearly sum of forty shillings, over and 
 above your rentl" 
 
 " Is it that jail-bird V interrupted the Warringdon agent. 
 " Put him the freeholder's oath !" 
 
 The freeholder's oath was administered, and after that, 
 as demanded by the Warringdon party, the bribery oath also; 
 and now, having no more plausible objections to make, they 
 suffered the man to proceed. 
 
 " Whom do you vote for V asked the deputy-assessor. 
 
 "I vote for Lord Wardherdown," said Thady. 
 
 " Warringdon V repeated the deputy-assessor, surprised. 
 
 " Warringdon !" echoed the Archer party with rage and aston- 
 ishment. " Infamous cheating ! — shameful ! shameful to put 
 between landlord and tenant ! setting the county in a blaze ! 
 rebels ! traitors !" 
 
 "Hurrah! hurrah!" the Warringdons shouted. "Thady 
 Sullivan for ever! — chair him ! chair him !" 
 
 And accordingly they carried Thady on their shoulders 
 round the room. 
 
 His example was followed by his companions ; and as they 
 were walking off, accompanied by the laughter and acclama- 
 tions of one party, and execration of the other, Thady turned to- 
 wards the Archers, and making a low bow, " Thank ye, gen- 
 tlemen, for the mate an' the dhrink, an' the fine jaunt in your 
 grand carriages, and for all the honour ye ped us — ye see, we 
 tak your advice, and wern't afeard to spake out." 
 
 "Let me pass; let me pass, boys;" said O'Reilly, impa- 
 tiently pushing through the shouting crowd. " Where's Mr. 
 Malonyr' 
 
 " Here!" cried the object inquired for, advancing, and still 
 laughing at the trick just played by Thady and his compeers. 
 " But what is the matter, O'Reilly! you look bothered — is any 
 thing going wrong]" 
 
 "Yes; Lord Templemore is polling for Archer in the barony 
 of—" 
 
 Malony's broad, good-humoured face darkened. 
 
198 CANVASSING. 
 
 "That's one way of standing neuter, and be d — d to him! 
 Hollo! one of ye there, Castle Wilmots! give me my hat!" he 
 vociferated. "I'll just step to the committee-room, and see 
 what's best to be done." 
 
 All agreed that the thing best to be done, was that a deputa- 
 tion of their party, headed by Mr. Malony, should wait without 
 loss of time on the noble lord at his residence, a few minutes' 
 walk from the VVarringdon committee-room. 
 
 As these broad-shouldered, formidable supporters of Lord 
 Warringdon defiled one after another, Mr. Malony bringing up 
 the rear, into Lord Templemore's library, he w^as observed to 
 change colour. He received them very courteously, however, 
 and expressed much regret at seeing Mr. Malony's arm in a 
 sling. 
 
 " I am much obliged to your Lordship," replied Mr. Ma- 
 lony; " luckily 'tis only my left arm; I have my right one 
 still, for a case of need, whenever it comes:" — and Mr. Malony 
 squared his shoulders — and Lord Templemore hemmed. 
 
 " My Lord," continued Mr. Malony, who had been selected 
 as the spokesman of the party, " we have come here this morn- 
 ing on very particular business; to remind you, in fact, on the 
 part of Lord Warringdon, of a circumstance you seem to have 
 forgotten — namely — your promise of standing neuter between 
 him and Mr. Archer — giving plumpers to Mr. Fitzgerald. 
 Have you kept that promise, my Lord?" 
 
 " I am not in the habit of breaking my promises, Mr. Ma- 
 lony," replied Lord Templemore, with much dignity. 
 
 " I don't know what your habits may be, my Lord; but there 
 must be a beginning to every habit, you know, and that begin- 
 ning, it appears to me, you are making on the present occa- 
 sion." 
 
 "How do you prove that, Mr. MalonyT" the Earl asked. 
 
 " Why, my Lord, you are this very minute giving your 
 second voices to Archer, in the barony of " 
 
 " 1 beg your pardon, I have not given my vote at all." 
 
 "You mean your personal vote, my Lord!" asked Mr. Ma- 
 lony. 
 
 His Lordship bowed assent. 
 ^" Oh, my Lord, that would be a very good answer in a court 
 of law; but it won't do in a court of honour," said Mr. Malony, 
 smiling somewhat contemptuously. " Your tenants are not 
 standing neuter, and therefore your personal neutrality goes for 
 nothing." 
 
 " I am not responsible for my tenants, Sir" replied Lord 
 Templemore. 
 
CANVASSING. 199 
 
 " I am afraid your Lordship will find some difficulty in per- 
 suading Lord Warringdon and his friends that you are not," 
 answered Mr. Malony, accompanying the observation by a 
 look to which the Earl hastened to reply. 
 
 " My dear Sir, allow me to explain to you my position with 
 respect to my tenantry in the barony you allude to. They all 
 hold under leases; pay their rent to a day; are never in arrears; 
 in a word, are comfortable, and therefore independent. Well, 
 my property in that neighbourhood borders that of Mr. Archer, 
 and my people say that they will not incur the enmity of the 
 tenantry of an estate close to them, for a stranger like Lord 
 Warringdon, to whom they have no local attachment. In fact, 
 my dear Sir, they have broke loose, the rascals ! but they know 
 they are not in my power, and I cannot control them, or — " 
 
 " That may be all very true, my Lord," interrupted Mr, Ma- 
 lony, " but all your tenantry are not next neighbours of Mr. 
 Archer's. Give us an equivalent to those that have polled for 
 him. in some other barony." 
 
 *' Most willingly," his Lordship assented eagerly; " or I will 
 consent even to double the number; will that satisfy you, as to 
 my impartiality?" 
 
 " Would your Lordship have any objection to state this ar- 
 rangement in writing]" asked a cautious member of the depu- 
 tation. 
 
 " My word, Sir," — and the Earl was proceeding in a digni- 
 fied strain, when interrupted by Mr. Malony. 
 
 " Certainly — there's no necessity for any stronger guarantee, 
 my Lord." 
 
 Lord Templemore acknowledged the compliment by a bow 
 and smile. 
 
 " For," continued Mr. Malony, with a meaning look, " / hold 
 the promise." 
 
 He shook hands with the Earl, and departed with his train. 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 A FEW mornings after the conversation just detailed, Mr. 
 Malony, Mr. O'Reilly, Mr. O'Leary, and half a dozen other 
 friends and partizans, rushed into Lady Anne's drawing room, 
 shouting out, " Good news — good news! the contest we may 
 
200 CANVASSINd. 
 
 Bay is over: the barony of , where Archer's chief force lies, 
 
 will close in an hour; his men have been beaten back by the 
 mob. so there have been but ten polled there as yet to-day, 
 therefore by four o'clock it must all be over. We are watching 
 them well, for fear they should personate from other baro- 
 nies, and have left some fellows in the booth to kick up rows, 
 and retard the polling. An express has just been sent oflf to 
 Mr. Wilmot, to prevent his sending down any more men." 
 
 And now what shaking of hands, and wishing joy, followed 
 this announcement, between the young Viscount, who had been 
 since breakfast by the side of the gentle Isabel; (a delightful 
 refuge from his noisy committee-room and his constituents.) 
 How blandly his mother-in-law elect thanked! how sweetly his 
 fair mistress smiled! how proud and gratified she looked! In 
 a word, how delighted every body was with themselves and 
 with one another. What shouts of triumph and self-gratu- 
 lation rang through the house! How they did talk and laugh! 
 what joy! what noise! what vociferation! what gesticulation! 
 Oh, the mirth and good humour of successful Irish Election- 
 eerers! Is there any mirth or good humour like it?" 
 
 An hour had thus passed unheeded, when Mr. Malony sud- 
 denly exclaimed, "There comes Father John! 1 left him in 
 the booth, to bring me word the moment it should close. Hur- 
 rah!" 
 
 And he rushed to the hall-door, in his impatience to have all 
 the particulars. 
 
 " When did it close?" he bawled. Father John not having 
 yet come within speaking distance. 
 
 " 'Tisn't closed at all," repeated the other. 
 
 " What then, man?" 
 
 " Opened!" said the priest. 
 
 " Opened!" repeated his interrogator, with a look of conster- 
 nation. " What do you mean, Father John?" 
 
 " Why then, indeed, Mr. Malony, I mane just what I say. 
 You know the men Lord Templemore promised us, to make up for 
 those he gave Archer: well, 'tis by them the booth has been 
 kept open, and they have a batch of two hundred for to-morrow, 
 who stole in to-day, while nobody was watching, thinking the 
 election over." 
 
 And now who can describe the rage and disappointment of 
 Malony, and the Warringdon party, lately so triumphant, at 
 this blight of their hopes. 
 
 " The rascal!" cried Malony, stamping. " Lord Warring- 
 don, you must send him a challenge immediately." 
 
 ^' Oh, yes, yes! of course — cannot possibly be avoidedl" 
 
CANVASSING. 201 
 
 simultaneously chimed in all the men present, forgetting in their 
 eagerness the presence of the ladies. 
 
 Mr. Malony found his arm suddenly grasped. 
 
 " Do you want to kill him, Mr. Malony] do you — do you]" 
 Isabel asked, trembling with agitation. 
 
 " I do not," he quietly replied; " but I want to return him." 
 
 " I had rather he never was returned," she said, wringing 
 her hands, " than that he should run that risk." 
 
 " My God, Miss Wilmot, I wonder at you! a sensible girl, 
 like you, to talk in this way; — sure he isn't made of glass! he 
 must stand his chance the same as others; but just take my ad- 
 vice, and go away quietly with your mother, and leave us to 
 settle the business properly; — this is no place for you; come 
 now, go away, like a good girl!" 
 
 " No!" she replied, " I'll not stir — I will not leave him to be 
 murdered by you." 
 
 "Murdered by me!" Malony repeated highly affronted. 
 " That is not exactly the way you should speak to one of your 
 father's warmest friends, and for his sake, perhaps the most 
 zealous supporter Lord Warringdon has. Murdered, indeed!" 
 
 " Oh, I am too miserable to know what I am saying:" and 
 Isabel sank on the first seat near her, looking indeed most 
 "miserable." 
 
 Now Mr. Malony could contemplate man's blood with much 
 more philosophy than he could woman's tears, and his heart 
 softened directly. 
 
 " I proposed his fighting entirely to serve him, God knows! 
 For that matter, as Lord Templemore made the promise to me, 
 personally, I have the best right to call upon him to keep it; so 
 now, shake hands, and don't say I want to murder him, at any 
 rate," he added, smiling good humouredly. 
 
 " But why should it be you either; why should any of you 
 fight; the damage is done, and you can't repair it now," said 
 Isabel, " leave it all as it is. This duelling is such a frightful 
 and savage custom!" 
 
 *' You! your father's daughter, and be frightened by pistols? 
 you are growing to be a disgrace to the county; and I am not at 
 all sorry you are about to transplant yourself among the quiet 
 English," replied Malony, laughing. 
 
 He and the other gentlemen soon after withdrew, leaving the 
 Viscount and his gentle mistress together, who, by the way, 
 never appeared to him half so gentle or interesting as at that 
 moment. Was it because she leaned her head so aflfectionate- 
 ly on his shoulder, and murmured forth his name with such 
 
202 CANVASSING. 
 
 whispering tenderness? or was it merely because he approved 
 and admired her womanly abhorrence of duelling? 
 
 And now let us follow the movements of Mr. IMalony and his 
 belligerent companions. A second visit to Lord Templemore 
 was immediately decided upon, and a certain Mr. McCarthy 
 was deputed to remonstrate in Mr. Malony's name, on his breach 
 of promise. 
 
 The noble Earl alleged he had kept his word. 
 
 " Yes, my Lord, but in such a manner that you have done us 
 harm instead of good; for were it not for you, the contest would 
 now be over," replied Mr. McCarthy. 
 
 " Not being aware of the politics of your committee-room, I 
 could not possibly imagine that giving you forty votes would be 
 an injury to your cause," replied the Earl. 
 
 Mr. McCarthy smiled incredulously. " Every body, my 
 Lord, knew that our object was to close that booth. Will you 
 give it under your hand, that you alone of the whole town waa 
 ignorant of if? and that you had no conversation on the subject 
 with Mr. Archer?" 
 
 " My verbal assertion is sufficient, I should think, sir." 
 
 " Not in Mr. Malony's opinion, this time, my Lord," Mc 
 Carthy retorted. 
 
 " I certainly will not give any other voucher, sir," the Earl 
 answered, reddening with displeasure. 
 
 " Then, in that case, my Lord, I am directed by Mr. Malony 
 to demand satisfaction for what he considers an intentional in- 
 jury on your Lordship's part," said Mr. McCarthy. 
 
 " I have done what I promised," insisted Lord Templemore, 
 " and I will not suffer myself to be provoked into a quarrel with 
 Mr. Malony, because he happens to be in an ill-humour. My 
 life is far too valuable to my family to risk it in an idle brawl, 
 with a hot-headed young man like Mr. Malony." 
 
 " That is your answer, my Lord?" 
 
 " That is my answer, Mr. McCarthy. 
 
 " I am afraid, then, that such an answer will not satisfy Mr. 
 Malony, and that he may consider himself obliged to give your 
 Lordship a rather unpleasant proof of his opinion of your con- 
 duct," said Mr. McCarthy, rising and moving towards the door. 
 
 " Mr. Malony had better take care how he subjects himself 
 to a law process," Lord Templemore observed, as he rang the 
 bell. 
 
 His Lordship immediately discovered he had very particular 
 business at Mount Pleasant, and was stepping into his carriage, 
 about an hour after the above conversation, when he felt a whip 
 
eANVASSING. 203 
 
 gently applied to his shoulders; and looking round, beheld his 
 broken-promise holder, Mr. Malony. 
 
 "I don't repeat the blow, my Lord, because you are a man 
 double my age, and 1 don't want to do you bodily harm; but 
 only to degrade you, as that man deserves who does an injury 
 underhand, and refuses giving the only satisfaction in his power. 
 Now, take notice, all of ye," he continued, turning to the crowd 
 of idlers assembled round the carriage, and loitering about the 
 street, " that I have laid a whip across Lord Templemore's 
 shoulders," and so saying he walked away, whistling, and tap- 
 ping his boot with the said whip. 
 
 Soon after, nothing was talked of, all over the town, but the 
 approaching hostile meeting between the flogger and floggee. 
 Happily, however, the constituted authorities interfered, and 
 the parties were bound over, in recognizances of a thousand 
 pounds each, to keep the peace: and so, much to the mortifica- 
 tion of all " whom it did not concern," there the matter ended. 
 
 We wish that Lord Templemore's treachery had produced no 
 worse consequences than that of personal degradation to him- 
 self; but unluckily, through his prevaricating conduct, he had 
 not only been the means of keeping open a booth which the 
 Warrincrdon party wanted to close, but there was now a strong 
 probability that, owing to him, a booth would close, which 
 they wanted to keep open. 
 
 In ex))ectation of the election being immpdiately terminated 
 by the event first alluded to, the Warringdons had neglected 
 having the necessary supply of men, to keep up the ball, in the 
 
 great barony of ; the strong-hold in fact of the Castle Wil- 
 
 mot interest; that closed, all was over; they would lose two 
 thousand voters. 
 
 And now it became the Archers' turn to laugh, and jeer, and 
 triumph, and the Warringdons' to look crest-fallen. 
 
 "Never mind, all is not lost yet," said Malony, as he and 
 several of his party sat round Lady Anne's dinner table. " Give 
 me the swiftest horse you have, and I start this night for Cas- 
 tle Wilmot. I shall be there by dawn of day to-morrow, and 
 you will see me return with enough of your men and my own, 
 to take the town, if we wanted it." 
 
 Mr. Malony kept his word, and by o'clock the next day 
 
 returned, followed by hundreds of triumphant partizans, with 
 pipers playing before them, and laurel branches in their hats; 
 shouting '' High for Derry Manogaslogh! who'll dare say the 
 contraryl" In consequence, the booth was kept from being 
 closed on that day, and by the next, they had so over-pow^ 
 
 15 
 
204 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 ering a majority, that Mr. Archer withdrew opposition, and 
 Viscount Warringdon and Mr. Fitzgerald were declared by the 
 High Sheriff "duly elected, as Knights of the Shire," for the 
 county of ." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 And now, are not our readers as wearied of the noise and confu- 
 sion of an Irish election, as our Viscount himself? We think it 
 more than probable that they are; and therefore we will spare 
 them the added noise and confusion of the chairing; and yet we 
 confess we do so reluctantly. There is something to our mind, 
 so gloriously characteristic of the Irish people, in their true, 
 deep-felt, deep-toned, joyous' affectionate, energetic huzza for 
 a popular candidate; and then the windows crowded with la- 
 dieS; many of them young and pretty; and all good-humoured 
 (that day at least), waving their handkerchiefs; and the candi- 
 date looking up at them, as he sits enthroned on the shoulders 
 of the people, and bowing so graciously, and his friends on either 
 side of him, holding banners; and all above and beneath, and 
 around him, shouting his name; — is there a situation in human 
 life more pardonably intoxicating to human vanity than this? 
 at least to a country gentleman in Ireland, where the desire for 
 popularity, and the sensibility to it, are so strong. 
 
 The day was closed by a grand dinner given by his friends 
 and constituents, in honour of the new member; at which there 
 was a great deal of drinking and speechifying; and the follow- 
 ing evening the Viscount returned the compliment by a ball, 
 and supper, for the special purpose of thanking the ladies of 
 his party: and such a gay ball! — there were all the officers 
 of the garrison at it, and two very dashing Captains of Dra- 
 goons; — a God-send by the way for which the ladies were in- 
 debted to Mr. Archer, that gentleman having applied for two 
 troops of horse to ride down the riotous Castle Wilmots; 
 
 (and Captains of Dragoons being rarities, the town of C 
 
 not having the advantage of being a cavalry station); they 
 naturally attracted the brightest eyes in the room. Then there 
 was Mr. Malony, and Mr. McCarthy, and a number of other 
 young, laughing, dancing men of good property; and then the 
 
CANVASSING. 205 
 
 young member himself, all gallantry and politeness; and then 
 the charming Lady Anne, soft and ingratiating as usual; and 
 then Isabel, who seemed that night to tread or air, her step so 
 bounding, and her countenance so radiant with happiness; the 
 happiness of loving, and being beloved; and perhaps with a 
 little vanity too; her lover was an adnjired and popular man, 
 the object for the time of engrossing and flattering attention, — 
 and a few days more, and she would be his bride! — a Viscoun- 
 tess too! — happy, happy Isabel. 
 
 " I never saw her looking so well!" observed the lover to 
 the mamma, with a warmth and earnestness of admiration, al- 
 most Irish. 
 
 "Humph! the same as usual, I think, — I can't say that I 
 see much difference," replied the mother, carelessly. 
 
 Somebody who overheard this answer, thought it extraordi- 
 nary. It is clear the person, whoever he or she was, did net 
 thoroughly comprehend our friend Lady Anne. 
 
 " Where is Miss Wilmot 'to-night? I hope she is not ill," 
 said several people in the course of that evening, to the young 
 Lady's mamma. 
 
 "No, thank God! not at all, but she preferred remaining 
 with an invalid friend," and Lady Anne coughed, or smiled, 
 and ostentatiously changed the subject. Of course, each in- 
 quirer either already knew, or speedily discovered, that Mr. Bar- 
 ham was the friend alluded to, and naturally enough concluded 
 there must be " something in it," or Lady Anne, the pink of 
 propriety, would never permit her daughter to remain almost 
 alone with a young man; nor would her daughter be inclined 
 to lose a ball, for the best mere friend she had in the world. 
 The approaching marriage of Mr. Barham and Maria Wilmot, 
 therefore, became buzzed about the room; some in their zeal to 
 prove their assertions, insisting that they had the information 
 from Mr. Barham himself; others gave Lady Anne as their au- 
 thority; others Maria Wilmot, and so on, but all were sure of 
 the fact; and the mother of the bride-elect was overwhelmed 
 with compliments and congratulations; but she only " assured 
 her kind friends that it was all a mistake; that there really was 
 no truth in the report, there was not, indeed!" 
 
 " Oh, come now. Lady Anne, there is no use denying it," 
 said Mr. Malony, " particularly to me, for I always knew how 
 the land lay in that quarter. Well, I wish you joy; Barham is 
 a right good fellow; just the man to make a woman happy; a 
 capital shot, ridfs like the devil, and would as soon slap a 
 man^s face, as eat his breakfast,— I wish you joy from my heart! 
 but when is it to be?" 
 
206 CANVASSING. 
 
 " We have not yet quite settled the when,^^ replied the Lady, 
 smiling-. 
 
 And here we would request the reader to imagine the ball 
 over, and permit us to end our chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Apart from all the gossip about him, would it not be an aot of 
 christian charity, to inquire what has really become, during 
 this long interval, of our poor wounded lover of fun, now that 
 we have a little leisure on our hands? 
 
 As he was leaving the court-house in company with Mr. 
 Malony, the memorable morning of the duel, he was met by 
 Lady Anne, who enticed him home with her, by promising him 
 some capital fun at the electioneering dinner she was to give 
 that day. 
 
 He laughed during the evening, with all his customary en- 
 ergy; he, and his wounded fellow-duellist, being the noisiest 
 revellers, and most affectionate friends of the part)^ But, un- 
 fortunately he drank rather more on that occasion than was his 
 custom; the consequence of which was, that (not being an eel, or 
 an L'ish'.urn, and therefore not used to being skinned, or knock- 
 ed on the head), before morning he was in a burning fever, roar- 
 ing aboutfun and pistols, and requiring Pat Murphy's and Barthy 
 Kilfoy's united strength to keep him from jumping out of the 
 window; during his illness, nothing could equal Lady Anne's 
 tender and devoted attention, sitting up with him, and suffering 
 no hand but her own to smooth his pillow, or give liim his 
 draughts. Her care was, as every body remarked, motherly, 
 and indeed, Maria also gained much credit by her praise-worthy 
 attentions to their young guest; for as soon as he was able to 
 move into an adjoining a{)artment, converted for his conveni- 
 ence into a temporary sitting room, the kind Maria had always 
 some nice little funny story to beguile his tedious hours of re- 
 covery, seldom or ever leaving the invalid, except for a short 
 walk, and apparently totally uninterested in the scene of excite- 
 ment which absorbed every body else. 
 
 Oh the morning after the ball, Mr. Barbara, for the first time 
 since his illness, joined the family at breakfast. Lord War- 
 
CANVASSING. 207 
 
 ringdon and Isabel soon slipped away to say some more last 
 words, previous to his lordship's threatened departure for Lon- 
 don, with Mr. Wilmot, for the purpose of making the necessary 
 preparations for the reception of his affianced bride, who was 
 shortly to follow with her mother and sister; and Mr. Wilmot, 
 who had just arrived, retired to learn from Pat Murphy, all the 
 " ins and outs*' of the election; so that of the group part assem- 
 bled at breakfast, there now remained but Lady Anne, Maria, 
 and her '* invalid friend." 
 
 "And so now its over, election, chairing, and all, and I have 
 not seen one bit of it; I, that could not sleep for a week before 
 the poll opened, thinkincr of the fun I should have had, — not to 
 have had any at all, — isn't it too bad]" asked Barham, in a tone 
 of ffood-humoured discontent. 
 
 Maria and her mother agreed that it was, indeed, a grievous 
 misfortune. 
 
 "By the way. Miss Wilmot, I was just thinking how very 
 droll it is that your guess about a duel being my second adven- 
 ture, should have turned out true; is'nt it very funny? how you 
 must have laughed when you heard I was wounded. I am very 
 sorry I did'nt think of y)uttiiig off my duel for a few days, just 
 to see a little of the fun first, — but 1 was so vexed, you see, at 
 the time, that I never thought of it, — Miss Wilmot, I forget 
 what you said my third adventure in Ireland would heV 
 
 "To be married, I think," replied Maria, carelessly, — " was 
 it notl" 
 
 " Oh yes, I remember; but I don't think that guess is as 
 lucky as the other, for as I am not married yet, it is'nt likely I 
 shall be, in the few days 1 remain in Ireland." 
 
 " Are you going so soon"?" inquired Lady Anne, her heart 
 sinking within her at this cool announcement. " I thought you 
 were to wait for us, and travel together." 
 
 " Why I must, you see, whether I will or no; Sir Wil- 
 loughby Turner has written me such a blowing-up, because I 
 stay idling here; he says, instead of being at college, reading 
 my course; and threatening he won't give me a farthing of mo- 
 ney till I return. 'Tisn't his money, at any rate, so he need 
 not badger me so, for spending my own. 1 shall he so glad 
 when I come cf age, and can do as I like. And I shall be so 
 sorry to go! I don't know what I shall do with myself, when 
 1 return to England, I shall find it so stupid. I never, in all 
 my life, was so happy as I have been here, nor met such goodf 
 nature. As for your kindness. Lady Anne, and Miss Wilmot's, 
 I never can forget it as long as 1 live, — nursing me as if I was 
 15 * 
 
206 • CANVASSING. 
 
 your son and brother. I shall very often think of you both. 
 Will yoii not come soon and see rae at CralcourtT I shall be so 
 delighted to see you, particularly Miss Wilmot; and you must 
 not forget to bring all your servants, and try and persuade Fa- 
 ther John to come, too! how glad I shall be, to be sure!" 
 
 Lady Anne looked over at her daughter, who immediately 
 arose and left the room. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Barham, may I ask were you serious in inviting 
 my daughter as a friend to your IiouseV asked his hostess, in 
 a tone of apparently suppressed emotion. 
 
 *'0h, yes, to be sure, quite serious; I hope you have too 
 good an opinion of me to suppose 1 was not perfectly in earnest, 
 when I invited her to Cralcourt: could you possibly imagine 
 me so ungrateful]" he asked, with warmth. 
 
 The lady played awhile with the chain round her neck, and 
 hemmed; at length, she said, in a constrained manner, " Mr. 
 Barham, you have not, it seems, perceived the drift of my ques- 
 tion." 
 
 Mr. Barham entreated her to explain; but she remained 
 silent, and apparently, very much embarrassed, and somewhat 
 offended. 
 
 " I am afraid I have displeased you, in some way. Lady Anne; 
 I wish you would tell me in what." 
 
 " I will be candid with you," she replied, with great seeming 
 effort; "I am disappointed in you." 
 
 " How, — what have I done?" 
 
 " You have acted ungenerously, very ungenerously, towards 
 a family who deserved, from you, at least, different treatment." 
 
 •' What family]" the young man asked, surprised. 
 
 *' Mine, Mr. Barham." 
 
 " Yours, Lady Annel I act ungenerously towards your fa- 
 mily! how?" 
 
 " My dear Mr. Barham, recollect yourself, I beg." 
 
 Mr. Barham did recollect himself, as desired, but in vain. 
 After a careful review, in his own mind, of his conduct during 
 the two months of his acquaintance with, and domestication in, 
 the Wilmot family, he could not charge his conscience with a 
 single act, word, or even thought, of the nature imputed to him. 
 
 " I declare. Lady Anne," he said, after a few moments' pause, 
 " I cannot imagine what you mean; — there must be some mis- 
 take." 
 
 "It is a mistake, then, which the whole county has fallen 
 into, as well as myself," replied the lady, with a slightly sar- 
 castic expression about the mouth; ♦' for every one who saw 
 you together, formed the same opinion." 
 
CANVASSING. 209 
 
 " Saw me and whom together, Lady Annel" 
 
 " My daughter, sir," she replied. 
 
 " And what opinion do you say they formed]" again queried 
 the puzzled boy. 
 
 " Mr. Barham, when a gentleman pays exclusive attention 
 to a young lady, seeking her society in preference to that of all 
 others; and this preference continuing during months to be 
 manifested before strangers, as well as her own family; what is 
 the motive generally assigned by the world for his conduct]" 
 
 " Oh, people say that he is in love with her; — but why do 
 you askl" 
 
 Lady Anne continued: — "And if the young lady, consider- 
 ing these attentions in the light that all her acquaintances do, 
 should become attached to the gentleman, giving him such 
 proofs of her affection as subject her to public comment, do you 
 think the gentleman would act generously, or even honourably, 
 if, after all this, he invites the lady as 2i friend to his house]" 
 
 The light suddenly flashed on the bewildered Barham — 
 " My goodness! surely you cannot mean Ma/, Lady Anne]" 
 
 " Mean what]" she inquired. 
 
 " Mean that I paid attentions to Miss Wilmot, and that 
 she " he stopped, embarrassed. 
 
 " And that she is attached to you]" asked Lady Anne, finish- 
 ing the sentence for him. " Yes, that was exactly my mean- 
 ing." 
 
 *' But, Mis? W ilmot and I never talked a word about love in 
 all our lives, — no, no more than I and Fatlier .Tohn did: we 
 used only to laugh together. I never intended, " he hesi- 
 tated again. 
 
 " I cannot possibly tell what you may have intended, my 
 dear Mr. Barham," said Lady Anne, taking him up; "all I can 
 know is, what you have done; and all I can say is, that every 
 body who saw you together supposed you were her declared 
 lover. Do you imagine I would otherwise have permitted her 
 to sit, for hours, by your coiich, and to remain at home and 
 alone with you, on so remarkable an occasion as an election 
 ball] Her absence was naturally commented upon, and then there 
 was a laugh among the gentlemen, — ' IMiss "Wilmot, of course, 
 had remained with her friend, Mr. Barham:' every one asking 
 when it was to be: I replied ' that my daughter had not taken me 
 into her confidence, and, therefore, that I knew just as much 
 about the matter as they did.' Either you have deceived my 
 daughter, or she has deceived me; whichever way it is, she 
 will now become the ridicule of all the envious misses of her 
 
210 CANVASSING. 
 
 acquaintance; the gay, laughing Maria Wilmot turned into a 
 lackidaisacal young lady, condemned to wear the willow, will, 
 of course, amazingly divert them; and, for this highly gratify- 
 ing situation, she will have to thank you. Am I not, there- 
 fore, justified in saying that yoii have acted ungenerously to- 
 wards her]" 
 
 " But how am I accountable for what people choose to say I 
 meant, but which I did not mean?" asked Barham, naturally 
 enough objecting to Lady Anne's forced inference. 
 
 " You don't feel any regret, then, at being, though uninten- 
 tionally (as you assert), the cause of injury to an amiable and 
 confiding young person?" inquired Lady Anne. " I must, in 
 that case, have, indeed, a bad opinion of you, and bitterly re- 
 gret the day we ever met." 
 
 Poor Barham bit his lips, and knit his brows in painful and 
 perplexing cogitation. He could not bear ta think of his kind 
 and merry friend, Maria, becoming the laughing-stock of her 
 acquaintances, because she had so often made laughing-stocks 
 of others for his amusement, and yet he did not relish the alter- 
 native, — namely, making her his wife. 
 
 He was still hesitating, when the door opened, and Mr. Ma- 
 lony appeared. 
 
 " Ah! my dear fellow, how goes it?" he said, advancing, and 
 shaking the late sufferer cordially by the hand. " t am de- 
 lighted to see you out of your room, at last, and, by the way, 
 I don't think you ever would have come out of it at all, but for 
 Lady Anne and ]Miss Wilmot." 
 
 Barbara's heart smote him, and he bit his lips more energeti- 
 cally than before. 
 
 Lady Anne made an excuse for leaving the room. 
 
 " Well, when is it to be, Barham?" inquired Malony, laying 
 his hand on his friend's shoulder, and smiling significantly. 
 
 " I don't understand you," replied the lover, malgre lui. 
 
 " Why, your wedding, to be sure!" 
 
 " My wedding?" 
 
 " Oh, come, nonsense, Barham, it's no secret now, I can tell 
 you; the whole town knows it as well as you do yourself. 
 There was nothing else talked of at the ball, last night: — well, 
 I wish you joy; you could not have made a better choice." 
 
 " I wonder why he did not choose her himself, then," thought 
 the young Englishman. 
 
 Mr. Malony continued: " A good-natured, pleasant girl, as 
 ever lived, and devilish fond of you, she must be, to have 
 stayed whole days in your sick room, instead of dashing about 
 
CANVASSING. 
 
 211 
 
 at the election, and, faith, we had a loss in her; many a man 
 she has laughed into voting- for her father: — she will keep you 
 alive, Barham." 
 
 " But, suppose, Malony, that all this should be a mistake, 
 and that we are not going to be mvirried at all; what would you 
 say thenT" 
 
 " Why, I should say it would be very odd in you, and very 
 unlucky for her: I assure yon, that both herself and mother are 
 commented upon already, for their imprudence about you, and 
 nothing kept the peoples' tongues between their teeth, at the 
 ball, but the supposition of your engagement. Oh, no, you are 
 too honourable a fellow for that," observed Malony. 
 
 *' I am in for it, I see," said Barham to himself: he paused a 
 moment, and then added aloud, '* Well, Malony, no harm done, 
 whatever they say, for we are engaged." 
 
 "To be sure, I knew you were; have you got your guar- 
 dian's consent?" 
 
 " I have not yet ajiplied for it." 
 
 " He may refuse, perhaps, thinking you too young; but j-ou 
 can go to Gretna, in that case, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know," answered the "happy man." 
 
 Here Lady Anne and her daughter re-entered the room to- 
 gether. 
 
 Mr. Malony walked up to Maria, and, after the usual saluta- 
 tion, " wished her joy." 
 
 "Of what?" she inquired, looking surprised, and, for once 
 in her life, at least, feeling precisely as she seemed to feel; for 
 her mother's report of the conversation with her intended lover 
 had not, by any means, prepared her for so speedy and joyous a 
 conclusion. 
 
 Mr. Malony laughed. "Ah, you will be Maria Wilmot, I 
 see, to the end of the chapter. How innocent you look!" 
 
 "I really am innocent of all comprehension of your meaning, 
 Mr. Malony," she replied. 
 
 " Confess, like the frank, honest girl you are, that you are 
 going to be married, and not sorry for it," he added, lowering 
 his voice into a confidential whisper. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Malony, like the frank, honest girl I am, 1 de- 
 clare to you 'tis all a mistake, and I am very sorry for it," Ma- 
 ria answered, summoning up her usual carelessness of manner. 
 
 "All a mistake ! that's just what Barham himself said, at 
 first, and afterwards acknowledged it was no mistake at all; — 
 there's never believing a word you lovers say." 
 
 Lady Anne fixed her examining look on Barham; he under- 
 stood its meaning, and immediately advanced towards her. 
 
212 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Lady Anne," he said, in a low voice, "I wish to speak 
 with you." 
 
 They withdrew together to a window, and Barhani contin- 
 ued:—" Mdlony tells me, not only that every body thinks Miss 
 Wilniot and I are eucraged, but that she is even blamed for all 
 the kindness she has shown me; I need not say how unhappy 
 I should be, were 1 the cause of injury to her; and so, I was 
 thinking that we had better he married, since it is the general 
 opinion that we ought. I will thank you to mention what I 
 have said to Miss Wilmot." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear young friend," replied Lady Anne, in 
 her most endearing manner: " and 1 need not say with what 
 pleasure I shall receive you into my family. I must ever love 
 and honour the manly and feeling mind you have, by your pre- 
 sent decision, evinced." 
 
 Mr. Malony, after again shaking hands and wishing joy, 
 took his leave; and Lady Anne ran to communicate the good 
 tidings to her husband and young daughter. 
 
 About a fortnight after Mr. Barham's proposal, Cralcourt re- 
 ceived Maria VVilmot as its mistress; and, in another fortnight 
 after that, the Morning Post announced the marriage of Vis- 
 count Warringdon, eldest son of Earl Glenville, and Isabel, 
 second daughter of Robert Wilmot, Esq., of Castle Wilmot, in 
 
 the county of , late M.P., &c. Then followed a long 
 
 list of the Dukes, Marquisses, Earls, and their consorts, who 
 had partaken of the elegant dejune, at the splendid mansion in 
 Park-lane, belonging to the Earl of Rochford, uncle to the 
 lovely, amiable, and accomplished bride: and it was also fur- 
 ther stated, for the instruction of the world at large, that the 
 happy pair had set off, immediately after the ceremony, for Sut- 
 ton Park, the seat of Earl Glenville, where they were to re- 
 main during the honey moon, 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 Lady Warringdon was a beauty, a hel esprit^ a leader of fash- 
 ion, — was she happy] 
 
 We will answer that question by asking the reader to ima- 
 gine four years elapsed since the event which closed our last 
 
CANVASSING. 213 
 
 chapter, and accompany us to the same London mansion in 
 which we opened oar tale, and enter with us an apartment 
 which bears the stam^i of female occupancy. The piano stands 
 open,^-the harp uncov^icd, — a guitar is carelessly thrown aside 
 on an ottoman, — richly-Lcund volumes lie scattered about the 
 room, — new music, albu-.ns, annuals, half-cut reviews, and vases 
 of flowers, intermingled in not ungraceful confusion, with the 
 thousand little expensive trifles which a fashionable woman 
 loves to collect around her. A lady, half-reclined on a sofa, 
 listless and unoccupied, her eyes fixed on the fire; the blaze 
 had caught the cheeK turned to it, but the other side of her face 
 was pale; and pale, one might have supposed, rather from late 
 hours, than painful thoughts, were it not for the drooping atti- 
 tude of her head, and the slight contraction of her brow. Her 
 reverie was broken by a tap at the door. 
 
 *' Come in," she said, in a voice which harmonized with the 
 pensive refinement of her appearance. 
 
 A handsome, fashionable-ltoking man entered. 
 
 " How d'ye do?" he carelessly asked, throwing himself on 
 the couch opposite to that occupied by the lady. 
 
 "Very well, I am much obliged to you," she answered, in 
 the same tone of apparent good-humoured indifference: but one, 
 skilled in interpreting the inflexions of the human voice would 
 have detected displeasure and dislike lurking under the assumed 
 carelessness of both the speakers. 
 
 " I wonder you did not go to hear Pasta last night; all the 
 world was there," observed the gentleman. "Didn't you men- 
 tion something about your wish of seeing the new opera, the 
 last time I saw you"?" 
 
 " Yes, I dare say I did," replied the lady; "but recollect that 
 the last time I had the pleasure of seeino- you is full three days 
 ago; and then you, who have studied female nature so accu- 
 rately, and so successfully, will not wonder at my having chang- 
 ed my mind." 
 
 "Certainly not — I neither wonder nor condemn; on the con- 
 trary, I consider woman's changeability as her greatest charm, 
 as well as her highest privilege. What can be more tiresome 
 or insipid than those women who are ' the same yesterday, to- 
 day, and for ever'^you see I can quote scripture, my fair wife. 
 By the way, may I ask whether yoor cutting Lady Seaton the 
 
 other night at the Duchess of 's is to be considered as part 
 
 and parcel of the same charming vacillation- of purpose which 
 occasioned your cutting the opera last night]" 
 
 " No;" replied the lady, in a quiet tone, but with a height- 
 
214 CANVASSING. 
 
 ened colour; ** I have cut the opera merely for a night, whereas 
 I have cut Lady Seaton for ever." 
 
 " Indeed!" said the orentleman, brushing up his hair at the 
 mirror, and with affected indifference of manner, belied how- 
 ever by the sarcastic curl of his lips. " If it be not an imperti- 
 nent question, may I ask why]" 
 
 " Why]" repeated the lady, and her beautiful mouth wore 
 the same scornful expression as that of her companion. 
 
 " Yes, why?" 
 
 The lady gave a forced laugh, and the gentleman pushed in 
 and out his lips. 
 
 " These little airs of disdain are quite bewitchincr, I confess, 
 and would, to a lover, prove absolutely irresistible, but as I hap- 
 pen unfortunately to be only your husband, they are thrown 
 away upon me. May I request then that you will favour me 
 with an intelligible answer to an intelligible question: why do 
 you intend cutting your friend Lady Seaton]" 
 
 " Your friend, you mean, my Lord." 
 
 " Well, granted she is my friend, is that a reason why you 
 should reject her as an acquaintance?" 
 
 " Yes, a full and sufficient reason," the lady firmly replied. 
 " If you were not always at her house, I might go there som.e- 
 tiraes." 
 
 "All very romantic and interesting," observed the husband, 
 yawning; " and quite in character for the heroine of a novel, or 
 a young lady brought up by a maiden aunt, during the honey- 
 moon; but rather too new in a woman of fashion after four 
 years' marriage; these tender reproaches are, I must acknow- 
 ledge tant soit peu ridicules; although it must be of course vastly 
 flattering to my vanity, to find my lovely and admired wi-fe still 
 country girl enough to be jealous of me." 
 
 His cold and ironical smile was repaid by a glance of haughty 
 indignation, as she exclaimed: 
 
 " Jealous of you] oh no! that time has long past, my good 
 Lord. No; in m}' refusal to associate with Lady Seaton, I am 
 actuated by the same motive which would prevent my continu- 
 ing acquaintanceship with any otlier married man's friend; — 
 respect for myself." 
 
 " But Lady Seaton is received by all the world," Lord Glen- 
 ville replied, in a tone of suppressed anger. 
 
 " Ver}' possibly, all the world does not happen to know what 
 I know of her." 
 
 "And do you imagine that it will be in your power to put 
 out of society the most admired woman in London, yourself al- 
 ways of course excepted]" the Earl added sarcastically. 
 
CANVASSING. 216 
 
 " I do not want to put Lady Seaton out of society, I merely 
 desire to exclude her from my own house." 
 
 " As your house happens also to be mine, I beg leave to enter 
 my protest against that decree. While she is received any- 
 where else, she shall be received here," said Lord Glenville,ia 
 an easy unembarrassed tone of authority. 
 
 "Then, my lord," replied his lady, " it is fair to inform you 
 that the day she enters your house 1 leave it." 
 
 " And so I must e'en take my choice between you? sad al- 
 ternative! I would fain be blessed with the presence of both," 
 the gentleman sneered. 
 
 *' My God! is it then come to this]" Lady Glenville mur- 
 mured. 
 
 A thundering knock at the hall-door caused a momentary in- 
 terruption in the matrimonial dialogue, and a footman soon after 
 entered the room, and announced the Marquis of Tiverton, 
 
 The lady coloured, and the gentleman smiled. 
 
 " Shew him up," he said. 
 
 " Into another room, then, if you please," interrupted the 
 lady; " I am not in tone to see company to-day." 
 
 *' Ah the cavaliere servanfe is never company, you know; mais 
 comme vouz voudrez^^'^ he replied carelessly. " Ju plaisir, ma 
 belk,^^ he nodded, as he left the room to receive his friend. 
 
 Lady Glenville started from her seat, and walked up and 
 down in agitation. 
 
 "And is this the conclusion of a marriage of affection? after 
 four years of outrage and insult, to be now thrust from his house; 
 my husband's house; the house of the man I loved; — ah, how 
 deeply, devotedly, and until lately — very lately — how undeviat- 
 ingly! My God! have I deserved this? — Have 11 Yes!" she added, 
 suddenly sinking on her knees — " Yes! for in the day of my 
 happiness I never bowed before Thee in gratitude; I never gave 
 thanks for my blessings, nor prayed for their continuance. I 
 was happy, and I cared not to inquire who had made me so. I 
 did not even come to Thee in my sorrow. I sought consolation 
 elsewhere for a wrung and wretched heart — sought, but never 
 found it! My friends laughed, while I wept. From one being 
 alone have I met sympathy; and from that sympathy, oh, my 
 God! in mercy protect me now!" 
 
 She was still in the attitude of supplication when the door 
 suddenly opened, and Lord Glenville and his friend entered; 
 she arose hastily, and a deep flush of resentment and confusion 
 overspread her face, as she glanced from her husband to his 
 companion. 
 
 16 
 
216 CANVASSING. 
 
 " La belle devoteP^ exclaimed her lord, ironically. " Tiver- 
 ton, confess I am the happiest husband you know; 'tisn't every 
 man who, when he unexpectedly enters his wife's boudoir, need 
 only fear interrupting a flirtation with Heaven. How interest- 
 ing to find her, before whom all knees bow in homage, herself 
 bending the knee! What a pretty subject for a sonnet! *0n 
 Lady G. praying.^ We have plenty of verses on sleeping, 
 singing, dancing, playing beauties, but not any, at least that I 
 recollect, on a praying one. Now, there's a subject for your 
 muse, Tiverton; talk it over with the fair devotee, while 1 go, 
 for a minute, to Lady Seaton's," accompanying this studied in- 
 sult by a glance of a strange sort of expression at his wife. It 
 did not pass unobserved by her, for she happened at that mo- 
 ment to raise her eyes to his; and the colour, which had mounted 
 to her face at his insult, suddenly left it at his glance. 
 
 " Jtdieu, mon ami! 1 shall meet you at five in the Park," said 
 the fashionable husband, as he ran down stairs. 
 
 Lady Glenville had assumed her usual easy, unembarrassed 
 manner, but although she talked of the nothings of the day with 
 more than her customary vivacity, it was evident to her com- 
 panion, from the varying of her complexion, that her apparent 
 spirits were the result of an inward struggle. He became ab- 
 stracted, and there was a silence of a few moments, which was 
 then broken by him. 
 
 "Something has discomposed you, this morning. Lady Glen- 
 ville." 
 
 " Why should you imagine so"?" she asked. 
 
 " Again at your old habit of giving a question for an an- 
 swer!" Lord Tiverton said, smiling. " And yet I would not, if 
 I could, break you of it; 'tis the natural recourse of an ingenu- 
 ous mind, that will not give an untrue answer, and cannot give 
 the true one; and, in its simplicity, imagines it has, by its art- 
 less device, baffled the curious inquirer. Ah, but you are a bad 
 dissembler. Lady Glenville: 'you wear your heart upon your 
 sleeve,' and you know what follows." 
 
 " Hush!" replied the lady playfully, though tears stood in her 
 eyes. "Who talks of hearts in tiiese days] What would be- 
 come of your character as a man of fashion, if I were to say that 
 I had heard you mention such a word!" 
 
 "Lady Glenville, something has agitated you, this morning, 
 I am sure there has. I know you too well to be deceived. Al- 
 low me, then, the privilege of a sincere and attached friend, and 
 give me your confidence. I may be able perhaps to explain for 
 you, or even advise. You will at least believe me anxious to 
 
CANVASSING. 217 
 
 serve you; my ability to do so, alas! remains to be proved: but 
 such as I am, head and heart, you know that you can command 
 me." 
 
 " I am obliged by your offer, my Lord; but there is no room 
 for explanation — no need of counsel on the present occasion;" 
 replied his companion. " Lord Glenville has signified to me 
 his intention of forcing Lady Seaton on me, and I — " 
 
 " Oh impossible!" exclaimed the Marquis, interrupting her. 
 "Impossible! — you mistake him." 
 
 "And 1," the lady continued, "have signified to him my in- 
 tention of leaving his house, if he does. Oh no! I have not 
 mistaken him!" she added bitterly. 
 
 Lord Tiverton rose abruptly from his seat, and paced the room 
 in much agitation. Suddenly he stopped: — 
 
 " And when you leave Glenville, where will yon go, while 
 awaiting the preliminary arrangements for your future mainte- 
 nance] Your mother is not in town, and even if she were, you 
 know how little she is able to enter into your feelings — your 
 virtuous feelings — of what is due to a wife; then your sister — " 
 
 " I know all you would say, my Lord," interrupted Lady 
 Glenville. " I do not require to be reminded that I stand alone 
 in the world," she added mournfully. 
 
 " Alone in the world!" he exclaimed, taking a seat near her; 
 " no, not while I remain in it!" And then lowering his voice 
 into a whisper," there is one house at least which would open 
 wide to receive you, one heart, where you would be enshrined, 
 worshipped; a heart consecrated to you alone; one, I will not 
 say worthy of you, but at least more worthy than his who would 
 prefer a Lady Seaton to you. Try a new fate — you are unhappy 
 — neglected: try a new fate, beloved Isabel!" he murmured ten- 
 derly, endeavouring gently to unlock one of the clasped hands 
 between which her head was buried. 
 
 She withdrew her hand, but it was cold and trembling; and 
 when she looked up at him, her face was deadly pale. 
 
 "Leave me. Marquis of Tiverton!" she said, slowly and so- 
 lemnly. " We can never meet again. Leave me, my Lord," 
 for he still hesitated. " Leave me at once, and for ever; 1 
 know you at last!" 
 
 She rang the bell. "I wish your Lordship good morning," 
 she added, as a servant attended the Marquis to his carriage. 
 
 " Ah, Glenville! were you demon enough to plan this!" Isa- 
 bel exclaimed, when once again alone. " Oh yes! yes — I read 
 it in the cold, heartless triumph of that glance — that parting 
 look. Yes! Glenville you were demon enough to plan this. 
 
218 CANVASSING. 
 
 You, my husband, my protector, who vowed before God to love 
 and to cherish me. You would have betrayed me to degrada- 
 tion. And is this plotter against the honour of his own wife 
 the man who was once my Warringdon; the man I worship- 
 ped, alas! more than ever i did my God! I am punished. My 
 idol has fallen; and it has crushed me, even while I knelt be- 
 fore it! And now the last frail reed on which 1 leaned for hu- 
 man sympathy is broken. Tiverton, too, plotted against me — 
 the tempter who offered balm for the throbbing, tortured heart, 
 and, behold! the balm was poison! Ah, Marquis of Tiverton, 
 you are revenged. When you were only George Damer, with 
 a thousand a year, you loved me, and I was inclined to love you, 
 but my mother! Ah, no! I will be honest with myself at least. 
 My own ambition, my own worldliness whispered, I might do 
 better, and I listened to those bad counsellors, and stifled my 
 growing attachment. You are revenged, Tiverton; — I love you 
 now. Ay — to my own conscience, and to my God, I will con- 
 fess that grievous, sinful secret. The woman who, from ambi- 
 tion, would not allow herself to love you, when her love would 
 have been virtue, now that she has attained all which in her 
 worldliness she coveted, would give up all and follow you, 
 were you again George Damer, and she Isabel Wilmot, over 
 the world! — And the woman who says this is now the wife of 
 another! Are you not revenged, Marquis of Tiverton"? and is 
 not my punishment, oh, my God! greater than I can bear, 
 though not greater than I deserve!" 
 
 The footman who entered about an hour after Lord Tiverton's 
 departure, found his lady lying on the floor, in a state of insen- 
 sibility. She was carried to her ow-n room, and the next morn- 
 ing was in a brain fever, attended by three physicians, and the 
 papers rang with a recent matrimonial fracas in high life, and 
 of the consequent dangerous indisposition of a lovely Countess^ 
 and the not consequent despair of her noble Lord. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Much to Lord Glenville's disappointment, his lady did not die, 
 although she had three physicians, and, as soon as she reco- 
 vered consciousness, a clergyman attending her. 
 
 " She must feel herself going, since she sends for a clergy- 
 gyman," thought her loving Lord. A month passed, and Lady 
 Glenville was still confined to her room, but able to sit up for a 
 few hours. Her own woman brought her the cards and notes 
 of inquiry, left during her illness; the greatest number of both 
 were from the Marquis of Tiverton. 
 
 " The Marquis, my Lady, used to call four and five times a 
 day, to ask after your Ladyship," said the woman. "I don't 
 think he was very well himself, either, my Lady; he was look- 
 ing so pale and wan, you would hardly have known him, my 
 Lady; — every body was remarking it." 
 
 " Indeed! I am sorry to hear it, Edwards; and have you hap- 
 pened, by chance, to learn how he is nowV inquired the lady, 
 struggling for composure. 
 
 " Oh yes, my Lady, he is now pretty well again: I saw him 
 yesterday, and he desired his best compliments to your Lady- 
 ship, and begged I would hand you this note." 
 
 Lady Glenville's first impulse was to refuse receiving the 
 note, but she recollected how strange this would appear to the 
 woman; she took it, therefore, and broke the seal with trem- 
 bling fingers, and a beating heart; the characters were evident- 
 ly traced in haste and agitation, and they ran thus: — 
 
 " Your woman tells me that you are, at length, able to sit up, 
 and are recovering strength. You are nominally the suflferer, 
 and yet I have suffered more than you: — you lay, happily, in- 
 sensible to either bodily or mental anguish, while I felt for you 
 all that you did not feel for yourself: 1 bore your and my own 
 weight of trouble at the same time. You have banished me 
 from your presence, Isabel; but I cannot banish you from my 
 heart. In a few weeks I shall leave England: — 1 have some 
 idea of a journey over-land to Persia. I require to break new 
 ground; and, as it is possible, in my present state of health, that 
 1 may never return, will you allow me to see you, for a few mi- 
 nutes, before I depart?" 
 
 " No, no, no!" murmured the lady, (she had previously dis- 
 16* 
 
220 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 embarrassed herself of Edwards' presence) I must not, I dare 
 not again meet you, Tiverton. No: it would be a presumptuous 
 tempting of my fate. No! when I was, as I thought, dying, I 
 prayed to be enabled to root out of my heart my sinful love for 
 you, and I am sure He heard me; it may not be done in a 
 month, nor even a year, but, with his help, it will be done be- 
 fore I die, at least. Oh, I trust, I trust it will! No, Tiverton 
 althouoh you are leaving, and, perhaps for ever, your native 
 land, I will not see you. No! although in losing you, I lose 
 the only human being who cares about me, for you do love me, 
 I believe, as well as man can love; but it was love still, it was 
 something to cling to, and — *' 
 
 Edwards here bustled into the room. 
 
 '* I have good news for you, my Lady!" 
 
 " Good news for me"?" repeated Isabel, pensively. 
 
 " Lady Anne is just arrived in town, at Lord Rochford's, and 
 has sent to know if you can see her. She has travelled all the 
 way from Rome, post haste, on seeing the accounts in the pa- 
 pers, of your Ladyship's illness." 
 
 "Thank God!" exclaimed Lady Glenville, bursting into 
 tears. " That was like a mother! Oh, my mother! this is very 
 good of you." 
 
 In a few minutes afterwards, Lady Anne entered her daugh- 
 ter's room. The mother's countenance was nearly as tranquil 
 as usual, while her child lay almost convulsed, from contending 
 feelings, in her arms. 
 
 " Dearest, dearest mother, you pity me, do you not?" she mur- 
 mured. " Oh! I know you do, for you have come to me, when 
 every body else deseris me. " You love your poor Isabel 
 still! Oh, yes, still, still:" and each broken sentence was accom- 
 panied by a fresh burst of tears, and a closer embrace. 
 
 " My dear Isabel, pray compose yourself, do, my sweet child — 
 agitation is so bad for you in your present delicate state. I 
 shall be obliged to leave you, if you are not more tranquil; I 
 shall, indeed, my love, that's a dear girl. So, sit down, and we 
 will chat a little together. And now, my dear Isabel," conti- 
 nued Lady Anne, when her daughter had recovered her com- 
 posure, " do tell me what this quarrel with Glenville is really 
 about. I have read and heard such various versions of it; all 
 agree, however, in blaming you as precipitate and exigeante. 
 Now, my love, let me hear your story." 
 
 -Isabel recapitulated all the circumstances of which the reader 
 is already in possession. Lady Anne listened very composedly 
 to the recital, and when it was ended, asked, 
 
CANVASSING. 221 
 
 " And is that all you have to complain of, my level" 
 
 " Ain" repeated her daughter. 
 
 "My dear Isabel, isGlenville the only inconstant husband in 
 the worldl" 
 
 " My dear mother, he is not; but he is the only man who 
 would force his wife to receive his " 
 
 "Oh nonsense, my dear, why could'nt you take the matter as 
 quietly as Lord Seaton did?" 
 
 "Then, in my place, you would have received her!" 
 
 " Certainly, — sooner let her in, than put myself out, — it is not 
 too late yet. Your uncle Rochford has sounded Gienville, and 
 on your agreeing to receive Lady Seaton, he will overlook your 
 hastiness, and — " 
 
 "Never!" interrupted Isabel, — "never — never, — will I live 
 under that man's roof one hour longer than I can help; — he 
 overlook my hastiness!" she exclaimed, starting up in indig- 
 nation; "he, the tyrant and traitor! — the smiling, polite tyrant, — 
 and base, cold-blooded traitor! — he talk to me of forgiveness! 
 Listen to me, mother; suppose I were mean enough, nay, and vi- 
 cious enough, to associate with Lady Seaton; suppose I would 
 forget and forgive, on her account, aye, and on account of other 
 outrages and insults heaped upon me, and boasted of to my very 
 face, for tlie last three years, — I never can forget, or forgive, his 
 devilish project of that day; when he goaded me to madness, 
 and then drove me to the brink of a precipice, — God! and does 
 my mother tell me I should live with a demon like this?" 
 
 "My dear Isabel, you agitate me as well as yourself," re- 
 plied the tranquil Lady Anne, " by all this vehemence. I give 
 you my opinion, and that of every body who has heard the 
 story, — and I most earnestly recommend you to consider well 
 what you are about; do not, I implore you, give way to temper, 
 in this crisis of your own fate: — you are now at the head of a 
 splendid fortune; you have rank, fashion, beauty, every thing 
 this world can offer; dearest child, thousands envy you the 
 brilliant lot you are about to cast away in a moment of caprice; 
 my sweet Isabel, be persuaded by me! what will a few hun- 
 dreds a year be to you, accustomed to thousands'! — and the world 
 will be sure to turn its back upon you when you are only poor 
 Lady Gienville. Oh, dear child, you will find a terrible change 
 in people then!" 
 
 *' Oh, I have not now to learn what the world is made of," 
 answered Isabel; I am disgusted with it." After a pause she 
 continued, " as my uncle Rochford offered to intercede for me with 
 
222 CANVASSING. 
 
 Lord Glenville, perhaps he would have no objection to confer 
 with him relative to a respectable maintenance. I ask no more, 
 and even that much with reluctance; I would fain owe him no- 
 thing," she added, sighing. 
 
 *' And where do you propose living]" asked the mother. 
 
 " When I leave my husband's house, will it not be natural to 
 return to my father's?" asked Isabel, timidly. 
 
 " My dear Isabel, if your husband had really turned you out, 
 your father house would open to receive you, but as you volun- 
 tarily quit the man you have vowed to love, and honour, I can- 
 not, according to my conscience, support you in your defiance 
 of duty to God, and respect for the world. I never will receive 
 again, — at least under such circumstances, — as an inmate, a 
 daughter I have married well." 
 
 Isabel's lip quivered; and her heart sickened, but she made 
 no reply. Lady Anne soon after left her daughter, to return to 
 dinner at Lord Rochford's. 
 
 Lady Glenville took up the pocket-bible that lay near her 
 bed-side, and chanced to open it at the words, — " When my fa- 
 ther and mother forsake me, he takeih me up." 
 
 She threw herself on her knees, and wept bitterly. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 A travelling carriage stood, some days afterwards, before the 
 door of Glenville House. 
 
 A lady, very pale and thin, descended the steps, supported 
 by two gentlemen, and followed by a female attendant. She 
 was handed into the carriage by the younger gentleman. 
 
 " You have a fine day for your journey," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, very!" she replied. 
 
 " I believe all is now ready," said the elder gentleman. 
 " You have not forgotten anything, Edwards'?" 
 
 " No, my Lord, nothing." 
 
 " Then you had better set oflf, or you will not reach Canter- 
 bury till late. Good bye, my dear Isabel," and he touched 
 coldly the pale cheek of the traveller. 
 
CANVASSING. 223 
 
 " Good bye, dear uncle, and many thanks and apologies for 
 the trouble you have taken about me." 
 
 " Glenville," she added, extending a hand to the other gen- 
 tleman, " 1 wish you well," and her voice slightly faltered. 
 
 He smiled, and nodded. The footman, after having closed 
 the carriage door, mounted the box, the coachman touched his 
 horses, and the carriage was soon out of sight. 
 
 The travellers slopped for the night at Canterbury. And 
 Lady Glenville was lying on the sofa near the fire, gazing on 
 the bright flame, in one of those fits of abstraction, in which we 
 have before surprised her; one arm still fair, hut no longer round- 
 ed, lying listless by her side, and the other holding a small vol- 
 ume, when the door opened, and a waiter entered, to inform her 
 that a gentleman, on very particular business, wished to see 
 her. Before she had time to reply, a tall man, wrapped in a 
 cloak, stood in the door-way. Scarcely looking at him, she 
 motioned him to a seat, quietly awaiting an explanation for this 
 intrusion. 
 
 "You are much changed. Lady Glenville," the stranger ob- 
 served. 
 
 Isabel started at the sound of that voice, and now gazed in- 
 tently on the speaker; she gasped for breath, and her head 
 drooped on her shoulder. When restored to consciousness, 
 the first object which met her eyes was that of a well-known 
 figure kneeling by her side. At first her gaze was vague and 
 bewildered, like that of one awakened suddenly from a dream: 
 then it became earnest and searching. " Why have you come 
 here?" she asked. 
 
 "To see you." 
 
 " To see me! — But have I not already refused to be seen by 
 youl what right have you," she added, making an effort to re- 
 cover her self-possession, " to force yourself thus into my pre- 
 sencfel" 
 
 "What right have I? the right of affection, Lady Glenville. 
 Isabel, look at me! am I not changed too, — aye, as much as 
 yourself, since last we metl and why am 1 thus changed] be- 
 cause of my love for you. When you became ill, I became ill, — 
 when you suffered, I suflTered and you ask me, as you would a 
 common acquaintance, what right I have unbidden to enter your 
 presence — what right!" he repeated vehemently. 
 
 " Is it generous to pursue me thus"? I appeal to yourself, Ti- 
 verton, is it]" 
 
 " Well, why did you refuse to see me before? — why, tell me 
 whyl" 
 
224 CANVASSING. 
 
 "Because I never will voluntarily find myself a second time 
 in the company of the man who had once before insulted me." 
 
 "Insulted you, Isabel! but we will not dispute about the jus- 
 tice of that rather harsh term; granted, however, that I had in- 
 sulted you on a former occasion, you had not to fear a repetition 
 of the offence, as I had previously intimated my intention of 
 leaving the country, perhaps for ever, and I merely requested 
 permission to take leave of you; and yet that humble request 
 you refused, and you tell me your motive for so doing was re- 
 sentment for my previous misconduct, but, Isabel, that was not 
 your motive; the reason you refused to see me, and the only one 
 was, because you doubted yourself." 
 
 Isabel's hand was on the bell, when it was caught by Lord 
 Tiverton. " You will only make a scene, Lady Glenville, for 
 I warn you that the first man who enters the room I will thrust 
 out of it. I am determined you shall hear me, and then a word 
 from your lips will be suflScient to dismiss me: was it not so 
 before] your womanly pride and dignity are up in arms, — I 
 know they are, against my audacity for presuming to think, 
 much less to say, that you do not abhor me as you try to per- 
 suade me and yourself that you do. It might, perhaps, have 
 been better policy to have appeared a more humble adorer; but 
 I wish to lay bare my whole heart to you, defects and all, and 
 then, Isabel, decide whether that heart deserves to be cherished, 
 or trampled on! In one respect, at least, you will allow, I dif- 
 fer from the many admirers by whom, during your married life, 
 you have been surrounded; I had loved, and sought you, as Isa- 
 bel Wilmot; I did not wait to see you the property of another, 
 to discern your merit. Others bowed down before Lady Glen- 
 ville, the idol of fashion; but I loved the woman in which I dis- 
 covered those qualities now are so eagerly proclaimed by all, 
 when she was as yet but a young aspirant for notice. I saw 
 where, and how, and why, she differed from the throng of bold 
 or vapid fashionable accomplished candidates for brilliant es- 
 tablishments, which thronged the ball and concert-rooms. I 
 saw, and loved, the simplicity, and yet acuteness, of her mind, 
 the truth, the affection, the spirited, yet gentle nature, — her po- 
 lished vivacity, her deeply feeling heart. I spoke to her of a 
 retirement in a remote, but beautiful part of England, of the hap- 
 piness and utility of a country life; of the interest of a home, 
 where affection and intelligence preside, — but Isabel, your 
 mother had already spoiled the fair materials entrusted to her; 
 worldliness had even then crept into that young heart, and sti- 
 fled its generous impulses. Shame! said I to myself, on the 
 
CANVASSING. 225 
 
 woman who rejects a true love, because it comes not encircled 
 in a coronet, or shines not with the tinsel of fashion! From 
 that hour I became a changed man, dissipated, almost heartless. 
 1 went abroad with my regiment; years passed away; I heard of 
 your marriage with Warringdon, and I confess, lieard it with 
 perfect indifference; — so, thought I, she has at length attained 
 the object of her ambition. 
 
 " Not very long afterwards, I unexpectedly succeeded to a 
 title, and returned to England. I saw that you devotedly loved 
 your husband, and you began to rise in my estimation, but I 
 also very soon perceived that you were neglected by him, and 
 in consequence unhappy. You then became an object of un- 
 worthy speculation to others; and I admired the easy contempt 
 with which you treated their pretensions, — I insensibly fell back 
 on my former feelings for you, but I was guarded in the ex- 
 pression of them; you will admit that I never passed the pre- 
 scribed bounds, till the day Glenville left us together. When 
 he banished you from his house, I offered you mine. I offered 
 you myself too, my fortune, and my name; you rejected all, and 
 dismissed me from your presence, and then, Isabel, I looked 
 upon you not merely as the most engaging woman I had ever 
 met, but as one to be worshipped for the energy of character 
 which, in the midst of sorrow and insult, could remain firm to 
 the stern command of duty, and could courageously spurn the 
 tempter, though he came in the form of the man you love, for I 
 knew you did love me. 1 heard that you were ill, dangerously 
 ill; in agony, I waited the result, — you recovered, — I begged to 
 see you — and you refused; I ascertained the day of your de- 
 parture for Dover, and I set off, and awaited your arrival in this 
 town;" — he paused. 
 
 " And what good do you propose either to me or to yourself, 
 by this step]" asked Lady Glenville. 
 
 He was silent a moment. " Isabel, when first I declared my 
 love, you did well to reject it; for it was not then perfectly wor- 
 thy of you; besides, you were not then assured of its sincerity. 
 And again, there still remained a hope of accommodation with 
 your husband; you had still a mother, relations, friends, acquain- 
 tances, — you had much, much to give up; but now you are se- 
 parated from your husband; you are censured by your friends, 
 deserted by your acquaintances, abandoned even by your own 
 mother. You are going abroad on an income of six hundred a 
 year, alone; you have no child, or interest in life. 
 
 " Isabel, what is the world, or the world's laws to youl Have 
 
226 CANVASSlNCt. 
 
 you not already known and felt its nothingness? 0( all those 
 who fluttered about you, in the sunshine of your existence, who 
 is there that comes to cheer you now, or bring hope and conso- 
 lation? the brilliant Lady Glenville is forgotten by all but one, 
 the man who loved her even in her childhood, seven years ago: 
 ought not that man to be more to you, than a heartless, worthless 
 world; ought he not, Isabel?" 
 
 " Yes! more, much more than this world, with all its honours, 
 and all its splendors, would you be to me, if this world were all 
 that stood between us;- — but there is one thing dearer to me 
 than the world's opinion, my oven self-respect, and there is one 
 Being dearer to me than you, — and that being is my God. Oh, 
 had 1 known him earlier, I should have been spared all I suffer 
 at this moment, for the feelings I now sacrifice in obedience to 
 his will, in that case, never could have arisen, or at least, never 
 have abided in my heart." 
 
 " Do you then reject my love, my sincere, devoted, unchanged, 
 and unchangeable love? do you indeed prefer going alone through 
 the world, Isabel? and is the wretchedness I shall endure, 
 nothing to you, Isabel, — think again! and well, before you doom 
 me and yourself to a life of misery." 
 
 " Tiverton, have you ever read this book?" she asked, hand- 
 ing him the little volume that lay by her. 
 
 " I cannot say that I have." 
 
 " Well, when you have read it, and carefully read it, and after 
 you have prayed over it, come to me again and ask why I doom 
 you and myself to a life of misery. Tiverton; if you had read 
 that book, you would not have come as a tempter to the afflicted. 
 Go travel, as you propose; think, and above all, pray, and then 
 return to your country, and marry;" her voice here faltered for 
 a moment, but she recovered her composure and proceeded. 
 " But let not your wife be the daughter of a worldly mother." 
 
 " And now," she added, holding out her hand, " I will bid 
 you farewell." 
 
 But he still lingered. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis useless, Tiverton, my mind is made up! God bless 
 you, and forget me." 
 
 "Would I could!" he replied, in a voice hoarse from emo- 
 tion, — " but that can never be! — No, I love you as I shall never 
 love again; I honour you as I never honoured before! No, Isa- 
 bel, I can never forget you!" 
 
 He pulled his hat over his brows, and left the room. 
 
 Isabel sank back on the sofa, v/here she lay some time so 
 
 1 
 
CANVASSING. 227 
 
 pale and motionless, one might have almost doubted that she 
 breathed, were it not for the low stifled sob, which at intervals 
 escaped her. 
 
 The next day, Lady Glenville had a relapse, and was unable 
 to proceed on her journey. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 And now will the reader travel with us to Paris, and, having 
 been set down in the Rue Castilione, enter a premiere lighted 
 up, and filled with company^ composed of all that is distin- 
 guished by rank or talent, among the various nations of Europe; 
 — poets, politicians, artists, mathematicians, generals, philoso- 
 phers, and foreign ambassadors, he will there find assembled. 
 Nor is the attraction of beauty wanting to complete the anima- 
 tion and embellishment of the rooms; and each lady has her 
 little circle of admirers; but the largest group of this kind is, 
 strange to say, formed round the plainest woman of the compa- 
 ny; — it is fair to state, however, that she is also the hostess. 
 
 Almost every sentence she utters is followed by a laugh, or 
 a bravo! from the gentlemen by whom she is surrounded; as 
 she turns from the Frenchman to the Italian, from the Spaniard 
 to the German, and addresses to each, in his own language, a 
 few words, which are either sportive, profound, or enthusiastic 
 according to the pursuit and turn of mind of her auditor; and 
 yet, while charming those around her by her wit, or her elo- 
 quence, there is in her manner, at least, no attempt at display, 
 no consciousness of power. She is brilliant, indeed, because 
 she cannot be otherwise; and would have been equally so by 
 her own fire-side. 
 
 A gentleman, who had just entered the room, advanced to- 
 wards her. 
 
 " Well? have you found him?" the lady asked, in a low, hur- 
 ried tone. 
 
 " Yes! after a long search, I have at length traced him to a 
 cafe, in the Palais Royal, where, for the last three days and 
 nights, he has been drinking and gambling with a set of low 
 English blacklegs. I represented to him the cruelty of leaving 
 home, for days, without having previously announced to his 
 17 
 
228 CANVASSING. 
 
 wife his intention of absenting himself; and I tried to persuade 
 him to return with me, but I am sorry to say, could not suc- 
 ceed." 
 
 " And what motive did he givel what answer?" inquired the 
 lady. 
 
 " Oh! the usual answer to all argument, all entreaty! — a 
 laugh." 
 
 The lady bit her lips, and looked thoughtful for a moment, 
 but only for a moment; she quickly resumed her usual careless- 
 ness of demeanor. "Come, Sir Robert, give me your arm into 
 the music room." 
 
 A few minutes afterwards, a voice of extraordinary power 
 and compass, of thrilling expression, and clear and rapid exe- 
 cution, filled the apartments, and called forth on every side 
 bursts of applause, even from professors of the art. 
 
 " What an uncommonly clever woman that is!" — observed a 
 young man, to the gentleman that the lady of the house had 
 called Sir Robert. — " But what'is the reason, Turner, that Bar- 
 ham never appears at his wife's parties] — it looks odd, people 
 say they don't live well together; that he thinks her ugly, and 
 she thinks him silly; but nobody that I know has ever seen him. 
 I understand he keeps odd company; your father was his guar- 
 dian, was he not]" 
 
 Sir Robert bowed. 
 
 *' Well, you ought, in that case, to be able to tell something 
 about him] — Is he really a fool]" 
 
 " His wife has certainly somewhat the advantage of him in 
 point of intellect," answered Sir Robert, dryly. 
 
 "I admire your caution. Turner," said his companion, smi- 
 ling. " Singular, too, considering your position in the menage,'''' 
 
 " How^ do you mean]" asked Sir Robert. 
 
 His companion again smiled. " So you have never heard 
 what people say of yourself, and the English Corinne here] of 
 the brilliant wife and accomplished friend of poor silly Barham]" 
 
 Sir Robert Turner fixed his eyes steadily on the speaker. 
 
 "There is one subject, upon which I never permit a jest, and 
 that is, when a lady is concerned. The first person, therefore, 
 that you hear talking of Mrs. Barham, in any way but that of 
 admiration and respect, refer him to me," and he immediately 
 turned the conversation. 
 
 No one, throughout the evening, could have guessed from 
 Mrs. Barham's manner, as she sang, danced, or talked, that 
 her spirits were disturbed. 
 
 At length, much to the regret of all but the lady herself, her 
 
CANVASSING. 229 
 
 rooms began to thin, and finally, of all the guests, none but Sir 
 Robert remained. 
 
 " Will you come with me to the cafe, where he is?" she ab- 
 ruptly asked; — "I will speak with him myself." 
 
 Turner, greatly surprized, endeavoured to dissuade her, — but 
 she insisted, and accordingly they drove to the cafe. — He 
 alighted, and entered the house, where, after remaining about 
 half an hour, he returned to the carriage, without Barham. 
 
 " I cannot induce him to come to you; — I fear he is utterly 
 lost," he said in a tone of sorrow. 
 
 Maria jumped out of the carriage. 
 
 " Show me the way to the room where he is," she said hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 " My dear Madam, you are not surely going among those fel- 
 lows! It is not a scene fit for a lady." 
 
 " The worse they are, the greater the necessity of getting him 
 away from them," she replied. 
 
 "But it will be in vain; nothing you can say will make the 
 slightest impression on him; pray do not think of exposing your 
 feelings to this useless travail; he has become quite implacable 
 of late." 
 
 But Mrs. Barham insisted, and he led the way; having open- 
 ed the door of the apartment pointed out to her, she stood a mo- 
 ment on the threshold, to try and distinguish her husband 
 among the group of coarse, slang-looking men, by whom he 
 was surrounded. His face was flushed, and his whole manner 
 that of a low, foolish profligate, playing, and losing, and alter- 
 nately laughing and swearing vehemently at his ill fortune. 
 
 Mrs. Barham had approached near enough to touch her hus- 
 band's elbow, before he was aware of her entrance, so com- 
 pletely absorbed was he by what was passing at the table. 
 
 He turned suddenly round, " Ah, is that you] What brings 
 you here]" 
 
 " Come with me, for a moment, to the door," she replied. *' I 
 wish to speak a few words with you." 
 
 "Well, don't keep me long, then, for I am very busy just 
 row," he said, following his wife out of the room. 
 
 " Barham, why have you not come home for three days?" 
 
 " Because I did not choose it," he replied. " I had a mind 
 for some fun; — do you think I am going to ask your leave, when- 
 ever I may like to have a lark]" 
 
 " Why not at least tell me where you could be found] Why 
 leave for days, uncertain what had become of you]" 
 
 " And if I had, Turner would have been after me, dogging 
 
230 CANVASSING. 
 
 me every place I went. He thinks, because his old father kept 
 me in leading strings once upon a time, that I am going to let 
 him do the same now, but he will find himself mistaken." 
 
 " My dear Barham, I do not want to keep you in leading 
 strings, I assure you," observed Turner quietly. " I merely 
 offer you advice which you are at liberty, of course, to accept or 
 reject, as j'ou please; but which, for the sake of the old friend- 
 ship subsisting; between our families, however ungraciously 
 you may receive it, I shall continue to offer. I can have no 
 object in view but your own welfare." 
 
 "Aye, aye, I believe as much of that as I like," replied Bar- 
 ham, with a loud laugh; "that is always your gammon; but I 
 am not such a spoony as you take me for." 
 
 Turner siirugged his shoulders contemptuously. "Well, my 
 good fellow, though you will not listen to my advice, will you 
 listen to your wife]" 
 
 " Thank you! I am not going to make a Jerry-Sneak of my- 
 self, I can tell you that for your comfort. No, no, I am my own 
 masier, and I'll do as 1 like; so let her keep her advice for some- 
 body who wants it. At Cralcourt she badgered me because 1 had 
 a few running horses, and betted a little; and because I had 
 hounds, and used to like a bit of fun with my grooms and hunts- 
 men; and now I am here, she keeps poking at me, because I dine 
 with a few friends. Ever since 1 married, it has been the same 
 thing; she is always finding fault, whatever I do; and for that 
 matter, she has no right to do so — " 
 
 " No] has not a wife a right to remonstrate with a husband!" 
 asked ]\Irs. Barham. 
 
 "Yes, if a man marries out of his own head; it is all very 
 well then. One may hear a little teazing, when one has brought 
 a trouble upon oneself — that is all fair enough." 
 
 "What do you mean, Barham] I don't understand you," said 
 Turner. 
 
 " Ah, she understands me," he replied, doggedly. 
 
 Turner glanced at Maria. 
 
 Could the woman he now saw standing humiliated, as a wife, 
 before a drunken fool, be the same brilliant, animated, self-pos- 
 sessed, intellectual creature, that had dazzled a circle of accom- 
 plished judges] 
 
 " My God! what a fate for such a being!" he said to himself, 
 as he observed her colour rise, at her husband's taunt. Maria 
 had, however, too much habitual command over her feelings, to 
 notice the speech. 
 
CANVASSING. 231 
 
 " Well, my dear Barham," said she, " I have listened to you; 
 will you now attend to meV 
 
 " Yes; but don't make a long preachment of it, for I want to 
 go back to my friends." 
 
 " You accuse me of badgering you," Mrs. Barham continued, 
 "but how was that] have I ever used an unkind word, or even 
 an impatient one"? Have I, Barham]" 
 
 "I don't say you have; but you were always reminding me 
 that I ought not to do this, that, or the other; advising, ad- 
 vising, from morning till night, instead of making me laugh, as 
 you used to do. I did not marry to go to school, you may be 
 sure. You were always telling me what a pleasant house you 
 would keep, if I would but come to Paris; — well, I did, and you 
 crammed it with clever people, and then wonder I don't like 
 to stay at home." 
 
 " Well, dear Barham, then there shall be no more clever 
 people at the house, if they keep you away from it. Can I say 
 more than that? and, in turn, all I request of you is, merely 
 this; — to ask to your house, not to a cafe, whatever company 
 you please: or, at least, to tell me, when you leave home, how 
 long you intend remaining absent. Is that fair, or not]" 
 
 " I told you before, I have a mind for fun, sometimes," re- 
 plied Barham. 
 
 " W^ell, and cannot you have the fun at homel" inquired his 
 wife. 
 
 " Oh, no, I can't: — what fun can one have with a wife stuck 
 up near one. Oh, no; you go your way, and I go mine, and we 
 shall always agree very well." 
 
 " But, Barham, your way is leading you, fast and sure, to 
 ruin. You cannot have fun without money, — what will you do 
 when it is all spent?" asked Maria. 
 
 " Oh, that time is a good way off, yet," he replied laughing. 
 
 " Not so distant as you think," continued his wife. " Remem- 
 ber what you owed before you left England, a/id how much you 
 are losing every night at play, and " 
 
 " Oh d n it! there you are, again, at the old story!" he ex- 
 claimed bursting impatiently from her and returning to his 
 party. 
 
 " Oh, why did I marry a fool?" exclaimed Maria, throwing 
 herself into the carriage. " My God! to think of being tied for 
 life to a creature like that! a creature that cannot be made even 
 to feel for himself! and / to be obliged to bend low to him.' to 
 be obliged to suppress my indignation at his insults, and my 
 X7* 
 
232 CANVASSING. 
 
 contempt at his folly, in order, if possible, to keep him within 
 bounds? My unfortunate child! what is to become of herl" 
 
 " What other wotnan could have sustained herself at alt, 
 under such a fatel" asked Sir Robert; — " liow I do respect and 
 admire you." 
 
 "Respect and admire!" Maria repeated with bitterness: 
 " Oh, no, you despise me; — you woulfl despise the woman who 
 merely consented to marry a fool because he was rich; how 
 much more must you despise her who planned and plotted to 
 marry him! Barham spake but the truth when he said he 
 never wanted to marry me. I deserved the taunt, and, therefore, 
 I was obliged to bear it patiently, humbly. Ah! little does 
 the world know, while I talk and laugh, how 1 writhe under 
 the deep, deep humiliation, the unutterable and innumerable 
 mortifications of my lot! Insulted by a creature I despise; mar- 
 ried to a man I am ashamed to acknowledge! You will won- 
 der, perhaps, why I go into the world at all, under such circum- 
 stances: but I should lose my senses if I did not, sometimes, 
 force my thoughts into another direction. Besides, when in 
 society, such as that of to-night, I forget that I am Barbara's 
 wife; I feel a momentary triumph in the mind, which enables me 
 to rise above the degradation, — the contemptible position that, 
 at other times, bows down my spirit to the earth. And, then, 
 the remorse I feel! the remorse, when I think that, had Barham 
 married some pretty girl he liked, he might have turned out dif- 
 ferently: to think that I have the wreck of his fate to answer 
 for, as well as my own miserable accountability!" 
 
 "And is this the woman the world represents as unfeeling"?'* 
 exclaimed her companion, half aloud. 
 
 " I cannot wonder that it should," observed Maria, " for I 
 long thought that I was so myself." 
 
 "Butl never did," said Turner; "I judged more favourably, 
 and, as it has proved, more correctly, of yon, than either your- 
 self or the world' had done. I early saw that your nature had 
 been disturbed, and put out of its place ; that you had been so 
 often told you had no sensibility, and had been so carefully in- 
 structed to glory in your callousness, as a proof of the superior- 
 ity of your understanding, that you had, at length, become tem- 
 porarily, owing to your tuition^' the worldly-hardened character 
 your teachers persuaded you that you were, from origitial dis-» 
 position. But I could not believe that one, so beloved in her 
 neighbourhood, of whom I heard so many acts of charity, kind- 
 ness, and generosity, could be wanting, essentially, in a feeling 
 heart. No, I could never believe that possible, and I was right. 
 
CANVASSING. 233 
 
 I never could believe that God would have given such an intel- 
 lect without giving a heart too; you were not merely intended 
 to dazzle, but to bless also; you were intended for a higher and 
 a better vocation than the one allotted you by your mother." 
 
 " And yet, perhaps, she was not so much to blame, after all," 
 observed Maria, "according to the opinions she held; for, in- 
 tent as she was upon marrying her daughters well, and seeing 
 me unattractive in person, and, therefore, unlikely to succeed, 
 as it is called, unless pushed forward, she found herself neces- 
 sarily compelled*to stifle my sensibility, lest it should interfere 
 with my judgment, and prevent my taking proper measures to 
 secure a good ' establishment.' " 
 
 " And so you married Barham because your mother })ersua- 
 ded you that you were not a woman to be loved] My God! if 
 we had but met sooner!" he continued, seemingly affected. 
 
 The carriage just then stopped at the doer of her house, and 
 Mrs. Barham also appeared agitated. 
 
 "I over-heard your exclamation," she said. 
 
 " And it has offended you]" he asked. 
 
 " I will be candid with you in all tilings; — no, it has not of- 
 fended, but it has grieved me, because I must no longer meet 
 you as I have done." 
 
 " Forget what I said, — it escaped me unintentionally, I so- 
 lemnly assure you, — forget," replied Turner. 
 
 "I cannot forgt-t any thing you ever said. Turner," replied 
 Maria; "besides, I have been already informed that we are 
 commented on; yet, while I felt there existed no grounds for 
 censure, I was reluctant to give up. the Society of a tried and 
 valued friend, because fools talked, and I therefore deferred, 
 from day to day, coming to a decision. I have always had too 
 little respect for the opinion of others, but — " 
 
 "But," interrupted Turner, " if you saw no necessity this 
 morning for our separation, why should any thing I have said 
 to-night cause you to alter your opinion] You do not judge of 
 me as a mere man of the world, 1 hope, nor of yourself as a 
 giddy woman ; why ma}' we not meet as heretofore, I pro- 
 mising nevet again to express a vain, and, what is worse, a cri- 
 minal regret, with regard to the past, and you undertaking to 
 forgive and forget what has been said] I do not ask to be al- 
 lowed to come as often to your house as fonnerly, for I am aware 
 my visits have been remarked, and I had intended, in conse- 
 quence, withdrawing myself, in a degree, from your society;— 
 you will allow me, however, will you not, occasionally, to see 
 
234 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Better not, for some time, at least," replied Maria. " It is 
 not that I think so badly of you, or so meanly of myself, as to 
 fear you; but it subjects to a strong and disadvantageous con- 
 trast one that I am bound, as much as possible, to regard, and 
 will make my duty still more irksome than it is. I shall leave 
 Paris for a iew weeks; meantime, persuade, if you can, poor 
 Barham to play and drink less, and, when 1 return, you will 
 probably be setting out for England; — Good night, and God 
 bless you, till we meet again." 
 
 Turner was silent for a few moments, and *the usually calm 
 expression of his countenance became disturbed. " You are 
 right," he said, at length, and turned from the door. 
 
 Maria hurried up stairs to her own room, and thence to an 
 adjoining apartment. She noiselessly approached a bed, where 
 a child lay asleep, and wluch was calling, in unconscious fond- 
 ness, through its slumbers, on its mother. 
 
 " My darling!" she exclaimed passionately, " your mother 
 is near yon. Pure, innocent creature!" she continued, kneeling 
 by the bed-side, while tears trickled down her cheeks, " you 
 first taught me that I had a heart! my child! my all, in this 
 world! the only being that loves me, and that I love, except 
 , but hush, I must not even think of him, here, by her bed- 
 side. And yet," she continued, unwittingly pursuing the very 
 train of thought she had, the instant before, condemned, "is it 
 my fault, if 1 love him? against a brilliant, or insinuating man 
 of the world, I should have been upon my guard; but how could 
 I be prepared for the gradual, scarcely perceptible, influence of 
 active, undeviating, intelligent goodness; of generosity, disinte- 
 restedness, unbounded, and unostentatious benevolencel how 
 CQuld I imagine that there was sin, or danger, in esteeming one, 
 whom his equals honoured, and the poor adoredl And the first 
 prayer that I ever uttered from the heart, was it not at his sug- 
 gestion, when my child was ill? Oh, if 1 had been his wife! 
 Three months after I quitted Ireland, with Barham, he came 
 into our neighbourhood! — but no, the woman who could seU 
 herself for gold was not worthy of a better fate! I do nov coin^ 
 plain,— -I deserve it all, and more," 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MONTH passed, and Mrs. Barham returned from her tour. — 
 Several letters had arrived during the interval, but which had 
 not been forwarded, from uncertainty as to her address, in her 
 movements from place to place. Among those now laid before 
 her was one of an old date from her mother, informing her of 
 Isabel's quarrel with her husband, and of her approaching se- 
 paration; throwing the whole blame, as was to be expected 
 from her tone with Lady Glenville herself, on her daughter, an- 
 nouncing her firm determination of leaving her, for the future, 
 to her whims and absurdities, and mentioning her daughter's 
 appeal to her protection, and her refusal. 
 
 *' She shall have mine, then!" exclaimed Maria. "Isabel, 
 you wronged your sister, when you did not write to tell her 
 that you wanted a home; — yes, for, even in my most selfish and 
 hardened days, I should not have given you the answer your 
 mother gave. Oh, I wish I had received this letter before; 
 Isabel will think me so barbarous never to have taken any notice 
 of her all this time; and now where will a letter reach her] for, 
 according to the date of my mother's communication, she must 
 have already left Glenville House, — and ill too, — poor Isabel!" 
 and she was sitting down to write to her sister, under cover to 
 Lady Anne, when a letter, just come by the post, was handed 
 her. It was from Edwards, Lady Glenville's woman, inform- 
 ing her of her sister's illness at Canterbury, and that her Lady 
 having strictly forbidden her communicating the intelligence to 
 her mother, she dared not disobey her commands; although 
 very uneasy at so heavy a responsibility resting upon herself 
 alone: she therefore took the liberty of letting Mrs. Barham 
 know Lady Glenville's dangerous state, and begging her in- 
 structions how to act. 
 
 That evening Maria and her little girl were oa the road to 
 England. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the precautions which tenderness could 
 suggest, to prepare Lady Glenville for a meeting with her sis- 
 ter, the agitation had nearly proved fatal to her. 
 
 " You will live with me, will you not? my own dear Isabel?" 
 
 Lady Glenville leaned her head on her sister's bosom, and 
 for some moments neither of them spoke. 
 
236 CANVASSING. 
 
 " Yes!" Isabel replied at length, " if I live it shall be with 
 you, Maria. 1 wish I had known you sooner and better. I 
 should not have been thrown on the dangerous sympathy of 
 another. 1 never did you justice, Maria!" 
 
 " A great change has come over me," said Maria, " since we 
 were girls together, I have learned to feel — the great barrier 
 that used to separate our minds is removed. My character has 
 been softened, and your's strengthened, by the few years of our 
 married lives. We can now be, what we never were before, — 
 sisters in heart! counselling, sympathizing friends! — On one 
 subject only we will never speak, because it is one we must not 
 even think upon." 
 
 " True!" replied Isabel. " But to keep a constant and ef- 
 fectual watch over our thoughts, we shall need assistance. Do 
 you ever pray, Maria?" 
 
 " No, but I will; "her sister answered, pressing her hand. 
 
 " Your child shall be mine; we will educate her together; 
 and God grant she may have a happier fate than either of her 
 mothers!" said Isabel, throwing her arms around her adopted 
 child. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 We will now pass over five years, and beg the reader to return 
 again to Wilmot Castle. Lady Anne and her husband are sit- 
 ting together. 
 
 " Now, is not that ridiculous? Maria, of all people upon 
 earth, to set up for sentiment! She marries a man she cares no- 
 thing about, because, he has a good fortune. Well, he loves 
 his fortune — his estate is sold — he goes mad out of a fit of 
 drunkenness, and the world won't persuade her to send hinti at 
 once, quietly, to a proper place of confinement. ' He would be 
 treated cruelly,' she says, so she insists on taking care of him 
 herself. To talk in that way, she must be as mad as he is. I 
 have not patience with such nonsense — is it not provoking, 
 Wilmot?" 
 
 " Why, as Maria has patience, I think we may. I am only 
 sorry she has such a miserable lot!" replied the father. 
 
 " And Isabel encourages her in the scheme-^-applauds it of all 
 
CANVASSING. 237 
 
 things. Such an account as Rochford gives of them! — he was 
 down in their neighbourhood some weeks since, — it is really 
 melancholy to think of it — they are becoming regular Metho- 
 dists! — teach charity children their catechism, and make flan- 
 nel petticoats for old women! My dear Wilmot, I am really 
 astonished how you can laugh at such conduct." 
 
 " Why, my dear Anne, I think that they are, of the two, bet- 
 ter employed even in ' making flannel petticoats for old women' 
 than in flirting with young men. By the way, who was it that 
 Tiverton married?" 
 
 " Lord knows! some nobody or other he chose for her piety. 
 Rochford wrote me word. I never thought much of his sense, 
 — but, however, I am sorry now I formerly discouraged his ad- 
 dresses to Isabel; yet how could I foresee his uncle and three 
 cousins would die, and make him a Marquis] I did all for the 
 best, however," said Lady Anne with a sigh. 
 
 " Do you know what would have been better than ' doing for 
 the best,' as you call it, my dear Annel" 
 
 " What?" asked his wife. 
 
 " To have done nothing at all." 
 
 Lady Anne paused, and then said, "You are right." 
 
 THE END. 
 
New Works, pviljlislied by Carey, Lea, «fc Blanchard* 
 
 BRIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 This series of Treatises is published under the following circum- 
 stances: — 
 
 The Right Honorably and Rev. Francis Henry, Earl of Bridge- 
 water, died in the month of February, 1825 ; he directed certain trus- 
 tees therein named, to invest in tlie public funds, the sum of eight 
 thousand pounds sterling; this sum, with the accruing dividends 
 thereon, to be held at the disposal of the President, for the time being, 
 of the Royal Society of London, to be paid to the person or persons 
 nominated by him. The Testator farther directed, that the person or 
 persons selected by tJie said President, should be appointed to write, 
 print and publish one thousand copies of a work, on the Power, Wis- 
 dom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the Creation ; illustra- 
 ting such work, by all reasonable arguments, as, for instance, the va- 
 riety and formation of God's creatures in the Animal, Vegetable, and 
 Mineral Kingdoms ; the effect of digestion, and, thereby, of conver- 
 sion ; the construction of the hand of man, and an infinite variety of 
 other arguments ; as also by discoveries, ancient and modern, in arts, 
 sciences, and the whole extent of literature. 
 
 He desired, moreover, that the profits arising from the sale of the 
 works so publislicd, should be paid to the authors of the works. 
 
 The late President of the Royal Society, Da vies Gilbert, Esq. re- 
 quested the assistance of his Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 and of the Bishop of London, in determining upon the best mode of 
 carrying into effect, the intentions of the Testotor. Acting with their 
 advice, and with the concurrence of a nobleman immediately connect- 
 ed with the deceased, Mr. Davies Gilbert appointed the following eight 
 gentlemen to write separate Treatises in the different branches of the 
 subjects here stated: — 
 
 I. The Adaptation of External Nature to the Moral and Intellec- 
 tual Constitution of Man, by the Rev. Thomas Chalmers, D. D., Pro- 
 fessor of Divinity in the University of Edinburgh. 
 
 IL The adaptation of External Nature to the Physical Condition 
 of Man, by John Kion, M. D., F. R. S., Regius Professor of Medicine 
 in the University of Oxford. 
 
 in. Astronomy and General Physics, considered with reference to 
 Natural Theology, by the Rev. Wm. Whewell, M. A., F. R. S., Fel- 
 low of Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 IV. The hand : its mechanism and vital endowments as evincing 
 design, by Sir Charles Bell, K. H., F. R. S. 
 
 V. Animal and Vegetable Physiology, by Peter Mark Roget, M. D., 
 Fellow of and Secretary to the Royal Society. 
 
 VI. Geology and Mineralogy, by the Rev. Wm. Buckland, D. D., 
 F. R. S., Canon of Christ Church, and Professor of Geology in the 
 University of Oxford. 
 
 VII. The History, Habits, and Instincts of Animals, by the Rev. 
 Wm. Kirby, M.A., F. R. S. 
 
]MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 MILITARY MEMOIRS of the DUKE of WELLINGTON. 
 By Capt. Moyle Siierer, Author of Recollections of the 
 Peninsula. In 2 vols. 18mo. 
 
 "The tone of feeling and reflection which prrvades the work is in the charac- 
 teristic niooJ of the writer, con.*iJerate, ardent, and chivalrous ; his principles, 
 as nii^ht be expected, are sound and indepMident, and his language is frequently 
 rich in those bi-aaties which iiisting ush liis previous \vriiing.s. To us ii appears 
 a work which will not diecredit its illustrious suhjcct."— C//u(e(^ Service Journal. 
 
 THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF JO.\NNA 
 BAILLIE. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 This edition corresponds with the Library Editions of Byron, Scott, Moore, &:c. 
 
 "Miss Baillie's Plays on the Passions have been lona; known as among the 
 best in the language. No one who reads them can entertain a doubt of the char- 
 acter of the writer's affections. Such works could never have been dictated by 
 a cold heart." — Cliristian Examiner. 
 
 '• We are among thj most earnest admirers of her genius, her literary attain- 
 ments and skill, her diction, her success, her moral designs, and her personal 
 worth. Some of hr-r tragedies ha%'e deservedly jiassed into the stock of the prin- 
 cipal British and American theatres. They are express developments and de- 
 lineations of the passions, marked by a deep insight into human nature, great 
 dramatic power of treatment, a fertile spirit of poetry, and the loftiest and 
 p irest tnoral sentiment." — J^ational Gazette. 
 
 TREATISE ON CLOCK and WATCHMAKING, Theoretical 
 and Practical. By Thomas Reid, Edinburgh Honorary Mem- 
 
 j bor of the Worshipful Company of Clock-Makers, London. 
 Royal 8vo. Illustrated by nurnerous Plates. 
 
 GEOLOGICAL ]\IANUAL. By II. T. De la Beche. In 8vo. 
 with numerous wood-cuts. 
 
 " A work of first-rate importance in the science to which it relates, and whieh 
 1 mast henceforth take its place in the library of every student in Geology."— 
 Phil. Jila^azine. 
 
 " Mr. Do la Heche's aeoloiical Manual is the firs-t and best work of the kind, 
 and he has performed his task with a perfect knowledge of all that has been 
 ascertained in Geology, and with considerable judgirtent and taste in the man- 
 ner of doing it. So much geological science was never before compressed in so 
 s;)iaU a space." — Spectator. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND, by Sir James Mackintosh. Octavo 
 
 edition. 
 
 *^,* The first volume of this edition will contain the sarna matter as the fir^t 
 three volumes of the 18ino. edition. 
 
 A COLLECTION OF COLLOQUIAL PHRASES, on every 
 s'jbject necessary to maintain Conversation, the whole so dis- 
 po.sed as considerably to facilitate the acquisition of the Italian 
 language. By an Italian' Gentleman. 1 vol. 18mo. 
 
 NOVELLE ITALIANS.— Stories from Italian Waiters, with a 
 literal, interlinear translation on Locke's plan of Classical 
 Instruction, illustrated v/ith T-fotes. Fir^t American from the 
 last Ijondon edition, with additional translations and notes. 
 
New "Works, pnlilislied by Carey, I^ea, &- Blancliard. 
 
 THE PREMIUM, 
 
 A PRESENT FOR ALL SEASONS : 
 
 Consisting of elegant selections from. British and American 
 writers of tlie 19th century. In one small neat volume, ele- 
 gantly bound in morocco ; with engravings, by Ellis, from de- 
 signs by Westall and Richter. 
 
 This work particularly commends itself to school teachers, pa- 
 rents, and others, who may be in search of a volume to pre- 
 sent to either sex. 
 
 " A delightful little bouquet of ' elegant extracts,' from the best writers of 
 prose and poetry in Great Britain and America. Tlie premiums would be a 
 prettj- present for young ladies, or students, emulous to be noticed pr reward- 
 ed." — Sentinel. 
 
 *' It is a collection, or rather let us say, a selection of pieces in prose and 
 verso, that have real merit, with reference both to style and sentiment. They 
 are choice, and will be useful to improve the taste and strengthen the morals. 
 The autlior has done a good work, and those who wish to give the most de- 
 serving a beautiful and a useful ' premium,' will find the work to which we 
 refer altogether suitable." — U. S. Qazettc. 
 
 " Carey, i.ea & Bianchard have given us a choice selection of gems, from 
 the l)e?t popular writers of the day, under the above title. It contains arti- 
 cles from the pens of Crolcy, Wilson, Byron, Mary Howitt, Mrs. Ilemans, 
 Moore, Hood, Dr. Bird, Campbell, Planning, Irving, Webster, Sprague, Brain- 
 ing, Percival, &c. The volume is a pleasant one, and the selections such as 
 their respective authors have no need to be ashamed of." — JV. Y. Com. Adver- 
 tiser. 
 
 " This is a neat volume composed of extracts from the celebrated writers of 
 tlie present century. The selections are admirably made, and the work is 
 got up with unusual elegance. The binding is a beautiful specimeu of the 
 i-kill which has been attained in this important department of book-making. 
 Tb3 volume is one of rare beauty, and constitutes a cheap, elegant, and ap- 
 propriate present." — Daily Intelligencer. 
 
 " A very neat and instructive present for youth at all seasons." — J\''at. Oaz. 
 
 A TREATISE ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 BY SIR JOHN F. W. IIERSCHEL, F. E. S. &C. 
 
 In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " The present treatise is in no wise inferior to its predecessor : it is charac- 
 terized by the same agreeable and elegant style, tlie same facility of illustra- 
 tion — added to which it possesses unrivalled precisiion and accuracy of de- 
 monstration. Avoiding, therefore, the abstruse niceties and the transcendental 
 mathematics of the subject, the author has nevertheless produced a volume 
 calculated, we are fully persuaded, to impress upon his readers the magnitude 
 and importance of the science, and to initiate them in no mean degree into 
 its mysteries."— Lit. Gazette. 
 
 ^i%tmoivB ot the <£ourt 
 
 OF KING CHARLES THE FIRST. 
 By Ltjct Aikin. In Two Volumes, 8vo. 
 
New W^orks, pubUsbed l>y Carey, lica, <fc Blaucbard. 
 
 BRIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 VIII. Chemistry, Meteorology, and the Function of Digestion, by 
 Wm. Prout, M.D.,F.R.S. ^ 
 
 THE FOLLO^VING ARE PUBLISHED. 
 
 ASTRONOMY AND GENERAL PHYSICS, considered with 
 reference to Natural Theolo^^y. By the Rev. William Whe- 
 WELL, M. A., Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge ; being Part III. of the Bridgewater Treatises on the 
 Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the 
 Creation. In one vol. 12mo. 
 
 " It is a work of profound investigation, deep research, distinguished alike 
 for the cairn Christian spirit which breathes throughout, and the sound, irre- 
 sistible argumentation which is stamped on every page."— Z>ai/y Intelli- 
 gencer. 
 
 " Let works like that before us be widely disseminated, and the bold, active, 
 and ingenious enemies of religion be met by those, equally sagacious, alert and 
 resolute and the most timid of the many who depend upon the few, need not 
 fear the host that comes with subtle steps to 'steal their faith away.' "— JV. Y. 
 American. 
 
 " That the devoted spirit of the work is most exemplary, that we have here 
 and there found, or fancied, room for cavil, only peradveiiture because we have 
 been unable to follow the author through the prodigious range of his philo- 
 sophical survey — and in a word, that the work before us would have made the 
 reputation of any other man, and may well maintain even that of Professor 
 Whewell." — Metropolitan . 
 
 " He has succeeded admirably in laying a broad foundation, in the light of 
 nature, for the reception of the more glorious truths of revelation ; and has 
 produced n work well calculated to dissipate the delusions of scepticism and 
 infidelity, and to confirm the believer in liis faith." — Charleston Courier. 
 
 " The known talents, and high reputation of the author, gave an earnest of 
 excellence, an'd nobly has Mr. Whewell redeemed the pledge.— In conclusion, 
 we have no hesitation in saying, that the present is one of the best works of 
 its kind, and admirably adapted lo the end proposed; as such, we cordially 
 recommend it to our readers." — London Lit. Gazette. 
 
 " It is a work of high character." — Boston Recorder. 
 
 A TREATISE ON THE ADAPTATION OF EXTERNAL 
 NATURE TO TtlE PHYSICAL CONDITION OF MAN, 
 
 principally with reference to the supply of his wants, and the 
 exercise of his intellectual faculties. By John Kidd, M. D., 
 F. R. S., Regius Professor of Medicine in the Universit^'^ of 
 Oxford ; being Part II. of the Bridgewater Treatises on the 
 Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the 
 Creation. In one vol. 12mo. 
 
 "It is ably written, find replete both with interest and instruction. The 
 diffusion of such works cannot fail to be attended with the happiest effects in 
 justifying ' the ways of God to man,' and illustrating the wisdom and good- 
 ness of the Creator by arguments which appeal irresistably both to the reason 
 and the feelings. Few can understand abstract reasoning, and still fewer rel- 
 ish it, or will listen to it : but in this work the purest morality and the kindli- 
 est feelings are inculcated through the medium of agreeable and useful infor- 
 mation." — Bait. Oaz. 
 
 " It should be in the hands of every individual who feels disposed to ' vindi- 
 cate the ways of God to man.' " — JV. Y. Com. Adv. 
 
FA^IILY CABINET ATLAS. 
 
 The family CABINET ATLAS, constructed vpon an ori- 
 ginal plan: Being a Companion to the Encyclopedia Ameri- 
 cana, Cabinet Cyclopasclia, Family Library, Cabinet Librarj", &c. 
 
 This Atlas comprises, in a voluni5 of the Family Library size, nearly 100 Maps 
 and Tables, which present equal to Fifty T/icusand J\ramcs cf Places; a body 
 of information three times as extensive' as ilial eupplied by the generality of 
 Q,uarto Atlases. 
 
 Opinions rf the Public Journals. 
 
 "This beautiful and mosr, useful little volume," says the Literary Gazette, 
 " is a perfect picture of c'.egance, containing a vast sum of pcoirraphical infor- 
 mation. A more instructive little present, or a gift better calculated to be long 
 preserved i\D'\ cfien referred to, could not be offered to favored youth of either 
 sex. Its rlit-apness, we must add, is another recommendation ; for, although 
 this elegant publication contains 100 beautiful engravings, it is issued at a price 
 that can b.? noob.-tacle to its being prncarcd by every parent and friend to youth." 
 
 " This Atlas far surpasses any thing cf the kind which we have seen, and is 
 made to suit the popular libraries w liich Dr. Lardner and Mr. Murray are now 
 sending into every family in the empire." — J\Ior.thly Rcvicio. 
 
 " Its very ingenious method of arrangement secures to the geographical stu- 
 dent the information fur which hitherto he has been obliged to rcsorl to works 
 of the largest dimensions."— j3«Aen^M77i. 
 
 " This miniature and beautiful Atlas is likely to supersede, for general pur- 
 poses, maps of a more expensive and elaborate character. It appears to us to 
 answer the double \mrpos- of exercising the attention, while it imprints all that 
 is important in Gcosraiihy on the memory." — Atlas. 
 
 " The workmanship is among the best of the kind we have ever witnessed." — 
 Exnmi-ncr. 
 
 " It contains all the infc-rmation to be derived from the most expensive and 
 ! unv.-ieldy Atlas." — York Courant. 
 
 IHISTGIIY OF THE REVOLUTION IN ENGLAND, IN 
 
 1638: comprising a View of the Reign of James II., from his 
 accession, to the^Enterprise of the Prince of Orange. By the 
 late Right Hon. Sir James Mackintosh. And completed to 
 the Settlement of the Crown, by the Editor. To which is pre- 
 fixed, a Notice of the Life, Writings, and Speeches of Sir 
 James AIackintosh. In 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 "\Yc are at length gratified by the appearance of this long-looked for work 
 from the pen of*Sir James Mackintosh. Highly gifted by nature, deeply read, 
 and singularly accomplished, the view of one of the most memorable epochs in 
 English history could not have been undertaken by any marv of a capacity to do 
 it justice in every respect, superior to this eminent indiviu .uL"— laf- Oazette. 
 
 "In every page we perceive the anxiety of the historian to hold the l>a- 
 lanco of justice witli iinfaUehng hand, and to watch its slightest vibrations." 
 — Aihencc'im. 
 
 "The Sequel is highly honourable to the industry and talents of its author; 
 and the Prefatory Memoir is verv well written. Altogether, the volume 
 possesses a sterling character, too "rare at this period of evanescent publica- 
 tions." — Lit. Gazelle. 
 
 LIFE OF THE REV. GEORGE CRABBE, LL.B., with his 
 Letters and Journals, together with his Posthumous Poems, 
 Edited by his Son. In 2 neat volumes. 
 
New Works, published by Carey, Lea, & Blanchard. 
 
 TRAITS AND TRADITIONS OF PORTUGAL, coUected 
 during a residence in that country. By i»Iiss Pardoe. In 
 tivo vols. 12mo. 
 
 " A very singular and effective union of the very best properties which we 
 seek for in books of travels on the one hand, and in works of the imagination 
 on the olher.'"— Monthly Review. 
 
 " The manners of Portugal were never before delineated with so much truth 
 and vivacity." — Standard. 
 
 THE PaSTHUMOUS POE3IS OF THE REV. GEORGE 
 CRABBE, with his Letters and Journals, and a Memoir 
 of his Life. By his Sou and Executor. In two handsome 
 vols. 
 
 " T/iere are in my recess at home another Seria of Storia, in number and qucntity efficient for a 
 voiumte; and at ihey arc much Uhe the former »n ixecuticm, and sufficiently different in evtutt and cha- 
 racters, thiymay htreajter, in peaceable times, be worth something to you ; a7idthe more, because I shall, 
 vahatever ii mortal of me, be at rest in the chancel of Trowbridge cAurc/i."— Crabbe to his Son. 
 
 " The Life of Crabbe will be found far more abundant in striking incidents 
 and extraordinary contrasts and reverses, than that of almost any other poet 
 with whose personal story we are acquainted. It will be seen from his own 
 Diaries, how calmly he had tasted, both of the very bitterest adversity— a des- 
 titute and forlorn wanderer about the streets of London,— and of what, con- 
 sidering his early position and distresses, may be called splendid prosperity — the 
 honoured and admired friend of Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, Thurlow, Fox— and 
 more recently of Scott, Rogers, Moore, &c. &c.— the courted guest of the noblest 
 mansions— placed at length, by the universal consent of all capable of appre- 
 ciating literary merit, on an ejevalion second to uo one among his contem- 
 poraries." 
 
 THE BOOK OF SCIENCE ; a familiar introduction to the 
 Principles of Natural Philosophy, adapted to the compre- 
 hension of Young People ; comprising Treatises on all the 
 Sciences. Illustrated by many curious and interesting 
 Experiments and Observations, and including Notices of 
 the most recent Discoveries. Embellished v. ith upwards 
 of two hundred Engravings on wood. 
 
 " This work is beautifully ?ot up, and elofrantly embellished witJi exceedingly 
 clever wood cuts : it is published willi the design of affording to youthful minds 
 a brief, but yet perspicuous, exhibition of the first principles of the physical 
 sciences, including accounts of the most important discoveries recently made in 
 the several departments of natural knowledge. All this the book professes to 
 do, and does it well. We think by the easy and familiar tone that it adopts in 
 the descriptions, it will become a great favourite with youth."— Jl/e^rp;?. .l/o^o-. 
 
 " Here is a familiar introduction to the principles of natural philosophy. We 
 have carefully perused every page, and every page has afforded us proofs of 
 accuracv and'observation winch we hardly expected. There cannot be a more 
 delightful present to the young, or anything better calculated to refresh the 
 memories of the (M. It is the book, of ail others, to leach young people how 
 to think." — JVczc Monthly Magazine. 
 
 "The present little volume is so written, lliat, with moder.ite attention, a 
 youth may obtain a very clear kuov.Medge of each branch of natural philosophy. 
 The volume is printed uniformly with the 'Boy's Oicn Book.' and may be said to 
 be a suitable successor to that little work. The compiler desen-es great credit 
 for the arrangement, and also for the simple, at the same time, correct and 
 familiar style of convoying information. We cannot do better than recommend 
 parents to .present to their children this elegant little production."— /Repertory 
 of ^rts. 
 
 "Our readers will, doubtless, remember the 'Boy's Own Bonk;' the present 
 volume is a sequel to that amusing little work. It is got up with extreme care, 
 and illustrated with an immense number of figures, of extraordinary neatness 
 of execution." — itlas. 
 THE HISTORY OF IRELAND. By Thomas Moore. Vol. I. 
 
 is nearly ready, and the remainder in progress. 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND. Vol. IV. Being a continuation 
 
 of Mackintosh. 
 
New "Works, puljUslxed l>y Carey, lica, «& Biancliard. 
 
 Moore's New Work. 
 
 TRAVELS OF AN IRISH GENTLEMAN, 
 
 IN SEARCH OF A RELIGION. 
 
 With Notes and Illustrations. By the Editor of Captain Rock's 
 Memoirs. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " Consjclorin" the circumstances under which these volumes are given to the 
 public we consider their contents as amongst >he most interesting records of 
 which the assertion of the human mind ever formed the theme."— J»/oHtA//^ Re- 
 view. 
 
 " The masterly manner in which Mr. Rloore has brought together his argu- 
 ments the great extent and minuteness of his researches into ancient author- 
 ities his intimacy with the customs and traditions of other times, and nis 
 close and critical knowledge of the ancient languages, will surprise the rea- 
 der of his Travels, who may have measured his talents by his songs."— jfmer- 
 tcflii Sentinel. 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
 With coloured plates : elegantly bound, with gilt edges : a beau- 
 tiful volume for a present. 
 
 SISMONDFS HISTORY OF THE FALL OF THE 
 ROMAr-r EMPIRE: 
 
 COMPRISING A VIEW OF THE INVASION OF THE BARBARIANS. 
 
 THE INFIRMITIES OF GENIUS, 
 
 Illustrated bj referring the anomalies in the literary character, 
 to the habits and constitutional peculiarities of Men of Genius. 
 By R. R. Madden, Esq. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " This is a very valuable and interesting work, full of new views and curi- 
 ous deductions ; beginning with general remarks on the influence of literary 
 habits, on the constitution, and thence proceeding to make the theory more 
 nclunl bv its application to particular instances. 
 
 " His physical biographies, if we may so term them, of Burns, Cowper, By- 
 ron, and Scott, are of a very curious and novel kind ; written with equal feel- 
 ing and ob.^ervation. lie traces Cowpcr's malady to its true source, monoma- 
 nia on religious subjects; and the tone of tire remarks is at once so just and 
 so candid, that we cannot do better than give a brief portion."— Z,i«. Gazette. 
 
 THE LIFE OF PRINCE TALLEYRAND. 
 
 Accompanied by a Portrait. In I volume, 8vo. 
 
 " How- could tlie work be otherwise tlnn interesfir?. when it tracM th« career r,f x sta'tsmar, who. 
 tho-jsh now ,n Lis eighty-first vear, U» con.ina-.di.is i;in'.:^r.ce in evjry E.irnpesn c?h,net, who »c<]v.ned 
 pourr under the French n-.nnarchv, and ret:iined it under t-e RcpulUc, the Uirectoiy, the Consulate, llic 
 Einpire, ir.d the MyvM-.y of Ait: Ij %.:d Ur;fiii6?'-^?rAe..w <»n. 
 
New WorkS) published "by Carey, liei^ <Sfc Blauchard* 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES OF CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Containing the Doctrines, Duties, Admonitions, and Consola- 
 tions, of the Christian Religion. By John Burns, M. D., F. R. S. 
 From the 4th London edition. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " The author has unfolded the principles of Christianity with much candor 
 and correctness; he has explained our personal and relative duties in a jutt 
 and philosophical manner; and, by the ease and unafi'tcted simplicity of his 
 style, has rendered his treatise pleasing as well as instructive. — His remarks 
 on brotherly love, in that part of his work embracing the relative duties, pos- 
 sess mucli to interest." — A Traveller. 
 
 "The book has a hich reputation in Great Britain, and there is no being 
 capable of reflection, who has not need, and upon whom it is not incumbent, 
 to obtain liglit, and bestow concern on the topics wJiich are here discussed. 
 
 "Every jiage that directs the mind to what should be deemed the main inter- 
 est of life, and causes operative thought in ulterior destinies, is of inectima- 
 ble value." — JVat. OazcUe. 
 
 PICTURES OF PRIVATE LIFE. 
 
 BY SARAH STICKNFA'. 
 
 In 1 neat l8mo. voL 
 
 ''■ The publishers deserve thp, tlianks of the lovers of pure, chastened and 
 profitable fiction for their reprint of this charming little work. It cannot fail 
 to become as popular here as it already is in England. It is n collection of tales 
 and sketches, designed to impress upon the mind useful lessons of piety, virtue 
 and wisdom. It is written in a style of unusual excellence — masculine in its 
 vigor, yet light and playful in its delicacy, and embodies several fcenes of 
 pathos and feeling of which Sterne or M'Kcnzie might be proud. — To those 
 whose taste has not been perverted by tJic flashy wit and nauseous sentiment- 
 ality of modern fiction, we commend the immediate purcJiase of this delight- 
 ful little work."" — Daily Intelligencer. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. 
 
 TnOUCUITS IN VEnss FOR EC>;D\T5 and holy DATS TIi; •VGirOUT THE YEAR. 
 " In r^u'e'.iicss and in ayiifidcr.K t}ia!l be ycur itrengllt." — Isaiah xxx. 15. 
 
 First American from tlie 25(li London edition, with an introduction atid 
 notes by BishojO Doane, of Nov Jereey. In a handsome vol. 
 
 " It may be read for purposes of (hvotion by Christians of whatever deuo. 
 mination, with pleasure and profit." — Christian IVatchriian. 
 
 " These verses v.-cre singularly beautiful in conception and composition, aufl 
 breathe tha purest poetic taste and the most sincere and fervent spirit of 
 piety."— Ga:c.V«. 
 
 " The work should he in the liands of all v/ho value taste, genius and 
 piety." — Com. Intelligencer. 
 
 "We have rarely, perhap-; never, met a poetical volume, more appropriate 
 to family devotion." — U.S. Gaztttc. 
 
 " As a book for family reading— whether as an exercise of tasto or devotion 
 — we know of few that can surpass it." — Gazette. 
 
 A few copies have been lx)und in beantiful embossed leather, with gilt 
 edges, making a very desirable volume for a present. 
 
 A GUIDE TO AN IRISH GENTLEMAN IN HIS SEARCH 
 
 FOR A RELIGION. 
 
 ViY the Rev. Mortimeu O'Sullivan, A. M. 
 
 1 vol 12mo. Being an answer to Moore's work. 
 
Ne-w "Works, puWisliecl l>y Carey, Ijea^ «fc Blancliard. 
 
 TALES AND CONVERSATIONS, 
 
 OR, THE NEW CHILDREN'S FRIEND. 
 
 By Mrs. Markham, Author of the Histories of England and 
 France. In 2 small volumes. 
 
 " We conscientiously recommend Mrs. Markham to our readers."— itf. 
 Gazette. 
 
 " Thf!se volumes contain excellent instruction in a very agreeable form."— 
 SpectaUtr. 
 
 "We have two neat volumes, containing a series of Dialogues, by Mrs. 
 Markh.im, designed for the improvement of young people. We have.examin- 
 ed them carefuliv, and can say that we think them well adapted to the purpose 
 of the author. They are sufficiently simple to be understood by boys and girls 
 who have just begun to lake to their books ; they convey lessons well worth 
 the study of all who are yet classed among young people; and they are inter- 
 esting enough to secure the attention of those whom they are designed to in- 
 struct." — Chronicle. 
 
 MRS. TROLLOPE'S BELGIUM AND WESTERN GERMANY. 
 
 INCLUDING VISIT.S TO B.\DEN-EADEN, WEISBADEN, CASSEL, 
 HANOVER, &C. &LC. IN 1 VOL. 
 " We have pleasure in saying, that we think her style considerably strength- 
 ened and improved since her 'Tour in America."— Quarfer/y Review. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF CELEBRATED WOMEN OF ALL 
 COUNTRIES. 
 
 BY THE DUCHESS d'aBRANTES. 
 
 ON THE PENITENTIARY SYSTEM 
 
 IN THE UNITED STATES, 
 
 AND ITS APPLICATION IN FRANCE: 
 
 With an Appendix on Penal Codes, and Statistical Notes. By 
 G. De Beaumont and A. De Toqueville, Counsellors in the 
 Royal Court of Paris, and Members of the Historical Society 
 of Pennsylvania. Translated from the French : with an in- 
 troduction, notes, and additions. By Francis Leiber. In 1 
 vol. 8vo. 
 
 " The cominissioiiors appear to have pursued their researches with much 
 industry and intellivence. and to. have rendered themselves thoroughly ac- 
 ([uainted witli the subjoct." 
 
 "The translation of the work could not have been committed to t»ctter 
 hands than Mr. Leiber's, and with his notes and additions, it fwms one of 
 the best practical treatises extant on the causes and prevention of crime. 
 We siiall probably have occasion to recur again to this valuable work."— Bait, 
 jlmerican. 
 
 HISTORY OF SPAIN AND PORTUGAL. 
 
 Complete, in 5 vols. 12mo. 
 
 ' A work unequalled in modern English historical literature."— .'3</tcJia;jm. 
 
NeAT Works, published by Carey, Lea, & Blanotiard. 
 
 BEIDGEWATER TKEATISES. 
 
 CHEMISTRY, MINERALOGY, AND Ti^iE FUNCTIONS 
 OF DIGESTION, considered with reference to Natural The- 
 ology, by William Prout, M. D. F. R. S., Fellow of the Royal 
 College of Physicians, bein^ part eight of .the Bridgc^water 
 Treatises on the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as 
 manifested in the Creation. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 "For depth of investigation, extent of research and cogency of rDasoning, 
 this work will not suffer in comparison with any other of this admirable 
 series. The deductions from the premises are strong and conclusive, and 
 bear the impress of a calm, philosophic, and truly Christian spiiil. The 
 valuable scientific Inowledge that may be derived from the Bridgewater 
 Treatises, independent of their gratKl design — the illustration of th(? power, 
 wisdom, and goodness of God, as manifested in the creation — should secure 
 them a wide circulation." — Bait. Gazette. 
 
 ON THE ADAPTATION OF EXTERNAL NATURE TO 
 THE MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL CONSTITUTION 
 
 OF MAN. By the Rev. Thomas Chalmers, D. D. ; being 
 Part I. of the Bridgewater Treatises on the Power, Wisdom, 
 and Goodness of God, as manifested in Creation. In 1 vol. 12ino. 
 
 " The volumes before us are every way worthy of their subject. It 
 would seem almost supererogatory to pass any judgmen-t on the 6ly?'.e of a 
 writer so celebrated as Dr. Chalmers. He is well known as a logician not 
 to be baffled by any difficulties ; as one who boldly grapples with his theme, 
 and brings every energy of his clear and nervous intellect into the field. 
 Mo sophistry escapes his eagle vision— no argument that could either 
 enforce or iUuslrate his subject is left untouched. Our literature owes a 
 deep debt of gratitude to the author of these admirable volumes.'" — Lit. Gaz. 
 
 THE HAND: ITS MECHANISM AND VITAL ENDOW- 
 MENTS, AS EVINCING DESIGN. By Sir C.'jarles 
 Bell, K. G. H. ; being Part IV. of the Bridgewater Treatises 
 on the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested 
 in the Creation. In one vol. 12mo. 
 
 '•In the present treatise it is a matter of the warmest satisfaction to find 
 an anafomiist of Sir Charles Bell's great eminence, professing his contennpt 
 for the late fashionable doctrines of materialism held by bo many anato- 
 mif^ls, and now coming forward to present the fruits of his wide researches 
 and great ability in a treatise so full of curious and interesting matter, 
 expressly intended to prove, by the examination of one particular point, 
 that design which is imprest on all parrs of various animals which in some 
 degree answer the purpose of the Hand ; and has shown that the hanci is 
 not the source of contrivance, nor consequently of man's supuriorily, as 
 some materialists have mamtaincd. 
 
 " To this h- lias added some very valuable remarks, showing the uses of 
 Pain, and he lias illustrated the work with a variety of the most admirable 
 and interesting ^vood cuts." — British Magazine. 
 
 ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, considered with 
 
 rcicrence to Natural Theology, By Peter Mark Roget, M. D. Being 
 Treatise five of tho Bridgewater Series : illustrated with numerous 
 cuts. 
 
NcAV Works, iiublished by Carey, Lea, & Blanchard. 
 
 THREE YEARS IN THE PACIFIC, including notices of 
 Brazil, Chili, Bolivia, and Peru. In one vol. By an Offi- 
 cer of the United States' Navy. 
 
 " The work embraces copious descriptions of the countries \isited ; graphic 
 accounts of the state of society ; brief notices of the histor}% state of the 
 arts, climate, and the future prospects of those interesting parts of our conti- 
 nent ; respecting which the citizens of the United States are supposed to 
 care much, but know so little." 
 
 "Full of novelty and valuable details. The American reader will greatly 
 add to his fund of ideas concerning South America by its perusal." — Chronicle. 
 
 "The author's graphic abilities — iho pure :icquaintance he displays with 
 the Spanish language, renders his book at once pleasing and useful." — Gaz. 
 
 " Such contributions to our slock of ideas and literature, deserve a warmer 
 welcome and wider patronage tlian the common-place or extravagant fictions 
 of the da)'." — Nalicmal Gazette. 
 
 "Much new and valuable information, imbodied in excellent language; 
 there cannot be a moment's doubl of its popularitj'." — Jour, cf Belles Letlres. 
 
 LETTERS ON THE UNITED STATES. Letters to a Gen- 
 tleman ill Germany, Avritteu after a trip from Philadelphia 
 to Niagara, edited by Dr. Francis Lieber, in one vol. 8vo. 
 
 " The mingHngof an(.'Cdote, Iho abrupt breaks, personal narration, illiislrative 
 comparisons, ami gencr.il etyle of the work, cive it an interest that will ensure 
 to the book general per-.isnl — while the philosophical lone which occasionally 
 pervades its pages cannot fail of coaimending ihem to the approval of the 
 reflectinz." — U. S. Oazette. 
 
 " We have read this work with great satisfaction and interest. It abounds 
 with characteristic anecdotes, craphic descriptions, and principles which do 
 honour to the head and heart of the author."— JV'at. Intelligencer. 
 
 The style of these Letters i.-^, in general, very good ; sometimes poetical and 
 eloquent. 
 
 "Here is a well written series of Letters, hy a learned German, who has 
 lived long enoug^h among us, it appears, to examine the psculiarities of our 
 government and habits, with the impartial eye of a philosopher." — Baltimore 
 paper. 
 
 " This is a very agreeable book— rambling, spi iehtly, anecdotical, and withal, 
 interspersed with much useful and practical information, and keen and accurate 
 observation."— JVerc York American. 
 
 SKETCHES OF SOCIETY IN GREAT BRITAIN AND 
 IRELAND. By C. S. Stewart, M. A,, Chaplain of the 
 United States' Nary, author of" A Visit to the South Seas," 
 " A Residence in the Sandwich Islands," &c. In two vols. 
 12mo. 
 
 " Some of his sketches are beautiful descriptions ; others are finished pictures. 
 Tha charm of these volumes consists in the distinct view which the author 
 gives us of the scenery, the country, the cities and towns, the aristocracy, the 
 churches,— in one word, the thousand particulars, which, together, eoustituta 
 what is called the state of society." — Religious Telegraph. 
 
 " We have seldom perused a work witli so pleasant an interest. The contents 
 are various and racy, epistolary transcripts of the authors mind, published just 
 as written, without revisions, and with all the gloss and freshness of first and 
 original impressions about thiam. The work is full of living pictures." 
 
 " His observations on men and manners, in his description of the difterent 
 scenes to which his pilgrimage was extended, arc given in a style of the most 
 flowing and attractive kind." — JV. Y. Courier. 
 
 THIRTY YEAHS' CORRESPONDENCE, between John 
 Jebl), D. D. F. R. S., Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert, and 
 Aghadoe ; and Alexander Knox, Esq., M. R. I. A. Edited 
 by • >ie Rev. Charles Forster, B. D., perpetual curate of Ash 
 next Sandwich; formerly, domestic Chaplain to Bishop 
 Jebb. In tAvo vols. 8vo. 
 
^tjQCfUaufotiiS. 
 
 NOTES ON ITALY, during the years 1829-30. By Rembrandt 
 
 Peale. In 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 " This artist will gratify all reasonable expectation ; he is neither ostenta- 
 tious, nor dogmatical, nor too minute ; he is not a partisau nor a carper ; he ad- 
 mires without servility, he criticises without malevolence; his frankness and 
 good humor give an agreeable color and effect to all his decisions, and the object 
 of them ; his book leaves a useful general idea of the names, works, and deserts, 
 of the great masters: it is an instructive and entertaining index."— JVat. Oaz. 
 
 " We have made a copious extract in preceding columns from this interesting 
 work of our countryman, Rembrandt Peale, recently published. It has received 
 high commendation from respectable sources, which is justified by the portions 
 we have seen e.Ytracted." — Commercial Adnertissr. 
 
 " Mr. Peale must be allowed the credit of candor and entire freedom from affec- 
 tation in the judgments he has passed. At the same time, we should not omit to 
 notice the variety, extent, and minuteness of his examinations. No church, 
 gallery, or collection, was passed by, and most of the individual pictures are 
 separately and carefully noticed." — .9m. Quarterly Review. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE of SIR WALTER RALEGH, with 
 some account of the Period in which he lived. By Mrs. A. T. 
 Thomson. With a portrait. 
 
 "Such is the outline of a life, which, in Mrs Thomson's hands, is a mine of in- 
 terest ; from the first page to the last the attention is roused and sustained, and 
 while we approve the manner, we still more applaud the spirit in which it is 
 executed." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 'In all respects a most appropriate volume for the Cabinet Library. We 
 shall take an opportunity in another notice, to give some of the many interest- 
 ing passages in the volume that offer themselves for quotation." — JV. Y. Jliner. 
 
 " 1 he book is unquestionably the best Life of Ralegh that has ever been 
 written." — Album. 
 
 " This is a piece of biography which combines the fascinations of romance 
 with the deeper interest that attaches to historical narrative."— -SowiA. Patriot. 
 
 ELEGANT LIBRARY EDITIONS 
 
 OF THE FOLLOWING WORKS. 
 
 WORKS OF JOANNA BAILLIE. Complete in 1 volume 8vo. 
 
 WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING. In 2 vols. 8vo., with a por- 
 trait. 
 
 WORKS OF TOBIAS SMOLLETT. In 2 volumes 8vo., with 
 a portrait. 
 
 The HISTORY of the RISE and PROGRESS of the 
 UNITED STATES of NORTH AMERICA. By James 
 Graham. In 2 vols. 8vo. 
 
New Works, published by Carey, Lea, «& Blanchard. 
 
 DR. BIRD'S NEW NOVEL— CALAVAR. 
 
 CALAVAR, OR THE KNIGHT OF THE CONQUEST, a 
 
 Romauce of 3Ieiico. Ta'/o vols. 12mo. 
 
 "Suffice it lo say, that Calavar, lliroughout, is a romance of very great inte- 
 rest. It will interest the imaginative from its spirited and stirring scenes of 
 battle and blood: it will pleasi.' tlu; poetic from the splendour and beauty of its 
 descriptions, and it will charm every lover of fiction by the masterly and graphic 
 scenes which it will continually present to him."— JV. i'. Commercial Jidver. 
 
 "The work may fairly rank among the highest efforts of genius, and we do 
 not scruple to pronounce it superior to any thing of the kind which has yet 
 emanated from the American }^ress:"— Baltimore Federal Gazette. 
 
 " In our opinion, it is decidefiiy the best American novel that has been writ- 
 ten, except those enchanting pictures of Cooper, in which the interest is made 
 to depend on the vicissitudes of the sea, and the adventures cf the daring 
 mariner.' 
 
 " The style ele-'ant, sninriently ornate, yet pure and cl.issical.' 
 
 " The poriod v.hich has boon judiciously selocted by this writer, is one of the 
 liighest interest — a period so crowded with important ovents, that it is impossi- 
 ble to contemplate its vivid scenes without intense curiosity and wonder."— 
 Hall's IVestera Monihiij Magazine. 
 
 "The unities are p'.'rfectly preserved tlironghout, poetical probability is never 
 transgressed : curiosity is satisfied, and the quaint language of three centuries 
 ago is sustained with unwavering consistency, and with a force and elegance 
 of composition rarely, if ever, surpassed. It is, without question, the best 
 American novel that haj yet appeared."— .V. Y. American. 
 
 GRUMMETT'S LOG. 
 
 LEAVES FRO.II .^lY LOG BOOK. By Fle\ible Grummett, 
 P. M. In one vol. 
 
 RANDOLPIPy LI^TTER?^. I.ottev.-, of Jolui Randolph to a 
 young relative, einbriiciug a series of years, from early 
 youth to mature maukood. li\ one vol. 
 
 "This collection, made by the young relative himself, is entirely authentic. 
 The letters v.'ere selected from among several hundred, as most fit for publica- 
 tion. Every one of them is strongly characlerirtic. They are made up of 
 C-Tcellent instructions to his relative, rerpacting personal conduct and the culture 
 of his mind; philosophical remarks; accounts of his own situation and feel- 
 ings; notices of his acquaintance, &c." — J^ational Qn-.eHe. 
 
 "The letters now published exhibit many amiable traits of private character, 
 and show how keenly he suffered from his own overwrought sensibilities! 
 They abound in evidences of good feeling, and good sense. As fpccimens of 
 epistolary style, they may be safely consulted; while, as furnishing a closer 
 insight into the views and habits of a man who was misunderstoodby many, 
 and whose history i.^ part of the history of his country, they should be read by 
 all." — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 CHARLES THE FIRST. Memoirs of fiio Court of King 
 Charles the First. By Lucy Aikin. in tv.'o vola. Svo. 
 
 "The admirers of Charles tlie First, owe :\o gratitude to Miss Aikin. She 
 has told too plain a tale. She has given, it is true, no summary of the cha- 
 racter of that monarcli, but she has devoted an cxiensive work to a faithful 
 relation of his public works said action!», and has left it lo tell its storv'." — 
 Mhemeiim. 
 
 "Following up her interesting career of an historical writer. Lucy Aikin 
 has here produced one of those episodes belonging to our national annals, 
 which add to the importance of facls elaborated frcm many a source, all the 
 charms which are usually fotmd in the inventions of fiction. 
 
 "Suffice it to -say, that from family and other papers long hidden from the 
 public view, new lights arc ever and anon shed upon the actors and pro- 
 ceedings of that lime; and that without delving too deeply into them, our 
 intelligent author has wrought the whole into one of those agreenblo nar- 
 ratives for which her pen is ?o justly popular." — Lil. Gazette. 
 
1 — ^ — ~.^,™»»-«.~^-=.»-. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The ALHAMBRA; a Series of Tales an:l Sketches of tlie Moors 
 and Spaniards, By the author of the Sketch-Book. In 2 vols. 
 
 " \Va liavc read a part of Vv'asliington Irvin;!,''s new Sketch Booh, the ?ccnc of 
 which is Spain, the most romaiitic of Europr-aii countries, and tho best known 
 b)^ the gifted author. His style has lost nottiin^ of its peculiar ciiarni,— his de- 
 scriptions are as graphic as usual, and enlivened with racy anecdotes and happy 
 reflectio.i. We shall probably soon fiirnisli a specimen of this work, from the 
 whole of which we expect gratification."— JS'af. Oaiette. 
 
 The bravo. By tho author of the "Spy," "Pilot," "Red 
 
 Rover," &c. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 "Let U8 honesily avow in concliision, that in addition to the charm of an 
 interesting fiction to be (bund in thesf pngcs, there is more menial power 
 in them, more matter that sets people thinking, more of that quality that 
 is accelerating the onward movement of the world, than in all the Scotch 
 novels that have so deservedly won our adm.iratinn." — New Monthly Mag. 
 
 "This new novel from the pen of our countryman. Cooper, will win ncvv 
 laurels fur him. It is lull of dramatic interest — " hair-breadth esc a;>es" — 
 animated and bustling scenes on the canals, in the prisons, on the Rialto, 
 in the Adriatic, and in the streets of Venice." — A'. 1'. Courier (^^ Enquirer. 
 
 " Of the whole work, we may con.ndenily say that it is very able — a per- 
 formance of genius and power." — A'a/. Gazelle. 
 
 "The Bravo will, we think, tend much to exalt and extend the fame of 
 its aijthor. We have hurried through its pages with an avidity which m.tist 
 find its apology in the interesting character of the incidents and the very 
 vivid and graphic style in which they are described." 
 
 By the same caithor. 
 
 The HEIDENMAUER, or Pagan Camp. In 2 vols. 
 
 SALMONIA ; or, Days of Fly Fisliing ; by Sir H. Davy. 
 
 ' We are surprised, in meeting with an American reprint of this delightful 
 volume, that a work so universally popular has not been before republished in 
 this country."— JV. Y. .American. 
 
 One of the most delightful labors of leisure ever seen ; not a few of the 
 most beautiful phenomena of nature are here lucidly explained."— Ge?!«. Mag 
 
 The NATURAL mSTORY of SELBORNE. By the late 
 Rev. GiLDERT White, A. M., Fellow of the Oriel College, 
 Oxford, with additions, bv Sir William Jardine, Bart. F. R. S. 
 E. F. L. S. M. W. S., author of " Illustrations of Ornithology." 
 " 'White's History of Selborne,' the most fascinating piece of rural writing 
 
 and sound English philosophy that has ever issued from the press." — ithenaum. 
 
 The IMECHANISxM or the HEAVENS, by Mrs. Somerville. 
 
 In 18mo. 
 
 ' We possess already innumerable discourses on Astronomy, in whicli the 
 wonders of the heavens and their laws are treated of; but we can say most 
 conscientiously that we are acquainted with none — not even La Place's own 
 beautiful erpose in his System du Monde, — in which all that is essentially inter- 
 esting in the motions and laws of the celestial bodies, or which is capable of 
 popular enunciation, is so admirably, so graphically, or we may a(i<l, so un- 
 affectedly and simply placed bcfire us. * * * Is it asking too much of Mrs. 
 Somerville to express a hope that she will allow this beautiful preliminary 
 Dissertation to be printed separately, for the delisht and instruction of thou- 
 sands of readers, young and old, who cannot understand, or are too indolent 
 to apply themselves to the more elaborate parts of the work ? If she will do 
 this, we hereby promise to exert our best endeavors to make its merits known." 
 — Lilerary Qazette. 
 
SOOTT AS?B GOOPSB, 
 
 BY SIR WALTER SCOrr. 
 
 COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS, a Talc of the Lower Empire. 
 By the Author of Waverley. In 3 vols. 
 
 "The reader will at once perceive thaf the subject, the characters and the 
 scenes of action, could not have been better selected for the display of the vari- 
 ous and unequalled powers of the author. All that is glorious in arts and splen- 
 did in anus— thf2 pliiier of armor, the pomp of war, and the splendor of chivalry 
 — the gorgeous scenery of the Uosphorus — th? ruins of rA'zantiuni — the magnifi- 
 cence of the Grecian capital, and the richness and voluptuousness of the impe- 
 rial court, will rise before the reader in a succession of beautiful and dazzling 
 i ill ages " — Commercial Adcerliser. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. With a 
 
 Portrait. 
 HISTORY OF SCOTLAND. In 2 vols. 
 
 " The FJistory of Scotland, by Fir 'Walif r ticott, we I'o not hesitate to .leclarc, 
 will bo, if possible, more extensively read, than the most popular work of fiction, 
 hy the same prolific author, and for this obvious reason: it combines much of the 
 hrilli-int coloring of the Ivanhoe picturefi of by gone manners, and all the grace- 
 ful U ility of style and picturesqiiencss of description of liis other charmin;: ro- 
 manres, with a ininute fidelity to the facts of history, and a searchinif scrutiny 
 into their authenticity and relative value, which mipht p::t to the blush iMr 
 Hum-! and other prof;:ssed historians. Such is the magic charm of Sir Walter 
 Scott's pen,it iiasonly to touchthe simplest incident ofevcryday life, and it starts 
 up invested with all the interest of a scene of romance ; and yetsuch is his fideli- 
 ty to the text of nature, that the knights, and serfs, and collared fools with whom 
 his inventive penius has peopled so many volumes, are regarded by us as not 
 mere creations of fancy, but as real llesh and blood e.vistencs, with all the vir- 
 tues, fufliiigs ar.d errors (if common-place humanity."— Li7. Gazette. 
 
 TALES OF A GRANDFATHER, being a series from French 
 History. By the Author of ^Vaverley. 
 
 EY 3IR. COOFER. 
 
 THE BRAVO. By the Author of the Spy, Pilot, &c. Li 2 vols. 
 
 The WATER-WITCH, or the SKIMMER or the SEAS. 
 
 The HEADSMAN, on the ABBAYE DE3 VIGNERONS. 
 In 2 vols. 12rno. 
 
 The HEIDENMAUER ; or the BENEDICTINES. In 2 vols. 
 
 New Editions of the following WorJiS by the same Author 
 
 OTIONS OF 
 
 2 vols. ISnio. 
 
 Tnr. WEPT OF WISH-TON- VvISH, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 The RED ROVER, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 The spy, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 The PIONEERS, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 The PILOT, a Talo of the Sea, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 LIONEL LINCOLN, or the UlAGUER of BOSTON, 2 wis. 
 The LAST of tiiu .AIOIHCANS, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 The PRAIRIE, 2 vols. 12)no. 
 
Jfe-w Wovks, piiblislied toy Carey, Iiea, d& Blancltard* 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE LIBRARY AT LILIES. 
 
 BY THE LORD AND L.VDY THERE. 
 
 In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 "Two delightful volumes, various, graceful, with the pnthos exquisitely 
 relieved by gaiety; and the romantic legend well contrasted by the lively 
 sketch from actual existence." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " The author of these volumes merits much higher praise than most of the 
 pretenders to the palm of genius." — Bait. American. 
 
 FRANKENSTEIN, 
 
 OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 
 
 BY MRS. SHELLEY. In 2 VOLUMES, 12mO. 
 
 " The romance of a child of genius. ^—Canning. 
 
 " One of those original conceptions that take hold of the public mind at 
 once and for ever." — Moore's Life of Byron. 
 
 "Certainly one of the most original works that ever proceeded from a 
 female pen." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " This work will be universally acceptable." — .^tlas. 
 
 " Perhaps there is no modern invention which has taken more thorough 
 hold of the popular imagination than Frankenstein." — Spectator. 
 
 WILL WATCH, 
 OR THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NAVAL OFFICER. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF CAVEiNDISH, &C. 3 VOLS. 12mO. 
 
 THE PRINCESS. 
 
 BY LADY MORGAN, AUTHOR OF FLORENCE MACARTHY o'dONNELL, 
 
 (fee. 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 THE MOST UNFORTUJVATE MAN IN THE WORLD. 
 
 BT CAPTAIN CHAMIER, AUTHOR OF THE LIFE OP A SAILOR, &C. 2 VOLS. 12mO. 
 
 THE MODERN CYMON. 
 
 From the Jean of C. Paul de Kock, Author of Andrew the 
 Savoyard, &c. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " De Kr,f k is quite unrivalled in his sketches of Parisi-\n society. There is 
 much character and spirit thrown into the translation, and the dialogues are 
 excellent."— Lif. Gazette. 
 
 " A good translation of a clever work. Paul de Kock painta to the life the 
 bourgeois of Paris." — Athenmum. 
 
 " We cannot withhold our apnlaiise of the subtle spirit of fun, the fine 
 dramatic tact, and the natural portraiture of character."— ^fia*. 
 
CABXNST X.IBRAHY. 
 
 JOURXAIi OF A XATURAIilST. With. Plates. 
 
 Plants, trees, and stones we note; 
 
 13iru3, insects, beasts, and rural things. 
 
 "We again most strong:ly recommend this little unpretending volume to the 
 attention of every lover of nature, and more particularly of our country read- 
 ers. Jt will induce them, we are sure, to examine more closely than they Jiave 
 been accustomed to do, into the objects of animated nature, and such examina- 
 tion will prove one of the most innocent, and the most satisfactory sources of 
 gratificati(jn and amusement. It is a book that ought to find its way into every 
 rural drawing-room in the kingdom, and one that may safely be placed in every 
 lady's boudoir, be h?r rank and station in life what they may." — Quarterly iie- 
 nVw, No. LXXVUI. 
 
 "\Ve think that there are few readers who will not be delighted (we are cer- 
 taiii all will be instructed) by the 'Journal of a N'atural'St.' " — Mont/tlij Review. 
 
 "This is a most delightful book on the most delightful of all studies. We art^ 
 acquainted with no previous work which bears any resemblance to this, except 
 'White's History of Selborne,' the most t'ascinating piece of rural writing and 
 sound English philosophy that ever issued from tlie press." — jSthcnaum. 
 
 "The autlior of the volume now before us, has produced one of the most 
 charming volumes we remember to have seeu for a long lime." — J\rcic JUoni!:- 
 ly J\Iagaiinc, June, 1829. 
 
 " A delightful volume— perhaps the most so — nor less instructive and amusing 
 — given lu Natural History since White's Selborne." — Blackwood' s Magazine. 
 
 " The Journal of a Naturalist, being the second number of Carey and Lea's 
 beautiful eiliiion of the Cabinet Library, is the best treatise on subjects con- 
 nected with this train of thought, that we have for a long time perused, and we 
 are not at all surprised that it should have received so high and flattering enco- 
 miums from the English press generally." — Boston Traveller. 
 
 "Furnishing an interestitig and familiar account of the various objects of 
 animated nature, but calculated to afford both instruction and entertainment." 
 —J^'askvillc Banner. 
 
 "One of the most agreeable works of its kind in the language." — Courier de 
 la Louisimie. 
 
 '•It abounds with iiumerons and curious facts, pleasing illustrations of the 
 secret operations and economy of nature, and satisfactory displays of the power, 
 wisJom and goodness, of the great Creator." — Philad. Alburn. 
 
 THS MAKQ,trESS OF LONI>ONOERRY»S NARRATIVE OP 
 
 THE liA i E ^VAR IN GERMANY AND FRANCE. ^Vitli a 
 Map. 
 
 " No history of the events to whicli it relates can ba correct without reference 
 to its statements." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " The events detailed in this volume cannot fail to excite an intense interest." 
 — Dublin Literary Gazette. 
 
 'The only connected and well authenticated account we have of the .spirit- 
 Stirling scenes which preceded the fall of Napoleon. It introduces us into the 
 cabinets and presence of the allied monarchs. We observe the secret policy of 
 each individual : we see the course pursued by the wily Bernadoite, the temiK)- 
 rizing Metternich, and the ambitious Aleiauder. Tha work deserves a place in 
 every historical library." — Globe. \ 
 
 " We hail with pleasure the appearance of the first volume of the Cabinet 
 Library." " 'J'he author had singular facilities for obtaining the materials of j 
 his work, and he has introduced ua to the movements and measures of cabinets 
 which have iulheno been liiddca from the world." — .American Traveller. \ 
 
 "It nny I'e regarded as the most authentic of all the publications which pro- \ 
 foss to detail the events of the important campaigns, terminating with thai i 
 which secured the capture of th3 French metropolisT" — J^at. Journal. j 
 
 " ft is in fact tha only authentic account of the memorable events to which 
 it refers." — JVashviilc Banner. j 
 
 " The work deserves a place in every library."— PAi/a(ie.';>/iia Album. \ 
 
New AVorltg, puWisliedL toy Carey, L.ea, &- Blauchard. 
 
 NEW GIL BLAS, 
 
 OR, PEDRO OF PENAFLOR. ♦ 
 
 BY R. D. INGIilS, AUTHOR OF SPAIN IN 1830. 
 
 IN 2 VOLS. 12mo. 
 
 " The whole work is very anmsing.''— Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Those who want a few houra of pleasant reading are not likely to meet 
 with a book more to tlieir taste." — Athcnaiim. 
 
 "The labor and power, as well ns knowledge, displayed — the 'New Gil Bias' 
 deserves to stand forth to the public view with every advantage. W«» have 
 read tb«B9 volumes with great delight.'" — Metropolitan. 
 
 EBEN ERSKINE, 
 
 OR, THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 BY JOIIX GALT, AUTHOR OF LAWRIE TODD, ENTAIL, &C. 
 
 IN 2 VOLS. 12mo. 
 
 " A clever and intelligent author. There is a quaint humor and observance 
 of character in his novels, that interest nie very much ; and when he chooses 
 to be pathetic, he fools one to his bent ; for, I assure you, the ' Entail' beguiled 
 me of some portion of watery humors, yclept tears, albeit unused to the melt- 
 ing mood. He has a sly caustic humor that is very amusing."— ierd Byron to 
 Lady Blessin^tOTi. 
 
 " One of the remarkable characteristics of Gait, is to be found in the rare 
 power he posses-ses of giving such an appearance of actual <ruth to his narra- 
 tive, as induces the reader to doubt whether that which he is perusing, under 
 the name of a novel, be not rather a statement of amusing facts, than an 
 invented story." 
 
 BY MR. SMITH. 
 
 An American Novel. In 1 volume, 12mo. 
 
 " The perusal of a few pages of the Avnrk must impress every reader with 
 the opinion that the writer is no ordinary person."— JVaC. Gazette. 
 
 " His pages abound M-ith passages of vigor and beauty, with much fund 
 for abstract thought; and with groups of incidents which not only fix the 
 attention of the reader, bat awake his admiration." — Phil. Gazette. 
 
 " It is one of the mopt pleasing, chaste, and spirited productions that wc 
 have met with for a long time. Wc may claim it with pride as an American 
 production."— .Bfl/^ Gazette. 
 
 CECIL HYDE.— A novel, in 2 vols. 12mo. 
 "This is a new ' Pelham.' It is altogether a novel of manners, and paints 
 with truth, and a lively, sketchy spirit, the panorama of fashionable lile." 
 —Atlas. 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JACK KETCH. 
 
New Works, piilslislicd l>y Carey, Lea, &■ Blancliard* 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF ROMANCE, 
 
 WHICH COXSIBTS OT A RBRIEi OF 
 
 ORIGINAL TALES, NOVELS, AND OTHER WORKS OF FICTION, 
 
 BY THS MOrr KMIXBNT wniTERS OT THE AGE, AND EDITED BT 
 
 Leitch Ritchie, Esq. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
 THE GHOST-HUiNTER AND HIS FAMILY, by Mr. 
 Banim, author of the O'Hara Tales, is universally acknow- 
 ledged to be the most talented and extraordinary work that 
 has issued from the press for many years. 
 
 " Mr. Banim has put forth all the vigor that bolonga to the old O'Hara 
 Tales, aud avoided the weakness that sullied his subsequent eflbrts." — Atfie- 
 nmum. 
 
 " Thero is more tenderness, more delicacy shown in the development of female 
 character, than we have ever before metWith in the works of this powerful 
 novelist. 
 
 " Banim never conceived a character more finely than the young Gho.st-Hun- j 
 ter, Morris Brady. It is a bold and striking outline." — Author of Eugene 
 Aram. 
 
 Vol. VIII. 
 
 WALDEMAR, 
 
 A TALE OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR. 
 
 BT W. H.. H.UIRISON, AUTHOR OF TALES OF A PHYSICIAN, (fcc. 
 
 Vol. II. 
 SCHE^DERHANNES, THE ROBBER OF THE RHINE, 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 " It 13 long since we have met with so bold, spirited, and original a story." 
 — Literary Oazettc. 
 
 " We now once more recommend the work itself, and the series, of which 
 it is a worthy volume, to the public."— .-JtAew^Mnt 
 
 "Decidedly one of the best romances we have ever read." — Court Journal. 
 
 " Mr. Ritchie's Tales sometimes amount to the sublime, either in the terri- 
 ble exigency or the melting pathos of the event, or in the picturesque energy 
 of the description.— Schinderhannes may be esteemed as the best work of fic- 
 tion for which we are indebted to his pen."— „{Z</a5. 
 
LARDNER'S CABINET CYCLOPEDIA. 
 
 HISTOIiY OF EXGIiAND. By Sir James Mackintosli. In 
 8 VoJi. Vols. 1, a and 3 pubUslicd. 
 
 "In tilt: first volume of Sir James Mackintosh's History of England, \vh 
 And enough to warrant the anticipations of the public, that a calm and lumin- 
 ous philosophy will diffuse itself over the long narrative of our British His- 
 tory." — Edinburgh liecicio. 
 
 " In this volume Sir James Mackintosh fully developes those great powers, 
 for the possession of which the public have long given him credit. The result 
 is the ablest commentary that has yet appeared in our language upon some 
 of the most important circumstances of English History."— ^t/os. 
 
 "Worthy in the method, style, and rcfloctions, of the author's high reputa- 
 tion. Wevvere particularly "pleased with his high vein of pliilosophical sen- 
 timent, and his occasional survey of contemporary annals."— JVat. Gaietie. 
 
 " If talents of the highest order, long experience in politics, and years of 
 application to the study of history and the collection of information, can com- 
 mand superiority in a historian. Sir James Machintosh may, without reading 
 this work, be said to have produced the best history of this country. A peru- 
 sal of the work will prove that those who anticipated a superior production, 
 have not reckoned iu vain on the high qualifications of the author." — Courier. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE NETHERIiANDS, to tlio Battle of 
 Waterloo. By T. C. Grattau. 
 
 " It is but justice to Mr. Grattan to say that he has executed his laborious 
 task with much industry and proportionate effect. Undisfigured by pompous 
 nothingness, and without any of the affectation of philosophical profundity, 
 his style is simple, light, and fresh — perspicuous, smooth, and harmonious." — 
 La Belle Assemhlee. 
 
 " Never did work appear at a more fortunate period. The volume before us 
 is a compressed but clear and impartial narrative." — Lit. Gaz. 
 
 HISTORY OF FRANCE. By Eyro Evans erosive. In 3 vols. 
 
 " His hi?torv of France is worthy to figure with the works of his associates, 
 the best of their day, Scott and Mackintosh."— .IJojii/i/i/ Jilag: 
 
 " For such a task Mr. Crowe is eminently qualified. At a glance, as it were, 
 his eye takes in the theatre of centuries. His style is neat, clear, and pithy; 
 and his power of condensation enables him to say much, and effectively. In a 
 few words, to present a distinct and jierfect picture in a narrowly circum- 
 scribed space.'"— ia Belle .^sse-mblee. 
 
 HISTOIIY OF SCOTIiAND. By Sir "Walter Scott. In 3 Vols. 
 
 " The History of Scotland, by Sir Walter Scott, we do not hesitate to de- 
 clare, will be, iif possible, more extensively read, than the most popular work 
 of fiction, by the same prolific author, and for this obvious reason : it com- 
 bines much of the brilliant coloring of the Ivanhne pictures of by-gone man- 
 ners, and all the graceful facility of style and piciuresqueness of description 
 of his other cliarniing romances, with a minute fidelity to the facts of history, 
 and a searching scrutiny into their authenticity and relative value, which 
 might put to the blush Mr. Hume and other professed historians. Such is the 
 magic charm of Sir Walter Scott's pen, it has only to touch the simplest inci- 
 dent of every-day life, and it starts up invested with all the interest of a scene 
 of romance; and vet such is his fidelity to the text of nature, that the knights 
 and serfs, and collared fools with whom his inventive genius has peopled so 
 many volumes, are regarded by us as not mere creation.? of fancy, but as real 
 flesh and blood cxisteficpft. with all the virtues, feelings and errors of com- 
 mon-place humanity." — Lit. Oa-.ctte. 
 
New Works, publisliecl Ijy Carey, Lea, &• Blanchard* 
 
 Cooper's New Novel. 
 
 THE HEADSMAN, 
 
 A New Novel, by the Author of the Spy, Pilot, &c. In 2 vols. 
 12mo. 
 
 THE PARSON'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 BY THEODORE HOOK, AUTHOR OF SAYINGS AND DOINGS, &.C. 
 
 IN 2 VOLS. 12mo. 
 
 " We proceed to assure the reader, who lias it before him, that he will enjoy 
 an intellectual treat of no mean order. The principal feature of its excel- 
 lence is an all-encrossing interest, which interest is mainly attributable to the 
 extreme vraiscmblance of its incidents, and the fidelity with which each 
 character supports its individuality. In it there is as much invention and 
 originality as we have ever met with in a modern novel, be the author who 
 he may." — Metropolitan. 
 
 " The moral of the tale carries conviction as to the justness of its applica- 
 bility, and the incidents flow as naturally as the Btream of events in every- 
 day life." — Ibid. 
 
 " Here is a novel frorh a deservedly popular author, written with great eaae 
 and sprightliness." — Athenccum. 
 
 SWALLOW BARN, 
 
 OR, A SOJOURN IN THE OLD DOMINION. 
 
 In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " We cannot but predict a warm reception of this work among all persons 
 who have not lost their relish for nature and probability, as well as all those 
 who can properly estimate the beauties of simplicity in thought and expres- 
 sion." — JVew York Mirror. 
 
 " One of the cleverest of the last putilications written on this or the other 
 side of the Atlantic." — JVezc York Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 "The style is admirable, and the sketches of character, men, and scenery, 
 so fresh and agreeable, that we cannot help feeling that they are drawn from 
 nature." 
 
 THE DOMINIE'S LEGACY, 
 
 Consisting of a Series of Tales illustrative of the Scenery and 
 Manners of Scotland. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " These pages are pictures from scenes whose impress of truth tells^ that the 
 author has taken them as an eye-witness ; and many are rich in quiet, sim- 
 ple pathos, which is evidently his forte." — Literary Gazctti. 
 
 GALE MIi)DLETON, A Novel, by Horace Smith, Author of 
 Brainbletye House, <fec. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 TREVALYAN, A Novel, by the Author of Marriage m High 
 Life. In 2 vols. 
 
CO.NDUCTED BY THE 
 
 REV. DIONYSTUS LARDNER, LL.D. F.R.S. L.&.E. 
 
 M.R.I.A. F.L.S. F.Z.S. Hon. F. C. P. S. M. Ast. S. &;c. tc. 
 
 ASSISTED BY -^ 
 
 EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN. 
 
 Nolo Publishing by Carey, Lea, ^ Blaiichard, and for sale by all Booksellers. 
 
 Tins work will form a popular coinpendiutn of whatever is useful, instructive, 
 and interesting, in the circle of human knowledge. A novel plan of publication 
 and arrangement has been adopted, which presents peculiar advantages. Wiili- 
 out fully detailing the method, a few of these advantages may be mentioned. 
 
 Each volume will contain one or more subjects uninterrupted and unbroken, 
 and will be accompanied by the corresponding plates or other appropriate ilUis- 
 trationa. Facility of reference v. jil be obtained without fettering ih;: work by 
 a continued alphabetical arrangement. A subscriber may omit i)articular vol- 
 umos or stls of volumes, without disintegrating his series. Thus each purchassM- 
 »nay form from the "Cabinet" a Cyclopaidia, more or less comprehensive, as 
 may suit his means, taste, or profession, if a subscriber desire to discontinue 
 the work at any stage of its jiublication, the volumes which lie may have re- 
 ceived will not lose their value by separation fro:n the rest of the wcrk, since 
 they will always either be complete in themselves, or may be made so at a iriihiig 
 e.vpense. 
 
 'J'iie p::rchasers will never find their property in this work destroyed by tho 
 p:iblication of a second edition. The arrangement is such that particular vol- 
 umes may be re-edited or re-x^ritten withou,t disturbing the others. The "('aei- 
 NET Cyclop.xdia '" will thus be in a state of continual renovation, keeping i.-ace 
 with the nevcr-ceasiiig improvcnsents iii knowledge, drawing within its circle 
 from year to year whatever is new, and casting off whatever is obsolete, so as lo 
 form a constantly modernized Cyclopaedia. Such are a few of the advantages 
 wliioh the proprietors have to oli'er to the public, and wliicli they pledge UvSm- 
 selves to realize. 
 
 Treatise? on subjects which are technical and professional will bi^ adaptinl, 
 not so much to those wlio desire to attain a jiractical proficiency, as to those 
 I who seek that f)ortion of information respecting such matters which is generally 
 c.\p.?ctcd from well-educated pe.i-sons. An interest will be imparted lo what is 
 abstract by copious illustratioi.r, and the sciences will be rendered attractive, by 
 treating them with reference lo the most familiar objects and occurrences. 
 
 The unwieldiy bulk of Encyclopaedias, not less than the abstruse discussions 
 which they contain, has hitherto consigned them to the library, as works of only 
 occasional reference. The present work, from its portable form and popular style, 
 will <-!aini a place in th ;'drawing-room and the boudoir. Forming in ityelf a 
 C'orpplete Library, affording an e.vtensive and infinitely varied store of instruc 
 tion and amusement, presenting just so much on every subject as those not pro 
 te.ssioually engaged in it require, convenient in size, attractive in form, elegar.t 
 in illustrations, and most moderate in e.^pense, the "Cabinet CyclopvF.dia." will, 
 it is hoped, be found an object of paramount interest in every family. 
 
 To the heads of schools and all places of piiblic education the proprietors trust 
 that this work will particularly recommend itself. 
 
 It secins scarcely necessary lo add, llial nothing will be admitted into the 
 pages of the " Cabinet Cyclop.'edia" which can have the most remote tendency 
 to offend public or private morals. To enforce the cultivation of religion and 
 the practice of virtue should be a principal object with all wiio undertake to 
 inform the i)ublic miiid ; but with the views just e.x|)!ained, the conductor of this 
 work feels these considerations more especially pressed upon his altenliou. 
 Parents and guardians may, therefore, rest assured that they will never find it 
 necess.uy to place a volume of the "CABi^■ET" beyond the reach of their cluluren 
 or pupils. 
 
EXCYCLOPiSDI A AMERICANA. 
 
 " Witnes3C;3 from every part of the country concurred in declariiiij that fhr! 
 EtJCVclofCTilia Americana was in a fair way to degrade the dignity of Irarnin}.', 
 and esp,'cially the Iparniiiij of Encyclnps-dias, by making it too cheap— that the 
 miiltitndes of all classes were infatuated with it in savin? in 30 many words 
 from the hish'^st to th.'^ lowest. ' the more we see of the work the better we like 
 it.' "' — jV Y. Courier and Inquirer. 
 
 "The articles in the present volume appear to ns to evince the same ability 
 and research which gained so favorable a reception lor the work at its com- 
 mencement. The ^'Jppendiz to the volume now before us, containing an acconnt 
 of the Indian La:tffung-es of Jlmerica, must prove highly interesting to the reader 
 in this country; and it is at once remarkable as a specimen of history and phi- 
 lology. The work altogether, we may again ho permitted to observe, retlects 
 distinguished credit upon the lit.?rary and scientific character, as well as the 
 scholarship of our country." — Cfiar!cstoii Courier. 
 
 " Th.= copions information which tliis work affords on American siibjccts, 
 fully Justifies its title of an American Dictionary; while at the same time the 
 extent, variety, and felicitous disposition of its topics, make it the most conve- 
 nient and satisfactory Encyclopedia that we have ever seen." — JVationalJonmal. 
 
 " Ff the succeeding volumes shall equal in merit the one before us, we may 
 confidently anticipate for the work a reputation and usefulness which ought to 
 secure for it the most flattering encouragement and patronage." — Federal Gazette. 
 
 "The variety of topics is of coursse vast, and they are treated in a manner 
 which is at once so full of information and so interesting, that the work, instead 
 of b^ing merely referred to, might be regularly perused with as much pleasure as 
 profit." — Baltimore American. 
 
 " We view it as a publication worthy of the age and of the country, and can- 
 not but believe the discrimination of our countrymen will sustain the puhlisli- 
 ers, and well reward them for this contribution to American Literature. '—5a/- 
 limerc Patriot. 
 
 " It reflects tho greatest credit on those who have been concerned in its pro- 
 duction, and promises, in a variety of respects, to ha the best as well as tho most 
 compendious dictionary of the arts, sciences, history, piolitics, biography, &c. 
 which has yet been compiled. The style of the portion we have read is teise 
 and perspicuou.s; and it is really curious how so much scientific and other in- 
 formation could have been go satisfactorily communicated in such brief limits." 
 — J\''. Y. Evevivg Post. 
 
 " A compendious library, and invaluable book of reference." — JV. Y. Jlmericav. 
 
 "Those who can, by any honest modes of economy, reserve the sum of two 
 dollars and fit'ty cents quarterly, from thfir family expense.^, may pay for this 
 work as fast as it is published ; and we confidently believe that they will find at 
 the end that they never purchased so much general, practical, useful information 
 at so cheap a rate." — Journal of Education. 
 
 " If the eiicouragsment to the publishers should correspond with the testimony 
 in favor of their enterprise, and the beautiful and faithful style of its e.xpcution, 
 the hazard of the undertaking, bold as it was, will be well compensated; and 
 our lihrari'^s will be enriched by the most generally useful encyclopelic diction- 
 nry that has been offered to the readers of the English language. Full enoiich 
 for the genera! scholar, and plain enough for every capacity, it is far more coti- 
 veni'Mit. in every view and form, than its more expensive and ponderous prede- 
 cessni-s " — .American Farmer. 
 
 "The hi'_'h reputation of the contributors to this work, will not fail to insure 
 t a favorable reception, and its own merits will do the rest."— Silliman's ./ount. 
 
 "The work will be a valuable possession to every family or individual that 
 can afford to purchase it; and we take pleasure, therefore, in e.\tending the 
 knowledge of its merits." — National Intelligencer. 
 
 "The Encyloprcriia Americana is a prodigious improvement upon all that has 
 jrone before it ; a thin? for our country, as well as the country that have it birth. 
 to l)e proud of; an inexhaustible treasury of useful, pleasant, and fiimiliar learn- 
 ing on every possible subject, so arranged as to be spee<iily and safety n ferred to 
 on emergency, as well as on deliberate inquiry; and better still, adapted to the 
 understanding, and put within the reach of the multitude * * * The Ency- 
 clop:pt!ia .Americana is a work without which no library worthy of the name 
 an hereafter be made up." — Yankne. 
 
New Works, published by Carey, Lea, & Blauchard* 
 
 lilTTERATURE FRAISCAISE, 
 
 BIBLIOTHEQUE CHOISIE DE LITTERATURE FRANCAISE. 
 
 SELECT LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 MODERN FRENCH LITERATURE. 
 
 In 4 volumes, ISmo: containing — 
 LES ECORCHEURS. 
 
 CL\Q mars; 
 
 PARIS ET LES PARISIENS. 
 MEMOIRES D'UN APOTHECAIRE. 
 IIEURES DU SOIR, 
 LES ENFANS D'EDOUARD. ' 
 MINUIT ET MIDE, &c. &c. 
 Some of these works may be had separately. 
 
 THE DOOMED. 
 A NOVEL. In two volumes, 12mo. 
 
 AYESHA, THE MAID OF KARS. 
 
 BY 3rORIER, AUTHOR OF ZOHRAB, &C. 2 VOLS. 12mO. 
 
 THE SUMMER FETE. 
 
 A POEM, WITH SONGS. 
 
 By Thomas JMoore, Esq. Author of Irish Melodies, &c. 
 
 "The description of the' Fete is in easy, graceful, flowing verse, and the 
 
 songs with which it is interspersed are, unlike many of those which that 
 
 gifted poet has published, unexceptionable in their moral tendency." — N. 
 
 Y. Commercial Adverdser. 
 
 " Many of the songs interspersed are pretty and pleasing, and savor of 
 the usual richness of sentiment and luxuriance of style habitual to Moore. 
 We can willingly recommend the work to all ladies, and lovers of good 
 j)0str}'," — American Sentinel. 
 
 MEN AND MANNERS IN AMERICA. 
 By Major Hamilton, Author of Cyril Thornton, &c. 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 CHITTY'S MEDICAL JURISPRUDENCE. 
 A valuable work for Lawyers or Physicians. In royal 8vo. 
 
New Worfcs, putoUshed l>y Caiey, I^ea, &, Blanchard. 
 
 PENCIL. SKETCHES, 
 
 OR OUTLINES OF CHARACTER AND MANNERS. 
 
 BT MISS LESLIB. 
 
 " Look here upon this picture, and on lhia:'—Shaksptar$. 
 
 Contents.— The Escorted Lady. A Pic-Nic at the Sea- 
 Shore. The Miss Vanlears. Country Lodgings. Sociable Vis- 
 iting. Frank Finlay. The Travelling Tin-man. Mrs. Wash- 
 ington Potts. Uncle Philip. The Revolutionary Officer. Poland 
 and Liberty. The Duchess and Sancho. The Clean Face. 
 Lady Jane Grey. In one volume, 12mo. 
 
 " Miss Leslie hits, skilfully and hard, the follies, foibles, and exceptionable 
 manners of our meridian. She is perhaps too severe ; she draws too broadly, 
 E,t she is always more or less entertaining, and conveys salutary lessons even 
 in her strongest caricatures. Her subjects, incidents, and persons, are happily 
 chosen for her purposes."— .Va^tona/ Gaisttt. 
 
 THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME. 
 
 BY VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 With a Sketch of the Life and Writings of the Author, by 
 Frederick Shoberl. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 ' Victor Hugo is a most powerful writer— a man of splendid genius, Knd 
 gigantic grasp of mind." — Court Journal. 
 
 ROOKW OOD— A ROMANCE. 
 
 BY W. HARRISON AIXSWORTH. 
 
 From the second London edition. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 "This is one of the most spirited and romantic of ' the season's' produc- 
 tion. Full of life and fire, it excites the reader and carries him onward — 
 much as the true heroine of the tale, the mare Black Bess, does the true 
 hero of it, the robber TcRrix — with mingled sensations of terror and 
 delight. It is a wild story, told with exceeding skill, and wrought up to 
 the highest pitch of which so singular a suhject is capable. — The book is 
 an excellent one, and the author may take a high station among the 
 romance writers of our time."— Aeu; Monthly Magazine. 
 
 VATHEK.— AN ORIENTAL TALE. 
 
 BY MR. BECKFORD, AUTHOR OF ITALY, &C. 
 "A very remarkable performance. It continues in possession of all the 
 celebrity it once commanded."— Quarter/^ Rtvieic, 1834. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TOUR OF A GERMAN PRINCE, (Puckler MrsKAU,) through 
 the Southern and Western parts of England, Wales, Ireland, 
 and France. In 8vo. Second American edition. 
 
 " It contains the least prejudiced and most acute notices we liave read of the 
 habits and modes of thinking of Englishmen, and the merits and defects of the 
 country and society."— G/^ic. 
 
 CONVERSATIONS with LORD BYRON on the SUBJECT 
 OF RELIGION. By J. Kennedy, M. D. 12mo. 
 
 GLEANLNGS in NATURAL HISTORY, with laical Recol- 
 lections. By Edward Jesse, Esq. To which are added, Maxims 
 and Hints for Anglers. From the second London edition. 
 
 " A work that will be fondly treasured by every true lover of nature." — JVew 
 Jllont/ihj Jilag. 
 
 " We hazard but little m predicting that this volume will be a favorite with 
 a large class of reader?. It is written by a true lover of nature, and one who 
 most pleasantly records his actual oi>oervations." — Lit. Gaz. 
 
 The DUCHESS op BERRI, in LA VENDEE, comprising a 
 Narrative of her Adventures, with lier private papers and 
 secret correspondence, by General Dermoncourt, who ar- 
 rested her royal highness at Nantes, In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 [This editior. exclusively contains tlie important documents and papers which would have led to the 
 seizure of the work in France, had they been published there.] 
 
 " Cpon its high interest we need not enlarge : the personal adventures of the princess, her journeyings 
 CD foot and on horseback, in disguise and in her own character, her mental and bodily sutferiiigs, her hopts 
 and her despair, are a romance, and seem to belong to another age. They recall the wanderings and the 
 perils of our wn Charles Edward, with all the additional iuterest which must attach to the darii.g and 
 the suffering ul" a wcuian." — Alhttixum. 
 
 The economy of MACHINERY and MANUFACTURES. 
 Bv C.^_^-iLn Labbage. 18mo. 
 '• Of the many publications which have recently issued from the press, calcu- 
 lated to give a pnpular and attractive form to the results of science, we look upon 
 this volume as by far the most valuable. Mr. Babbage's name is well known 
 in connexion with the general subject of which he has here undertaken to treat. 
 But it will be diflicuit for the reader who does not possess the volume itself to 
 understand the hapipy style, the jufljrnient and tact, by means of which the au- 
 thor has contrived to leiid almost the charm of romance to the apparently dry 
 and technical theme which he has chosen." — Monthlij Rev. 
 
 OUSELEY'S REMARKS on the STATISTICS an-d POLITI- 
 CAL INSTITUTIONS of the UNITED STATES. 
 
 " The author is a man of solid sense, frierdly to this country, and his remarks 
 have the value ami interest of which his character and inquiries authorized 
 the expectation." — JVational Oazettc. 
 
 TWO YEARS AND A HALF IN THE NAVY, or. Journal 
 
 OF A Cruise in the Mediterranean and Levant, on board 
 
 the U. S. Frigate Constellation, in the Years 1829, 1830, 
 
 and 1831. By E. C. Wines. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " The author is a frentleman of classical education, a shrewd observer, a lively 
 
 writer, whose natural manner is always agreeable ; whose various matter is 
 
 generally entertaining and instructive; and whose descriptions are remarkably 
 
 graphic. The greater portion of his pages have yielded us both profit and 
 
 pleasure." — J\rat. Oaz. 
 
VOYAGES A>D ADVENTURES of the COMPANIONS of 
 COLUMBUS. By Washington Irving, Author of the Life 
 of Columbus, &c. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 " O*" the main work we may repeat that it possesses the value of important 
 history and the magnetism of romantic adventure. It sustains m every respect 
 the reputation of Irving." " We mav liope that the trifled author will treat in iilie 
 manner the enterprises' and exploits of Pizarro and Cortes ; and thus complete a 
 series of elcant recitals, which will contribute to the esiiecial gratification of 
 Americans, and form an imperishable fund of delightful instruction for all ages 
 and countries." — J^'at. Oazctte. 
 
 " As he leads us from one savage tribe to another, as he paints successive 
 scenes of iii'roi?m, perspvcrance and self-denial, as he wanders among the mag- 
 nificent scenes of nature, as he relates with scrupulous fidelity the errors, and 
 the crimes even of t.'iose whose lives are for the most part marked with traits 
 to command admiration, and perhaps esteem— everywhere we find liim the same 
 
 undcviating, hut beautiful moralist, gathering from every incident wme lesson 
 to present in striking language to the reason and the heart."— .3»i. Quafterly 
 
 ieis. 
 
 This is a delightful volume; for the preface truly says that the expeditions 
 
 fer our extracts for a week.'"— London Lit. Gazette. 
 
 A CHRONICLE of the CONQUEST of GRENADA. Bjr 
 Washington Irving, Esq. In 2 vols. 
 
 "On the whole, this work will sustain the high fame of Washington Irving. 
 It filN a blank in the historical library which ought not to have remained so 
 lonf a blank The laniruaixe throughout is at once chaste and animated ; and 
 the'narrative may be said, like Sixmislts Fairy Queen, to present one long gal- 
 lery of splendid pictures."— I^nd. Lit. Gazette. 
 
 The ALHAMBRA; a Series of Tales and Sketches of the 
 Moors and Spaniards. By the author of the Sketch-Book. In 
 2 vols. 
 
 " WelTave read a part of Washington Irving's new Sketch-Book, the scene 
 of which is in Spain, the most romantic of European countries, and the best 
 known bv the gifted author. His style has lost nothing of its peculiar charm 
 -his descriptions are as craphic as usual and ^^"li^7"^\^^'>\h ':^f ^ .^"^^^^^"i^s 
 and happy reflection. We shall probably soon furnish a specimen of this 
 work, from the whole cf \vh:ch we expect gratification. -J\at. Gazette. 
 
 New Editions of the following Works by the same Aiilhor. 
 Ithb SKETCH BOOK, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY of NEV/ YORK, revised 
 and corrected. 2 vols. 
 
 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, or the HUMORISTS, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 2 vols. 12nio. 
 
New WorkS) pnblislied Ijy Carey, Lea, &> Blancliard. 
 
 THE MAGDALEN AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 By Sheridan Knowles, Author of The Wife, Hunchback, &c. 
 
 In 1 volume, 18mo. 
 
 THE INSURGENTS. 
 
 An Historical Tale. In 2 volumes, 12mo. 
 
 JULIAN FARQUHARSON, or the CONFESSIONS OF A POET 
 In 2 volumes, 12mo. 
 
 HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 A TALE OF THE TORY ASCENDENCY, 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF SWALLOW BARN. IN 2 VOLS. 12ni0. 
 
 AURUNGZEBE; 
 A TALE OF ALRASCHID. 
 An Eastern Tale. In 2 volumes 12mo. 
 
 THE CANTERBURY TALES 
 
 BY SOPHIA AND HARRIET LEE. 
 
 " There are fine things in the ' The Canterbury Tales.' Nothing of Scott's 
 is finer than 'The German Tale.' I admired it when a boy, and have con- 
 tinued to like what I did then. This, I remember, particularly aflected me." 
 — Ijord Byron. 
 
 " To read the Canterbury Tales of the Misses Lee once more, is a species of 
 temporary regeneration. There is scarcely any educated person of this cen- 
 tury who has not, at some time or other, of youth, drawn a sincere pleasure 
 from these pages. The different tales have been to many like turning down 
 a leaf in life; we can find our place again in juvenile existence by the asso- 
 ciations connected with them. The Officer's Tale, perhaps, was read on some 
 sunny bank in a pleasant land— a stolen pleasure. The Young Lady's Tale un- 
 folded all its intricacy on some fair sofa of a well-remembered apartment. On 
 the German Tale, perhaps, two hearts beat in unison, trembled in harmony, 
 and, when sharing a muiual agitation, two heads berit over the mystic page, 
 they turned round to see each other's fright reflected in well-known and well- 
 loved features. Even now we feel a shiver running over the frame, as we call 
 to mind the fearful whisper of the name of Kruitzner, amidst the silent throng 
 of a kneeling congregation in the pathedrg.1. Such a memoria technica has its 
 charm ; and we may be pardoned forapproaching this number of ' The Standard 
 Novels' with feelings of far more interest than we take up any new novel of 
 the day." — Spectator. 
 
 THE MAYOR OF WIND GAP. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF THE o'lIARA TALES. 2 VOLS. 12niO. 
 
 MY COUSIN NICHOLAS. 1 Vol. 
 THE WIFE'S BOOK. A MARRIAGE PRESENT. 
 
CABINET L.IBRARY. 
 
 No 1 -NARRATIVE OF THE LATE WAR IN GER 
 MANY AND FRANCE. By the Marqvess of London 
 DERRY. With a jMap. 
 No 2— JOURNAL of a NATURALIST, with plates. 
 A,^o. 3.-AUT0BI0GRAPHY of SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 With a portrait. 
 No. 4.-MEM0IRS or SIR WALTER RALEGH. By Mrs. 
 
 A. T. Thomson. 
 I^rp D-LIFE OF BELISARIUS. By I^rd Mahon. 
 MIMTARY MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE of WELLINGTON 
 By auvr. MoYLE Sherer, Author of Recollections of the 
 Peninsula. In 2 vols. 18mo. 
 
 ^f'''\^' n^l^h^be eipePtc are som^ and indopen.'.ent, ami h,. language .s 
 Service Journal. 
 
 GLEANINGS in NATURAL HISTORY, benig a Companion 
 to the Journal of a Naturalist. 
 
 "The Cabinrt Library bids fair to bo a series of great value, and 'f rccom^ 
 mended to public and private libraries^ .o P-J^t" • .r.ra^ a"pri""S wS 
 readers generallv. It is bcautituily printed, and fui nislie<l at a puce u nicn w 
 place it within the reach of all classes of society: -American Iravcller. 
 
 "The S.Mies of instructive, and, in their original form ex!^"^;.^;'?^^);°^]^jf' 
 
 highly estimated.'— .Vationa/ Journal. 
 ° MP«r<. Carev and Lea have commenced a series of publjcations under the 
 
 stronffly attractive. The mechanical execution is nne, the paper and tjpograpuy 
 excelfent."— JVa5Auj7Ze iJanncr. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF SIP. ^^' V;'^,^? ^ ^If b4 
 witli some Account of tlie Period in wlxlcli Ixe lived. By 
 MRS. A. T. THOMSON. AVltJi a Portrait. 
 
 and while we approve the ma 
 is executed."— JLiferari/ Gazette 
 
 page to the last the attention is ro.isea ?•>« susi^iue... 
 the manner, we still more applaud the spirit in which it I 
 Gazette. \ 
 
New Worlcsj publislied l>y Carey, liCa, d& Blaiicliardi 
 
 THE 
 
 WONDROUS TALE OF ALROY. 
 
 THB 
 
 RISE OF ISKANDER. 
 BY D'ISRAELI, 
 
 AUTHOR or VIVIAN GREY, THE YOUNG DUKE, CONTARINI FliEMING, 
 &LC. &C. &C. 
 
 TWO VOLUMES, 12mo. 
 
 LOVE AND PRIDE. 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY THK AUTHOR OF SAYINGS AND DOING8. 
 
 In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 NEWTON FORSTER, 
 
 OR THE MERCHANT SERVICE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF PETER SIMPLE, &0. 
 
 In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 THE BUCCANEER, 
 
 A TALE, 
 
 BY MRS. S. C. HALL, 
 AUTHOR OF " SKETCHES OF IRISH CHARACTER,'' &C. 
 
 In 2 vols. 12mo. From the 3d London edition. 
 
 "TliiB work belongs to the historic school; but it hns that talent which 
 bestows its own attraction on whatever subject its peculiar taste may select." 
 — Lit. Oazetie. 
 
 "An adrai-rable historical romance, Aill of interest, and with many new 
 TiewB of character. The plot is extremely well eonceired, very artful and 
 progressine:, the story never flags, and you open at once upon the main inter- 
 est." — JVtw Monthly Magazine. 
 
 TYLNEY HALL—A novel. 
 
 By Thomas IKood, Author of the " Comic Annual," &e. In 2 
 
 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " At last, after having been on tlje look-out for this long promised novel, with much »uch impatienre as 
 the schcoHio)' watches for the cuckoo, who remaining unseen, still beeps him in quest of her, by uttering 
 some tantalizing note close in Iiis neighbourhood. At last, we have fairly laid hold of this Will o' the 
 Witp of a book, the first of its kind, but we hope not the lMt."-^<'4«njcum. 
 
 CALAVAR; 
 
 OR THE KNIGHT OF THE CONQUEST. 
 
 BY DR. BIRD. 2 VOLS. 12mO. 
 
New "Works, published l>y Carey, Lea, d& Blancliard* 
 
 Vol. III. 
 WALTHAM, 
 
 ▲ NOVEL. 
 
 " Certain we are that very few of our modern novels can produce a charac- 
 ter more admirably drawn than that of Murdock Macara, and Johnson the 
 quondam tutor ; Mr. Bolton and ilulson are sketches that no one but a man 
 of talent could have conceived, and none but a master could have filled up." — 
 London Monthly Jlagazine. 
 
 " It is a publication of no ordinary merit, is written with considerable pow- 
 er, and embodies a story of deep interest. The Library of Romance has 
 already an extensive circulation, and deserves still greater. 
 
 "The numbers publisliod thus far, are devoted to works of the best descrip- 
 tion, and are calculated to entertain without offending a single moral pre- 
 cept." — Penn. Inquirer. 
 
 " There are some fine passages, and touches of strong descriptive powers of 
 nature and characters." — Bait. Amer. 
 
 Vol. IV. 
 THE STOLEN CHILD, 
 
 A TALE OF THE TOWN, 
 
 BY JOHN GALT. 
 
 "The autobiography in this volume is equal to Mr. Gait's best days, and 
 even his subordinate characters are worthy to be recorded in the Annals of 
 the Parish." — Athcntcum. 
 
 " The Stolen Child is a most cleverly managed story. 
 
 "We do not think anyone ever exceeded Mr. Gait in sketching national 
 portraits— they are preserved as if for a museum of natural «uriosities." — 
 Lit. Oaz. 
 
 " A story of «onsidcrable interest." — Bait. Oaz$U9. 
 
 Vol. V. 
 THE BONDMAN, 
 
 A TALE OF THE TLMES OF WAT TYLER. 
 
 " A very picturesque and interesting story, and laid during a period which 
 well deserves illustration." — Lit. Gaz. 
 
 " One of those stirring narrations that give a picture of the times, and take 
 along the reader with the events, as if heVas indeed a part of what he read. 
 This series of romances has thus far maintained its character for novelty and 
 raciness, and while the whole is worthy of especial commendation, each num- 
 ber is in itself a complete story."— CT. S. Gazette. 
 
 " The narrative embraces one of the most interesting periods of English his- 
 tory, and is full of life and spirit. The character of Wat Tyler is well depict- 
 ed."— .Bo/t. OazeU«. 
 
 Vol. VI. 
 THE SLAVE-KING, 
 
 FROM THE "BUG-JARGAl" OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 " In this abridged tale from Vict;)r Hugo, may the readers of wonderAil in- 
 cidents 'woo terror to delight' them. The attention is aroused, and maintain- 
 ed to a frenzied state of excitement anxious to be satisfied with similar de- 
 tails." — Am. Sentinel. 
 
 Vol. Vil. 
 
 TALES OF THE CARAVANSERAI. 
 
 THE KHAN'S TALE. 
 
 BY J. B. FRAZIEai. 
 
LARDNER'S CABINET CYCLOPEDIA. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE RISE, PROGRESS, and PRESENT 
 STATE OF THE SILK MANUFACTURE ; with numerous 
 engravings. 
 
 " It contains abundant information in everj' department of this interesting 
 branch of hnman industry— in the history, culture, and manufacture of silk."— 
 Monthly J\Iagazinc. 
 
 " There :s a great deal of curious information in this little volume."— X.i<. Oaz. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE ITALIAN REPUBLICS ; being a View of 
 the Rise, Progress, and Fall of Italian Freedom. By J. C. L. 
 De Sismondi. 
 
 " The excellencies, defects, and fortunes of the governments of the Italian 
 commonwealths, form a body of the most valuable materials for political phi- 
 losophy. It is time that they should be accessible to the American people, as 
 they are about to be rendered in Sismondi's masterly abridgment. He has done 
 for his large work, what Irving accomplished so well for his Life of Colurabua." 
 —J\''ational Gazette. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE RISE, PROGRESS, and PRESENT 
 
 STATE OF THE MANUFACTURES of PORCELAIN and 
 
 GLASS. With numerous Wood Cuts. 
 
 " In the design and execution of the work, the author has displayed consider- 
 able j;ulsment and skill, and has so disposed of his valuable materials as to ren- 
 der the book attractive and instructive to the general class of readers."— Sot. 
 Evening Post. 
 
 " The author has, by a popular treatment, made it one of the most interesting 
 
 books that has been issued of this series. There ars, we believe, few of the 
 
 I useful arts less generally understood than those of porcelain and glass making. 
 
 These are comj>letely illustrated by Dr. Lardner, and the various processes of 
 
 forming dift'erently fashioned utensils, are fully described." 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF BRITISH STATESMEN; containing the 
 Lives of Sir Thomas More, by Sir James Mackintosh; 
 Cardinal Wolsey, Archbishop Cranmer, and Lord Burleigh, 
 " A very delishtful volume, and on a subject likely to increase in interest 
 
 as it proceeds. * * * Wo cordially commend the work both for its design and 
 
 execution." — London Lit. Gazette. 
 
 The HISTORY of SPAIN and PORTUGAL. In 5 vols. 
 
 " A general History of the Spanish and Portuguese Peninsula, is a great de- 
 sideratum in our language, and we are glad to see it begun under such favorable 
 auspices. We have seldom met with a narrative which fi.xes attention more 
 steadily, and bears the reader'sjnind along more pleasantly." 
 
 " In the volumes before us, there is unquestionable evidence of capacity for 
 the task, and research in the execution." — U. S. Journal. 
 
 " Of course this work can be but an abridgment ; but we know not where so 
 much ability has been shovv'n in condensation. It is unequalled, and likely 
 long to remain so. * * We were convinced, on the publication of the first vol- 
 ume, that it was no common compilation, manufactured to order; we were pre- 
 pared to announce it as a very valuable addition te our literature. ***Our 
 last words must be, heartily to recommend it to our readers." — Athcnceuin^ 
 
 HISTORY OF SWITZERLAND. 
 
 "Like the preceding historical numbers of this valuable publication, it 
 abounds with interesting details, illustrative of the habits, character, and polit- 
 ical complexion of the people and country it describes ; and aflbrds, in the small 
 space of one volume, a digest of all the important facts which, in more elaborate 
 histories, occupy five times the space." — Evening- Post. 
 
New^ Workg, publislied T>y Carey, Lea, &, Blanoliard. 
 
 DELOKAINE, 
 
 A Novel, in 2 Vols. 
 
 BY W. GODWIN, AUTHOR OF CALEB WILLIAMS, &C. 6lC. 
 
 " We always regarded the novels of Godwin as grand productions. No one 
 ever more forcibly portrayed the workings of the mind, whether it were in its 
 joyous hilarity of happiness, or in the sublime agonies of despair. His tales, 
 if we may so express it, have each but one character, and one end ; but that 
 character, how all-absorbing in interest, and how vividly depicted; and that 
 end, how consistent with its preliminaries, how satisfactory, and how beauti- 
 ful !" — Melroiiolitan. 
 
 FORTUNES OF PERKIN WARBECK.— a romance. 
 
 BY MRS. SHELLEY, AUTHOR OF FRANKEXSTEI.V, &LC. &.C. 2 VOLS. 12niO. 
 
 " We must content ourselves hy commending the good us© our fair 
 author has made of her materiel, which she has invested with the grace 
 and existence of her own poetical imagination. The character of Mc«iia 
 is a conception as original as it is exquisite." — Lit. Gazette. 
 
 " The author of Frankenstein has made a romance of great and enduring 
 interest. We recommend Perkin Warbeck to the public attention- It 
 cannot fail to interest as a novel, while it may impart useful instruction as 
 a history." — Com. Advertiser. 
 
 ASMODEUS AT LARGE, 
 A FICTION. 
 
 BY BULWER, AUTHOR OF PELHAM, EUGENE ARAM, &C. 
 
 " This is another admirable production from the prolific pen of Mr. Bulwer— 
 distinguished by the same profundity of thought and matchless humor which 
 are so happily combined in all his writings."' — Baltimore WeekJy Messenger. 
 
 "Our readers have felt that the impassioned pen of the author of Eugene 
 Aram has not lost its power in these sketches." — A". Y. American. 
 
 "f^inn Austen's lao'jrls, eomplctc 
 
 EMMA, A Novel, by Miss Austen, 2 vols. 
 SENSE AND SENSIBILITY, 2 vole. 
 MANSFIELD PARK, 
 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY, « 
 
 PERSUASION, 
 
 "There are few works of flciion, so acceptable in republication as the Nov- 
 els of Miss Austen. 
 
 " They never weary, their interest is never lost, for, as in the prints of Ho- 
 garth, we find fresh matter for admiration upon every renewal of our ac- 
 quaintance. In her works the scene is before us with all the reality of the 
 world, and, free from the engrossment of acting a part in it, we discover points 
 of interest which .a divided attention had overlooked. 
 
 " Her merit considered, her perfection in one style. Miss Austen is the worst 
 appreciated Novelist of her time. The (Quarterly Review, (to its honor be it 
 remembered,) was the first critical authority which did justice to her merits, 
 and that after the grave closed over her unconscious and modest genius. 
 
 " It is remarkable that Scott, who noticed with praise many inferior authors, 
 never mentioned Miss Austen." — Examintr. 
 
LARDNER S CABINET CYCLOPAEDIA. 
 
 IT IS NOT EASY TO DEVISE A CURE FOR SUCH A STATE OF THINGS (tHE PE- 
 CIINIXO TASTE FOR SCIENCE)) BCT THE MOST OBVIO0S REMEDY IS TO PROVIDE 
 THE EDUCATED CLASSES WITH A SERIES OF WORKS ON POPULAR AND PRACTI- 
 CAL SCIENCE, FREED FROM MATHEMATICAL SYMBOLS AND TECHNICAL TERMS, 
 WRITTEN IN SIMPLE AND PERSPICUOUS LANGUAGE, AND ILLUSTRATED BY FACTS 
 AND EXPERIMENTS, WHICH ARE LEVEL TO THE CAPACITY OF ORDINARY MINDS." 
 
 Q^uarterly Review. 
 
 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE ON THE OBJECTS, ADVAN- 
 TAGES, AND PLEASURES OF THE STUDY OP NATU- 
 RAL PHILOSOPHY. By J. T. AV. Herscliel, A. M. late Fel- 
 low of St. Jolui's College, Cambridge. 
 
 " Without disparaging any other of tlie many interesting and instructive vol- 
 umes issued in the form of cabinet and family libraries, it is, perhaps, not too 
 much to place at the head of the list, for extent and variety of condensed infor- 
 mation, Mr. Herchers discourse of Natural Philosophy in Dr. Lardner's Cyclo- 
 pxdia.' — Christian Observer. 
 
 " The finest work of philosophical genius which this age has seen." — Mackin- 
 tosh's England. 
 
 '• By far the most delightful book to which the existing competition between 
 literary rivals of great talent and enterprise has given hse."— Monthly Rcvieic. 
 
 " Mr. Ilerschel's delightful volume. * * * We find scattered through the 
 work instances of vivid and happy illustration, where the fancy is usefully called 
 into action, so as sometimes to remind us of the splendid pictures which crOvvd 
 upon us in the style of Bacon." — Quarterly Review. 
 
 "It is the most exciting volume of the kind we ever met with." — Monthly 
 Magazine. 
 
 " One of the most instructive and delightful books we have ever perused."— 
 U. S. Journal. 
 
 A TREATISE ON MECHANICS. By Capt. Kater, aiid tlic 
 Rev. Dionysius Lardiier. AVitli iiiiixierous engravings. 
 
 " A work which contains an uncommon amount of useful information, ex- 
 hibited in a plain and very intelligible form." — Olmsted's JVat. Philosophy. 
 
 "This volume has been lately published in England, as a part of Dr. Lardner's 
 Cabinet Cyclopaedia, and has received the unsolicited approbation of the most 
 eminent men of science, and the most discriminating journals and reviews, in 
 the British metropolis. — It is written in a popular and intelligible style, entirely 
 free from mathemntical symbols, and disencumbered as far" as possible of tech- 
 nical phrases." — Boston Traveller. 
 
 " Admirable in development and clear in principles, and especially felicitous in 
 illustration from familiar subjects." — Monthly Mag. 
 
 OUTLINES OF HISTORY, from thi 
 present time. 
 
 earliest period to the 
 
 A TREATISE ON HYDROSTATICS AND PNEUMATICS. 
 By th.e Rev. D. Lardiicr. "Witli numerous engraviugs. 
 
 " It fully siistairs the favorable opinion we have already expressed as to this 
 valuable compendium of modern science." — Lit. Gazette. 
 
 " Dr. Lardner has made a good use of his acquaintai ce with the familiar facts 
 which illustrate the principles of science." — Monthly Magazine. 
 
 *' It is written with a full knowledse of the subject, and in a popular style, 
 abounding in practical illustrations of the abstruse operations of these impor- 
 tant sciences." — U. S. Journal. 
 
TUB PHOPIiXS'S ZiZBRAHY. 
 
 " The editors and publishers should receive the thanks of the present 
 generation, and the gratitude of posterity, for being the first to prepare in 
 this language what deserves to be entitled not the ENCYCLOP.'EDIA 
 AMERICANA, but the peoplk's lierarv."— A'. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 Just Published, by Carey, Lea, and Blanchard, 
 
 And sold in Philadelphia by E. L. Carey ^ A. Hart ; in New- York bv 
 G. 4' C. 4- H. Carvill ; in Boston by Carler <^ Henrlee ; in Baltimore by E. 
 J. Coale, (^ W. ^ J. Nml; in Washington bv Tlicmpsnn 4' Hornans ; in 
 Richmond by JH- Nash ; in Savannah by \V. T. Williams; in Charleston 
 by W. H. Berrett; in rs'ew-Orleans by IV. M'Kran; in Mobile by Odiorne 
 4' Smith ; and by the principal booksellers throughout the Union. 
 
 ENCYCLOPiEDIA AMERICANA: 
 
 A 
 
 POPULAR DICTIONARY 
 
 OF 
 
 ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE, HISTORY, AND POLITICS, 
 
 BROCGHT DOWN TO THE PRESENT TIME, AND INCLUDINO A COPIOUS 
 COLLECTION OF ORIGINAL ARTICLES IN 
 
 AMERICAN BIOGRAPHY: 
 
 On the basis of the Seventh Edition of the German 
 
 COXYERSA TIONS-LEXICON. 
 
 Edited by FRANCIS LIEBER, 
 
 ASSISTED BY 
 
 EDWARD WIGGLESWORTH and T. G. BRADFORD, Esqrs. 
 
 IN THIRTEEN LARGE VOLUMES, OCTAVO, PRICE TO SUBSCRIBERS, 
 BOUND IN CLOTH, TWO DOLLARS AND A HALF EACH. 
 EACH VOLUME WILL CONTAIN BETWEEN 600 AND 700 PAGES. 
 
 "THE WORLD- RENOWNED CONVERSATIONS-LEXICON."— i:(Zin>J«r^A 
 Review. 
 
 " To supersede cumbrous Encyclopaedias, and put within the reach of the poor- 
 est man. a complete library, equal to about forty or fifty pood-sized octavos, em- 
 braciiij» every possible subject of interest to the uuuiber of 20,(00 in all— provided 
 lin can spare either from his earnings or hi.^ extravacancies. twenty cents a week, 
 for three years, a library so contrived, as to be equally suited to the learned and 
 the unlearned, — the mechanic— the merchant, and the professional man." — JV. Y. 
 Courier and Inquirer. 
 
 " 7'he reputation of this valuable work has augmented with each volume ; and 
 if the unanimous opinion of tho press, uttered frnm all quarters, be true, which 
 in this instance happ<jns to be the case, it is indeed one of the best of publica- 
 tions. It should be in the possession of every inteliiirent man. as it is a library 
 in itself, comprising an immense mass of lore upon almost every possible sub- 
 joct, and in the cheapest possible form.'— JV. Y. Mirror. 
 
Ji^-w Wortcg, puljlislied toy Carey, I^ea, &, Blanchard* 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF GERMAN LIFE. 
 In 2 Vols. 12mo. 
 
 " The pictures here given of German life have an interest which to us is per- 
 fectly irresistible." — Sunday Times. 
 
 " The work under our notice has great claims to the consideration of every 
 reader who likes good tales, in which he will find svery thing in keeping."— 
 Mttrojiolitan. 
 
 "These most original stories are replete with incidents, scenes, and char- 
 acters that will dwell upon the mind they have amused; some of them have 
 the conciseness, wit, and satirical point, of Voltaire's sparkling romance, but 
 without their mockery of all that is sacred and virtuous. We rise from their 
 perusal with our hearts warmed for our fellow-men, and with our lov« and 
 interest increased for this world." — Court Magaiint. 
 
 THE LAST MAN. 
 
 BY MRS. SHELLEY, AUTHOR OF FRANKENSTEIN, &C. 2 VOLS. 12mO. 
 
 DELAWARE, 
 
 OR, THE RUINED FAMILY. 
 
 A Novel, in 2 Vols. 12mo. 
 
 " Delaware is a work of talent in every sense of the word. The plot is full 
 of interest, the characters are sketched with vitality and vigor, and the 
 style is neat and flowing throughout." — Edinburgh Evening Post. 
 
 " Delaware is a tale of much amusement and interest. We heartily com- 
 mend it to our readers as a very pleasant and very clever work." — Lit. Ga- 
 zette. 
 
 "Delaware is an original novel hy an able man."— Spectator. 
 
 " The story is well told, the characters clearly unfolded, and the conclusion 
 natural and satisfactory." — Athenmum. 
 
 LONDON NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS, 
 
 OR, TALES AND CONFESSIONS. 
 
 By Leitch Ritchie, Author of Schinderhannes, &c. 
 
 In 2 Vols. 12mo. 
 
 "This work is supposed by eminent critics to be the chef-d'oeuvre of the 
 author." 
 
 " Mr. Ritchie is by far our best writer of romantic and imaginative tales," 
 was the dictum of the Literary Gazette— and the Atlas pronounces him " the 
 Scott of the short, picturesque, and bold story." 
 
 " The power of fascinating the reader, of chaining him. down, as it were, 
 while his fancy is tormented by terrible imaginings, is the principal character- 
 istic of Mr. Leitch Ritchie's pictures." — London Weekly Review. 
 
 THE REPEALERS. 
 
 A Novel. By the Countess of Blessington. 
 In 2 Vols. 12mo. 
 
 " The Irish scenes are entitled to warm commendation, they are written 
 with equal good feeling and good sense ; while Grace Cassidy is a sweet and 
 touching portrait," &c. &c — Lit. Gazette. 
 

 Date Due 
 
 
 JWl 2fi 
 
 1^ ; 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Form 335. 25M 
 
 — 7-38— S 
 
/ 
 
 823.79 B217CA 372893 
 
I 
 
 ^'9C''0>^