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 L I E> R_AFIY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVER51TY 
 
 or ILLINOIS
 
 HARRY EGERTON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE YOUNaER SON OF THE DAY. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 HARRY EGIERTON; 
 
 THE YOUNGEE SON OF THE DAY. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. L. TOTTENHAM, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CHARLIE VILLARS AT CAMBRIDGE 
 
 " Non equidem hoc stucleo, puUatis ut inilii nugis 
 Pagina turgescat." 
 
 Persius. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1869.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY VIRTUK AND CO. 
 
 CITY ROAD.
 
 8^5 
 
 PKEFACE. 
 
 Had not the sclieme of this book been 
 designed, and partly executed, before the 
 singularly inartistic and youthful nature of 
 its predecessor had been fully demonstrated 
 to me, it would not probably be now appear- 
 ing as a sequel. " The connection, however, 
 has been rendered almost immaterial. The 
 'few puppets brought on have been to some 
 ^extent, I believe, developed into characters. 
 
 uThe scene is laid in an entirely different 
 
 P . . 
 
 io sphere. The interest is more general, and 
 
 '^ 
 ^ the plot independent. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 »/> 
 
 V 
 
 i
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/harryegertonoryo01tott
 
 "It is a monstrous want of reflection that a man 
 cannot consider that when he cannot resign the plea- 
 sures of life in his decay of appetite and inclination to 
 them, his son must have a much uneasier task to resist 
 the impetuosity of growing desires. . . . Narrow- 
 ness in theii' circumstances has made many youths, to 
 supply themselves as debauchees, commence cheats 
 and rascals. The father who allows his son to the 
 utmost ability avoids this latter evil, which, as to the 
 world, is much greater than the former." 
 
 Spectator, No. 496.
 
 HAEKY EGEETON. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 ^* ]N'oT a word more, sir ! not a word ! 
 Your allowance was amply sufficient. You 
 have chosen to exceed it; you may now 
 take the consequences. How dare you cal- 
 culate upon making me the victim of your 
 extravagance ? I shall not pay one six- 
 pence for you ; and, what is more, not a day 
 longer do you continue in my house. I 
 shall be perfectly content to forget your 
 existence — yes, sir, to forget your existence. 
 And now you may go." 
 
 " Well, this is what you may call being 
 jolly well up a tree," soliloquised Harry 
 Egerton, as he shut the door of his father's 
 study, wherein Chromes has just brought 
 an interesting interview to a close. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 *l HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 ITeaiiy a year has elapsed since we parted 
 with Clitipho. It is early in Jnly. The 
 London season is drawing to a close, and a 
 few days more would have seen him on his 
 way to Scotland, in company with his 
 father and their usual belongings. Every 
 day he was expecting to be gazetted to a 
 cavalry regiment, then quartered in Ire- 
 land ; and life generally held out pleasant 
 prospects, which were only dashed by the 
 ever-present annoyance of debts still unpaid. 
 
 It is going on for two years since he left 
 Cambridge ; and even the most long-suffer- 
 ing of tradesmen have become importimate 
 of late ; so that she^r necessity has at last 
 obliged him to screw up his courage to a 
 full disclosure of his embarrassments. 
 
 He had chosen a time after luncheon 
 when his father appeared to be in an un- 
 usually agreeable humour ; and having fol- 
 lowed him into his private room, had gra- 
 dually unfolded the history of his difficul- 
 ties, and asked for the necessary hundi-eds 
 to- relieve them. 
 
 Mr. Egerton had listened for some time
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 3 
 
 in blank astonishment at his son's andacity 
 - — his silence contributing very little to the 
 prodigal's self-possession. But when at last 
 lie did recover his outraged senses, it had 
 only been to pour forth a torrent of invec- 
 tive, comprising all the best-known epithets 
 usual on such occasions, and winding up 
 eventually with the considerate dismissal re- 
 corded on a previous page. 
 
 It was in vain for Harry to urge that 
 since he left Cambridge he had been living 
 economically, and paying off such bills as he 
 could — that he had given up betting en- 
 tirely, and spent almost nothing during the 
 last year and a half — that if his debts were 
 paid now, he should start clear, and keep so 
 in future. The enormity of his past con- 
 duct outweighed in his father's mind every 
 present consideration. "No palliation what- 
 ever availed against the bare fact of the 
 demand. It was futile to talk of explana- 
 tion, or to draw his attention to promises 
 of future well-doing. Injured dignity and 
 anger had, for the time, put out the nose of 
 reason, and under their influence Mr. Egerton
 
 4 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 was betrayed into an extreme of harsliness 
 wMch would, at any other time, have jarred 
 upon his paternal sense of affection. 
 
 The exceedingly uncomfortable nature of 
 the prospect did not all at once come home 
 to his son's mind, as he wandered np-stairs, 
 and threw himself down into an arm-chair, 
 to consider his position. He had been 
 so long accnstomed to being in want of 
 money, that it didn't appear as if the 
 immediate pressure was in any way in- 
 creased; but, when he came gradually to 
 realise the situation, he was obliged to con- 
 fess that circumstances did not now present 
 that indifferently pleasant aspect which they 
 had hitherto done. 
 
 He knew his father's character too well to 
 expect that he ever would unsay anything 
 that had once passed his lips, however much 
 he might subsequently regret the hasty im- 
 pulse which had caused it to be said. For 
 Mr. Egerton was the unhappy slave of a per- 
 verted obstinacy, which he called consis- 
 tency, to which he sacrificed his feelings 
 with the most ruthless zeal. His social
 
 HAREY EGEET0:PT. & 
 
 eccentricities were, perhaps, deriYed more or 
 less from his political associations, for he 
 was n Tory to the backbone ; not one of 
 your " truly liberal " Conservatives, but a 
 fine old Tory, a good sound bigot, with con- 
 viction-proof ears, and beautifully obstinate 
 in defence of any preconceived opinion or 
 hereditary prejudice. There was plenty of 
 natural affection in his nature ; but, in de- 
 ference to his principle, he considered it 
 right on most occasions to play the part of 
 t^a-ant, in preference to the paternal role^ 
 which suited him best, and which he really 
 liked the best. 
 
 Harry knew, then, that it was useless to 
 •expect him to alter his expressed inten- 
 tions ; and the gaze he fixed upon the future 
 was, with reason, a blank and hopeless one- 
 He saw himself still continuing a prey to 
 never-ceasing duns, without any prospect 
 of relief from his difficulties. During the 
 ensuing winter he should have to put up he 
 didn't know where, instead of hunting in 
 Leicestershire as heretofore. Would his 
 father continue his allowance? That was
 
 6 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 another question. He certainly would not 
 pay for his commission now ; and he should 
 be condemned to a continuance of the idle 
 life of which he was already more than 
 tired. A host of other minor, but not less 
 disagreeable, considerations presented them- 
 selves before his dejected view, to enhance 
 the cheering nature of the situation ; and 
 when the door opened, and his aunt entered 
 the room, his spirits had sunk so low that 
 the mercury had disappeared altogether, and 
 there was not a sign of quicksilver to be 
 seen in the whole frame*
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Mrs. Greville and her daughter had now 
 for some years filled the parts of mother 
 and sister respectively to Mr. Egerton's 
 establishment. He had lost his wife at the 
 birth of his second son (the young gentle- 
 man who is now dolefully considering his 
 position in the drawing-room) ; and, upon 
 the death of her husband, Mrs. Greville had 
 made her brother's house her home. She 
 was almost the only one of his relations 
 with whom he had not, at one time or 
 another, quarrelled ; and she owed her im- 
 munity to the weakness and submissiveness 
 of her character. She never contradicted him, 
 probably because she seldom had an opinion 
 of her own to advance in opposition ; and 
 she stood in such evident awe of his hot 
 temper, and showed him such deference on
 
 8 HARRY EGERTOJsr. 
 
 all occasions, tliat his yanity was flattered^ 
 and her society accordingly agreeable. 
 
 It was Mrs. Greville who now broke in 
 upon Harry's gloomy thoughts ; and who^ 
 on seeing the look of dejection which his 
 face wore, hastened to the bell, to despatch 
 a messenger for the family physician, confi- 
 dent that her nephew mnst be in the first 
 stage of some alarming disorder. 
 
 Harry, however, begged her to do nothing- 
 of the kind ; there was nothing the matter 
 with him ; he had had a slight row with his 
 father, — that was all. 
 
 His annt was all anxiety and inquiry, and 
 he continued — 
 
 ^^Well, I simply asked him for a few 
 hundreds to pay off some old debts, and he 
 got into one of his towering passions, called 
 me every name in the dictionary, and said I 
 shouldn't have a penny from him, and might 
 leave his house to-night. Pleasant answer, 
 wasn't it?" and he tried to laugh. 
 
 Mrs. Greville was aghast at the sweeping 
 and decisive nature of the parent's reply. 
 
 " Why, where are you to go to ? What
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 9 
 
 are you to do ?" she exclaimed, in utter 
 astonislinient. 
 
 *^ / don't know," answered Harry, bit- 
 terly. ^^ Turn beggar, I suppose, or some- 
 thing equally respectable." 
 
 Mrs. Greyille clasped her hands, and sat 
 looking at him with such a hopelessly terri- 
 fied expression as Melancholy herself must 
 have smiled to see. 
 
 " Eut were you so very extravagant ? " 
 she said, at last. '^ My dearest Heniy, you 
 must have been very extravagant." And 
 her face assumed a semi-apologetic look for 
 her brother. 
 
 '' Well, if I was," Harry said, '' I've been 
 living economically enough lately. And it's 
 rather hard lines when one does go in for 
 reform, to be turned out of doors in this off- 
 hand way. Lots of fellows owe a great deal 
 more money than I do, and don't attempt to 
 pay." 
 
 Mrs. Greville's face again betrayed a 
 struggle between fear and bewilderment as 
 she reminded him of the obstinacy of his 
 father's nature, what a difficult man he was
 
 10 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 to deal with, and liow she should be afraid 
 almost to speak for him. It was most 
 unlucky, too, that this should have hap- 
 pened just as he was going into the army, 
 and all (a fact which he might very well 
 have sujDplied from his own knowledge); and 
 again she clasped her hands, and performed 
 the office of Job's comforter in a most sooth- 
 ing and delightful manner. 
 
 ^' Do you know if my mother's money is 
 settled on me?" asked Harry, abruptly. 
 His mother had been a sister of Mrs. Gre- 
 ville's husband, and married from their 
 house in Ireland. 
 
 The money was still at Mr. Egerton's 
 disposal, as far as Mrs. Greville knew. But, 
 really, she could not be sure, for her 
 brother disliked any allusion to his wife, 
 and had never mentioned the subject to 
 her. In fact, family matters were never 
 discussed between them, she added, with 
 what seemed a latent significance. 
 
 ^^ There were no settlements?" Harry 
 asked. 
 
 "No ; of that she was confident. Her poor
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 11 
 
 dear Kusband had been so thoroughly Irish 
 in his carelessness about everything con- 
 nected with business, that he handed over 
 his sister's fortune without any acknow- 
 ledgment whatever ; at least, as far as 
 Mrs. Greville had ever heard of. And she 
 sighed a pitying sigh for the defectiveness 
 of that Irish nature. 
 
 Like many other persons who are de- 
 ficient in strength of character, this esti- 
 mable lady had attached to herself certain 
 prejudices, which were wont, on occasions, 
 to do duty for opinions, and which were 
 clung to with all the natural tenacity of 
 unreasoning weakness. In particular, she 
 had acquired, from her English instincts and 
 associations, an unmeaning aversion to Ire- 
 land and the Irish. And to fully demon- 
 strate this aversion, she had very judiciously 
 married an Irishman — a real Irishman, too, 
 who passed the greater part of his time 
 amongst his own people, and required that 
 his wife should do the same. Mrs. Greville, 
 therefore, had plenty of opportunity of 
 mixing with the people, and unlearning her
 
 12 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 prejudices, if she had been so inclined. But 
 no, she never could get over her dislike to 
 those dreadful Irish. So she stayed at 
 home, and, whenever opportunity offered, 
 took occasion to say something to their dis- 
 advantage. This, of course, was the best of 
 taste, to abuse her husband's countrymen in 
 his own house and before his face, and was 
 very much calculated to promote a consider- 
 able cordiality between them, even though 
 his patriotism might fire up occasionally. 
 Eut people did say that Mrs. Greville was 
 not utterly inconsolable at his death, and 
 was not altogether sorry to return to inde- 
 pendence and England again. 
 
 '^ But," Harry lu^ged, ^' this money might 
 have been settled since. It was always under- 
 stood — wasn't it ? — that I was to have it." 
 
 " Yes, it certainly was intended," Mrs. 
 Greville said, ^^that it should go to the 
 younger children of the marriage. But — " 
 and she sighed, and again it seemed a mean- 
 ing sigh. 
 
 '' But what ?" asked Harry. 
 
 His allusion to his mother seemed to have
 
 HAREY EGERTON. 13 
 
 carried off his aunt's thoughts into another 
 channel, for she was looking absently on 
 the floor, and murmured rather to herself 
 than in reply to his question — 
 
 '' Time will show. Strange that it should 
 have gone on so long ; strange, strange ! but 
 it must end some day." 
 
 ^^What must end?" asked her nephew, 
 with greater interest than before. "You 
 have often hinted at some family secret, 
 aunt — ^what is it ? Why can't you speak 
 out plainly, instead of going on always in 
 that mysterious way ? " 
 
 Mrs. Greville had, in fact, more than 
 once indulged in strange vaticinations of 
 this kind, when any unusual tui*n in Harry's 
 or his brother's affairs, or their father's 
 behaviour towards them, had aroused the 
 prophetic instinct from her inner conscious- 
 ness. Harry had always treated them as a 
 joke, and laughed at her woman's fondness 
 for a mystery. But in the present crisis, 
 any straw which held out the faintest hope 
 had a natural interest for him; and ac- 
 cordingly, he pressed for fui'ther explanation.
 
 14 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 *^Ali!" sighed his aunt, still absent, '^I 
 feel so confident — so confident that I could 
 not be mistaken. I wish I could think it 
 
 otherwise ; I do, indeed. And yet " 
 
 and again she sighed a short, uncertain 
 sigh. 
 
 Harry now leaned forward, and asked, 
 rather impatiently, what tvas the use of 
 sighing like that ? Why couldn't she say 
 at once what it was all about ? 
 
 Mrs. Greville hereupon recovered herself. 
 What had she been saying ? How foolish 
 of her to talk of it ! ^^ Your father, Henry 
 dear, would be so angry if he knew that I 
 had mentioned the subject to you at all. 
 You won't tell him — ^promise me that ? " 
 and she looked imploringly at him as she 
 spoke. 
 
 ^^I should be very glad to know what 
 you're driving at, aunt," he replied, 
 still more impatiently. ^^ I'm not aware 
 that I've heard anything to repeat. I didn't 
 know that you had told me anything, so I 
 don't see very well how I'm to tell my 
 father of it, — even if he ever speaks to me
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 15 
 
 again," added her nephew, as he threw 
 himself back into his chair. 
 
 Mrs. Greyille began to cry. Indeed, in- 
 deed, if she only dared she would tell him 
 all about it. But it wouldn't make him 
 any the happier. She was sure that it was 
 better as it was. 
 
 *' Then why go on in this absurd way," 
 Harry asked — '' exciting one's curiosity to 
 no purpose ? " 
 
 "Don't be angry with me, Henry," cried 
 his aunt between her sobs and periodical 
 applications of the handkerchief to her eyes. 
 " I am not to blame, — indeed I am not ; and 
 you don't know how sorry I am for you, 
 and how I wish I could help you." Sob, 
 sob, sob. 
 
 This was irritating to a degree, and 
 didn't at all suit the present condition of 
 Harry's feelings. After a few half-angry, 
 half-soothing words, he got up and left the 
 room, snatched up his hat and stick, and 
 went out into the streets in a very agree- 
 able frame of mind. 
 
 The irritation which his aunt's language
 
 16 HAKRY EGERTON. 
 
 had produced, occupied liis thoughts for 
 some time, and then his immediate difl&cul- 
 ties pressed themselves into the front again, 
 and engrossed his whole attention, as he 
 wandered moodily on in the direction of the 
 Park. 
 
 As usual at this time of the afternoon, 
 the place was thronged with gay costumes, 
 mean turn-outs, and biases spectators. 
 
 What possible amusement, Harry cyni- 
 cally wondered, as he leant against the 
 railings near Albert Gate, gazing listlessly 
 at the occupants of the carriages, and taking 
 off his hat mechanically to passing acquaint- 
 ances — what possible amusement can they 
 find in creeping along at that snail's pace, 
 to be inspected by that line of chairs and 
 gapers ? 
 
 No answer was forthcoming, and, sick of 
 the weary stream of carriages, he crossed 
 the road, and sauntered on up the side of 
 Eotten Eow — on into the cool shade of the 
 trees, and the green seclusion of Kensington 
 Gardens. 
 
 The tall limes and branching elms were
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 17 
 
 casting their giant shadows across the smooth 
 sward, and dipping them in the glittering 
 water. Bright-plumaged water-fowl were 
 chasing each other across the rippling sur- 
 face. There was a blaze of flowers on his 
 left, smooth slopes of green in front, a bright 
 blue sky overhead, and children's merry 
 voices mingling with the freshness of the 
 air. All seemed cheerfulness, and life, and 
 joy, to every one but him. 
 
 This brightness and life around, however, 
 only acted as an irritant to his present 
 thoughts ; and he threw himself down 
 upon a chair, and gave himself up to the 
 full enjoyment of his despondency and 
 wretchedness. All sorts of schemes pre- 
 sented themselves, only to be rejected. 
 Without money, there was absolutely 
 nothing to be done, it seemed. Then Mrs. 
 Greville's hints about some doubt whether 
 he was entitled to his mother's fortune, 
 came before his mind again, to provoke a 
 further feeling of impatience. How did he 
 know but what it might be something of 
 importance to him which she was conccal- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 ing ? Conjecture was useless. And he 
 began to wonder whether his father would 
 give him any allowance. Would he per- 
 haps think better of it ? 'No, Harry knew 
 him too well, he thought, for that. And 
 so his thoughts wandered on from one thing 
 to another, until at last they all merged into 
 a general undefined depression, which was 
 perhaps worse than all. 
 
 In this condition he sat on till long past 
 seven o'clock, getting up at last a little less 
 cheerful, if possible, than when he had sat 
 down.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Finding, on inquiry, that his father had 
 gone out to dinner, Harry went up -stairs 
 to the drawing-room, and found Maud 
 Greville there alone with her thoughts. 
 
 ^' I am so sorry about you, Harry," she 
 exclaimed, as he entered. ^' I think it's too 
 cruel of Uncle Philip." And Maud went 
 up to him, as he leant against the chimney- 
 piece, and looked up into his face so kindly 
 and so naturally, that Harry was moved for 
 a moment out of his melancholy fit, and, 
 putting his arm round her neck, answered — 
 
 ^'It is rather hard lines, Maud. It's 
 almost enough to make one do something 
 reckless." 
 
 ^^ Please don't say that, Harry dear," she 
 said. ^' Think how miserable we should all 
 be !" Then, laying her hand affectionately
 
 20 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 on his shoulder, Maud went on — ^'Surely 
 something can be done about these horrid 
 debts. Wouldn't Philip lend you some 
 money ? He always seems to have as much 
 as he wants. And I'm sure he isn't extra- 
 vagant." 
 
 '' Philip ! " Harry exclaimed, bitterly. 
 ^' He'd see me a long way before Z^^'d ever 
 help me. That excellent brother of mine 
 has much too great a regard for his money 
 and himself, Maud." 
 
 " Oh ! I'm sure he would," cried simple 
 little Maud, ^^ if he only knew how sorry 
 you were." 
 
 Harry smiled kindly at her eager simpli- 
 city, and she continued, rather bashfully — 
 " And you know, Harry, I have some 
 money too. I would willingly give it you 
 — all of it — if you'd only take it." 
 
 ''Just like you, Maud dear ; but I 
 couldn't think of it," replied Harry, draw- 
 ing her towards him and kissing her. They 
 had been brought up together ever since he 
 was " a tiny little boy ; " and Maud, who was 
 a simple, natural, Irish girl, full of warmth
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 21 
 
 and free from affectation of any kind, loved 
 Harry as if he had been her brother, and it 
 had never entered her thoughts to look upon 
 him in any other light. 
 
 Mrs. Greville entered the room, dressed 
 for dinner. " My child, are you still here ? 
 — not dressed yet?'^ 
 
 '^ Oh, mamma, I wanted to see Harry 
 before he goes away," exclaimed her child, 
 with tears in her eyes ; '' and Uncle Philip 
 is dining out, so he can't be angry. I should 
 have been very rude to him, I'm sure, if he 
 had dined at home this evening." 
 
 ^'I should, mamma, I know I should," 
 was the only answer which her mother's 
 mild rebuke provoked. 
 
 And then they fell to talking upon Harry's 
 immediate prospects, and why he hadn't 
 told them he was in debt, that this catas- 
 trophe might have been averted. 
 
 The fact was, Harry said, that he was 
 afraid of Philip getting hold of it. He 
 knew there would have to be a row some 
 time, and he didn't want it precipitated 
 through Philip's means. ^^He abuses me
 
 22 HARRY EGERTO]?r. 
 
 enougli as it is," lie said, ^' for being a 
 younger son, and extravagant, and all the 
 rest of it ; and it would very soon have got 
 to my father through him." 
 
 ^' Ah I you were always so different," 
 murmured his aunt, absently. 
 
 Again that mysterious language. In 
 heaven's name, what meant it ? — Nothing, 
 which Mrs. Greville could explain. But she 
 went on to suggest that as his Aunt Eleanor 
 professed to be so fond of him, why didn't 
 he go and live with her ? 
 
 ^^ I'm sure she has room enough for you," 
 Mrs. Greville continued, in a slightly con- 
 temptuous tone. Although Lady Belvedere 
 was her sister, she always spoke of her in a 
 purposely indifferent and disparaging man- 
 ner, because Lady Belvedere, having a 
 considerable power of self-assertion, had 
 long ago quarrelled with Mr. Egerton, and 
 would persist in treating Mrs. Greville with 
 a most annoying sympathy — partly, as she 
 allowed her to see, from pity for the weak- 
 ness of her character, and partly because she 
 lived with her brother, with whom Lady
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 23 
 
 Belvedere had had the superior sense to 
 quarrel. But it was true that she had a 
 great affection for Harry ; and it was sup- 
 posed that he might some day be her heir. 
 For she was a widow of property, without 
 children — her only son, who was born just 
 about the same time as Harry, having died 
 soon after his birth. So that there was a 
 little romantic sentiment, perhaps, forming 
 an element in her affection for her nephew. 
 
 That nephew, however, did not see why 
 she should be expected to acquiesce in the 
 arrangements which were being made for 
 her, and Maud exclaimed — 
 
 ^^But what will you do then, Harry?" 
 evidently under the impression that when 
 expelled from his father's house he would 
 be obliged to sleep in the streets. 
 
 Harry had no doubt that he should be 
 able to find a bed-room somewhere in the 
 neighbourhood of his club until the end of 
 the season, when he should probably go to 
 Homburg or Baden, or somewhere, and try 
 and make some money at the gambling tables. 
 
 Death by pistol eventually, in some dark
 
 24 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 and shady walk in tlie neighbourhood of the 
 Knrsaal, was Mrs. Greville's notion of gam- 
 bling, and in deference to the apprehension 
 which her face expressed, Harry withdrew 
 the suggestion; but must take to the turf, 
 he said, if he was not to gamble. 
 
 Even this, however, did not satisfy his 
 aunt, whose experience of the turf in Mr. 
 Egerton's young days was not a source of 
 pleasant recollection. 
 
 ^^ Why not come with us to Castle Gre- 
 ville, Harry?" here suggested Maud, who, 
 unlike her mother, was never so happy as 
 when wandering about her brother's place 
 in Galway. Mrs. Greville, indeed, had 
 never visited Ireland since her husband's 
 death; and only that Maud was bent on 
 a visit this autumn, and would not on 
 this occasion be able to avail herself of her 
 brother's escort, she would not be going 
 there now. But Maud had insisted, and 
 her mother had been obliged to acquiesce. 
 
 '^ You know you have often promised to 
 go," she continued; "and Spencer, I know, 
 would be delighted to see you."
 
 HAHRY EGERTON. 25 
 
 " And you could take care of us over that 
 odious sea," added her mother. 
 
 " Oh ! comej mamma, the sea isn't nearly 
 so bad as you always make it out," cried 
 Maud. '' But you will go, Harry, won't 
 you?" 
 
 Harry mused. He couldn't well go to 
 Scotland. The chances were that he met 
 his father somewhere, and this would be 
 awkward. If he went abroad — true, he 
 might break the bank at some of these places ; 
 but then there was the possibility of the 
 bank breaking him, and then he should be 
 more ^' up a tree " than ever. If he went 
 to Ireland he should be well out of the way 
 of duns for some time, at all events — he 
 needn't leave any address; and several 
 people had asked him to stay whenever he 
 came over there. Greville had fishing, too, 
 and shooting, — poor, perhaps, after Scot- 
 land ; but beggars must not be choosers. 
 
 But then, again, he had had an offer of 
 a berth in a yacht from Tom Manners, an 
 old Cambridge ally. Although he had de- 
 clined this at the time, thinking that he
 
 26 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 was going to Scotland with his father to 
 fish, it might not be too late to take it now, 
 and then to Ireland for the shooting, which 
 didn't begin there till the 20th. 
 
 Yes, the time might be spent agreeably 
 enough in that way. 
 
 ^'When are yon going?" he asked at 
 length, as he disclosed his embryo plan, 
 having entii^ely forgotten that they might 
 perhaps be counting upon his escort over 
 Mrs. Greyille's odious sea. 
 
 ^'Then you won't go and gamble," said 
 Maud, who only thought of bis comfort, 
 forgetting on her part that they would 
 probably haye left Castle Greyille to join 
 Mr. Egerton in Scotland before Harry 
 arrived at her brother's place. 
 
 Harry said he must think it over. 
 
 ^^And now, Maud, go and dress, my 
 child," said her mother. 
 
 She supposed that Harry would also dine 
 there, as he was not dressed; and, as his 
 father was not at home, Harry supposed so 
 too. 
 
 After dinner, having given directions for
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 27 
 
 the removal of his property, he strolled 
 down to the St. James's Club in search of 
 Manners, who was now a gentleman at 
 large, scattering money about the town in 
 great profusion, and full as ever of spirits and 
 good-nature. To his sympathising ear Harry 
 now had it in his mind to confide the crisis 
 which had just taken place in his affairs.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 Mannees was not in the club — probably 
 dining out ; elder sons generally do dine out 
 — so Egerton took up the evening paper to 
 while away an hour or so, either until he 
 returned, or until it was late enough to 
 look in at some ball, where in the excite- 
 ment of a crowd, or in the sweet enjoyment 
 of forbidden fruit, his thoughts might assume 
 a livelier tone. 
 
 Eunning his eye listlessly down the 
 columns of the paper, his attention was 
 arrested by an announcement copied fi'om 
 the 3Iorning Post of that day, to the eflPect 
 that two distinguished members of the aris- 
 tocracy and Mr. Charles Villars had been 
 last heard of in the Himalayah Mountains, 
 where, said the Morning Post, it was ex- 
 ceedingly gratifying to hear that the noble
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 29 
 
 lords (Yillars had either been promoted 
 from association, or neglected as a mere 
 commoner) had been enjoying excellent 
 sport. Truly gratifying indeed ! Every 
 reader of that interesting intelligence must 
 have felt a thrill of sympathetic pleasure as 
 he read, which would have done honour to 
 the editor of the Court Journal, For it is 
 not at all necessary that we should have 
 any acquaintance with the young aristocracy 
 who enjoy excellent sport in the Himalayah 
 Mountains in order to sympathise with their 
 successes. "We take such a natural interest 
 in, feel such an instinctive attachment for, 
 anything noble, that their joys and sorrows 
 are common property, and stir our feelings 
 as though they were our own. It must be 
 truly a very fine instinct in the English 
 nature which, in spite of moral prejudices, 
 prompts us to '' deeply regret " the death 
 of our noble spendthrifts, whose example 
 has so materially benefited their age, and 
 makes us '^ rejoice to learn " that the amiable 
 and accomplished daughter of some scheming 
 dowager has entered into a matrimonial
 
 30 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 alliance with the wealthy Lord Haymarket, 
 whose debaucheries have been for so many 
 years the talk of the town. It is something 
 to have the capacity to admire what is great 
 and noble, and those excellent papers, there- 
 fore, must be deserving of all praise for assist- 
 ing to develop this fine instinct. 
 
 Egerton certainly was gratified at seeing 
 the paragraph above quoted ; for his some- 
 what romantic attachment to his friend had 
 not sufi'ered any diminution through ab- 
 sence ; although since they parted circum- 
 stances had arisen which might have been 
 supposed to have that effect, for he was 
 now in love, — deeply, inextricably in love 
 with Blanche Yillars. And love is usually 
 so exacting that it withdi-aws a large por- 
 tion of that warmth which went to maintain 
 any previously ardent friendship. Men of 
 strong affections must find a depository for 
 their sentiment somewhere; and, therefore, 
 until it is directed into its natural channel 
 (until they fall in love), it is all expended 
 on the one bosom friend. But since it is 
 not possible to love two objects with equal
 
 HAERY EGERTON. 31 
 
 ardour at the same time, when love's star 
 rises, frienclship's inevitably wanes. 
 
 But though the demands which love now 
 made upon Harry's stock of sentiment may 
 have been prejudicial to the maintenance of 
 the same romantic feelings of friendship, 
 another influence had lately replaced in his 
 affection whatever it may have lost in the 
 way of sentiment. This was sympathy for 
 the distress which presumably his friend 
 had suffered from being throAvn over by the 
 giii to whom he had been engaged a year 
 before. 
 
 As Blanche Yillars lived almost as much 
 in her brother's life as in her own, it may 
 be imagined with what indignation she read 
 a letter from Eome one morning announcing 
 that her brother's fiancee had been privately 
 married there to another man. 
 
 Lady Mary Yillars even doubted for a 
 moment whether that impersonation of scorn 
 and anger which had just entered her bed- 
 room could be her own daughter. 
 
 ^^Why, my darling Blanche," she ex 
 claimed, '' what is the matter?"
 
 32 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 And Blanche handed her the letter without 
 a word. Her indignation, in fact, had de- 
 prived her for the moment of the power of 
 speech. 
 
 ^^ Well, mamma, what do you think of my 
 letter?" she asked in a trembling voice, 
 when her mother had finished reading. 
 
 " My poor boy !" was all the mother said, 
 as her eyes filled with tears at the thought of 
 the anguish, and rage, and jealousy which 
 he was possibly then enduring. 
 
 ^^ Poor Charlie, indeed ! " echoed Blanche. 
 But even her sympathy and sorrow for him 
 were for the time obscured by the scorn and 
 contempt which she felt for the giii who had 
 been the cause of it, and who had once been 
 her friend. 
 
 ^' I declare," she cried, '^it almost makes 
 me ashamed of my sex to think that any 
 woman could do anything so mean, so de- 
 testable, so wicked. People used to say that 
 she was a flirt, but I never listened to them ; 
 I used to stand up for her. But now " 
 
 Blanche continued, and broke into an ex- 
 pressive silence. Neither spoke for a few
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 33 
 
 moments, and Lady Mary was debating in 
 her own mind whether she onght to be more 
 sorry for her boy's disappointment, or glad 
 at his escape from a marriage which she 
 had never approved of. 
 
 " Charlie never liked this Mr. Murray, I 
 think," she said presently. 
 
 "'No, he didn't," Blanche replied; ^^bnt 
 they were always by way of being friends, 
 and Mr. Murray used always to pretend to 
 be very fond of him. And then to behave 
 in this mean and treacherous way behind his 
 back. Oh, mamma, I can't tell you what a 
 contempt I feel for that man and his wife !" 
 And there certainly was a fine scorn in her 
 face, as with indignation flashing through 
 her tears, she continued — ''No, I would 
 sooner be a woman after all — women may 
 be excused for being weak and changeable. 
 But to be a man, and to act as Mr. Murray 
 has done — I wouldn't have anything in 
 common with a thing so base !" 
 
 Of com'se Blanche had heard of such base 
 deeds being done before in the higher circles 
 of English society. But coming home so 
 
 VOL. I, D
 
 34 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 directly to herself and her feelings, it natu- 
 rally seemed as if the present case far eclipsed 
 in enormity any previous instances of a like 
 nature which had come under her notice — 
 hinc nice lacrymce. 
 
 The question next arose how the news 
 was to be broken to the unfortunate young 
 man, who might or might not have had re- 
 cent access to European intelligence, and 
 Blanche eventually undertook the pleasing 
 task. 
 
 But long before her letter, with the news 
 carefully softened down, reached her brother 
 in the East, he had had the good luck to 
 meet with Grey, an old Cambridge friend 
 and neighbour, at Alexandria, w^hither he 
 had arrived in other company from Eome, 
 on his way up the IN'ile. 
 
 From him Yillars had heard of the death- 
 blow for the present of his matrimonial 
 hopes ; and it was almost satisfactory that 
 the suspense caused by intermitted corre- 
 spondence and cooling ardour of expression 
 should be thus finally ended. Wrapping 
 himself, therefore, in his misery, he had gone
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 35 
 
 farther away from homej and picked up in 
 India the friends in whose company it was 
 so gratifying to hear that he was enjoying 
 excellent sport. 
 
 All this marrying, and throwing over, 
 and indignation, and letter-writing had 
 taken place some months before, towards the 
 end of the winter; and the subject had 
 provided much interesting conversation foi 
 the London world before Easter. A month 
 after and the whole affair was forgotten. 
 Murray and his wife had the decency to 
 stay abroad during the summer, and the 
 friend and sister were almost the only people 
 who gave another thought to the unhappy 
 wretch who was bemoaning his luckless fate 
 in the East. 
 
 To these two, however, the subject had 
 by no means lost its interest, and they found 
 it so pleasant to have a common sympathy 
 with the victim, and a common indignation 
 against the twin cause of his misery, that 
 they saw a great deal of each other in con- 
 sequence, and talked a great deal on this, 
 and, indeed, on other subjects.
 
 OD HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 But though Egerton might be very in- 
 dignant at the wrong clone to his friend, 
 and though Blanche's purity and innocence 
 and sense of honour were outraged to such an 
 extent, yet the rest of the world, mind you, 
 would think it rather a good joke — ^would 
 be rather obliged to this young couple, — a 
 good many of them, — for giving them some- 
 thing to talk about for a few days. A good 
 many more would say that all was fair in 
 love or war, that she was a devilish fine 
 girl, and that Murray was right enough to 
 get her if he could — played his eards well, 
 in fact — did the trick very neatly. Delight- 
 ful world ! Principle and honour, and open- 
 ness and candour, and all that kind of 
 thing, are very well in their way, but not 
 of much account after all, are they ? What 
 if Murray did play the reptile in Machia- 
 velli's country ? On his return to London 
 and London's punctilious society, he will 
 very properly be looked upon as an object 
 of interest, a little nine-days' hero perhaps, 
 because he has outraged the unwritten laws 
 of honour, which are reverenced by a paltry
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 37 
 
 few among this virtuously-educated mul- 
 titude. He may liave done a friend a 
 grievous wrong — stabbed him like a mur- 
 derer to gratify his own selfish passion — 
 well, what of it ? Every one for himself, 
 surely, is a good principle in this world. 
 What does it matter how mean, or im- 
 gentlemanlike, or dishonoui'able, any action 
 may be, as long as the success of it contri- 
 butes to our own gratification? Eespect 
 for our neighbour's feelings, the recognised 
 duties of friendship, generosity, honour, and 
 such-like petty qualities, we leave to such 
 unenlightened creatures as they may con- 
 cern. We are men of the world, we are, 
 and therefore superior to such trifles. Our 
 motto is success, at the sacrifice of any 
 principle, let it be in politics, or society, or 
 literature, or in any other walk you please. 
 
 But though the world might be very 
 ready to hold out its arms and receive them 
 with becoming interest, this delightful pair 
 had not yet returned to receive the con- 
 gratulations of their friends. 
 
 Mrs. Charlemont, however, did turn up,
 
 38 HAREY EGERTOX. 
 
 and told Lady Mary Yillars that really slie 
 was quite ashamed to meet her. What 
 would her poor boy think of Emily ? But 
 she was so wilful, there was no restraining 
 her. Dear, dear ! the tears which she had 
 wei^t, and the agony of grief which she had 
 gone through about this unfortunate mar- 
 riage — she really wondered that she had 
 suryived it. 
 
 But, on the whole, it was not matter for 
 very great surprise. Mrs. Charlemont in 
 her own heart was not at all so very sorry 
 that her daughter should have managed to 
 secui^e a man who was actually in posses- 
 sion of a large property, instead of waiting 
 till Mr. Yillars thought fit to hand on his 
 shoes to his son. The only thing which 
 did occasion her some slight concern was, 
 that her daughter should have laid herself 
 open to remark for having married in what 
 some silly people would consider rather an 
 unusual way; and therefore, notwithstand- 
 ing her protestations of sympathy with Lady 
 Mary's son, and sorrow that her daughter 
 should have behaved as she had done, Mrs.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 39 
 
 Charlemont was, under the circumstances, 
 looking remarkably well for her age. 
 
 It is only fair, though, to this most ex- 
 cellent old lady to say that she had no 
 direct hand in bringing about the marriage. 
 Her daughter had managed it all for herself 
 with the most admirable skill. She was 
 a young person whose love was of the 
 nature of that detestable compound which 
 the novels of the day try so hard to render 
 attractive — a mixture of vanity and passion. 
 And as long as the former could be satisfied 
 by present admiration, the fire of the latter 
 might be kept up well enough ; but when 
 absence diminished the required fuel, it 
 burned lower and lower, and would have 
 soon gone out altogether if the dying em- 
 bers had not been fanned into flame again 
 by a breeze from another quarter. 
 
 Love of this kind is surely worthy to 
 have two or tlu'ee volumes devoted to its 
 analysis. It must be such a gratifying 
 employment to prove elaborately that 
 
 " Nature with a beauteous wall 
 Doth oft close in pollution."
 
 40 HAHRY EGERTON. 
 
 And wliat a dignified task for a woman to 
 set herself ! What a noble object for her 
 energy or talent, to corrupt the purity of 
 her sex, and to qualify her readers, as far 
 as she is able, for followers in Circe's 
 hideous train ! The promotion of vice is well 
 known to be a lucrative profession. But it 
 is not unlikely that the female writers who 
 flood the town with their nasty fictions 
 would be surprised to find themselves men- 
 tioned in company with their sisters in 
 another branch of the trade, who are not 
 recognised in polite society. They afi'ect a 
 higher walk of corruption, perhaps, but their 
 energies are given to the same cause, and 
 produce the same results, so that the affecta- 
 tion of superiority is only mean. 
 
 It is pleasant to tiu-n from such a dis- 
 agreeable subject to the very different kind 
 of love which Blanche felt for Hany Eger- 
 ton. Attracted to him first through his 
 friendship for her brother, she had soon 
 grown to like him for himself; and from 
 this little bud of mutual liking, there soon 
 had bloomed a beautiful and tender flower
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 41 
 
 of love, which was none the less beautiful 
 that it was born to blush unseen. What 
 was the enamoured swain, who was a 
 younger son at the same time, to do ? He 
 had nothing to marry upon. How then 
 propose it ? Was he to confess his folly in 
 haying allowed himself to diift into an un- 
 alterable attachment, and trust in Providence 
 to make some provision for the consumma- 
 tion of it ? He thought not ; and there- 
 fore he used sometimes to determine that 
 he would avoid meeting her, for fear his 
 self-restraint should not be equal to his 
 need. And, in order to carry out this wise 
 resolve, he would turn up an hour or two 
 after at some ball, or breakfast, or enter- 
 tainment of some kind, where he knew she 
 would be, and would nervously follow all 
 her movements the whole time he was 
 talking to somebody else. He found this, 
 of course, a very refreshing exercise for his 
 feelings, and would repeat it, da capo^ from 
 the beginning, on the very next opportunity, 
 and would be found standing by her side in a 
 quadrille half an hoiir after he had declared
 
 42 HAHRY EGERTON. 
 
 to himself that this sort of delicious misery 
 must positively come to au eud. 
 
 And Blanche ? Ah ! Blanche, like Yiola, 
 loved on, and never told her love — not even 
 to her mother. But a gentle cloud of 
 melancholy settled upon her life, which it 
 grieved that mother's heart to see. She 
 knew very well what that pale cheek meant, 
 that absent, dreaming look, that restless 
 wandering of the eye when the one longed- 
 for face was sought amongst the crowd. 
 And Harry's tenderness of manner had 
 naturally not escaped the instinct of the 
 chaperone which must exist even in the best 
 of mothers, and which, more or less, must 
 always resent being aroused by the atten- 
 tions of a younger son. 
 
 Lady Mary was concerned, of course, for 
 her daughter's happiness, and the present 
 state of her affections seemed very unlikely 
 to promote that • end. But as Blanche had 
 not yet admitted her to her confidence, her 
 prudent advice was deferred until such 
 period as it might be warranted ; and for 
 the present she was enjoying all the appre-
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 43 
 
 hension which doubtless good mothers fre- 
 quently experience from those nuisances of 
 matrimonial society — ardent but impecu- 
 nious brothers to elder sons of property.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Manisters did not arrive, and Egerton having 
 exhausted his thoughts, and tried without 
 success to read several papers, gets up' at 
 last, gives a final brush to his hair, satisfies 
 himself with his appearance in the glass, 
 and sallies forth to his ball. 
 
 Now, as Harry's was a naturally cheerful 
 and buoyant disposition, and as he had had 
 a fit of depression this afternoon long enough 
 to last him quite until the next occasion of 
 the kind should arise, it was not unnatural 
 that when he got amongst a crowd of friends 
 again, and came under the infiuence of 
 Messrs. Coote and Tinney's well-known 
 strains, — it was not unnatural that his dis- 
 agreeable thoughts should rise to the surface, 
 and gradually evaporate under the counter- 
 acting influences around. At any rate, natural 
 or unnatural, a reaction did take place, and
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 45 
 
 when he found himself in the middle of 
 a knot of gay-spirited acquaintances at the 
 foot of the stairs^ nature refreshed from 
 her hath of gloom, hroke out into unusual 
 gaiety and light. To see his face as he 
 entered the room, fresh from some sparkling 
 repartee perhaps (they are of such common 
 occurrence), you might have fancied that he 
 had just come in for a fortune, instead of 
 having only this afternoon received his 
 conge from the paternal roof. A cheerful 
 disposition is, after all, about as great a 
 blessing as mortal man can inherit. 
 
 Having satisfied himself that she had not 
 yet arrived, Harry set to work to dance with 
 a vigour which only younger sons on their 
 promotion are capable of, and which even 
 they, amid the plurality of revolving and im- 
 pinging bodies, find it difiicult at times to 
 keep up. When people go into raptures about 
 the mazy dance, the light fantastic toe, &c., 
 one can't help thinking of the uncommonly 
 heavy heel one makes acquaintance w4th 
 occasionally; the delights of intertanglcd 
 tulle and tarletan, the cracking of trimming.
 
 46 HARKY EGERTON. 
 
 and bumping of fallmg heads, and jerky- 
 attempts at progress, and swaying masses of 
 struggling perspiration, and crunching of 
 beads under foot, and irritation against that 
 persistent bruiser, and then the final retire- 
 ment into the tea-room'in despaii' — a cynical 
 view of a ball-room, perhaps. 
 
 This, however, was not the light in which 
 Egerton was enjoying his newly-found 
 spirits, and he continued to rattle glib 
 nonsense to successive partners, until he 
 espied on a sudden that form upon the stairs. 
 
 Depositing his partner with almost inde- 
 cent haste, — the dance being just over, — he 
 launched himself through the doorway, and 
 after some struggling found himself at 
 Blanche's side. 
 
 The next dance was his ; and he led her 
 away in triumph from other would-be 
 partners, who had hurried up to be remem- 
 bered later on. A few were gratified, 
 and Blanche, laughingly pleading the im- 
 possibility of making fiu-ther engagements 
 at present, entered the room on Harry's arm, 
 and swept past his late partner.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 47 
 
 " Ah ! SO that was the reason Mr. Egerton 
 was in such a hurry to get away," said Miss 
 Florence L'Estrange, partly to herself, and 
 partly to her sister, who was standing by 
 her, keeping guard over Lady Emily, their 
 mother. 
 
 Miss Florence thought the human face 
 divine very simple reading, as she watched 
 the two crossing the room, and saw Blanche 
 look up with an expression which there was 
 no mistaking, in reply to some animated com- 
 monplace of Harry's. Women, I suppose, 
 are always on the look-out for something 
 of the kind, for they generally are able to 
 detect meanings in casual glances which the 
 ordinary observer would never dream of. 
 
 '^ Is he going to marry her?" asked the 
 elder sister. 
 
 " I suppose she will," said the other. 
 ^^He's very nice, and very good-looking, 
 don't you think ? " 
 
 The elder sister's assent was rather a 
 qualified one. ^^Do you think she is so 
 very pretty ? I don't." 
 
 ^^Oh! don't you?" exclaimed Florence,
 
 48 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 wlio was a great friend of Blanclie's. '' I 
 tliink she's perfectly lovely." 
 
 ^^He hasn't any money," continued the 
 other; — ^' his allowance, I suppose. She'd 
 be a great fool to marry on that." 
 
 Florence didn't answer. She admired 
 Harry herself a little, and being rather 
 more romantically inclined than her sister, 
 didn't think that the question of money 
 ought to interfere. 
 
 ^' She seems very fond of him," said 
 Florence, presently. " Look at them now." 
 And the two smiled ; the younger, sympa- 
 thetic, the other sour and envious, perliaps. 
 
 You may be sure the more than intimacy 
 which was seen to exist between Blanche 
 and Harry Egerton had attracted the kind 
 attention of the rest of ball-going society. 
 Blanche being one of the best-looking girls 
 in London, w^ould naturally have a stronger 
 light of criticism turned upon her, and specu- 
 lation was rife as to whether the event would 
 ever come off. The Florence L' Estranges 
 were all for an engagement; the Miss 
 L' Estranges, head in air, ready with much
 
 HAREY egerto:n". 49 
 
 pity and contempt for her if she did any- 
 thing so imprudent and foolish. 
 
 '^He used to be a great friend of her 
 brother's," Florence continued presently, 
 still watching their distant movements. 
 ^^ ^^'s very good-looking too." 
 
 ^^He's very conceited," returned the 
 other; adding that it was quite absurd to 
 see Harry and Yillars together, they were 
 like a pair of girls, never apart hardly. '^ I 
 wonder how the one twin gets on without 
 the other," she said. ^^ I see he's in India 
 with Lord Dash and Lord Asterisk, calming 
 his feelings, I suppose, after his disappoint- 
 ment;" and Miss L'Estrange laughed a 
 pleasant laugh. 
 
 Young ladies, you see, on the look-out 
 for ball announcements, do read their Morn- 
 ing Post religiously, and derive, we may 
 hope, all the gratification which that excel- 
 lent journal calculates upon producing. 
 
 The next dance has commenced, and 
 Florence's partner has not yet come to 
 claim her. Another aspirant has just been 
 sent away ; and her sister, not having been 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 HAERY EGERTON. 
 
 asked in her stead, says, ^^What fun it is 
 watching people dancing ! I declare I like 
 it better than dancing myself." 
 
 This was perhaps fortunate, for since this 
 young lady (young still, though some years 
 past her teens) was neither beautiful nor 
 agreeable, she had ample opportunity afforded 
 her of enjoying the particular amusement 
 which she found such a pleasant substitute 
 for personal dancing. Some people even 
 went so far as to say that the fatigue of 
 much standing, and the ineffectual desire to 
 obtain that which professedly she was so 
 willing to forego, occasioned her remarks to 
 be less pleasant to her friends than they 
 were agreeable to herself. Other girls had 
 been even known to say that they hated 
 her ; that she was so ill-natured, she picked 
 everybody to pieces so. Surely they must 
 have been wrong. Lady Emily L'Estrange's 
 daughter never could be given to making 
 ill-natured remarks upon her friends. It 
 was with the most kindly and Christian-like 
 feeling that she turned round to her mother, 
 when her sister went away to dance, and
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 51 
 
 drew her attention to "that lamp-post of a 
 girl dancing over there. Goodness ! how 
 can she make such a guy of herself?" 
 
 And it was with an equal kindliness and 
 sympathy for the poor creature's awkward 
 appearance that Lady Emily, after glancing 
 over at her, discharged herself of that grace- 
 ful word, ''Fright!" 
 
 It was the same genial interest, too, in her 
 neighbours which prompted Miss L'Estrange 
 to animadvert upon the trimming of that 
 body, the poker-like dancing of that partner 
 of her sister's, the shameful way in which 
 that girl — her friend — danced with her head 
 upon her partner's shoulder, the gawky ap- 
 pearance of some other friend, the way in 
 which another was making up to some 
 young moneyed marquis, &c., &c. ; and it 
 was of course only that very natural dis- 
 like to being squeezed, which is peculiar to 
 the sex, which prompted her to say that 
 she should be very sorry to dance in that 
 crowd. 
 
 So pleasant, indeed, and piquant were Miss 
 L'Estrange's comments upon the dancers, 
 
 UNIVERSr
 
 52 HARRY EGERTO^N". 
 
 that ['m not sure but what she might have 
 been allowed absolute freedom from the in- 
 terruption of actual dancing — full time and 
 liberty for the indulgence of her pleasant 
 vein, had it not been that Lady Emily 
 L' Estrange' s balls were only open to those 
 younger sons who danced with her daugh- 
 ters. And therefore Miss L' Estrange was 
 obliged at times to vary the entertainment 
 which, during the greater part of the even- 
 ing, she was enabled to provide for herself 
 and her mother. 
 
 Now you would hardly believe it, per- 
 haps, that notwithstanding the many excel- 
 lencies of Lady Emily's character, which 
 happily were being rej^roduced in her eldest 
 daughter. Lady Emily herself was not a 
 popular woman. It is not easy to account 
 for this, for she had all that well-bred indif- 
 ference for the feelings of her neighbours 
 which long familiarity with London life is 
 apt to engender. She was even brusque — 
 nay, sometimes deliberately rude. She per- 
 fectly understood the manner in which 
 younger sons expected to be treated. Her
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 53 
 
 freezing recognition was perfect in its cour- 
 tesy. And wlio better than Lady Emily 
 knew how to practise the graceful arts of 
 fascination which should win over dull elder 
 sons for her charming daughters ? And yet, 
 notwithstanding that these manifold attrac- 
 tions of manner had not gained for her 
 the popularity which they so eminently 
 deserved, people were nevertheless most 
 anxious to attend her balls, which ranked 
 high among the entertainments of the 
 season. Perhaps it was that they were 
 anxious of experiencing personally — as by 
 good luck it might so chance — a little of the 
 high-bred arrogance and refined contemptu- 
 ousness of manner which had seemingly 
 been played off to so little purpose upon the 
 world in general. Lady Emily's charming 
 versatility of manner, too, might be to 
 many an attractive study. To see her in 
 conversation with a duchess, or any other 
 lady of superior rank or fashion, you would 
 hardly have thought she was the same 
 person, so perfectly could she adapt her 
 manner to the occasion. That smooth flow
 
 64 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 of seductive flattery which glided so plea- 
 santly from her lips must have been a treat 
 to listen to. Her attentions to her dear 
 duchess, or her cleai' Lady So-and-so, some 
 ill-natured j)eople would even say were 
 overdone. But what won't ill-natured 
 people say ? They even found fault with 
 the sweet, interested expression which her 
 face, fresh from insulting Mrs. Smith (so 
 they said), would assume, when she forgot 
 her other guests entirely in anxiety for the 
 comfort of her dear friend with the straw- 
 berry leaves. Surely so accomplished a 
 manner, grafted upon the sweet, frank 
 nature which with such channing candour 
 confessed its dislike of some people to their 
 faces, and declared its admiration so naively 
 of its superiors — surely such qualities should 
 have been popular. Yet I do assure you 
 Lady Emily was not habitually spoken of in 
 terms of very high praise ; and I really 
 believe that when Harry Egerton asked her 
 daughter to dance, and when Lady Emily 
 asserted that she was engaged, until con- 
 tradicted by Florence herself — I believe
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 55 
 
 Harry even thought that the dear old lady 
 had done something rude. Silly boy ! How 
 could he expect to be as well up in London 
 manners as an old hahituee like Lady Emily? 
 
 But we must tear ourselves from such 
 pleasant company, and follow the persons 
 who more particularly claim our attention. 
 They had long ago retired from the dancing- 
 room to a deserted one far off, which for the 
 present they had all to themselves. There 
 is at all events one advantage resulting 
 from everybody crowding into the dancing- 
 room at a ball, which is, that they leave in 
 the other rooms a solitude peculiarly adapted 
 to the low-toned conversations in which 
 refugees from the crowd delight to indulge. 
 What good-natured person, then, would wish 
 this good old gregarious custom to cease ? 
 
 The room where Harry and his partner 
 had seated themselves was a fairy-like 
 retreat, and no mistake. Brilliant exotics 
 and drooping ferns stood in the corners and 
 fire-places. The cool air floated in through 
 the open window over a bank of sweet- 
 scented flowers. Shaded lamps filled the
 
 56 HAHRY EGERTON. 
 
 room with a soft, subdued light, and fitful 
 gusts of music swept down the corridor at 
 intervals, and stole softly in upon the per- 
 fumed air. Every sense formed some de- 
 light. And the thoughtful mistress of the 
 ball had doubtless fitted up this room for 
 the especial reception of such visitors as 
 now occupied the soft cushions of that sofa 
 so judiciously placed in that half-screened 
 recess. 
 
 With a half-conscious blush — yes, she 
 actually still retained that now unfeminine 
 habit — Blanche seated herself, and listened 
 to and joined in the soft nonsense which 
 people usually talk in similar circumstances. 
 Meaningless nothings helped out by some 
 tenderness of look or expression, or gentle- 
 ness of tone ; confidential banter ; playful 
 insinuation ; arched eyebrows, and innocent 
 twaddle ; the whole pervaded with a gene- 
 ral sense of the enjoyment of the situation 
 — this is the stuff" of which these whis- 
 pered Ute-d-tctes are usually composed. And 
 most delightful they are ! 
 
 After a few moments of this kind of
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 57 
 
 thing, ratker more higMy spiced, perhaps, 
 by an extra infusion of tenderness, Harry 
 asked his companion suddenly whether she 
 thought she could guess what had happened 
 to him that afternoon. 
 
 This was distinctly a happy thought of 
 his, for in the solving of the riddle, oppor- 
 tunity was afforded for many pleasant pas- 
 sages, none the less pleasant for their sim- 
 plicity. What could he mean? and their 
 eyes met very frequently over the impossible 
 guesses which Blanche made, which of 
 course were nowhere near the mark. 
 
 ^'Do tell me," she said at last — ''I can't 
 think of anything else." 
 
 And then Harry, sui*e of much sympathy, 
 related the scene he had had with his father, 
 the hours of despondency he had only just 
 emerged from, and the somewhat blank 
 nature of his future prospects. 
 
 ^^Now don't you think it's rather hard?" 
 he went on ; " for you know I'm not a very 
 extravagant fellow at all, and what I'm to 
 do now I haven't an idea." 
 
 " Oh ! it's more than hard," Blanche
 
 58 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 exclaimed; ''he can't mean what you say." 
 And the tremendous nature of the situation 
 seemed almost too much to take in all at 
 once. ^' One reads of such things," she said, 
 '' in novels ; but I never heard of any one 
 doing anything like that in real life." 
 
 Blank astonishment gradually gave place 
 in her face to a more tender and sympathetic 
 interest, and she continued earnestly, "Why 
 don't you write to him ? You can say things 
 so much better in a letter." 
 
 ''No use, I'm afraid," Harry rejoined, 
 looking thoughtfully at his boot; "he al- 
 ways means what he says, and sticks to it, 
 worse luck. What should you do if you 
 were me ? " and he looked up into her face, 
 and found such a loving pity in it, that he 
 was quite glad that he had taken her into 
 his confidence. 
 
 Blanche could suggest nothing at the 
 moment, but she was quite sure that if 
 Charlie had got into debt "papa would 
 never have told him to leave the house. 
 He would have been angry, perhaps, but 
 then I'm sure he would have paid them for
 
 HAREY EGEETON. 59 
 
 him. Doesn't everybody get into debt a 
 little?" 
 
 It was very soothing and pleasant to have 
 a lovely creature making excuses for one's 
 faults ; and Harry looked at her with a 
 kind of grateful tenderness, as he answered 
 that it ivas a bad habit which most young 
 fellows were addicted to. ''You'll see," he 
 continued, after a moment's silence on both 
 sides, "that I shall have to set up in some 
 lucrative profession like shoe-blacking before 
 long. I think I should do it rather well — 
 a little red coat and apron, you know. Miss 
 Yillars — rather becoming. Lots of my 
 friends would come and have their boots 
 cleaned, and I might make a really good 
 thing out of it — rise to the top of my pro- 
 fession, and become a regular swell — have a 
 bottle of blacking for my crest, and ' Never 
 say die,' for my motto. "What do you 
 think?" 
 
 She laughed an absent laugh, thought it 
 would be a long time before he made a for- 
 tune at that trade, and didn't seem much to 
 fancy him in a little coat and apron.
 
 60 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 " Well, if that didn't pay, you know, I 
 could take to something else. There's a 
 charming variety, now, about a barrel-organ, 
 and it's a locomotive kind of life that would 
 just suit me. I'd come and play under your 
 windows. You should have my very best 
 tunes, you should indeed." 
 
 " What nonsense you are talking ! " said 
 Blanche, with an assumed gaiety. " Perhaps 
 I should send and tell you to move on. You 
 don't loiow how I dislike organ-men." 
 
 " Then you'd dislike me. Then I won't be 
 an organ-grinder. But, seriously, if I found 
 the shoe business didn't pay, and all other 
 trades failed, and I had to take to begging, 
 you wouldn't cut me if I met you in the 
 street, would you? You'd give me a 
 copper ? " 
 
 There was a quaint pathos about the re- 
 quest which almost caused a tear to start 
 into her eye ; but she checked the emotion 
 on its way, and tried to rally Harry from 
 the grotesque melancholy into which he 
 seemed to be lapsing. 
 
 But he went on as though he had hardly
 
 HA.RRY EGERTON. 61 
 
 heard wliat she had said, and, pursuing his 
 own train of thought, asserted that, if 
 everything else failed, he could always go 
 and drown himself and dull care together. 
 
 He looked up from his half-musing atti- 
 tude to see what effect such a proposition 
 would have, and was rather pleased to see 
 that she looked pained. 
 
 It was wicked, Blanche asserted, to joke 
 in that way, and she begged him to try and 
 talk sensibly again. Fancy very likely may 
 have conjured up for her a struggling body 
 in the muddy river, or some pleasing image 
 of a falling form with outstretched arms, in 
 mid- air between parapet and water. 
 
 It was a curious humour into which Harry 
 had fallen — this kind of desperate resigna- 
 tion which he was trying to assume; and 
 Blanche looked at him with an odd mixture 
 of perplexity and sympathy, as after hark- 
 ing back to the blacking-brush idea again, 
 he exclaimed suddenly, ''Ah! Australia, 
 now. What do you think of Australia ? 
 They say there are fortunes to be made 
 there in the shepherd line. It might be
 
 62 HAREY EGERTON. 
 
 exciting, too : the cliance of being potted 
 by a savage — a real savage — scalped, and 
 all that kind of thing. Would you like to 
 have my scalp. Miss Yillars? I'll tell them 
 to keep it for you, if you would. Charlie 
 might have it put in a glass case — an in- 
 teresting little relic. Only say the word, 
 and it shall be Australia. Savages, bush, 
 scalped, or else come home with loads of 
 sheepskins, and " 
 
 He didn't finish his sentence aloud, but 
 ^' find you married, perhaps," was added to 
 himself. 
 
 Blanche had never heard him talk in this 
 bitter strain before, and her wonderment 
 was largely mixed with resentment against 
 his father, as she answered quickly — 
 
 ^^ Isn't Australia rather far ofi"? It 
 wouldn't be pleasant to be so far away from 
 all one's friends. We — no one would ever 
 hear of you." 
 
 ^' Perhaps there wouldn't be many who 
 would care to." 
 
 '•'' Why should you think so ? " 
 
 '' Would you ? "
 
 IIAREY EGERTON. 63 
 
 *^ Of course I should ; and I'm sure 
 Charlie would, too." 
 
 ^'Ah! yes; Charlie. I dare say he 
 would. Shall we go back again to the 
 other room ? How nice, and cheerful, and 
 lively you must have found me ! " 
 
 He rose as he finished speaking; and 
 Blanche, without replying, took his arm, 
 and they made their way back into the 
 dancing-room; the heat, or the coolness of 
 the corridor, or the excellence of the house, 
 providing conversation on the way. 
 
 Another dance had passed while they had 
 been away, and Blanche's disappointed part- 
 ner came up to upbraid her for cutting him. 
 Harry conducted her to her mother, talked 
 for a few moments on common-place sub- 
 jects, when they were to leave London, if 
 they were going abroad, and so on. Said 
 good night to Blanche, as she went off with 
 some one else for the next dance ; and then 
 threaded his way through the rooms towards 
 the stairs, — carrying with him the deter- 
 mination of more than one dowager not to ask 
 him to her ball, for passing her daughters
 
 64 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 without asking them to dance — cutting her 
 own throat, he would probably have said. 
 
 Pulled up for a few moments by acquaint- 
 ances among the knot of men at the top of 
 the stairs, who were posted there to facili- 
 tate ingress and egress from the dancing- 
 room, he arrived at last at his hat and 
 coat, and wandered out into the street 
 utterly oblivious of the fact that he had 
 been engaged for two or three more dances 
 further on. What were these prospective 
 partners to him in his present frame of 
 mind? And so he lit a cigar, thi-ew his 
 coat over his shoulders, and once more, in 
 fancy, was sitting in the cool atmosphere of 
 that softly-lighted, music-haunted room. 
 
 Eitter thoughts against his father min- 
 gled with the dreamy luxury of remembered 
 tones and looks, and bred at last a fixed 
 determination to take arms against his sea 
 of troubles, and by opposing end them. 
 
 This was all very fine, and sounded very 
 grand, and made him think himself a crea- 
 ture of heroic mould, to have shown such 
 strength of will and depth of purpose ; and
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 65 
 
 it was a pleasant, airy fabric to contemplate 
 the return of tlie chivalrous knight to claim 
 the hand of his lady-love. Eut then, what 
 was the use of having all sorts of grand 
 notions about the great things he was going 
 to do, if he had no means of beginning, or 
 of putting them into execution? "What 
 could he do without money ? J^otliing, it 
 appeared. And therefore, gradually, turret 
 after turret of that aiiy fabric faded into mist, 
 the walls collapsed, the foundations sank, 
 subsided, disappeared, and, instead of the 
 bright sunlight which had so lately shone 
 upon its battlements, a thick darkness 
 supervened, looming out of which might be 
 detected the damp walls of a dingy, cold, 
 comfortless garret. 
 
 Cheerful picture ! But he was not left 
 for long to the contemplation of it, for on 
 turning a sudden corner he found himself 
 face to face with Tom Manners. 
 
 '^ Harry, by the lord! or, by the lord 
 Harry I" exclaimed the latter. ''What are 
 you doing out here at this time of night ? 
 What are you up to, eh?" 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 ^^^0 good, I expect," suggested Manners' 
 companion. 
 
 Harry was as surprised as they were to 
 find himself where he was ; for, in the 
 abstraction of his thoughts, he had wan- 
 dered far away into the neighbourhood of 
 Eegent's Park. 
 
 ^'By Jove!" he answered, '' I had no 
 idea I'd gone so far. I was meditating." 
 
 " Meditating be hanged ! " said Manners ; 
 ^^notabit of it." 
 
 " Well, what are you doing up here, may 
 I ask ?" he rejoined, with a laugh. 
 
 " Been dining at the barracks, and are 
 now walking soberly home." 
 
 " Oh, of course ! But you're just the 
 fellow I wanted to see, so it's rather lucky 
 my having turned this way." 
 
 ^' Come on, then ; we'll show you the 
 way back. Young fellows like you are not 
 to be trusted about the streets alone at this 
 time of night. What did you want to see 
 me about, old boy ?" continued Manners, 
 linking his arm in Egcrton's. 
 
 Harry explained that if there was still a
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 67 
 
 vacant berth in Tom's yacht, he should be 
 glad enough now to take it. 
 
 Of course they could make room for him, 
 Manners said, '^ but I thought you were 
 going to Scotland." 
 
 ^^ So I was, but Pm not now;" and he 
 turned the conyersation to some outlying 
 topic, not caring to enter into explanations 
 before a third party, who was only a casual 
 acquaintance. 
 
 To Manners he afterwards confided gene- 
 rally that he had had a row with his father 
 about money, and that, therefore, just at 
 present they were not on speaking terms. 
 
 ^^But I can lend you any money you 
 want, old chap," Manners said, ^^ as far as a 
 hundred or two go. Only say the word, 
 and I'll write you a cheque on the spot." 
 
 Harry, however, declined with many 
 thanks. As he didn't see his way to re- 
 paying the money if he borrowed it, he had 
 no choice, he considered, but to refuse. 
 
 " Well, if you won't, you won't, I sup- 
 pose," said Manners. '' But don't be shy 
 about it, if it would be any use to you. My
 
 68 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 dear old parent gives me as much as ever I 
 ask for, so you needn't be afraid of my 
 running dry." 
 
 Egerton, however, persisted ; and they sat 
 on for some time over their cigars, discussing 
 their arrangements, and talking over the 
 follies to which male flesh is heir, until 
 Morpheus began to assert himself. 
 
 They separated at the door of the club, 
 and Egerton turned towards his new resi- 
 dence in St. James's Place, and was soon 
 sleeping upon the cares and anxieties of the 
 day, and a rough couch enough he found 
 them. 
 
 Blanche Yillars, too, was sleeping now. 
 But it was long before sleep had come to 
 relieve her anxious thoughts. And if her 
 pillow was wet with recent tears, shall we 
 like her the less that they were a woman's 
 tears of sympathy and sorrow for the almost 
 boy whom she loved so well ?
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 What a very deligMM and inspiriting sen- 
 sation tliat is, of awaking in tlie morning 
 with the dim recollection of something 
 unpleasant having happened the day before, 
 or with the undefined consciousness of some- 
 thing disagreeable in prospect ! It lies in 
 wait for the first dawn of awakening sense, 
 and at once thrusts in its claim upon your 
 kind attention. At first, your ideas are a 
 little confused; you hardly comprehend 
 what is required of your thoughts. But 
 gradually, and with a savage particularity 
 of detail, the subject is developed, and 
 further sleep is out of the question for that 
 morning, at least. The boy, waiting to be 
 switched, enjoys much the same repose of 
 mind as you do lying awake brooding over 
 what is past, or nursing that wearing appre-
 
 70 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 hension of what is to come. The flies upon 
 the ceiling have lost their wonted attraction. 
 Their numbers no longer stimulate conjec- 
 ture. It no more delights to follow their 
 manifold intersections and gyrations with 
 the absorbing interest of other days. 'No 
 more does the paper on the wall supply that 
 endless entertainment for the thoughts 'which 
 formerly they found in endeavouring to 
 strike out some hitherto undiscovered pat- 
 tern, some different point of view, or some 
 new and varied combination of the lines. 
 Such occupation has no longer charms to 
 soothe. At least it was so with Harry 
 Egerton. 
 
 It was late, or rather, early in the 
 morning, when he had said good-night to 
 Manners. It was long past ten, therefore, 
 when he awoke from a sleep haunted by un- 
 refreshing dreams. All sorts of wild fancies 
 had tortured his brain through the night. 
 Innumerable horrors had merged into each 
 other with a painful semblance of reaHty. 
 He had seen a white figure stretching out 
 her arms to him across a dark and fearful
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 71 
 
 gulf, her eyes streaming with tears at his 
 hopeless attempts to reach her. He had 
 heard his father's voice forbidding him to 
 cross, and his feet had been rooted to the 
 ground. In vain were his struggles ; in 
 vain he sought to soothe that agonised look, 
 to clasp her in his eager embrace. He 
 couldn't move. And then, horror-struck, he 
 saw her approach yet nearer to the brink — 
 in her eagerness advance too far, and, with 
 a piercing shriek, fall headlong into the gulf 
 below. Down, down into the darkness he 
 watched her white robe falling, still fall- 
 ing and disappearing from his view; and 
 he wrung his hands in a frenzy of wild 
 horror and despaii', and awoke in a cold 
 perspiration to find it was only not a 
 reality. 
 
 What meant the dinginess of the room 
 upon which his fevered eyes had opened? 
 Where were the old Eton pictures, the 
 groups of Cambridge friends, and photo- 
 graphs of the dear old court of Trinity, 
 which usually adorned his bed-room walls ? 
 There was an unmistakable lodging-house
 
 72 HAERY EGERTOIN'. 
 
 air about the place. What meant it all ? 
 Ah, what ? 
 
 His mind was only too ready to awake to 
 the occurrences of the previous day. The 
 change soon explained itself; and that dull 
 feeling of oppression which weighed upon his 
 senses was soon accounted for. Here was 
 no vision, no impracticable spectre conjured 
 up by a morbid fancy, this image of a stern 
 and unrelenting father which passed con- 
 tinually before his mind. Eeal, unpleasantly 
 real, as were all the circumstances by which 
 it was followed and surrounded, and which 
 lost none of their reality from the entrance 
 of his brother Philip, as they passed, for the 
 fiftieth time, in gaunt procession before his 
 view. 
 
 ^' You can aiford to lie in bed till past 
 eleven, I suppose?" was Philip's cheerful 
 commencement, after they had exchanged 
 good-mornings. He himself was always up 
 at eight o'clock. Isn't it the case that persons 
 of Philip Egerton's cold, calculating, intrigu- 
 ing, scheming nature, are always early risers? 
 
 He was a pleasant fellow, was Philip
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 73 
 
 Egerton. He belonged to her Majesty's 
 brigade of Guards, and was the idol of his 
 brother officers. They almost wondered 
 why so good a fellow had come into the 
 regiment. For when he entered the room 
 at the club, they used to say that it was 
 like a sudden draught of chilly air. And, 
 indeed, wherever he went, he carried with 
 him such a hearty expression that every 
 company in which he appeared could testify 
 to the enlivening influence of his presence. 
 He had his little faults, however, like the 
 rest of us. Avarice and cunning were the 
 chief flaws in his character ; and his unfor- 
 tunate brother was the innocent cause of 
 jealousy and hate hho finding a corner in 
 his nature. 
 
 It was always understood in the family 
 that Harry was to come in for his mother's 
 fortune — some twenty thousand pounds — at 
 his father's death. And Philip had set his 
 heart upon altering this arrangement to his 
 own benefit, if he possibly could. He knew 
 that, although he had far the most influence 
 over his father, Harry was his favourite son,
 
 74 HARRY EQERTON. 
 
 and he bore him a proportionate amount of ill- 
 will in consequence. He knew also that this 
 money was at his father's disposal; and he 
 considered that it would be pleasant indeed 
 if he could further his own interest, and 
 gratify his feeling of dislike at the same time. 
 He was therefore always very respectful to 
 his father, but to Harry his manner was 
 not always distinguished by the cordiality 
 which brothers sometimes show towards one 
 another. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, then, that Harry 
 felt very ardently disposed towards him. 
 His was a likely nature enough to nourish 
 feelings of natural affection. But such feel- 
 ings do not exist of their own strength alone, 
 when all sorts of adverse influences of in- 
 compatible characters, dispositions, tempers, 
 time, place, and pursuits are brought to 
 bear against them. The natural attraction 
 which members of the same family feel 
 towards one another is a mere instinct, 
 which may be, and often is, developed into 
 real attachment. But this attachment results 
 from the ordinary causes from which friend-
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 75 
 
 ship and love usually spring. If these 
 influences do not exist, the feeling of one 
 member of a family towards another will 
 never get beyond an indifferent interest in 
 each other's existence. And, therefore, 
 when you hear that one man feels so great a 
 friendship for another, that you might sup- 
 pose they were brothers, one is rather in- 
 clined to resent the insult which is offered 
 to friendship by such a comparison. Just 
 as if all brothers loved each other with the 
 warmth and depth of affection which charac- 
 terise real friendship. Just as if half the 
 brothers in the world entertained any such 
 feelings towards . one another. It may be a 
 very undesirable family fact that brothers 
 do not usually love each other as brothers 
 should. Eut any one may prove to his 
 satisfaction that it is so, if he take the 
 trouble to analyse his fraternal acquaintance. 
 Great friendships may exist between brothers ; 
 and, considering what opportunities they 
 have of finding out each other's good points, 
 it may, perhaps, be matter for surprise that 
 they do not oftener exist. But to liken the
 
 76 HAREY EGEETOX. 
 
 deep, strong, ardent affection of a well- 
 rooted friendship, which is much more aptly- 
 described as a love passing the love of 
 women — to liken this to the common-place 
 sympathy which brothers instinctively feel 
 for one another, is merely a slight upon one 
 of the purest and most unselfish emotions of 
 which human nature is capable. 
 
 Undoubtedly, in the present instance, such 
 a comparison would have been most inapt. 
 For any afi'ection which Harry Egerton 
 might have been disposed to feel towards 
 Philip, had long ago succumbed to the 
 inevitable influence of Philip's discordant 
 nature. 
 
 And so it was that his brother's entrance 
 into his bed-room gave a deeper hue to the 
 gloomy colour of Harry's thoughts, and 
 came between his mind and any brighter ray 
 that might have stolen in, like a cloud before 
 the sun. 
 
 "' I was up late last night," he answered 
 to Philip's remark upon his late rising. 
 
 '' I suppose so ; you generally are," Philip 
 rejoined, in even more contemptuous and
 
 HARRY EGERTON. / / 
 
 sarcastic tones than those in which he was 
 in the habit of addressing him. He could 
 ill conceal his satisfaction at the unexpected 
 turn in his favour which events had so 
 recently taken, by the withdrawal of Harry 
 from his father's house. And there was 
 something so pleasant to Philip's mind in 
 striking a man who was down (particularly 
 when that man was his own brother), that 
 he determined to make the most of the 
 occasion. 
 
 ^' I dare say you'll alter your habits now," 
 he continued, his face lighted up with a 
 malicious sneer. '^ My father tells me 
 you've been asking him for money to pay 
 your debts with." 
 
 ^^Yes, I did," rejoined Harry; '^ and I 
 think he might have given it to me. I 
 never asked him to pay any bills for me 
 before." 
 
 '^ And, if I might venture to prophesy, 
 you probably will not again. You were really 
 surprised, then, that he actually refused to 
 accede to your request. In fact, I dare say 
 you hardly calculated what the result would
 
 78 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 be." And as Philip distilled these sentences 
 with concentrated malice through his mean, 
 thin lips, he glanced sidelong at Harry to 
 see whether he was prolonging his torture 
 with the desired effect. 
 
 ^'No one asked you to prophesy,'' Harry 
 answered; ^' and what my calculations may 
 have been don't concern you, as far as I can 
 see. Did you come here to play the pro- 
 phet?" He looked at Philip as he spoke 
 with a contempt which unfortunately was 
 lost upon that individual, for his eyes, as 
 usual, were looking in any direction but 
 towards the person to whom he was speaking, 
 or by whom he was addressed. 
 
 ^'By no means," Philip replied ; ^^ I was 
 the bearer of a message." And he stopped 
 again, that Harry might enjoy the suspense 
 a little longer, a wreathed smile curling 
 about his mouth, which watered with the 
 delightful anticipation of having disagreeable 
 news to communicate. 
 
 ^' Well — out with it," said Harry, with 
 some irritation ; " I'm sure I don't want you 
 to stay here all day."
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 79 
 
 *^ It was a message," Philip said, with 
 imperturbable deliberation, ^^a message from 
 my father, to the effect that he had directed 
 his bankers to pay yon the sum of two hun- 
 dred pounds per annum, in quarterly pay- 
 ments ; and that any further applications 
 for money from you would have no attention 
 whatever paid to them." 
 
 This intelligence was articulated with 
 such distinct and evident satisfaction by 
 Philip Egerton to his brother, that that 
 brother looked at him for a moment in 
 wonder that such a nature could exist and 
 be so nearly connected to himself. Then 
 the meaning of his words came home to him. 
 True, it was but what he had expected ; but 
 to have all this told him in this way by his 
 brother — his allowance cut down — never to 
 speak to his father again. Even in his 
 harshness, he was still his father; and he 
 had been so different hitherto. Harry didn't 
 answer for a moment or two after Philip 
 finished speaking. He felt a sort of choking 
 in his throat, and his firmness might have 
 given way, if pride had not come to the
 
 80 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 rescue. Philip should see no sign of emo- 
 tion. But Philip had already, with a secret 
 thrill of satisfaction, noticed the quivering 
 lip, before Harry, with assumed indifference, 
 replied — 
 
 '' Well, I suppose I shall have to get on 
 as well as I can on that ; — it's deuced little 
 to live upon." 
 
 '' If you ask my opinion," Philip rejoined, 
 ^^ I think my father has allowed you a great 
 deal more than you had any right to expect. 
 I have often warned you against your extra- 
 vagance; and now, as you wouldn't take 
 my advice, you see the result." 
 
 '' My father didn't send you here to taunt 
 me with my position, I suppose, did he?" 
 cried Harry, firing up. 
 
 Philip, without noticing the question, con- 
 tinued — ''You chose to run on into debt, 
 without any means of paying your bills, 
 swindling people wherever you went, and 
 now " 
 
 "I'm hanged if I stand this, Philip!" 
 exclaimed Harry, sitting up in bed. " I can 
 put up with abuse from my father, but I'm
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 81 
 
 not going to be called names by you. So if 
 you liaven't anything civil to say, you'd 
 better go." 
 
 His cbeek was flushed, and his eye 
 lighted up with an anger which was seldom 
 to be seen there; and his brother, accus- 
 tomed to dictate to him, was even startled 
 into a look of surprise. 
 
 Slightly elevating his eyebrows, Philip 
 replied that he was sorry his company was 
 not agreeable to him, and with a face where 
 vindictive cunning lurked behind a feigned 
 indifference, he wished him good morning, 
 and turned slowly towards the door. 
 
 Poor Harry ! he sank down upon his pillow 
 again, more miserable than ever, now that 
 his momentary passion was over; and he 
 reflected with just apprehension on the pro- 
 bable consequences of his late outburst. He 
 knew his brother well enough to be sure 
 that he would use every handle against him, 
 would turn every point to his disadvantage 
 in his father's eyes, and pervert and distort 
 his smallest actions, so as to place them in 
 an unfavourable light. He had made it still 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 more certain now that his father Avould not" 
 change his mind. '^ Well, it can't be helped," 
 he exclaimed, at length; ''it's done, and it's 
 no good thinking about it." 
 
 Acting upon the idea, he jumped briskly 
 out of bed, and proceeded to the club to 
 breakfast, and look over the paper before 
 strolling into the Park, where the society of 
 other idlers might have a cheering effect. 
 
 One of Mr. Solomon's young women fas- 
 tened a white rose-bud in the button-hole 
 of his coat (economy in shillings had not 
 occurred to him as yet), and the glaring 
 pavement of Piccadilly provided a friend 
 who was tending in the same direction. 
 
 "Walking in Eotten Eow was not much in 
 Harry's line ; in fact, I believe he had rather 
 superior notions upon the subject. But his 
 father's horses being no longer at his com- 
 mand, he was naturally reduced to his feet, 
 and Maud Greville to some useful employ- 
 ment, perhaps, indoors. I wonder how 
 much of the emptiness and silliness to be 
 met with in London drawing-rooms is to be 
 attributed to that morning ride, when the
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 83 
 
 round of pleasure is begun so early. It is 
 said by them of old time that it used to be 
 the custom for young ladies to consider the 
 accomplishment of their minds dimng those 
 hours that are now given up to the display of 
 the figure, and that the result was apparent 
 in their better ideas on the subject of 
 woman's duty. Beauty of mind used to be 
 considered as valuable for matrimonial pur- 
 poses as beauty of person. It appears that 
 it is not so now, since it is so little culti- 
 vated. And besides the number of dancing 
 dolls who owe their existence as such to 
 Eotten Eow, it may also be partly credited 
 with the education of that poor, dear, washy, 
 little creature, the dancing man — that sweet 
 essence of simper, twaddle, and affectation. 
 For if there were no '^ aw, devilish pretty 
 girls" to stare at, there would be no attrac- 
 tion for those pitiable objects who sit upon 
 the rails and suck their canes or their cigars, 
 and contemplate with vacant interest the 
 graceful horsemanship which they think they 
 admire. When ignorance is bliss, it seems 
 cruel to tell them that all the time they are
 
 84 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 studying that becoming posture against the 
 railings, they are only setting themselyes up 
 as Aunt Sallies for sensible men and women 
 to exercise their contempt upon. 
 
 Those curious old creatures, too, who look 
 upon life from a serious and moral point of 
 view, tell us that our intellects were meant 
 to be employed, and that life was never in- 
 tended to be one long round of vapid, empty, 
 frivolous pleasure. Funny old things ! what 
 droll notions they do have, to be sure ! I 
 don't fancy such strange idea's had troubled 
 Harry's mind very much. At all events, 
 they were evidently not obtruding them- 
 selves at present. For there he was, frock- 
 coated, gloved, and flowered, stalking up 
 and down with a couple of friends in the 
 middle of the naughty costumes, to all ap- 
 pearance as happy as the gayest Lothario 
 there ; and as innocent of anything disagree- 
 able that morning as if his brother had never 
 had any existence.
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 Philip meanwHle had walked slowly across 
 tlie Green Park, after leaving Ms brother's 
 room, meditating with downcast eyes how 
 best he could turn the present crisis to his 
 own advantage. The fact that Harry had 
 dared to lose his temper with him in his 
 present position gave an additional spur to 
 his malignity, and he clung with a horribly 
 vindictive delight to the hope of driving 
 him yet further to the wall ; and with a 
 perfectly marvellous intensity of unnatural 
 meanness gloated over the prospect of lower- 
 ing him yet further in his father's estima- 
 tion. It would be a congenial but a dan- 
 gerous employment. Much caution would be 
 requii'ed ; much judgment and careful watch- 
 ing of opportunities to let fall the casual 
 word which might rankle in his mind to
 
 86 HAERY EGERTON. 
 
 Harry's disadvantage ; for Philip was slirewd 
 enoiigli to know that though his father 
 would not easily alter his mind, yet that 
 he would not be willing to hear Harry 
 openly abused by any one else. Indeed, it 
 had already eyen crossed Mr. Egerton's mind 
 that he might have acted, perhaps, with 
 unnecessary severity, and that at some 
 future time he would probably be sorry for 
 having allowed himself to be carried away 
 as he had been by the angry feelings of the 
 moment ; that Philip's cold presence would 
 hardly supply the pleasure which Harry's 
 warmer nature had given him ; and, above 
 all, that for the future he would be without 
 his customary companion. But he endea- 
 voured to persuade himself that he had only 
 done what he was perfectly justified in doing, 
 and what, in fact, it was his duty to do. 
 How dared Harry count upon him to pay 
 his debts ? His allowance had been liberal. 
 Had it not been, the case might, perhaps, 
 have been diiferent. How was he to know 
 that he would not come to him again in the 
 same way, if he satisfied his present demands
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 87 
 
 — encourage him in his extravagance — ''No, 
 no ; I was right — quite right ; couldn't have 
 done otherwise than I did." 
 
 With such-like arguments he worked 
 himself to a pitch of virtuous self-compla- 
 cency, and contemplated his conduct with a 
 forced satisfaction, until another twinge of 
 natural ajBPection (for it was affection rather 
 than qualms of conscience which prompted 
 such feelings) would suggest doubts of the 
 propriety of what he had done. 
 
 Still doubts would occasionally arise on 
 the score of duty too. Eut these were more 
 easily set at rest. 
 
 Mr. Egerton was not much in the habit of 
 acting from a sense of duty, or looking upon 
 his position as a parent from that point of 
 view. Conventional habit, educational rou- 
 tine, private inclination, pique, or prejudice, 
 dictated to him, as to many others, his con- 
 duct towards his sons. But such parents 
 do, I suppose, sometimes escape from their 
 own selfish interests and wishes, and in such 
 periods of aberration look upon the moral 
 aspect of their position, and consider duty, in
 
 88 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 some slight degree, as a motive to action. 
 It is not to be wondered at, wlien tliese 
 seasons of self-forgetfulness are so few, that, 
 as in the present instance, these worthy- 
 people should fall into error as to what is 
 the right or the wrong course to be pursued. 
 For they can hardly be expected to haye a 
 right knowledge of a subject to which they 
 have devoted so little attention. 
 
 Mr. Egerton would induce himself to 
 believe that he had acted with a most 
 praiseworthy and excellent severity in re- 
 fusing to pay Harry's debts, — that he 
 was showing a proper regard for the 
 responsibilities of his position in having 
 nothing fiu^ther to do with a son who had 
 so recklessly got himself into difficulties, 
 — and that it was a most judicious wisdom 
 which prompted him to withhold from his 
 son a profession where he would probably 
 spend a great deal more money than he 
 had already managed to get through. And 
 so he looked upon himself as quite an 
 injured man, in that he had a son who had 
 compelled him, against his natural fatherly
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 89 
 
 feeling, to act so stern, and just, and wise a 
 part. It seems, however, from the writings 
 of a well-known moralist (not to say from 
 the dictates of common sense), that it is 
 possible to take another view of the case 
 than that upon which Mr. Egerton took his 
 stand so complacently. 
 
 Paley will tell you that the reasonable 
 expectations of a child are to be postponed 
 to the exigencies of his situation, — that a 
 reasonable provision for the child's happi- 
 ness is one of the requirements of a parent's 
 duty, — and that this provision includes a 
 situation suited to his habits and reasonable 
 expectations, a competent provision for the 
 exigencies of that situation, and a probable 
 security for his virtue. 
 
 Assuming Paley to be an authority on a 
 question of duty, was Mr. Egerton right in 
 renouncing all further obligation respecting 
 his son, because he had formed unreasonable 
 expectations on the score of his debts? 
 Eully admitting that these expectations 
 were unreasonable, that his allowance had 
 been ample for a younger son in his position,
 
 90 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 and that lie had no right to expect any fur- 
 ther, was Mr. Egerton, with all this weight 
 of argument on his side, justified in neglect- 
 ing all further consideration of his interest ? 
 He persuaded himself to think that he was. 
 But our moralist above quoted appears to 
 think otherwise. And who will say that to 
 turn a man loose upon the world, without 
 any definite aim or object 'in life, saddled 
 with debt, oppressed with idleness, and sur- 
 rounded by the temptations incident to em- 
 barrassed circumstances and reduced means 
 — who will say that this is the way to afford 
 any probable security for his yirtue ? He 
 will inevitably ^'embrace every expedient 
 which presents a hope of supplying his 
 necessities," regardless of his own virtue or 
 the public advantage. And the father who 
 does so use his son will be ^' defrauding the 
 community of a benefactor, and bequeathing 
 them a nuisance." It would appear, then, 
 that if Mr. Egerton had exercised a correct 
 judgment in the matter of his son's debts, 
 he would have relieved him from his dif- 
 ficulties, and started him fair ui the world.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 91 
 
 Moreover, wlien he said to himself that he 
 should only be encouraging Harry in his 
 extravagance if he paid his debts, he was 
 only arguing against himself a want of 
 knowledge of his son's character. In many 
 instances the assumption would have been 
 reasonable enough ; but in Harry's case it 
 was not so. He was very far from being 
 reckless, unprincipled, or vicious. His ex- 
 travagance was no confirmed habit which 
 he had no moral courage to shake off. His 
 excesses had sprung from mere gaiety of 
 heart and animal spirits, thoughtlessness, 
 and the exuberant impulse to enjoyment. 
 He had gambled, and betted, and lost money 
 for the sake of the excitement which it fur- 
 nished to his somewhat restless nature ; but 
 he was no confirmed gambler, who could 
 not do without this feverish excitement. He 
 had plenty of moral courage when he chose 
 to exercise it, and had shown it (as his 
 father might have seen upon reflection) by 
 giving up all kinds of extravagance since he 
 left Cambridge, and paying off by instal- 
 ments a great many of his bills.
 
 92 HARRY EGERTON". 
 
 But Mr. Egerton knew nothing of this. 
 He was a kind and affectionate father enough ; 
 but he was a stern man. He never treated 
 his son as a friend, and although Harry was 
 attached to him, he feared him at the same 
 time. Thus there was no confidence be- 
 tween them, — and without that the father 
 could have no insight into the character of 
 the son, — and having no knowledge of his 
 character, how could he be expected not to 
 fall into errors of judgment upon exceptional 
 occasions of the present kind ? Any parent 
 who takes a principle to be of universal 
 application to all his children — who brings 
 them up by rule, without making himself 
 acquainted with the individual bent of their 
 several characters, and modifying his rule 
 in its application to each, must inevitably 
 commit mistakes which will turn out, some 
 of them, if not hurtful, at least useless 
 members of society. 
 
 And when Mr. Egerton retired behind his 
 injured paternity to contemplate the enormity 
 of his son's conduct, it might have been 
 well if from that glass-house retreat he had
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 9o 
 
 looked back a little into liis own former 
 life. If lie kad not kept his eyes so steadily 
 fixed upon the pound before his feet, he 
 might not have considered that his son's 
 conduct was so utterly unpardonable as his 
 outraged feelings delighted to represent it. 
 In his own youth he had been wild and 
 extravagant to the last degree. And if he 
 could only have allowed his imagination to 
 carry him back to the period of life at which 
 Harry now was, he might have been disposed 
 to look more leniently upon the follies which 
 he himself had found so difficult of resist- 
 ance. He might have remembered how 
 surrounded he had been by various influences 
 and temptations, which appealed peculiarly 
 to the passions and inclinations of youth, 
 which as yet reason was not strong enough 
 to control. And seen by the light of his 
 own experience, Harry's faults might have 
 appeared venial, perhaps. But that light 
 was never turned upon them, until in Mr. 
 Egerton's opinion it was too late to correct 
 his mistake. And, therefore, it is not 
 unlikely that he will now demonstrate for
 
 94 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 OTir edification that the injudicious treatment 
 of an undutiful father is quite as likely to 
 bring about the ruin of a son as are the 
 prodigal instincts of the unfortunate youth 
 himself. 
 
 Philip Egerton, on arriving again in Eaton 
 Place, and hearing that his father was in his 
 own room in the worst of tempers, thought 
 it judicious not to visit him just yet, and 
 took his way to the drawing-room instead. 
 
 Mrs. Greville and Maud were seated there, 
 and the latter laid down her book as Philip 
 entered, and exclaimed, ^' Well, Philip, what 
 have you done ? Did you see Harry ? Is he 
 very miserable?" 
 
 ^^On the contrary," Philip replied, ^'I 
 found him luxuriating in bed. And he was 
 pleased to tell me that he did not require 
 my company." 
 
 ^' Oh ! Philip, he never said that," cried 
 Maud. 
 
 "Ask him." 
 
 "Then you must have said something 
 very unkind." 
 
 " I dare say my father's message was not
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 95 
 
 very agreeable news. He seemed at least 
 to find it a little unpleasant." 
 
 ^^But you offered to help Mm out of his 
 scrape ? — to lend him some money ? " 
 
 Philip's face assumed an expression of 
 gentle contempt. ^'Lend him more money 
 to throw away as before ! jSi o, I hardly did 
 that.'' 
 
 ^^Well, I should if I had been you," 
 rejoined Maud, indignantly. '^ I think it 
 was very mean of you not to. But you 
 always are doing something nasty or dis- 
 agreeable. I don't like you a hundredth 
 part as much as I do Harry." 
 
 Maud's candour brought down a mild 
 rebuke from her mother, and Philip rejoined, 
 sarcastically, — "Complimentary as usual, 
 Maud. I'm afraid I can't pretend to the 
 same qualifications for your esteem which 
 my brother no doubt possesses. I have not a 
 long string of suffering tradesmen to recom- 
 mend me to your kind interest." 
 
 "That's right— sneer at him because 
 Uncle Philip has treated him so badly. It's 
 just like you."
 
 96 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 Pliilip regarded her with a peculiarly 
 pleasant smile, and Mrs. Greville interposed, 
 asking whether Mr. Egerton really could 
 mean what he had said, — that Harry was 
 ne^er to come back again. 
 
 Since luncheon on the previous day, Mr. 
 Egerton had not appeared to his family, but 
 had sent for Philip on his return the night 
 before, and had delivered to him the mes- 
 sage which he had broken so tenderly to his 
 brother that morning. To Mrs. Greville' s 
 question Philip answered that his father 
 had expressed such an intention, and he 
 thought there was every probability of his 
 abiding by it. 
 
 After some further conversation on the 
 subject, Philip left the room, and Maud 
 broke out into an eloquent tirade against his 
 heartlessness and want of feeling. 
 
 As for Mrs. Greville, she didn't know what 
 to think of it, and for want of any better 
 way of expressing her perplexity, indulged 
 herself with a few tears. 
 
 The object of all this sympathy and various 
 emotion having taken his fill of early society,
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 97 
 
 turned his steps in the direction of Park Lane, 
 with the intention of lunching with his good 
 aunt, Lady Belvedere. It was just possible, 
 he thought, that she might be able to suggest 
 to him some way out of his present difficul- 
 ties — for Lady Belyedere was a good- 
 natured and pleasant woman enough, though 
 she was a thorough woman of the world. 
 
 Her husband had been many years in his 
 grave. And though she was by no means 
 young herself, yet society still had as great 
 charms for her as ever, and she was as gay 
 and as dissipated as the youngest married 
 woman in the town. Out every night, even 
 to balls, and only too pleased when a niece, 
 or other appendage, gave her an excuse for 
 going to entertainments where, otherwise, 
 she used to say that an old woman's room 
 was better than her company. But though 
 she might not always go, she always liked 
 to have a card for anything that was going 
 on at any house where she visited. She 
 couldn't bear the idea of dropping out of 
 the world. Society had become almost a 
 second nature to her ; and the notion of 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 being shelved was as disagreeable a subject 
 for contemplation as tbe grave itself. But 
 religion was by no means neglected by Lady 
 Belvedere. With her worldly engagements 
 were constantly mingled the more spiritual 
 pleasures of confession and very many other 
 High- Church entertainments of a similarly 
 edifying nature. There was a little oratory 
 attached to her bed-room, filled up with all 
 kinds of pretty decorations, where her lady- 
 ship was wont to throw ojff periodically her 
 religious fervours, and where, for that mat- 
 ter, she might have thrown off her allegiance 
 to the English Church also. And even as 
 Harry entered, a black gentleman of staid 
 and smooth demeanour, and straight-cut 
 coat, was descending the stairs, on his way, 
 no doubt, from some refreshing exercise. 
 
 But whether her visitor was priest or Pro- 
 testant, Lady Belvedere's spirits had not 
 suffered much by his ministrations, and .she 
 received Harry as cheerfully as usual. 
 
 It was a little annoying, however, he 
 thought, when he had delivered himself of 
 the situation, to find that his aunt treated
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 99 
 
 the whole affair, which to him seemed of 
 such magnitude, as if there was nothing to 
 be very much surprised at, and talked about 
 it in a matter-of-fact kind of way, as if such 
 things were of every-day occurrence. 
 
 ^^ And so you are actually turned out of 
 the house," she said, quite pleasantly. 
 
 •^IS'o mistake about it, — traps and all," 
 he answered. 
 
 "Then you'll have to go into lodgings 
 somewhere." 
 
 Undoubtedly, Harry said, he should have 
 to do so — nay, he had already done so. 
 
 "And it's all about a few hundred 
 pounds ! I'm sure your father could very 
 well spare that, my dear. I know when 
 he was a young man he used over and 
 over again to come to his father to have 
 his debts paid, and got them paid too. 
 I've no patience with the man. And I 
 dare say he'll stick to what he says. He's 
 as obstinate as a stone." 
 
 It may have occurred, perhaps, to Lady 
 Belvedere that since a few hundreds would 
 cover all her nephew's debts, she might
 
 100 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 have a little triumpli over her brother by 
 paying them for him. But then she checked 
 the impulse, and thought that his father was 
 the proper person to pay them, and he ought 
 to have paid them, and he should pay them. 
 
 Accordingly, she went on to Harry, — 
 ^^ And so you are only to have two hundred 
 a-year ; that isn't very much, is it ?" 
 
 Eemarkably little, he thought, for a gen- 
 tleman to live upon, with any sort of com- 
 fort ; particularly with an army of greedy 
 duns clamouring for a share. 
 
 ^^ Why don't you propose to an heii-ess ?'* 
 his aunt continued. "• You are good-look- 
 ing enough. And you know you are said 
 to be so like me that that's only a compli- 
 ment to myself." 
 
 Harry laughed, and said that surely his 
 aunt didn't suppose he would ever marry a 
 woman for her money. ^' Fancy saddling 
 oneself for life with a nuisance ! " 
 
 ^^ There's Miss Jones, now," Lady Bel- 
 vedere said, disregarding his objection : 
 ^^ three thousand a-year, and a charming 
 place in the country."
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 101 
 
 *^ But what good would three thousand a- 
 year be ? I don't call that an heiress. One 
 couldn't do anything on that." 
 
 " You are ambitious, young gentleman. 
 Well, let me see, — Lady Mary Boyd has 
 money, but they say she wants to marry a 
 duke. I wish she may get one. Ah ! 
 Miss Grant, now, — what should you think of 
 her? She is a little older than you, per- 
 haps, but not bad-looking. And they say 
 she will have a very large fortune.- There's 
 an uncle, or something, in the way at 
 present ; but she has six thousand a-year 
 clear now. That I know for certain." 
 
 ^' Miss Grant not bad-looking!" ex- 
 claimed Harry. '^ My dear aunt, you must 
 be joking : she's positively ugly. I don't 
 think I ever saw an heiress that wasn't 
 more or less so." 
 
 '' To make up, I suppose, for their having 
 so much money. But if you won't have 
 anything to say to my heiresses, I don't 
 know what I'm to do for you." 
 
 " It would be such a bore, too, being 
 married," Harry said. '^ Just fancy, you
 
 102 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 know, one couldn't run in and out of the 
 opera and balls, and places, just as one liked, 
 any more. There would always be a car- 
 riage to be called, or a cloak to be looked 
 after, or something of the kind." (There 
 was just one person for whom Harry thought 
 he shouldn't mind doing all this.) 
 
 ^' You young men are getting so terribly 
 selfish," Lady Belvedere rejoined; ^^your 
 clubs make you so comfortable, and you 
 find such amusement in the society of the 
 improprieties of the town, that I think you 
 could manage to get on without us alto- 
 gether. What do you do with yourself, 
 now? Do you go to all sorts of queer 
 places ?" 
 
 ^'Xot at all," Harr)^ said; he was a veiy 
 soberly-conducted young person. 
 
 ^' People say, you know," continued Lady 
 Belvedere, " that you are paying great at- 
 tentions to Miss Yillars. You mustn't go 
 and lose your heart there, or you'll have 
 none left for my heiress." 
 
 Harry reddened slightly as he answered 
 that Miss Yillars' brother was a great
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 103 
 
 friend of his, and tliat therefore he knew 
 her very well. 
 
 '' You must take care, though, for she's 
 a charming girl. I wonder, — and so does 
 every one else, — that she has not married 
 before now. They say that she refused 
 Lord Christchurch." 
 
 '^ Did she ?" was the reply. "When do 
 you leave town ? Are you going abroad ?" 
 And so the conversation branched off into 
 general topics, and Harry went away soon 
 afterwards. Lady Belvedere promising to 
 afford him any facilities in her power for 
 making up to her especial favourite. Cor-* 
 nelia Grant. 
 
 This was prospectively very satisfactory, 
 no doubt, but it afforded no solution for 
 present difficulties ; and for several days 
 Harry's duns and long-suffering Cambridge 
 tradesmen led him what is graphically called 
 the life of the damned. Writs, too, were of 
 no infrequent occurrence, and when these 
 had been disposed of, he found his ex- 
 chequer reduced to a very low ebb. Good- 
 wood was frequently in his thoughts just at
 
 104 HAERY ' EGERTON. 
 
 this time. Why shouldn't he go down 
 there for the week, and throw over Man- 
 ners ? He might win a pot of money, and 
 pay them all off. Delightful thought ! But 
 supposing he were to lose, no money to 
 pay, no chance of being able to settle ! 
 Under the circumstances he decided that it 
 would not be gentlemanlike to bet, — rather 
 hard upon confiding bookmakers. 
 
 Why not go through the Bankruptcy 
 Court ? he thought. He should pay off all 
 his creditors whenever he got any money 
 afterwards, and it would save him from 
 being always pestered with duns. Besides, 
 his father might come to reason if he heard 
 that he was going to appear in the papers. 
 He had doubts, however, upon that point, 
 and then it sounded so very low, being a 
 bankrupt. People would always think him 
 more or less of a blackguard, — that he wanted 
 to do his creditors out of their money, — even 
 though they might know the peculiar cir- 
 cumstances of his case. So he gave up that 
 idea, too, for the present. 
 
 Then the mysterious words which Mrs.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 105 
 
 Greville had accidentally let fall about some 
 secret connected with him ; these would 
 occur to his mind occasionally, and he would 
 turn and twist them about in every direc- 
 tion, in the hope of extorting some prospect 
 of better days in store. Eut it was no use ; 
 he could make nothing out of them; he 
 must chance it for the present, and trust to 
 something turning up. Hope told him that 
 .he couldn't go on in that kind of way for 
 ever. 
 
 Accordingly, after promising Mrs. Greville 
 that he wouldn't go to any of those horrid 
 gambling places abroad, and after assuring 
 Maud that she should see him at Castle 
 Greville in August, he left his duns and his 
 bills behind him, towards the middle of July, 
 and joined Manners, and the others of his 
 party, at Cowes. 
 
 "No address had been left at his lodgings, 
 so that, at all events for the next two or 
 three months, he calculated upon living in 
 comparative peace.
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 "What a freedom, what a buoyancy, light- 
 ness, and exuberant sense of enjoyment, 
 there seemed to be in the fresh sea breezes of 
 the Solent, after the sweltering heat of July 
 pavements, and the asphyxiating atmosphere 
 of London drawing-rooms ! And what an 
 ease and a comfort there were in the light 
 garments of semi-civilisation, after the mon- 
 strous propriety of St. James's Street ! 
 
 That channel, too — so bright, and green, 
 and cool in the afternoon sun — alive with 
 vessels of every size and rig, whose snowy 
 sails were set* off by the wooded background 
 of the Isle of Wight. IsTo wonder everything 
 looked full of life, and brimful of spii'its, in 
 that invigorating air. Little sailing boats 
 were skimming along the island shores; 
 cutters, with dazzling white sheets, were
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 107 
 
 scudding backwards and forwards, tacking, 
 chasuig, intersecting each other, with such 
 a gaiety and abandonment, — all enjoying 
 themselves so thoroughly, and so pleased, 
 apparently, with their own performances, 
 that it was impossible to watch them with- 
 out feeling some reflection of their rollicking 
 delight. Steamers were bustling to and fro, 
 full of noisy passengers ; and yachts' boats, 
 full of blue-bedizened ladies, danced up and 
 down in the waves of foam which they left 
 behind. Little boats and big boats swarmed 
 about the great iron sides of the lions which 
 lay majestically at anchor; and the dark 
 sails of some sluggish collier would here and 
 there be put to shame by stately schooners, 
 as they spread their spotless canvas to the 
 breeze, and strode away to the deep upon 
 the ebbing tide. Everything seemed to 
 sparkle and effervesce in that bright, healthy 
 atmosphere. And Manners' cheery greeting, 
 as the steamer drew alongside the pier, was 
 a fit coping-stone to Harry's new-born sense 
 of freedom and delight. 
 
 The yacht's boat was ashore, and one of
 
 108 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 Harry's future companions, whose acquaint- 
 ance he had yet to make. His luggage was 
 committed to the care of a couple of red- 
 capped sailors, and a few strokes of the 
 oar brought them alongside a good- sized 
 schooner. A dapper captain receives them 
 at the gangway ; and, as the polished deck 
 reflects their arrival, a rough head emerges 
 from the cabin stairs, with a "How do, 
 Harry ? " which is responded to by, 
 " Shindies, you beggar, how are you?" and 
 some shaking of hands. The owner of the 
 rough head in question was an old Eton 
 friend of Egerton and Manners, who had 
 other names by which he was not known, 
 Skindles being the tenacious offspring of 
 some Maidenhead adventure, the particulars 
 of which history does not relate. 
 
 He made the fourth, and last, of their 
 party ; and as Manners had stood sponsor 
 for Eivers being a good fellow, and as the 
 yacht was fitted up with every comfort 
 which luxury could sigh for, it would be 
 odd, Harry thought, if his cruise was not a 
 pleasant one.
 
 HAEEY EGERTOX. 109 
 
 For a day or two they lingered about 
 Cowes, — going ashore, in the morning, to 
 lounge about, or read the papers, or chat 
 with other yachtsmen at the club ; in the 
 afternoon, up sail and away round Bem- 
 bridge-down, or across to Portsmouth. 
 
 Another day, round the south side of the 
 island, lying to off Scratchell's Bay, to 
 murder the pensive gull, or to agitate the 
 melancholy cormorant by the jDattering of 
 pea- rifle bullets about his solitary perch, — 
 landing at Freshwater Gate to be gazed at 
 by the idlers on the beach, and to delight 
 the eye of Mr. Summer Tourist by the 
 sight of some real yachtsman, straw hat, 
 ribbon, and all. A cutter, in such a bay, is 
 sufficiently exciting to the peaceable in- 
 habitants. Every glass is at once unsheathed 
 and levelled ; every apology for a telescope 
 brought out and fixed. Conjecture becomes 
 rampant ; rig, tonnage, ownership, are dis- 
 cussed with the most absorbing interest. 
 But if a schooner brings up in sight of shore 
 — unfortunately, this is not a sensational 
 novel. The Scotch coast, though, for a
 
 110 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 hospitable sensation. There, an Irishman 
 might say, yon have only to whisper, 
 ^^Howcledoo ?" and echo instantly answers, 
 ^^ Come and dine." And pleasant enough 
 it is, ordering round your boat to go and 
 dine, and returning in the silence of the 
 early night, wrapped in the luxury of a 
 good cigar. 
 
 Those are charming scenes, those Scotch 
 lochs, when the mountains are free of mist, 
 and stand out clearly defined against the 
 dark blue of the sky, which is glittering 
 with myriads of bright stars ; when the full 
 round moon slowly rises from behind that lofty 
 peak, and casts a long line of silvery light 
 across the motionless water ; when the leap of 
 a salmon along the dark wooded shores, or 
 the plash of the oar echoing through moonlit 
 rocks, is the only sound which breaks the 
 solenm stillness of the night ; when conver- 
 sation sinks away subdued by the sweet 
 seduction of so serene and soft a calm — so 
 bright, so clear, so pure, as if no place was 
 there for human voice or thought ; where 
 admiration merges into love, and gratitude,
 
 HARRY EGERTON. Ill 
 
 and heavenly repose, and mountain, moon, 
 and stars to the thrilled soul proclaim — 
 
 *' The hand that made us is divine." 
 
 The passage from Freshwater, in the Isle 
 of Wight, to Loch Laxford, in the extreme 
 north of Scotland, is not often made in so 
 short a space of time as that in which we 
 have just accomplished it ; nor, in all proba- 
 bility, will the return journey ever be per- 
 formed at the same expeditious rate of speed 
 as that which we now propose to employ — 
 for here we are again on the Beacon-doA\Ti, 
 laboriously toiling up the slope, to look at 
 the view from the top ; wondering whether 
 we shall ever get there, and cordially en- 
 dorsing the sentiments which Egerton and 
 Manners are expressing as to the heat and 
 exertion which steep climbing entails. 
 
 Once arrived at the Beacon, the view 
 amply repaid the expenditure of labour and 
 energy which they had been deploring on 
 the way. And they sat down on a mound 
 to rest, cool, and enjoy the extensive pano- 
 rama.
 
 112 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 The descriptive muse is sighing for metre. 
 May she not be indulged ? — 
 
 No shade upon that barren height there grew, 
 
 Nor "bower cool beneath that beacon tree ; 
 
 No temper to the mid-day heat was found 
 
 In all that cloudless spectacle of blue, 
 
 Which canopied the extended world below. 
 
 But softest airs came tripping o'er the down, 
 
 And gently soothed the splendour of the day. 
 
 What waste of waters, and of land what range, 
 
 "WTiat varied features of earth's changeful scene, 
 
 Alternate hence invite the wandering gaze ! 
 
 League upon league to farthest verge outstretched, 
 
 Confined at length by downward-bending sky, 
 
 Rolls the vast sweep of ocean's glittering plain, 
 
 Now here, now there, by glint of sail relieved ; 
 
 Stern rocks encroachment on its bounds forbid, 
 
 And dazzling steep, where dark-contrasted show 
 
 Deep caverns hollowed by the surging tide, 
 
 Or fretted by the strife of prisoned winds ; 
 
 Red barrier of sand takes up the line, 
 
 And curving bays prolong the white-fringed shore. 
 
 Where scarcely breaks the ripple on the strand ; 
 
 Then points successive shoot into the deep, 
 
 And bluff- projecting crag, and storm-driven chine, 
 
 And frowning reef engage the excursive eye, 
 
 And lure it onward to the far-off line 
 
 Where fades the upland into summer haze. 
 
 Now landward turning, view the prospect wide 
 
 Of swelling down, white-dotted with the fleece 
 
 Of pasturing sheep ; those green-embosomed roofs 
 
 Below, and leafy lanes, whose shady cool. 
 
 Melodious with the tiny song of birds. 
 
 Invites the dreaming poet and the sage. 
 
 From furze-crowned hillock, woodland copse and fen, 
 
 Glide over Yar's smooth- winding, silvery stream, 
 
 And Solent broad like river ever-flowing. 
 
 Across to Hurst's proud castellated strength. 
 
 And Hampshire's dark immensity of shade.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 11 O 
 
 Again from distant Cowes that gaze recall, 
 And here from jutting imminence of rock 
 Peer deeply down into that airy void, 
 "Wing-swept by mj-riad flight of ocean fowl. 
 Where pinions numberless increasing ply, 
 And cries discordant rend the troubled air — 
 A Babel of confusion strangely blent. 
 See there, remote above the ungenial crowd, 
 The croaking raven plume his glossy ^nng ; 
 And there the falcon, swooping from his perch, 
 With trembling motion poising o'er the deep ; 
 There smoothly glides the undulating gull. 
 And gloomy cormorants stand sentinel, 
 Swift pigeons shoot from out each rocky cleft. 
 And bustling puffins wing their rapid flight, 
 While gannet sails along on stately wing, 
 'Mid all the rush and turmoil unconcerned. 
 With feathered life each narrow ledge is set, 
 Each craggy point with varied plumage dressed ; 
 Compact in serried ranks they stand arrayed, 
 And cii-cling thousands envious flit aroimd. 
 But see ! from point to point with giddy bound, 
 Quicker and yet quicker, speed precipitate. 
 Into the depths, successive ledges scorned, 
 A loosened fragment leaps its downward course. 
 Commotion spreads among the timid throng, 
 From cleft and cranny, narrow rift and nook, 
 A seaward-hurrying host affrighted pour ; 
 And multiform disturbance darks the air. 
 As sea-mew's cry, and gannet' s hoarser clang, 
 And puffin, diver, guillamot, and gull, 
 Awake the sounding echoes of the cliflf. 
 To fling their blended discord to the main. 
 
 ^^ Curious sight, ain't it?" said Manners. 
 " Should you like to be one of those beggars 
 who go dangling down there after eggs ? 
 Pm blest if I should 1" 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 Harry perfectly sympathised witli Mm in 
 his preference for a natural death. And 
 they turned away from the doubtful projec- 
 tion where they had been standing for the 
 last few minutes, and faced towards the 
 shore again. 
 
 ^^That, I suppose, is Farringford?" Eger- 
 ton said presently, pointing to the chimneys 
 of a house below them nestling in a sea of 
 green. He wondered whether the Poet 
 Laureate was incubating at the time, and 
 drew a fancy picture of him enveloped in a 
 cloud of inspiration, communing with ab- 
 stractions in some elevated world to which 
 he had not yet been admitted. 
 
 Many smart things were said by both of 
 them, and very facetious indeed they were, 
 at the expense of the unconscious owner of 
 that little nook ; that is to say, they laughed 
 very much at each other's humours, which I 
 suppose implies a kind of subjective wit. 
 
 ^^ Should you like to be a poet, Tom?" 
 asked Harry. And the idea tickled him 
 immensely. '^ I can fancy you," he said, 
 ^^ grinding away at some sentimental effu-
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 115 
 
 sion, — or better still, somethmg grand and 
 heroic, the immortal bard business — ttoXw- 
 $XoV0o;o SaT^aa-a-ris — that kind of thing, 
 you know ! " 
 
 Manners quite appreciated the absurdity 
 of the notion, but at the same time he 
 offered to back himself against Harry for 
 anything he liked. 
 
 ^^ Done along with you," was the reply. 
 ^'What's the subject to be? Something 
 sentimental for choice. I'm a regular devil 
 at sentiment !" 
 
 It was not easy, however, to fix upon a 
 subject, and their poetic efforts, therefore, 
 were not at present called into play — fortu- 
 nately, perhaps, for the reader. 
 
 Manners, probably, had hardly opened a 
 book of poetry, except under compulsion, 
 during the whole course of his life, and 
 therefore looked upon the poetic faculty as 
 something weird and supernatural. 
 
 ^^ You know I'd much sooner be a man," 
 he said, quite seriously, when the habits of 
 the poet-animal came under discussion. 
 ^'Do you suppose Tennyson, now, cats and
 
 116 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 drinks like an ordinary mortal ? I should 
 think he was above that kind of thing." 
 
 ^^ Oh ! I don't know that," said Egerton; 
 "one often comes across creatures of the kind 
 in London ; and they're commonplace-look- 
 ing mortals enough, a good many of them. 
 I'm sure one hears fello\YS that are by way 
 of being philosophers, talking greater non- 
 sense very often than sensible men would." 
 
 "Well, I don't suppose we shall interfere 
 with one another much," laughed Manners ; 
 " so I don't mind their amusing themselves 
 in their own way, if they like it," 
 
 Having delivered himself of this con- 
 siderate assurance, that he had no objection 
 to these poor benighted creatures continu- 
 ing to cultivate the strange line which they 
 had adopted, — an assurance which, had they 
 known it, would no doubt have contributed 
 materially to the advancement of their stu- 
 dies, — Tom, with a satisfied sense of having 
 said a good-natured thing, changed the con- 
 versation to some other subject, which came 
 more within the domain of his interest as a 
 man and a brother.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 117 
 
 The next clay they were to have started 
 for the French coast ; but starting for the 
 French coast in a blazing sun and breathless 
 atmosphere was, as the captain said, ^^a 
 thing some of them Yankee chaps might 
 be able to do — never knowed what they 
 couldn't do, to hear 'em talk ; but there, he 
 couldn't do it." 
 
 A caustic man that captain, and one who 
 had pores which could appreciate a thermo- 
 meter at 110°. He was more expressive, 
 perhaps, than grammatical or choice in his 
 description of the weather, when he said, 
 aj)plying a flowing silk handkerchief to his 
 shining face, '' Well, I mostly sweats pretty 
 free, but that 'ere, it do be uncommon hot." 
 
 There was nothing for it but to lie on 
 deck, whistling for the breeze which never 
 came, and basking under an improvised 
 awning, drinking claret-cup, or reading 
 some yellow-covered novel with thrilling 
 picture on its back. 
 
 Egerton and the young gentleman who 
 rejoiced in the sobriquet of Skindles are thus 
 whiling away the time in light literature
 
 118 HAEEY EGERTOX. 
 
 and smoke, while Manners and their other 
 shipmate have gone ashore, to pick up any 
 crumbs of news which may be going. 
 
 Skindles is deep in a yellow cover, which 
 is almost too exciting for the state of the 
 thermometer; and Harry, in lightest cos- 
 tume, is lying with his hands under his 
 head, and eyes closed, enjoying that soft, 
 delicious, dreamy ecstasy of sloth which 
 such a languid atmosphere induces. Happy 
 visions must have been peopling that luxu- 
 rious trance with bright images of love 
 or other ravishment ; for, though his eyes 
 were closed, his face would be lit up at 
 times with an expression of such serene 
 happiness, that you might have supposed 
 the Elysian fields had been opened to his 
 gaze. But then some different thought 
 came floating through his dream, and the 
 light would die away into a settled hard 
 repose ; the lips would be compressed ; and, 
 in place of that reflection from the mansions 
 of the blest, a something, like the faintest 
 echo of a sigh, would seem to issue from the 
 depths within.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 119 
 
 It was after a change of this kind that 
 he suddenly opened his eyes, and turning 
 towards his companion, asked how it was 
 that he was not at Goodwood. The other 
 roused himself from his novel, took up the 
 silver cup which stood between them, and 
 while he raised it to his lips, answered care- 
 lessly, '' No money, old boy." 
 
 "But you never had any money, had 
 you ? What difference does that make ? " 
 
 " Well, not much, certainly. But you 
 see, young fellow, I owe those infernal 
 
 ring-men such a lot, that 1 don't care 
 
 to face 'em just at present." 
 
 Being of a merry rather than a wise turn, 
 Mr. Shindies had a jovial and reckless en- 
 joyment of life, lost his money regularly 
 with the greatest unconcern, and, if his 
 losses ever did occasion him to feel a 
 little * down,' his manner certainly never 
 betrayed the feeling. 
 
 As Harry did not immediately reply, he 
 went on — '' It ain't only book-makers cither, 
 but there are such a deuce of a lot of duns 
 wanting to be paid, confound 'em — wiits
 
 120 HAHRY EGERTON. 
 
 out, too, all over the place — any amount of 
 reasons for keeping out of the way for a bit ; 
 and there's nothing like a yacht for that. 
 In the first place, don't you see, they don't 
 know where to find you ; and, if they did, 
 you could give 'em the slip at any moment. 
 They haven't a chance, my dear boy, not 
 
 a chance — ^not a d d ghost of a 
 
 chance." 
 
 '^Except in a calm," suggested Harry, 
 who had closed his eyes again, and listened, 
 with an appreciating smile, to Skindles' 
 oration. 
 
 ^' Oh ! hang it, no ; they'd hardly try 
 that on, would they?" he asked, in some 
 alarm. 
 
 Harry was hardly up to the exertion of 
 answering, so he allowed the lingering re- 
 mains of his late smile to expand into a 
 fresh one ; and the other continued — 
 
 " Never fear ; you may take your oath 
 Tom wouldn't stand that ; he's a rare good 
 fellow is Tom — always do a fellow a good 
 turn if he can." 
 
 Egerton had quite energy enough to en-
 
 HABRY EGERTON. 121 
 
 dorse that sfintiment^ — oneof thebest-natured, 
 thoroughly good fellows he knew anywhere 
 — and being a little roused by this temporary 
 enthusiasm, he proceeded to confide to his 
 friend, that in the matter of duns they were 
 both metaphorically and literally in the same 
 boat. ^'They've been at me like a pack of 
 jackals," he said, " for the last few months. 
 I had to go to my father at last, and he told 
 me he'd be shot if he paid a single one of 
 them — what you may call very cheerful, 
 exceedingly paternal, and remarkably plea- 
 sant." With this he lay back again, gazed 
 up into space, and mused. 
 
 '' Oh ! that's nothing when you're used to 
 it," said the other. " I've had lots of rows 
 with my father, and he's paid up once or 
 twice. But, hang it all, one must have some 
 excitement, you know." 
 
 Though Harry didn't yet quite agree with 
 his friend's utter indifference to principle of 
 any kind, he couldn't help laughing at the 
 off-hand ease with which he delivered the 
 sentiment. It is not to men like Egerton, 
 who have all the will but not the power to
 
 122 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 treat their creditors fairly, that the aphorism, 
 " As long as a young man does not pay his 
 debts he will look upon all men as rogues," 
 is to be applied, but rather to the Skindleses 
 of young mankind. 
 
 Comparing notes on the subject of unruly 
 creditors lasted for some minutes, and then 
 Egerton asked — '^Did you know Eivers 
 before?" 
 
 '' Just to nod to. I don't much care 
 about him ; he's one of your gay deceivers." 
 
 " Wasn't he in the Blues ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he was the man who had that row 
 about Mrs. What's-her-name — you remem- 
 ber — three or four years ago." 
 
 ^^ I do remember sometliing about it. 
 What does he do now ?" 
 
 "Oh! I don't know — loafs about, and tries 
 to get into more rows. Didn't you hear about 
 
 his " but here the conversation lapsed 
 
 into scandal, too delightfully wicked to be 
 allowed into these confoundedly moral pages. 
 
 Newspapers and other luxuries off shore 
 appeared alongside shortly after, with an- 
 other friend or two, whom Manners had
 
 HAHHY EGEHTON. 123 
 
 brought off to dine. And for yet another 
 night they remained anchored off Cowes. 
 
 A fresh breeze and a fair tide next morn- 
 ing bore them rapidly down the Solent, on 
 their way to Cherbourg. Eight merrily 
 they tore along through the smooth water, 
 past Yarmouth's mimic castle, past nestling 
 villas where sea-worn admirals fill up the 
 measure of their years; past Alum Bay, 
 with its rainbow-hues of trickling sand;' 
 past the Keedles rock upon the swii'ling 
 tide, and out into the open sea. The breeze 
 freshens as the land recedes, and by luncheon- 
 time they are bowling along with topmasts 
 housed and a reef in the mainsail. 
 
 ^'Well, that's an animal that's fearfully 
 and wonderfully made, if you like," said 
 Manners, as he tried ineffectually to dissect 
 a razor-breasted fowl, which had evidently 
 not thriven upon Cowes food. '^ You may 
 take your oath," he added, laughing, ^' that 
 that bird was never caught with chaff!" 
 
 ' ' Don't part freely, eh. Shindies ? " laughed 
 Eivers ; " like other old birds we know !" 
 
 '' There'll be the devil to pay here pre-
 
 124 HABRY EGERTON. 
 
 sently," cried Harry at this moment, as his 
 plate made a feint of hopping on to his knee, 
 at the instigation of a heavier sea than usual. 
 ^^ There's something wrong with this con- 
 founded old table, Tom ; it don't half swing." 
 And there was no doubt that it did not 
 half swing. If there had been, ocular de- 
 monstration of the fact was afforded the 
 very next minute. For the noble ship 
 again lurched over more than before ; the 
 various bottles on the table inclined grace- 
 fully towards Harry's side, and with the 
 most perfect deliberation fell down before 
 him, put their heads over the side, and dis- 
 charged their contents into his plate and 
 over his knees. It was cruel of the others 
 to go into such shouts of laughter, for there 
 undoubtedly was a hitch somewhere. That 
 table was usually a well-behaved swinging 
 table, accommodating itself to circumstances 
 with a most precise and admirable gravity, 
 not given to practical joking or other demon- 
 strations of a like disorderly nature, and in 
 every respect a model to swinging tables. 
 But on the present occasion, '^ alas ! what a
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 125 
 
 falling off was there." This hitherto un- 
 impeachable article of furniture had (owing 
 to neglect probably on the part of the 
 steward) been suffered to become what is 
 vulgarly termed '^ screwed," or, as it is more 
 commonly expressed, ^' tight." And the 
 consequences of this unseemly condition of 
 what he had hitherto taken to be a well- 
 conducted and perfectly trustworthy fixture, 
 Egerton is now deploring, as he mops a pair 
 of saturated trousers amid shrieks of un- 
 quenchable laughter from his friends. 
 
 The table having been persuaded to resume 
 its normal function of a swinging table, 
 luncheon came to ah end without further 
 accident. And by the time they arrived 
 again on deck, the captain had made up his 
 mind that they were going to have a gale of 
 wind. It had gone round to the sou'west. 
 And this captain, who was a cautious as 
 well as a caustic man, was for putting back 
 before they got into the middle of the 
 Channel. 
 
 This proposition, however, was summarily 
 negatived by the owner of the vessel, who
 
 126 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 knew his man, and liked the excitement of a 
 gale. He was warmly seconded, too, by 
 Egerton, who thought that the captain, in 
 going over the compass with him the day 
 before, had dwelt somewhat unnecessarily 
 upon lubber's point. 
 
 There was no objection, however, Tom 
 said, to having another reef taken in if he 
 liked; and accordingly Skindles, who had 
 taken the tiller, was directed to bring her up 
 in the wind for that purpose. And this he 
 did so effectually that every one on deck 
 was thoroughly drenched. 
 
 Sou'westers and waterproof garments now 
 came into requisition-^some of the party, 
 however, preferring to sail under bare polls, 
 letting the wind play through theii' dis- 
 hevelled hair, as they hung on by the 
 rigging and watched the water seething 
 alongside. 
 
 The wind had now got well round to the 
 sou' west, and they made but little pro- 
 gress. The captain again suggested putting 
 back. Prospect of thick weather— might 
 get out of their reckoning — '' didn't know
 
 HAREY EGERTON. 127 
 
 aothin' at all about any thin', that like, in 
 that 'ere kind of weather." 
 
 But they still kept on. And the plunging 
 motion soon began to tell upon the inner 
 man, and brought even the old salts, as 
 they considered themselves, back to their 
 London appetite at dinner-time. 
 
 There was just enough wind to make it 
 exciting — too much, the captain thought, 
 to be either safe or pleasant ; and they 
 remained upon deck till darkness set in, 
 enjoying the whistling of the gale, and the 
 rushing of the waves, and the dashing of 
 the spray, as she pitched and rolled and 
 dipped her bowsprit into the middle of 
 opposing seas. 
 
 So they continued on into the night, 
 getting snatches of sleep at intervals, till 
 awakened by some more than usual commo- 
 tion overhead. The soda-water in one 
 locker clinking a treble to the bottled Bass 
 in another, the rigging doing Bones, and 
 the entertainment being varied occasionally 
 by a concerted roulade from the entire com- 
 pany, as boots and brushes, and all the fur-
 
 128 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 nitm^e which had slipped from its moorings, 
 went spinning across the cabins — up and 
 down, back again, change across — through 
 all the intricacies of a most spirited move- 
 ment, enjoying themselves thoroughly, and 
 full of the most mercurial life at the attain- 
 ment of such unwonted freedom. This little 
 game of pitch - and - toss was still further 
 enlivened m the night by the giving way of 
 some of the tackle; and the scurrying of 
 feet overhead, and the banging of blocks, 
 and the rattling of rigging, and the flap- 
 ping of sails sounded as though Pande- 
 monium might have been let loose upon 
 deck, and the devils were playing at high 
 cockalorum in hobnails over their heads ! 
 
 Sleepy countenances arrived on deck in 
 dishabille to find that no great harm had 
 been done; and when they emerged again 
 in the early morning, they found that the 
 wind had gone round to the nor'west, the 
 captain had turned in for an hour's sleep, 
 and there was a prospect of their reaching 
 the French coast that afternoon. At pre- 
 sent, like the Spanish Armada, it was not
 
 HASHY IGIHTOK. 129 
 
 to be seen, because it was not yet in 
 sight. 
 
 Before evening they were at anchor, in 
 the midst of various other yachts, in Cher- 
 bourg harbour. But we haye no time to 
 follow their proceedings at that place. A 
 sniff of the Bay of Biscay, and back again 
 to the villa' d hills of Torquay ; a cricket- 
 match there on that pretty ground, with its 
 rustic pavilion; and then round the coast, 
 en route for the west of Scotland. 
 
 That sunny weather was rather made for 
 toying with Amaryllis in the shade than for 
 yachting. Light head-winds and a clear sky 
 become monotonous on board a yacht, where 
 the days are so long, where you require so 
 little sleep in that fresh, bracing air, and 
 where the holy^stoning of the deck, like 
 a mercenary marriage (as the author of 
 ^' Eothen" says), is so conducive to early 
 rising. The delicious plunge over the side, 
 the light dressing, and tremendous break- 
 fast are well over by ten o'clock. Then 
 you dangle a line over the stern in the hope 
 of attracting some foolish fish which has got 
 
 VOL* I. K
 
 130 HAHRY EGERTOJT. 
 
 out of its depth, and the sails flap back- 
 wards and forwards monotonously as the 
 vessel plays at gybing ; or you lazily shoot 
 at the lazy gull as he glides dippingly by, 
 looking out languidly at intervals along the 
 wide waste of glittering water, in the hope 
 of seeing a ruffle which may herald a coming 
 breeze. And joy ! there it is astern, coming 
 up hand over hand. The sails fill — you 
 begin to move — quicker, quicker ! and now 
 you are cutting through the water at a most 
 exhilarating pace. The cabin gives up its 
 occupants. Your spirits rise, and you tie 
 an old black bottle astern, and go into fits 
 of laughter at its curious antics as it goes 
 bobbing around, dipping and curveting and 
 prancing about in the most comical manner 
 imaginable, and defying every effort of your 
 saloon pistols to put an end to its gambols. 
 
 The breeze goes on till evening, and you 
 anchor for the night in a pretty bay — land 
 to stretch your legs and inspect the country, 
 before coming back to dine off the fresh fish 
 which the sailors have caught in your ab- 
 sence- — not to mention the cool claret-cup
 
 HAHRY EGERTO^. 131 
 
 wliicli has been iced at the bottom of the 
 «ea. 
 
 Then the after-dinner cigar, lounging in 
 the soft air against the boom, or reposing 
 luxuriously upon cushions and rugs upon 
 the deck, where all has been made snug for 
 the night, and the sailors are spinning yarns 
 over their pipes in the forecastle. And 
 then when twilight merges into night, 
 and the stars creep out, and gem the vault 
 above with twinkling mysteries, when 
 the heavy dew begins to damp the air, and 
 silence broods upon the wave, you turn in 
 to the sound refreshing sleep which is bred 
 of good digestion, — emerging upon deck 
 the following morning to enjoy the early 
 stillness of the day, the freshness of the air, 
 and the bright morning sun, which is flood- 
 ing with its clear light the green fields and 
 wooded hills around the bay, which seem 
 so doubly fresh and green and cool at this 
 early hour. 
 
 This is the sort of life from which Harry 
 found it very hard to tear himself away. 
 But it was already late in August before
 
 132 UAUWt EGEHTOK, 
 
 they arrived off Anglesea. Eeltictaiitly, 
 therefore, he bade farewell to his late com- 
 panions, and exchanged the trim neatness of 
 the yacht for the oily smell of the Kings- 
 town mail steamer — fonnd his route to 
 Galway, and arrived at Castle Greville on 
 the following day.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 Castle Greville was a very £air specimen 
 of the Irish house, or castle, as they delight 
 to call themselves, which go by the name of 
 Castle Eackrents, and of which Gal way boasts 
 not a few. GreviUe liked that it should be so. 
 It smacked of the good old Irish customs. 
 And being a thorough Irishman in attach- 
 ment to everything connected with his 
 country, a very Moore in his patriotism, he 
 never was so happy as during the three 
 months of the autumn when he came down 
 here to reside in this tumble-down old place, 
 amongst his mountain tenantry. The un- 
 sophisticated attachment of the mountaineers, 
 associated with the picturesque melancholy 
 of decaying battlements and crumbling 
 walls, would diffuse upon his life a dim 
 reflection of a half-regretted past, — a past
 
 134 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 of feudal loyalty and generous devotion, of 
 open-handed hospitality, freedom, and en- 
 joyment, — which he almost wished could 
 come again. One corner of the house was 
 devoted to furniture, and was comfortable 
 enough ; though Harry used to say that the 
 rats rode steeple-chases over his boots in the 
 night, and the wind howled dismally and 
 chill down the long stone passages, whistling 
 under the bed-room doors and shrieking 
 through the gaping window-sashes. 
 
 This was not the house where each guest, 
 on retiring for the night, was provided with 
 a second candle and a hunting whip, to keep 
 off the rats, — ^the second candle to be lighted 
 when the first expired, and when this was 
 done, the whip to be cracked at intervals 
 during the night. But it was a very 
 similar establishment, and roosting birds 
 and bats presented to the owner a yearly 
 testimonial of displaced mortar and rubbish, 
 in consideration of the high state of com- 
 fort and ventilation in which the gaps and 
 chinks in the walls were kept for their 
 accommodation.
 
 HARRY EGERTON, 135 
 
 The beauty of tlie site, however, made 
 ample amends for the possible discomfort of 
 dilapidation. 
 
 From the slope of a wooded hill the 
 windows looked out upon a wild and broken 
 valley, through which there foamed adown 
 the rapids, flashing in the unwonted sun- 
 light, a most undeniable salmon river. 
 Mountains and fantastic shapes of hill 
 stretched away into the blue distance, and 
 heath-covered slopes rising immediately 
 behind the house and woods of the demesne 
 (as such place is called), induced pleasant 
 thoughts of whirring grouse and galloping 
 hare, cool mountain streams, and mid-day 
 sandwiches. 
 
 Utterly retired from prim civilisation, it 
 seemed the perfection of a wild retreat ; and 
 Egerton began to wonder, as his carman put 
 on the usual spurt which had been kept for 
 the approach, why people came so little to 
 Ireland, when there was such charming 
 scenery to be found there as well as in 
 Scotland. 
 
 He had often heard enthusiastic accounts
 
 136 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 of the place and people from Maud Greville, 
 and had often promised to accompany her 
 some day to verify them. But hitherto, in 
 all his holidays and yacations and leisure 
 time, his father had always made him his 
 companion, and so he had never yet fulfilled 
 his intentions. For Mr. Egerton, since his 
 wife's death, had never visited Castle Gre- 
 ville, or, in fact, Ireland. So that Harry 
 had all the charm of novelty to enhance the 
 beauties of this mountain scenery, which, 
 like Ireland itself, requires to be known to 
 be appreciated. 
 
 There was a sentiment, too, about this 
 place for him. It was here that his mother 
 had been born, and lived, and died ; — that 
 mother whom he had never seen, — whose 
 picture only, in his father's study, made 
 him feel how half the pleasure of his^ life 
 had been buiied in her grave. 
 
 It is many years now — some seven or 
 eight-and-twenty — since his father, then a 
 good-looking and extravagant younger son, 
 used to come to visit his elder sister at Castle 
 Greville — that sister who, now so much in
 
 HAREY EGERTON. 137 
 
 awe of him, used tlien to show her weakness 
 and her fondness by helping him to pay his 
 debts, or to extricate himself from some of 
 the varied difficulties in which he was con- 
 stantly involved. '^The Castle "was then 
 the principal residence of the family, and 
 it was natui-al enough that Philip Egerton, 
 during his frequent visits, should fall in love 
 with Constance Greville, a delicate and 
 tender creature, so full of soft beauty, grace, 
 and kindness, that she was the idol of the 
 warm-hearted peasantry for miles round. 
 
 The only obstacle to their marriage being 
 removed by the death of Philip Egerton' s 
 mother, and his succession to her property, 
 they were married, simply and quietly, in 
 Ireland, Miss Greville' s fortune being handed 
 over to her husband without any settlement 
 or interference of lawyer, and going towards 
 paying Mr. Philip Egerton' s many debts. 
 There was, however, a kind of tacit under- 
 standing that it was to remain a charge 
 upon his property for the benefit of any 
 younger children there might be. 
 
 Two or three years after they had been
 
 138 HAEEY EGEETON. 
 
 married, Harry's elder brother vras born, 
 and Mrs. Egerton, after hovering between 
 life and death for many days, recovered at 
 length, only to succumb at the birth of her 
 second son, a year or two after. 
 
 Both children had been born at Castle 
 Greville, and, as she had often wished, here, 
 in her early, well-loved home, she died. 
 Eut a day was her mother separated from 
 her child, and they were laid side by side in 
 one grave, in that shady corner under the 
 drooping ashes and the sombre yews. 
 
 It was a sad day in all that country 
 round. From village and from town, from 
 roadside cabins, mountain glens, and far-off 
 valleys, miles and miles away, there gathered 
 a weeping crowd of young and old, rich 
 and poor, every creed and every class. 
 Little children, whose own cries were hushed 
 by the sorrow which they saw and heard 
 around, were dragged long distances by 
 crippled mothers, or stooping age, to vent 
 their passionate laments over the grave of 
 their darling mistress and their dear young 
 lady. Tears flowed from many an eye which
 
 HAERY EGERTON. 139 
 
 never knew a tear before ; and many a 
 strong man's <3]ieek was wet with heart- 
 wrung grief, as the dark hearse dragged its 
 mournful course along through the sorrow- 
 ing crowds which lined the roads. How 
 many an act of kindly sympathy was called 
 up from the dreary past ; how many a word 
 of compassionate interest was remembered, 
 to give fresh poignancy to theii' grief, as the 
 sad procession passed along and disappeared 
 from view ! They clung about the hearse, 
 they tore their hair, and beat their breasts, 
 and filled the air with their frantic exclama- 
 tions of agonised regret, pressing into the 
 churchyard to get one glimpse even of the 
 narrow coffin which held her loved remains. 
 Catholic and Protestant — all differences of 
 creed forgotten in their love for lost benevo- 
 lence — ^pressed eagerly, passionately, round 
 the vault, and a wild cry of despairing 
 sorrow rent the pitying air as the studded 
 box disappeared from their gaze in the gloom 
 below, and that aching void at their hearts 
 told them but too clearly that those kindly 
 faces would be seen no more, — that those
 
 140 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 eyes were dull, those lips were mute, and 
 that henceforth the solace of kind words even 
 might be wanting to alleviate their poverty. 
 
 The sun shone out upon that fair land- 
 scape of wood and hill and winding water ; 
 the birds carolled forth their joyous songs, 
 and nature seemed to mock the grief which 
 dwelt upon the land, as they returned 
 wearily, drearily, to their sorrow-stricken 
 homes. 
 
 But now, when they heard that Miss 
 Greville's son was at the Castle, although 
 long years had since elapsed, and a genera- 
 tion had arisen which knew her not, yet time 
 had not effaced from the Irish heart the 
 memory of former kindness ; and those who 
 had experienced her sympathy, — ay, and 
 those who had only heard of it, — flocked 
 down to bid him welcome. Many a present, 
 too, of eggs or butter, did these simple, 
 loyal-hearted creatui^es bring with them, in 
 acknowledgment of their gratitude . ' Wasn' t 
 he her own son?' 'And oh! but it was 
 herself that was a good friend to the poor, — 
 heaven rest her soul ! ' ' Many was the
 
 HAHHY EGERTON. l4l 
 
 sore heart in that place when the Lord took 
 her from them.' 
 
 Poor Harry was rather bewildered at the 
 blessings that were showered upon him, and 
 the baskets of eggs and fowls that were 
 thrust into his hand. It seemed a robbery 
 to take them ; and yet, when he had hesi- 
 tatingly wished to make some return for all 
 these good things, the injured look with 
 which his offer had been received made him 
 blush for the insult which he had done to their 
 feelings. He used, therefore, to carry his 
 presents gravely into the house, and deliver 
 them, with some amusement, to the tender 
 mercy of the butler, who would smile grimly 
 as he conducted a brood of young chickens 
 to the poultry yard,— or um-olled a pound of 
 butter from a coarse, clean wrapper, which 
 Harry would return again to the donor with 
 many expressions of thanks for its contents. 
 And then these generous peasants would 
 trudge home again in their bare feet, and 
 bless his young face and his happy smile, 
 which reminded them of his mother, and all 
 the kind words she had said, and all the kind
 
 142 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 things she had done, which had won their 
 hearts more than fiye-and-twenty years ago. 
 
 Often an aged woman, who could scarcely 
 hobble with the help of a crutch, would 
 borrow a pair of shoes and a cloak, and come 
 by stages from three or foiu- miles off, 
 getting a lift from a cart by the way, or a 
 lodging at some roadside cabin for the 
 night, just to get one sight of her dear 
 young lady's boy before she died. 
 
 ^^ And why wouldn't I ?" she would say 
 when Harry suggested that the journey was 
 too far for her. '^ And why wouldn't I ? 
 Wouldn't I go twice the distance ? Ay, 
 and go on my knees the whole way, if I 
 might only get a sight of her face again. 
 I'll never live to see such another, your 
 honour. Don't I mind well the last time 
 that ever I saw her sweet young face, when 
 she came to the house above, and gave me 
 money to get back the poor wee cow that 
 they took to the pound?" And the poor 
 old creature's cheeks would stream with 
 tears at the recollection, and she would try 
 to dry them with the corner of her cloak as
 
 HARRY EGERTON. ' 143 
 
 she sobbed out, " Indeed I would, your 
 honour, come that distance to see her own 
 son, and be glad to do it.'' 
 
 And this is the jieasantry whom ignorant 
 or prejudiced persons, who know nothing of 
 their good qualities, presume to brand with 
 every ignoble and degraded feeling. Per- 
 sons who, many of them, may have actually 
 spent a whole fortnight among the people, — 
 or rather, in the country. What experience 
 can they have had of the depth and warmth of 
 affection which underlies the Irish nature, — 
 the loyal devotion which they show to the old 
 races of the country, — the ardent gratitude 
 which they cherish for kindness received, — 
 or that open generosity which is only cramped 
 by poverty ? What do they know of the 
 impulsive attachment to family, home, and 
 country, which, beginning from the focus of 
 their o^vn hearths, widens out in ever-increas- 
 ing circles till it embraces in its broad grasp 
 the whole of their beloved island, for which, 
 as for their landlords, they would die if neces- 
 sary, rather than it or they should be in- 
 sulted or injured ?
 
 144 HAiRllt EGERTO!?t. 
 
 Pity it is that noble qualities such as 
 these should be misdirected or destroyed by 
 the evil counsels of interested incendiaries, 
 or the oppression of harsh and inconsiderate 
 proprietors. 
 
 Among this latter class Spencer Greville 
 certainly did not rank* When was ever com- 
 plaint addressed to his careless ear ? When 
 did a poor man from his estate turn away from 
 his presence in despair or disappointment ? 
 Even if he was unable to do as they wished, 
 yet his refusal was so softened by the kind- 
 ness of his words and the interest of his 
 manner, that the granting of the request 
 alone would have sent the petitioner away 
 more grateful than he was* l^o business of 
 pleasure interfered between himself and his 
 tenants. He was always ready to stop and 
 listen, make suggestions, or provide sub- 
 stantial assistance. And yet, with all his 
 kindness and consideration, he was consistent, 
 just, and stern, if occasion required. A man 
 who tried to take advantage of his easy 
 gopd-nature found no sympathy amongst his 
 neighbours, not one of whom but had the
 
 HARRY EaERTON. 145 
 
 recollection of some kindly act, or some 
 compassionate word, to endear them to their 
 landlord, whose very kindness was thus the 
 protection of his interest. Did a cabin re- 
 quire new thatching, or a cow-shed new 
 roofing? Grreville would take as much interest 
 in it as if it was his own — would tell the 
 steward to let them have the requisite tim- 
 ber, and, if they were very poor, would send 
 his own carpenter to help. There was not 
 a little holding or a farm that he had not 
 gone over himself to see that it was not too 
 highly rented, — not an item in the sum of 
 their daily existence which he had not con- 
 sidered. 
 
 And though anxious to improve their con- 
 dition, and make them more comfortable 
 in every way, he never imposed his 
 theories of comfort upon them. He never 
 said to a woman. You must be clean and tidy 
 — and uncomfortable. It was for their 
 comfort, and not for his own, that he tried 
 to induce them to prefer cleanliness to dirt ; 
 and if they could not be made to see that 
 it was preferable, then it was better, ho 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 thought, to let them be happy in their 
 own way than miserable in his. Eooms 
 were never swept and garnished at his 
 approach, only to relapse into their normal 
 confusion at his departure. And the con- 
 sideration which he showed for the feelings 
 and prejudices of the people won for him a 
 far larger share of affection than those pro- 
 prietors can boast whose estates are said to 
 be in such first-rate order, — cottages so clean, 
 gardens so tidy, furniture so white, — very 
 much of which is the result of fear, which 
 sacrifices the comfort of the people to the 
 idea of the landlord. Try by all means to 
 lead them to more civilised habits, but don't 
 force your own notions upon them. Xo 
 landlord can ever be a good landlord 
 without thoroughly entering into, and sym- 
 pathising with, the feelings and interests 
 of the poorer class of people who form his 
 tenants. Probably many are deficient in 
 imagination, and cannot see a position fi-om 
 any point of view but their own, — cannot con- 
 ceive that any expression may have another 
 meaning than the one which they attach to
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 147 
 
 it tliemselves. But they ought to cultivate 
 their imagination, and accustom themselves 
 to enter into poor people's hearts, and look 
 upon what they themselves say or do through 
 the medium of those other eyes, which see 
 so differently from theii* own. And they 
 would often find, if they did so, that what 
 appears consistent justice to the landlord 
 is looked upon by the poor tenant as mere 
 severity or unfeeling harshness. Others 
 may have the requisite quality of imagina- 
 tion, but are without the natural kindliness 
 of heart which would prompt them to act 
 differently ; or they think that poor people 
 have no sensibility, that they don't require 
 to be treated with the tact which is necessary 
 in what is called " society." Such men may 
 have the name and appearance of polished 
 gentlemen, but they can't pretend to the 
 true spirit of the gentleman, whose good 
 manners are founded upon consideration for 
 the feelings of others. Expediency, interest, 
 fear, servility, or some such other influence 
 it is which quickens their sympathy, or 
 rather, furbishes up theii' tact, and leads
 
 148 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 them to avoid giving offence. And what is 
 tact but the practical application of sym- 
 pathy ? Tact presupposes sympathy. Ima- 
 gination points out, by a kind of instinct, the 
 existence of certain feelings in others, under 
 certain circumstances. Sympathy appreci- 
 ates them, and, subject to some external 
 agency, whether of kindliness, or considera- 
 tion, or delicacy, or more ignoble promptings, 
 fashions our conduct so as not to wound 
 them. But where the true foundation of 
 tact does not exist, we shall always find a 
 man giving offence to his inferiors by a 
 contemptuous or imperious manner, which, 
 among his equals or superiors, expediency, 
 or a regard for his character, would induce 
 him to avoid. For among his dependants 
 he sees no necessity to guard against giving 
 offence, even if he does look upon them 
 otherwise than as mere puppets of his plea- 
 sure. It never occurs to him how much 
 attachment and good-Avill may be lost by a 
 disregard of their sensibility, and how much 
 affection may be gained by a kind and con- 
 siderate bearing.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 149 
 
 But to those who do look upon their 
 dependants in the light of fellow-men, en- 
 dowed with the same feelings as themselves, 
 what position can be imagined productive of 
 more real enjoyment than that of a landlord 
 living in the midst of his tenantry, doing 
 good all round him, relieving their distresses, 
 and providing for their wants — receiving in 
 return their respect and attachment, to give 
 an additional impetus to the inward satisfac- 
 tion which true beneficence produces ; hav- 
 ing, too, the gratification of feeling that his 
 life is being one of usefulness, that his part 
 in the world is being duly fulfilled, and that 
 hundreds are paving for him with their bless- 
 ings a road to heaven ? 
 
 Many men, under the influence of an im- 
 pulsive humanity, are compelled to wander 
 abroad to seek some field for their philanthropy 
 where they have no special interest to attract 
 them. But with the owner of an estate there 
 is an ever-present fund of interest and scope 
 for employment ready prepared for him, in the 
 care of the little knot of human beings com- 
 mitted to his especial charge. He need not
 
 150 HAERY EGERTO??'. 
 
 haye that compreliensiye grasp of sympathy, 
 that enthusiasm of humanity, which pervades 
 some men with a love for eyery indiyiclual 
 member of their kind. But he may well be 
 able to take in the compass of his own estate, 
 and feel that interest in the happiness and 
 comfort of each of his tenants which eyery 
 landlord ought to feel. He is the focus 
 towards which all the rays of their interest 
 and attachment concentrate, and he liyes 
 but in the comfort of his people — whose 
 aifection and kindly feeling towards him, 
 combined with the nearer ties of family and 
 home, might be the beginning and the end, 
 the elements and the whole of his satisfied 
 existence. 
 
 When the pleasures of resident proprietor- 
 ship are so attractive, it is difficult to conceive 
 how men can reconcile to their hearts or their 
 consciences that systematic disregard of their 
 duties as landlords which has been so fatal an 
 element in the discord which has so long 
 defaced the Irishman's unfortunate country. 
 Do they suppose that they will not have to 
 answer at some future day for the neglect of
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 151 
 
 the opportunities of doing good, which lay 
 ever before them waiting to be utilised? Do 
 they not consider that it is at their door that 
 will be laid the growth of bad feelings, and 
 the dying out of good ones, which their pre- 
 sence and encouragement were needed to 
 foster and cherish ? — that it is the want of 
 the tranquillising influence of their imme- 
 diate intercourse which has caused sedition 
 and disloyalty to spring up upon their pro- 
 perties? — that it is to the rapacity and 
 greediness which drew from the land its last 
 penny, and spent not a farthing in return, 
 that the prevailing hostility and discontent 
 are mainly due ? — and that it is indirectly 
 through their agency that the naturally fine 
 qualities of their tenantry have been per- 
 verted, and their worst ones inflamed ? 
 
 If every landlord throughout Ireland had 
 been a Spencer Greville, we should never 
 have heard of successive rebellions rising 
 up from the ashes of former wrongs. Under 
 the kindly training of such bencflcent hands, 
 even the memory of the injury which had 
 been done, in the trampling under foot of
 
 152 HAERY EGEBTON. 
 
 their religion, miglit have died outj instead 
 of rankling, as it has done, in every breast, 
 and breaking forth at times, as fresh causes 
 for discontent were provided by the hard- 
 heartedness of landlords whom they had 
 never seen. Some may not have it in 
 their power to provide substantial assistance 
 wherever it may be needed ; they cannot, 
 perhaps, aiford to remit the hardly-collected 
 rent. But there are other ways of increas- 
 ing the well-being of a tenantry. Kindly 
 tones and compassionate sympathy have 
 often far more soothing effects than mere 
 almsgiving. And a tender and considerate 
 interest in the daily life and occupation of 
 each will often sow the seeds of an affec- 
 tionate gratitude, from which there will bud 
 and blossom such an evergreen loyalty and 
 attachment as the warm-hearted peasantry 
 of Ireland alone are capable of feeling.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 To return from a very lengtliy digression. 
 
 Mr. Egerton, after his wife's funeral, 
 went . abroad with his family for some 
 months, and joined his younger sister, Lady 
 Belvedere, in Italy, where she had been left 
 by her lord, recovering from the birth of 
 her first and only child. 
 
 For many years after Mrs. Egerton's 
 death. Castle Greville remained uninhabited ; 
 Spencer's father finding it impossible to live 
 in a place where the associations were so 
 painful, and where he was continually being 
 reminded of this double funeral ; and, until 
 his eldest son married, the place had been 
 allowed almost to go to ruin. At his father's 
 death, some years since, Spencer had re- 
 turned to live there for two or three months 
 every year; and Mrs. Greville was glad
 
 154 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 enough to break off her connection with 
 Ireland, and retire with Maud, then a little 
 girl of eleven years old, to the charge of 
 her brother's establishment. Greville had, 
 three or four years before, been left a 
 widower, with a little "Walter and a little 
 Constance, now five and six years old 
 respectively, who always accompanied him 
 to Castle Greville, as the spoilt companions 
 of a too-indulgent father. Yery few lessons 
 they did when they got into the mountains. 
 They were the very life of the old place, and 
 the delightful torment of every gardener 
 and man about the house. What romps, too, 
 they used to have with good-natured cousin 
 Harry ! how they used to chase him round 
 the chairs and uhder the tables, and climb 
 over him, and ruffle his hair — making the 
 echoing walls ring with their merry laughter 
 the while ! Up the stairs, along the stone 
 passages, in and out of the empty bed-rooms, 
 what famous games of hide-and-seek those 
 were, and what peals of excited merriment 
 would start from dark corners and ■capacious 
 cupboards as the lurking occupant was de-
 
 HAEHY EGERTON. 155 
 
 tected in his hiding-place I The old house 
 hardly knew itself on a wet day, when out- 
 door sports were not practicable, and Harry 
 was drawn into a game of play with these 
 noisy little monsters ; and even papa some- 
 times would join them, and be as full of fun 
 and noise and spirits as the best of them, to 
 the no small astonishment of one or two 
 staid old men who were in the house at the 
 time. 
 
 I can't fancy Colonel Montgomery, with 
 his stiff collar and frill, ever being crawled 
 over by chikben. He was like a yard of 
 starch, a regular man of the old school, who 
 came down to dinner in a curious mechanism 
 of shirt-front and waistcoat, the mysteries of 
 which Harry's eye had never been able to 
 solve. His coat-collar was as high as 
 his head, and his contempt for everything 
 new, or what belonged to the present day, 
 was only equalled by the systematic regu- 
 larity with which he contradicted every- 
 thing you said. If the sun was shining 
 brilliantly, and you hazarded the remark 
 that it was a beautiful day, he would tell
 
 156 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 you there was rain in that sky. If it was 
 pouring with rain, and you said it was wet, 
 he wouki reply that, for that country, it was 
 really remarkably fine weather — that coun- 
 try, where some one has said that the 
 preyalent weather is rain, with showers 
 between. Get Colonel Montgomery into an 
 argument, and he was obstinate as any pig 
 in defence of his opinion, until he had 
 brought you round to his view of the point, 
 when he would become equally obstinate in 
 arguing that his original opinion, as coin- 
 cided in by you, could not hold water for 
 an instant. 
 
 The morning after Harry's arrival, the 
 day before the 20th, they strolled out — a 
 party of men — to look at the farm. ■ Gre- 
 ville always had considerable farming opera- 
 tions going on, although he lived so little 
 in the place; but he very properly consi- 
 dered that some employment was required 
 for the poorer tenants, and desired, at the 
 same time, to spend among them a fair 
 share of the money which he drew from 
 this portion of his property.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 157 
 
 " That's a good rick of hay, Colonel," he 
 said, as they stood in the haggard smoking 
 their pipes. 
 
 ^' Small enough, I say," replied Colonel 
 Montgomery, who had a cuiious habit of 
 tacking on ^^I say" to almost every sen- 
 tence — a peculiarity which, in moments of 
 excitement, became irresistibly ludicrous. 
 ^^ 'Not too well saved, either," he added. 
 
 ^' Well, I don't know," rejoined Greville, 
 slightly smiling ; '^ I don't think there's 
 much fault to find with that, is there ? " 
 pulling out a handful. 
 
 '^ Fusty, I say, fusty, — a little fusty. If 
 you will try these new-fangled notions of 
 making hay, what can you expect, I say, — I 
 say, what can you expect ? Stick to the 
 old way, is my plan, — the old way, sir, the 
 old way!" 
 
 ^'I'm fairly satisfied with this trial any- 
 how," said Greville. ^' I don't notice any 
 fusty smell ; and it's a great saving if you 
 have fine weather, getting it in at once, 
 instead of leaving it out so long to the rain. 
 Think of the waste there is in every cock."
 
 158 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 ^^May do in England; — doesn't snit tlie 
 grass of this country; — too moist, — too 
 moist, — different kind of grass altogether. 
 iNo, no ; no experiments for me. I don't like 
 your English fashions. But, God bless me ! 
 now that we've got these confounded rail- 
 ways "overrunning the coimtry, it's impos- 
 sible to say what we shall do next." 
 
 "You're not much troubled with rail- 
 ways up in your part of Ulster, Colonel, I 
 think," said Sir Hemy Elake, a Galway 
 neighbour of Greville's, who was well ac- 
 quainted with the other's old-fashioned pre- 
 judices. 
 
 " Thank God, they haven't got as far as 
 me yet!" replied the Colonel. "But I 
 don't expect to live in peace and quiet 
 much longer. They're trying to get a line 
 under my very nose, sir, — under my own 
 door, and had the impudence, — the impu- 
 dence, I say, — to ask me to help 'em ! What 
 do they want railways for ? Euin the 
 country. Let them carry their butter to 
 market in carts, as their fathers did. Gad, 
 sir, you can't travel nowadays without
 
 HAERY EGERTON. 159 
 
 risking your neck in one of these tearing, 
 upsetting, bone-smashing machines. Mark 
 my words, they'll have to come back to the 
 old stage-coach and posting. Safest, much 
 the safest, I say, and quickest in the end." 
 Colonel Montgomery brought his stick down 
 with a decisiye movement upon the ground 
 as he finished, and turned to find fault with 
 the cattle feeding on the rich after-grass 
 where the party now stood. 
 
 Greville tried inefi'ectually to persuade 
 him that Devons throve upon that kind of 
 pasture, but the Colonel would hear of 
 nothing but the old Irish ^'mountainy" 
 animal for poor lands. ^'IN'othing like the old 
 Kerry, I say, — nothing like the old Kerry." 
 
 IS'othing would please him. They stopped 
 to look at a promising field of turnips. The 
 merits of superphosphate as a manure came 
 under discussion. The Colonel gave a grunt 
 of dissatisfaction — admitted that his steward 
 had persuaded him to try it — great risk — 
 foolish of him to allow it ; but the fellow 
 was lucky, the season was favourable, and 
 his crop therefore good. ^^ Dangerous ex-
 
 160 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 periment, though, — doesn't do to play tricks 
 with your land." 
 
 Egerton was not much of a farmer, and 
 discussions upon the relative merits of 
 different breeds of cattle and turnips had, 
 therefore, very little interest for him. So 
 he walked on with another young member 
 of the party, who knew as much about it, 
 perhaps, as he did, but by a quiet assump- 
 tion of knowledge, implied that he knew a 
 great deal more. 
 
 Arthur Lyons was a cousin of Gre villa's ; 
 and a fastidious person might have said 
 that Arthur Lyons was a conceited young 
 gentleman. Such person would not, per- 
 haps, have been very far out in his estimate. 
 The circumstances of Lyons' position would 
 certainly have warranted such a prejudication. 
 Tor he held some post about the viceregal 
 coui't, and from his connection with '^ the 
 Castle," was in the habit of being made 
 very much of in Dublin society, where 
 good-looking young men of good family are 
 rare. 
 
 It might be made an additional argument
 
 HARHY EGERTON. 161 
 
 for doing away with the mockeries of a 
 sham court, which is kept up for the benefit 
 of the Dublin tradesmen, — that it unfits for 
 general society the few respectable young 
 men who fiit about its shadowy state, 
 owing to the airs which their glittering 
 position- causes them to assume. It seems 
 odd that people who pretend to be con- 
 sistent, and rave against exceptional legisla- 
 tion for Ireland, should yet be contented to 
 acquiesce in exceptional government, and 
 the exceptional absence of royalty from this 
 part of the United Kingdom. By the time 
 these pages are in print, no doubt some 
 sweeping theorist may have devised a plan 
 by which the Crown, as sole proprietor, may 
 be induced to visit occasionally its extensive 
 estates in this part of its territory. If he 
 has so far condescended to enter upon the 
 region of practical common sense, it is sin- 
 cerely to be hoped that so desirable a scheme 
 may not be consigned to the same limbo to 
 which other wild theories respecting Ireland 
 have been so deservedly condemned. 
 
 After luncheon, Harry committed his 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 fishing paraphernalia to the care of a water- 
 keeper who was in attendance, and started 
 for the river. 
 
 Barney was soon at his ease, and deep in 
 accounts of the number of fine fish which 
 had been taken out of the river that season, 
 and eloquent upon the vast proportions of 
 those which he had seen ^'leppin'" that 
 very day. '^ Begob, your honour," he said, 
 alluding to the latest born of his imagina- 
 tion, ^' I was thinkin' that maybe it was a 
 dog that was jimipin' into the water. It 
 took a lep out of me that 'd surprise you to 
 see. It was a shockin' big salmon, Master 
 Hemy." Barney thought it was the biggest 
 fish that ever he saw, barrin' one that took 
 him in the spring ; and the bare recollection 
 of that monster caused him to apostrophise 
 a sacred name with the most fervent blas- 
 phemy. He proceeded to say that on this 
 occasion he had not joined to fish more than 
 it might be a couple of minutes, '^ when he 
 riz at me dreadful wicked. Man dear, but 
 it was a great fish ; and divil mend him, but 
 he didn't like the prick of the hook. Well,
 
 HAUBY EGERTON. 163 
 
 your honour, I was in the greatest jeopardy 
 with that salmon that ever I was in cluiing 
 the whole course of my life. Didn't he 
 keep on with his diyilment for an hour and 
 more ? And damn the fin above the water 
 ever he showed — not a show — but kep' me 
 runnin' up and down, up and down, till I'd 
 like to be beat off for the want of breath. 
 An' af that wouldn't satisfy him, what 'd he 
 do but take round the bit of an island there 
 below, and me up. to my neck in the wather 
 after him. Sure I wasn't going to laye him, 
 your honour, after the tramp that he'd led 
 me. "Well, that didn't satisfy him neither, 
 and away goes my jintleman down stream 
 again, as if the divil himself was afther him, 
 and me swimmin' and rouling him up at the 
 same time. And to think that afther runnin' 
 me that coorse, your honour, he'd make off 
 with him without so much as a ^God save 
 you,' or a sight of his face." 
 
 "But he did, then," continued Barney, 
 in melancholy tones, "and took from me 
 the best fly that was in the whole book. 
 And divil a flitter of the casting-line at all
 
 164 HARRY EGERTOI^. 
 
 lie left with me. And indeed it's no lie 
 I'm tellin' yonr honour." 
 
 Barney's piscatorial reminiscences and 
 Harry's laughter were at this moment cut 
 short by the appearance of a mob-cap and a 
 pair of bare arms at the door of a cottage 
 by the road- side. The arms were thrown 
 up in the air with a most extravagant de- 
 monstration of delight, and a voice from 
 beneath the cap exclaimed, — 
 
 ^^IS'ow glory be to God this day, but 
 your honour's a hundred welcomes, Master 
 Henry ! " 
 
 Harry shook the wrinkled paw which was 
 held out to him, and professed great satis- 
 faction at haying renewed his acquaintance 
 with so old a friend. And she continued : — 
 
 '^ Maybe your honour wouldn't remember 
 Molly Tom that often held you in these 
 arms, and you a small wee little thing ? 
 Indeed it's long enough since that day." 
 
 Harry had a perfect recollection of being 
 held in those same arms — a feat of memory 
 which gave all the satisfaction which it was 
 intended to produce ; and Molly Tom con-
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 165 
 
 tlnuecl. (By tlie way, she was called by this 
 rather singular double Christian name because 
 her husband was always known as Tom the 
 Ploughman, and half the neighbourhood 
 didn't know what his surname was.) How- 
 ever, she went on to say that it was a great 
 thing to see him grown such a fine gentle- 
 man, and appealed to Barney whether it was 
 not a subject for much thankfulness to see 
 him looking so powerful stout. 
 
 '' Indeed it is, then," replied he of the 
 river, tacking on the usual benediction. 
 
 Harry didn't find out till he had been a 
 little longer in the country that to be power- 
 ful stout meant to be in great health, and 
 thought it rather an equivocal compliment 
 at the time. But Molly went on to inquire 
 after Master Egerton ; it was long indeed 
 since she set eyes on his honour, though it 
 was her own daughter, the poor cratur, that 
 had been his nurse. And he had always 
 been a kind of a delicate child. 
 
 Harry believed him to be well ; and 
 making a shot, inquired after the old 
 woman's husband.
 
 166 HAEET EGERTOX. 
 
 ^^ Well, indeed, Master Henry, he's donny 
 enough," was the doleful reply. ^' He got 
 a deal of brashes lately, savin' your honom-'s 
 presence, and I'm afeard tli' ould man's for 
 death. He was always a big slave, your 
 honour, and he was greatly thronged with 
 work at Christmas last — ^the steward allow- 
 ing him for to plough, and him scarce able 
 to walk." And Molly entered into a lengthy 
 history of her domestic troubles for the last 
 few months — how her husband had been 
 found nearly drowned one night in the 
 '^ shough," having fainted by the way — 
 how they had been married for more than 
 forty years — what a boy he had been in his 
 youth — how she had maiTied him in spite of 
 her relations, who had disowned her in con- 
 sequence, and in the face of the custom of 
 the country, — where, notwithstanding the 
 romantic nature of the Irish peasant, love 
 matches are comparatively rare : gii'ls with- 
 out a fortune — in the shape of a cow, or a 
 bit of land, or a few sovereigns of money 
 — say that the boys won't look at them. 
 
 Molly brought her narrative to a close by
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 167 
 
 wondering what would become of her when 
 Tom was gone ; it was he that was always 
 the good head to her. She supposed that 
 she'd be to go to the poor-house then. All 
 which speculation had not altogether the same 
 interest for Harry as for herself. But she 
 wound up eyentually by asking if his honour 
 would go in and see the old man. ^^ It's 
 right glad he'd be to get a sight of him." 
 
 Harry of course acquiesced, and Barney 
 improved the interval by smoking the pipe 
 of contemplation on an inverted creel. A 
 further acquaintance with the Irish native 
 showed their English visitor that the 
 slightest break in any occupation in which 
 they might be engaged was always deemed 
 a most sufficient excuse for turning their 
 attention again to the more important con- 
 sideration of the seductive pigtail. 
 
 " I'm afeard it's but a poor place for the 
 like of your honour to come to," the old 
 woman said, as she piloted Harry tlu'ough 
 the outer room of the cabin, which was 
 reception-room, kitchen, and sitting-room 
 all in one. A turf fire was burning on
 
 168 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 the floor, with a black pot in its neighbour- 
 hood, and a heap of potatoes hard by. One 
 wooden chair with a half-knit stocldng stood 
 in the corner ; and over it there hung from 
 the rafters a weird-looking object, which 
 proved, on inqniry, to be a salted hare ; an 
 old pig was taking her afternoon siesta be- 
 hind the door ; a suspicions-looking cnr-dog 
 was sleeping off his luncheon of potato skins 
 in another corner ; and an elderly hen was 
 picking a bone with another female bird in 
 the very precincts of the sick-room. 
 
 These ordinary visitors having been im- 
 ceremoniously ejected, Molly explained to 
 her husband that Master Henry Egerton, 
 that he'd mind long while ago, had come to 
 see him. 
 
 Of course he remembered him. Any- 
 thing connected with his mother, and the 
 old associations of her kindly nature as she 
 had moved amongst them, touched anew the 
 chord of grateful memory which had not 
 been broken by long disuse. And the old 
 man's eye lighted up with pleasiu-e as Harry 
 approached the wooden bed, with its patch-
 
 HABRY EGEHTON. 169 
 
 work quilt, whereon the emaciated, night- 
 capped form was lying. 
 
 ^^ It's a blessed sight this day to see yonr 
 honour," he exclaimed, feebly enough, and 
 holding out his hand for Harry to shake. 
 ^' How's Lady Greyille, and Miss Maud? 
 That's a fine young lady indeed." 
 
 Both man and wife were agreed upon this 
 point, but somehow Mrs. Greville did not 
 come in for that share of praise which a 
 person who took such an interest in the 
 place and people might reasonably have 
 expected. 
 
 Family matters haying been arranged, 
 Harry proceeded to make inquiries after the 
 old man's personal feelings. 
 
 ^^Ah, your honour, I'm ailin' this good 
 while ; there isn't a bit of flesh left on 
 me," he replied, stretching out a skeleton 
 hand and wrist for his visitor's compassion. 
 
 ^' Bad scran to ye, get out of that now," 
 cries Molly, as a wily fowl, which had 
 sneaked in behind her, flies up and perches 
 on the end of the bed. Such a cackling 
 and fluttering of wings, and brandishing of
 
 170 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 sticks ensues, that Harry's interest, in spite 
 of him, wanders from the sick-bed to specu- 
 late whether the fowl would hold her own 
 or not. Molly's energy, however, eventually 
 triumphs, and her husband then calls her to 
 order for not having brought a chair for 
 Harry to sit do^ii. 
 
 ^' Amn't I bringin' one this minute ?" she 
 answers, presenting it, wiped with a cloth, 
 for his accommodation. 
 
 The old man then continued to enlist 
 his sympathy for his ailments, and went on 
 in the querulous tones of sickness and old 
 age — '^ I'm thinkin' I'll not be here much 
 longer. Master Hemy. It's always waker 
 I'm gettin' — waker every day. And the bit 
 of food I can touch doesn't make me the 
 better to signify. And I'm thinkin'," he 
 continued, with a simple pathos of regret, 
 ^' I'm thinkin' always who'll be to plough 
 them far bottoms for the master when I'm 
 gone, your honour. He'll never get one 
 that'll make as good a hand of them as 
 myself." His voice faltered a little, and 
 the old eyes were moistened with natui*al
 
 HAREY EGERTON. 171 
 
 tears, as the thought came home to him that 
 he shoukl turn a plough no more. ^' I mind 
 well the first time ever I put a plough into 
 that land, it had like to break a man's heart, 
 Master Henry ; every minute, a stick, or a 
 stone, or a something catchin' agen the 
 plough. And your honour knows that there 
 isn't a better bit of land now in the 
 place." 
 
 This was said with such a conscious pride 
 that Harry never dreamt of disputing it, 
 though, from his short acquaintance with 
 the land, he could hardly be expected to 
 have that intimate knowledge of its merits 
 with which he was credited. 
 
 '' Oh ! you'll be all right again/' he said, 
 '^ by the time it wants ploughing." 
 
 Tom answered despondingly, " I'll not be 
 leaving this bed again, your honour, till I'm 
 carried from it. The master'll be to look 
 out for another ploughman. I doubt but 
 what the ould man's well-nigh had his 
 spell." 
 
 Molly, who stands by Harry looking on, 
 raises her petticoat to her eyes — ^' Ah !
 
 172 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 don't be saying it, man. What'll I do, 
 Master Henry, if the Lord takes him from 
 me?'' 
 
 Any further anticipations of a dreadful 
 future, in which Molly might have proposed 
 to indulge, were cut short by the appearance 
 of an inquisitive goose, which, hearing un- 
 usual voices within, had just stepped across 
 from the dung-heap to see whether there 
 might be any supplementary food going on. 
 She was now putting her head round the 
 corner of the door in such an intensely 
 comical manner that Harry, who a moment 
 ago had been almost inclined to tears, now 
 felt it difficult to restrain his laughter. 
 
 With the intention of pursuing her inves- 
 tigations yet further, the bird had abeady 
 entered the room, and by executing a well- 
 planned flank movement in the direction of 
 the window, had placed Molly between 
 herself and the door, before the latter had 
 found out that she had been made the victim 
 of a surprise. When she did awake to a 
 knowledge of the position, and the easy 
 assurance with which the mud-bedabbled
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 173 
 
 bird was stalking about the room, the petti- 
 coat was dropped at once, and the stick 
 again came into play. But having been so 
 far successful, our bird had no intention of 
 being summarily ejected again, and took up 
 an intrenched position underneath the bed, 
 defying the stick which was exploring her 
 ground so energetically. The pig, too, makes 
 a diversion in her favour by suddenly enter- 
 ing the unobstructed door, canters round 
 the room, and before the stick is well up 
 to him, is grunting among the potatoes 
 again outside. 
 
 Apologising for the misbehaviour of her 
 family, Molly allows the bird to keep her 
 position for the present, and returns to her 
 lament over her departing husband. 
 
 '' ISTever fear," says Tom, ^^ but what the 
 master'll never see you starve, Molly. It's 
 five-and-forty years come Martinmas, your 
 honour," turning to Harry, ^' since I came 
 into this place, and Mr. Greville was always 
 a kind master to me — the Lord preserve 
 him in health — and his father before him, 
 and Miss Constance — that's your motlicr,
 
 174 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 heaven rest her soul — she was the best 
 friend ever we had ! " 
 
 " Indeed she was !" chimed in the other ; 
 " none better." 
 
 Harry listened for a few moments longer 
 to the praises of his mother and her family ; 
 heard that his ^' dada " was a great gentle- 
 man entirely, who had ' scharred ' Molly's 
 life out on St. John's Eve one time, and then 
 rose to go, hoping to see Tom about again 
 shortly, and pressing some silver into his 
 wife's hand as he went out, telling her to 
 get something her husband might fancy to 
 eat. 
 
 "Indeed, then, he wants for nothing," 
 she said; '^the master's very good to him 
 — may God Almighty prosper him — and bid 
 me get anything he'd want from the house." 
 
 Bouquets of blessing were showered down 
 upon him as he emerged into the road, and 
 the sound of his name apparently attracted 
 the attention of a stooping, wiinklcd old 
 woman, who was passing at the moment, 
 mumbling to herself as she sidled along 
 with her eyes fixed upon the ground. She
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 175 
 
 looked lip quickly, stopped, and shambled 
 across to him, gazed at liim wildly from out 
 of her bleared eyes, and muttered in a husky, 
 croaking voice, half to him and half to her- 
 self, ^^ And that's his own brother." 
 
 ''Whisht now, darling," she continued, 
 approaching still closer, as if to take him 
 into her confidence. '' Is she still living ? 
 Tell me that. Is she living now, your 
 honour?" 
 
 Her question was accompanied with an 
 eager, terrified look, which contrasted so 
 strangely with her wheedling manner, that 
 Harry was a little startled. 
 
 '' Is who living ?" he asked. 
 
 ' ' Ah ! don't be minding her, your honoui', ' ' 
 interrupted Barney ; " she's foolish this long 
 time. Be off now, Biddy, and lave his 
 honour alone." 
 
 ''It's her own face, — I'd know it any 
 place," said the old hag, looking wistfully 
 at him, and disregarding Barney's injunc- 
 tion, " and he — he — " and she burst into a 
 wild hysteric laugh, and slunk away, mur- 
 muring, " Ah ! the poor young thing, — her
 
 176 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 own face, — her o^\ti face, — the Lord "be good 
 to us all ; " and so hobbled away out of sight. 
 
 '' That's a curious old woman, Barney," 
 said Egerton as they resumed their way. 
 ^'Is she mad ?" 
 
 ^^ Well, indeed she is, your honour, or 
 near hand it, any way." 
 
 '^ Where does she come from?" 
 
 ^' Sure isn't she Molly Tom's own 
 daughter, for all she looks as old a woman 
 as herself?" 
 
 ^'Eut she wasn't my brother's nurse." 
 
 ^^ That's what she was, then ; and didn't 
 she went away with yiz all after tlie mis- 
 tress died, and travelled among them 
 foreigners to take care of Master Egerton 
 and your own honour?" 
 
 Harry mused. He was thinking over 
 the strange expressions she had used to 
 himself. 
 
 ^^ Has she been out of her mind long?" 
 he asked. 
 
 ^'She has this twenty years, and more," 
 said Barney. '^Her husband was di'owned 
 above in the river a while after she come
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 177 
 
 back; and she never was right since. 
 There's many in this town, your honour, 
 'ud go a mile round to save meetin' her. And 
 divil a one 'ud pass her house at night. It's 
 what they'd be so mortial frightened of, the 
 howlin' and the screechin' she'd be makin'. 
 Indeed, now, it's terrible to hear." And 
 Barney himself didn't seem to be exempt 
 from the superstitious awe with which the 
 old woman was regarded. 
 
 They had arrived at the bank of the river 
 by this time, and Harry proceeded to look 
 over his fly-book, while his rod was being 
 put together. This being done, he handed 
 the book to Barney, who turned over the 
 leaves with a critical eye, selecting one here 
 and there, and turning over page after page 
 contemptuously, with ^'No use on this 
 water;" ^'Too bright for this day;" ^^Too 
 large entirely;" or remarks of a similar 
 nature, until he had selected a couple, which 
 he proceeded to fasten into the cast. 
 
 He was prevailed upon, after some dis- 
 cussion, to forego what he called the double 
 chance, and saying^ with hig mouth full of 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 gut, "Well, plase yourself; but if lie 
 wouldn't take to the one, maybe he'd look 
 at the other," he handed over the rod and 
 line complete. 
 
 Harry took up his position on a little 
 promontory of grass, and commenced to fish, 
 while Barney again produced the little black 
 pipe, hung his gaff over his back, sat down, 
 took a tin box out of one of the mysterious 
 receptacles in which his outer covering 
 abounded, and proceeded, with much de- 
 liberation, to cut up another quantum of 
 anticipated enjoyment. A small steel ap- 
 paratus and a bit of combustible rag furnish 
 a light ; and he puffs away in silence while 
 he watches Harry casting, and mentally 
 estimates his quality as a fisherman. 
 
 "You may quit it," he says, at last; 
 "he's not at home." 
 
 And gathering himself up, he leads the 
 way to the next pool, suggesting a wee cast 
 across a slight rapid on the way. 
 
 The fly comes dodging across the stream, 
 and is nearing the side again, when there's 
 a sudden tug, and a thrilling whish, as the
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 179 
 
 line runs out for some distance, and then 
 remains motionless for a second or two, then 
 makes a dart up stream, and a good-sized 
 grilse jumps a foot out of water at the end of it. 
 Backwards and forwards — all over the place 
 — with frantic jumps at intervals, and then 
 he makes a bolt down stream. 
 
 ^^ Give him line, give him line," cries 
 Barney, as Harry holds him up tight to 
 prevent his going down into the next pool. 
 
 But the admonition came too late. As he 
 spoke the rod swished back into an upright 
 position, and the line came back, light and 
 limp. 
 
 ^^Bedam, but he's away," Barney ex- 
 claims by way of confirmation to Harry's 
 expression of mortification. "' Ye bore too 
 hard upon him," he said — '' them grawl is 
 very light in the mouth." 
 
 However, Barney was very sanguine of 
 getting stuck in another in the pool they 
 were coming to. 
 
 '^ It's the best hole in the river," he said, 
 • — ^^ good or bad. There was tearin' fine fish 
 leppin' in it this very morning."
 
 180 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 ^^ But how on earth is this to be fished?" 
 asked Egerton, as they came up to the best 
 hole in the river, which lay between steep 
 rocks on either side. 
 
 "Well, it's not too convanient, your 
 honour," was the reply. 
 
 But Barney had a place cut for his own 
 feet in the rock, where he said some hand 
 might be made of it, and after an injunction 
 to take care and not fall into the water, 
 Harry was left to manage it as best he 
 could. 
 
 The pool was fished out. Those big fish 
 were apparently not up to a fly at this time 
 of day. And he was turning to see how he 
 was to get back again, leaving his fly in the 
 water. A slight jerk makes him look round 
 again. The line was probably caught in 
 the rock. He tries it. Fast in something. 
 Must be a stone. But no — it moves. 
 
 "Begob, it's a salmon," cries Barney, 
 eagerly, as the line moves gradually across 
 the pool ; and after a feeling strain, away he 
 went like a good 'un down to the tail of the 
 pool, over the rapids, and down the stream,
 
 HIRRY EGERTON. 181 
 
 at a tearing pace, with a good sixty yards of 
 line out, Harry climbing the rock as best he 
 could, and reeling him up as he got down 
 the other side. 
 
 After a race of a couple of hundred yards, 
 in which Barney tails off behind, they come 
 to a stand-still. And by the time the 
 elderly legs of the keeper have arrived the 
 line is motionless — fish has not yet shown 
 himself, and appears to have no intention of 
 doing so. Barney again sits down, and 
 again lights his pipe. Egerton, after a time, 
 gives him the rod to hold, and does the 
 same. Half an hour passes in this way. Big 
 stones are tried to no purpose, and at last 
 he bethinks him of giving the end of 
 the rod a jar. There's a movement — 
 hurrah ! away he goes again, up stream this 
 time, backwards and forwards, as gay as 
 ever, not half ready for killing, and it's a 
 good three-quarters of an hour before he 
 runs in under the bank. 
 
 Barney seizes the opportunity, gets the 
 gaff well under him, and has him out on the 
 bank flapping, jumping, gasping, bleeding.
 
 182 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 FoTil-liooked, of course. How, otherwise, 
 could he have dallied with fate so long? 
 What Barney called a ^^ wicked hoult," as 
 he cut out the hook, and told Harry that he 
 had made good work with him. 
 
 The pocket weighing machine, — the bit 
 of wood and string to tie him up with — 
 Barney's comments — and so home again to 
 dinner.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " He's a capital fellow, old Barneyj isn't 
 he ? " said Greville, as they were discussing 
 the fish an hour or two after its cap- 
 ture. 
 
 ^^ Eirst-rate," Egerton answered, laugh- 
 ing. " He's the best liar I ever came across, 
 I think." 
 
 " Yes, he has a good story or two," said 
 Greville, smiling at the recollection of some 
 of them. '^ He tells a very fine one about 
 your father catching I don't know how 
 many fish, one afternoon — all over twenty 
 pounds. He couldn't kill them fast enough ; 
 they were coming and hooking themselves 
 of their own accord ; and when they were 
 strung on a pole between the shoulders of 
 Barney and his son, they were so big that 
 their tails were trailing on the ground.
 
 184 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 ' Begorra, your honour,' lie says, ' that was 
 a great day's fishing.' " 
 
 ^^ That same Barney is the greatest 
 Eibbonman in the county, I'm told," said 
 Sir Henry Blake. 
 
 '•' I know he has the name of it," rejoined 
 Greville, ^' and his character wasn't too good 
 some years ago ; but since he took the pledge 
 I haven't heard anything against him." 
 
 "That's the reason, then, he refused 
 whiskey when I offered it to him," said 
 Egerton, when it was explained to him what 
 taking the pledge meant. " I thought it was 
 rather odd." 
 
 "He keeps it most religiously, I believe," 
 Greville said, " and that, I always think, 
 says something for a man's character. For 
 it must require a great deal of moral courage 
 for a fellow like that, who has been in the 
 habit of getting drunk periodically, to give 
 up spirits entirely till his seven years are 
 over. They think a good deal more of an 
 oath, when they have once taken it, than 
 many Protestants do." 
 
 " Ah," exclaimed Colonel Montgomery,
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 185 
 
 with a grunt, "that's what makes their 
 secret societies so dangerous, I say, danger- 
 ous ;" and the head from which this oracular 
 remark issued buried itself again in the 
 circumambient neckcloth. 
 
 " That, and their fear of each other," said 
 Sir Henry. " Not one of them would dare 
 to ' let on,' as they say, about another of 
 the crew." 
 
 "Have you much Eibbonism about here, 
 Greville ? " asked another of the party. 
 
 " Sir Henry will tell you that the place is 
 a hotbed of Eibbonism, but it never comes 
 under my notice. They don't molest me, 
 and I'm not in much fear that they will." 
 
 Sir Henry Blake was very fierce against 
 Eibbonmen ; and it was only the other day, 
 he said, that the scoundrels had sent him 
 another threatening letter, ornamented with 
 a cofiin, and a drop of blood by way of 
 signature. 
 
 Egerton was rather astonished to hear 
 him talking aboflt it as if it was a joke, and 
 asked what he did with such letters when 
 they arrived.
 
 186 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 " Send them to the police, or put them 
 into the fire, and think no more about them," 
 he replied. 
 
 But notwithstanding the indifference which 
 he professed, it was only very lately that he 
 had dispensed with the two policemen who, 
 for several years, had been his regular at- 
 tendants through the country. Even now 
 he never went out without a revolver in his 
 pocket, and was always home, if possible, 
 before night. 
 
 Greville's property bordered on Sir Henry 
 Blake's, and their tenants were all much the 
 same class of small farmers. But Greville 
 had never received anything in the shape of 
 a threatening letter, or experienced any ex- 
 pressions but those of the utmost good-will 
 from any tenant upon his estate. 
 
 Sir Henry, however, was a very different 
 kind of landlord. In the first place, he 
 liked to get thirteen pence for his shilling, 
 if he could ; and this is a peculiarity never 
 appreciated by the Irish . native. Then, 
 again, he was an essentially selfish landlord, 
 who looked upon his tenants as mere figures
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 187 
 
 of wood and stone, who might be moved 
 about at his pleasure, without being con- 
 sulted in the least degree. He wanted to 
 make an improvement, perhaps, and certain 
 houses were in the way. The occupants, 
 therefore, of those houses, had notices to 
 quit, and were, or were not, pro^dded with 
 others elsewhere ; more probably, had their 
 passages paid to America, and were expected 
 to be thankful for that small mercy. All 
 this would be done without one moment's 
 consideration for the feelings of the many 
 poor people immediately interested. It 
 never would occur to him to think whether 
 the gratification of his own private fancy 
 was not paid for rather dearly by the incon- 
 venience and pain which it would occasion 
 to so many families. He never took into 
 consideration the peculiar feeling of attach- 
 ment which the Irish peasant entertains for 
 the little piece of ground or cabin in which 
 his early life has been passed, and with 
 which all the love and interest of his 
 ardent nature is bound up, — a love which 
 still clings to him through long years of
 
 188 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 absence in foreign lands, and which often 
 brings him home again to die upon the little 
 spot which has lived so brightly in his 
 memory through storm and trouble, fair and 
 foul, and all the changing circumstances of 
 an alien life. 
 
 It is, of course, the duty of every land- 
 lord to consider the reasonable wishes of his 
 tenants, and, while regarding what is due to 
 himself, to endeavour to promote their hap- 
 piness in every way, even merely looking 
 upon them in the light of fellow-creatures. 
 But in Ireland consideration is more par- 
 ticularly a duty, because there is so much 
 more to consider. You know the people have 
 this feeling towards the land, and you know 
 that they are a sensitive race ; that their pas- 
 sions, both good and bad, are easily roused, 
 and very strong when roused. And yet, land- 
 lords like Sir Henry Blake deliberately and 
 wantonly outrage their prejudices upon the 
 point on which they feel most deeply ; and, 
 having stirred up their resentment and sense 
 of injury, are then surprised that they should 
 embrace the readiest means of revenge ;
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 189 
 
 call them ungrateful scoundrels, thankless 
 dogs ; and say that, after all, they don't 
 wonder at people not living upon their pro- 
 perty in Ireland, with such a set of fellows 
 to deal with. It was landlords of this kind 
 who originated that protective system of 
 murder, which is now, as landlords become 
 more civilised, happily on the wane. Eib- 
 bon murders still occur in isolated districts ; 
 but Ireland in 1869 is very different from 
 Ireland of 1848. There may be half-a-dozen 
 counties where civilisation has not produced 
 a power to discriminate between justice and 
 injustice, and where the peasantry still 
 think that the landlord's rule is one of sel- 
 fish extortion as in former days. But it is 
 just as unfair to argue from these excep- 
 tional localities a general condemnation of 
 the condition of Ireland, as it would be to 
 affirm that a hideous state of feeling prevails 
 throughout England because cold-blooded 
 and brutal murders are considered merely 
 an interesting excitement at Sheffield. And 
 therefore it strikes one as very poor pa- 
 triotism for a gentleman to publish his
 
 190 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 experiences of Ireland's darkest days, by- 
 way of enlightening the English public on 
 the state of Ireland at the present time. 
 Such a publication is only calculated to 
 strengthen the erroneous impression which 
 is already too deeply fixed in the minds of 
 Englishmen, that it is impossible for land- 
 lords to live in Ireland. It was difficult at 
 one time, because the people had had so 
 little experience of kind treatment from their 
 landlords that they didn't know what justice 
 was, and looked upon the word landlord as 
 a synonym for tyrant. But the relations 
 between landlord and tenant are improving 
 every year in Ireland, and will improve in- 
 definitely, if landlords will only understand 
 that considerate justice is now appreciated 
 by their tenants. An Irish landlord may, 
 perhaps, be required to exercise more self- 
 denial — to conciliate, rather than to com- 
 mand. But he knows the kind of people 
 with whom he has to deal, and will do 
 wisely to cut his coat according to his cloth. 
 All the world over, peculiar circumstances 
 require peculiar treatment. If you know a
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 191 
 
 man to be bad-tempered, and touchy on 
 some particular point, you are cautious about 
 approaching what you know to be dangerous 
 ground. But with some people it is not so. 
 They think that he has no business to be 
 ill-tempered, (ignoring the fact that he is), 
 and come to loggerheads with such a man at 
 once, because he fires up at some expression 
 which any one else would have heard un- 
 moved. These are the kind of men who 
 cannot understand why Ireland should have 
 different laws and different treatment from 
 England; who cannot be made to see the 
 absurdity in which their argument lands 
 them, viz., that they are insisting that where 
 the circumstances are perfectly different, the 
 results ought to be entirely the same. 
 
 Sir Henry Blake would have found, as 
 readily as Greville had found, that his 
 tenants were perfectly willing to admit the 
 privileges of the landlord, as long as he 
 didn't try to ride roughshod over all their 
 prejudices, and as long as he considered 
 their feelings a little as well as his own. 
 
 But he didn't see it. They wanted to
 
 192 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 get the land into tlioir own hands ; thought 
 they had a right to have whatever they 
 asked for ; and that the landlord was to bo 
 dictated to just as they pleased. " But they 
 find me a difficult customer to deal with," 
 he said. '^ They set me at defiance. And 
 we'll see which gets the best of it in the 
 end." 
 
 ^' You want a few Orangemen down here," 
 Colonel Montgomery broke in. ^^ You'll 
 never be secure, I say, never be secure 
 without some protection of the kind." 
 
 ^^ I should be very sorry to do anything 
 of the sort, Colonel," said Greville. ^^ I 
 don't think that you've shown us in the 
 north that the presence of the Orangemen 
 tends to promote the peace of the country. 
 I'm happy to say I haven't an Orangeman 
 that I know of about the place." 
 
 ^^ Happy, sir! Happy! happy! Why, 
 I say, without Orangemen we landlords 
 couldn't stay in the country. I say, I say, 
 where should we be, I wonder, if it wasn't 
 for the protection of the Orangemen — if it 
 wasn't — if it wasn't for the Orangemen ?
 
 HAHHY EGEHTON. 193 
 
 The Protestants couldn't live in the place 
 without this dependence upon each other." 
 
 Greville tried to interpose a remark, but 
 the Colonel continued: ^^Why, I say, we 
 should be swept away, swept away, sir, by 
 Papists and railroads, if it wasn't for 
 Orangemen !" 
 
 It didn't exactly appear how the question 
 could be influenced by railroads ; but Gre- 
 ville, replying to the other point, said, " I 
 don't see why you should be swept away 
 any more than I am. I have hardly a Pro- 
 testant on the estate; and here I am, as 
 happy as you please." 
 
 ^'Couldn't get on without 'em, I say," 
 rejoined the Colonel. '' Protestants couldn't 
 live in the middle of a Poman Catholic dis- 
 trict — couldn't live, I say, without this 
 mutual dependence which they have as 
 Orangemen." And the head again settled 
 its way oracularly into its collar. ^^The 
 thing's impossible, I say ! Experience, I say, 
 has shown us that it is out of the question." 
 
 ^' Why, you have had no experience 
 during the last centuiy and a half of how 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 194 HAREY EGERTON. 
 
 it would be if there was no Orangeism ; 
 and I'm convinced that there's nothing so 
 injurious to peace and quiet as keeping up a 
 wall for the Eoman Catholics to run their 
 heads against." 
 
 ^'A good thing for them, and a good 
 thing for the country, if they were to break 
 'em," growled the other, firing up as he 
 contemplated the indignity which had been 
 put upon loyal Orangemen and Protestants 
 by the preference of Eoman Catholics for 
 occasional Government posts. ^^Why, I 
 say, sir, I say the Government deserves to 
 lose our support altogether when they ti'eat 
 us as they do — overlook our claims upon 
 them ; and I say they're giviug away every- 
 thing now to these Eibbonmen, and we shall 
 soon have nothing but Eoman Catholics 
 governing the country. It wasn't so in my 
 day — it wasn't so in my day — when every 
 loyal Protestant drank the pious and im- 
 mortal memory after dinner, and upheld 
 Chm-chand State!" 
 
 " Hear ! hear ! Colonel," cried Lyons ; 
 '' they are treating the Protestants very
 
 HAREY EGEETON. 195 
 
 "badly, there's no mistake about it. "We 
 shall have every judge on the bench a 
 Eoman Catholic soon, and the Lord-Lieu- 
 tenant too, I dare say." 
 
 "Well, I must say I cannot see,'' said 
 Greville, "what religion has to do with ap- 
 pointments where intellectual fitness is the 
 proper qualification. The religion of the 
 individual, to my mind, has nothing what- 
 ever to do with it, now that civil disabilities 
 are done away with." 
 
 Colonel Montgomery launched forth again. 
 ^' "Why, sir, I say, do you mean to tell me, 
 I say, that the loyal part of the population 
 are to be set . aside for a set of ruffianly, 
 rebellious fellows — ruffianly fellows, I say, 
 that have done, and will do — will do — 
 will do — all they can to upset the Govern- 
 ment, I say, who wouldn't scruple to drag 
 the Queen from her throne, if they could? 
 It's monstrous, I say, it's monstrous — mon- 
 strous, monstrous ! " 
 
 " It's small blame to the Protestants being 
 loyal," said Greville, "when they've had it 
 all their own way, and been allowed to lord
 
 196 HABUY EGEIITOJ;. 
 
 it over the Eoman Catholics, and take Ben- 
 jamin's mess of the appointments going. If 
 theii' loyalty is only to be bought in this 
 way, I don't think it's much to boast about. 
 I believe the first thing the Government 
 must do, if they want to quiet the country, 
 is, saving your presence, to do away with 
 Orangemen. I'm sure they do nothing but 
 keep up the party spirit and factious feeling 
 which is the curse of Ireland ; and till they 
 get rid of that they'll have no peace. I 
 really think that Orangeism is almost as bad 
 as Eibbonism." 
 
 This was too much for the staunch 
 Orangeman, who had been fuming in his 
 collar all the while Greville was speaking. 
 ^^ God, sir!" he exclaimed, *'do you mean 
 to say that when one of the rules of our 
 society is that every man shall love his 
 neighbour as if he was his brother — his 
 brother, I say — that we are to be compared 
 to a set of scoundrels, whose principal object 
 is to shoot their landlords? I say, I say, 
 the thing' s ridiculous ! — outrageous — out- 
 rageous ! I say, ridiculous !"
 
 HARRY EGERTON". 197 
 
 *^ I dare say, my dear Colonel, your rules 
 are excellent; but why don't you keep 
 them ? The Orangemen are quite as bitter 
 against the Eoman Catholics as they are 
 against the Protestants, and are just as often 
 the aggressors." 
 
 " No such thing, I say," returned the 
 Colonel, who was very red in the face, and 
 twitching his napldn nervously; ^'the Go- 
 vernment allows these fellows to do as they 
 please, — to do just as they please ; have 
 their processions and display their party- 
 flags; and God, sir, I say, — I say, — I say, 
 — when the Protestants, — the loyal Pro- 
 testants, I say, — do anything of the kind, — 
 commemorate their glorious triumphs, — why 
 they're down upon 'em in a trice. There's 
 impartiality for you, — impartiality, I say, 
 and good policy." 
 
 " Well, for my part, I think it's bad 
 taste continually reminding the Eoman 
 Catholics that they were beaten on certain 
 occasions. I certainly don't think it tends 
 to bring about an entente cordiale between 
 the two religions. As long as Orangeism
 
 198 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 and the Established Church remain, we shall 
 not have peace in Ireland." 
 
 '^Do you call yourself a Conservative, 
 Spencer, and go against the Establishment ?" 
 cried Lyons ; and his horror was shared by 
 the rest of the party, who, though not all 
 Orangemen, were yet Protestants, and there- 
 fore firm supporters of the Irish Church. 
 
 **Yes, I do," replied Greville ; "and I 
 believe it's the most ultimately Conservative 
 view to hold. I don't see myself how any 
 unprejudiced man can defend the Established 
 Church in Ireland." 
 
 " Mark my words, — I say, mark my 
 words !" exclaimed Colonel Montgomery, — 
 " if they ever attempt to do away with the 
 Protestant Church, there'll be such a row, 
 sir, — why, there'U be a rebellion, I say, 
 among the loyal population in the north. 
 We shall not stand being extinguished, I 
 say, — I say, we shall not stand being ex- 
 tinguished altogether. Shall we tamely give 
 up, I say, the liberties and rights that 
 we've bought with our A^ery blood, — yes, sir, 
 our very blood? Don't think it, — I say, don't
 
 HAEEY EGERTON. 199 
 
 think it ; — ^ve shall not, we shall not. You'll 
 have the whole loyal population in arms in 
 defence of their blood-bought rights, — ^rights, 
 I say, — rights. The north will not tamely 
 submit to such injustice, as these fellows — 
 I say, these fellows — in England will see, 
 will see, will see." 
 
 " Eeligious equality never could be main- 
 tained in Ireland," said Sir Henry. " Any 
 modification of the Establishment would 
 only be the first step towards giving the 
 Eoman Catholics the ascendency. Directly 
 they got that, they would want something 
 else. They never are satisfied till they have 
 everything their own way. It always has 
 been the case, and always will be. Look at 
 the Catholic Emancipation Act. They were 
 to have been perfectly contented when they 
 got that. And have they been? Not a 
 bit of it. And they wouldn't be now if 
 they were to get the Church. IS'o. If we 
 arc not to have our religion protected, we 
 shall have to go elsewhere for it." 
 
 From this assertion Greville dissented en- 
 tirely. He believed that if the Protestants
 
 200 HARRY EGERTOJJ-. 
 
 had to support their own Church, it would 
 have the most beneficial effects. At present 
 there was a careless indifference throughout 
 the whole body of Protestants, which he be- 
 lieyed resulted from the position of ease and 
 security in which they foimd themselves. A 
 necessity for activity would stir them up, 
 and make them take more interest in their 
 religion. And, if only from jealousy of the 
 Eoman Catholics, they would take very good 
 care that their Church was properly supported. 
 
 A warm discussion then ensued, in which 
 all the arguments which are now so well 
 known were advanced with their usual non- 
 persuasive effect. And at length Lyons 
 asked what, then, did he propose doing ^dth 
 the Church property, if he was for doing 
 away with the Establishment ? ^ ' "Would you 
 hand that over to the Eoman Catholics ?" 
 
 " No," Greville rejoined, ^' I shoiddn't 
 do that. As we have had it so long, I 
 don't think it would be fair to take it away. 
 I should leave the Church all her private 
 property, and give back the tithe-rent 
 charge to the landlords."
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 201 
 
 " But I don't see why the landlords 
 should make a good thing out of it." 
 
 '' They wouldn't. If it wasn't given back 
 to them, disendowment would be equiva- 
 lent to imposing another rent-charge upon 
 them. For, of course, if the present funds 
 of the Church were diverted, the landlords 
 would have to pay over again to support 
 their clergymen. If it is given back, it 
 will, in almost every case I should say, be 
 applied to the same purpose voluntarily, as 
 it was before compulsorily." 
 
 ''But what about Eoman Catholic land- 
 lords ? It would be simply a bonus to 
 them." 
 
 '' They are so very few that they need 
 hardly be considered. De minwits non 
 curat lex. And even to them it would be 
 a reparation for all they had already paid 
 in support of a religion which was not 
 their own." 
 
 '^ I'm beginning to think you're a Papist 
 yourself," grunted Colonel Montgomery. 
 
 ''ISTot at all," Greville said. He was only 
 for justice to all parties alike. And he
 
 202 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 believed that the ill-feeling created by the 
 original bad treatment of the Eoman Catho- 
 lics had been handed down from father to 
 son since CromwelPs time, and been at the 
 bottom of half the disturbances in the 
 conntry. 
 
 ^^ But it seems so ridiculous to me," said 
 Sir Henry, " that people should take the 
 trouble they do to commiserate the Eoman 
 Catholics. Why, I have a score of Eoman 
 Catholic relations, and they don't care that 
 about it," snapping his fingers contemptu- 
 ously. '' Some of them say that it's a blot 
 upon the English constitution, but they 
 connect no sentiment with it whateyer. 
 One or two of them even say they should be 
 very sorry to see any change." 
 
 '^ Because they are not so much under 
 the influence of the priests. And educated 
 people see that the grievance is not, in point 
 of fact, a practical one. The priests make 
 use of it as a lever to work the people with." 
 
 '^ But the priests don't care about it 
 either. The cry is not of theii* making. It 
 has been made for them. I believe they
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 203 
 
 would be very sorry if the Chtircli was 
 abolished, for it would diminish their in- 
 fluence." 
 
 ^'AU the more reason, then, for getting 
 rid of it at once," 
 
 ^* Payment from the State would have the 
 same effect, and not alienate the Protestants 
 to the same extent ; and it would be a relief 
 to the poorer people." 
 
 "But they say they wouldn't take pay- 
 ment." 
 
 "Because they know they're much too 
 well paid now. But try them. Lodge the 
 money in the bank, and see if they wouldn't 
 take it. They'd be obliged to. If the 
 farmers knew they were paid from other 
 sources, they would stop payment very 
 soon. I know several Eoman Catholics who 
 think that would have a much greater effect 
 in lessening their influence than abolishing 
 the Church. And that's what you want, 
 after all. The influence of the priest upon 
 the people, and the people upon the priest, 
 mutually react upon one another, and pro- 
 duce the state of things we have. Forty
 
 204 HAREY EGEETON. 
 
 years ago the priests had none of tlie power 
 which they have now. They have none at 
 this moment in Italy ; the people there hate 
 theii- priests. In Ireland, it originated with 
 O'Connell. When he was agitating for 
 Eepeal, and all that nonsense, he had a 
 political party organised by the priests in 
 every parish. Well, he died, and they were 
 left with a certain influence, but without a 
 leader to point out in what direction it was 
 to be exercised. Then, true to their nature, 
 they used it for themselves, and keep it up 
 now by encouraging hostility to the English 
 Government. Their influence is entirely 
 political; and it is only by feeding the 
 rebellious appetites of the people that they 
 can retain it. Proof of that you may often 
 see in parishes where the priest is not a 
 strong politician. They know on what their 
 influence depends ; and a red-hot curate, as 
 I know for a fact in one instance, is sent 
 down from head- quarters to keep him to his 
 work. You see in the exceptional cases, 
 where a priest or a bishop is favourable to 
 English rule, his authority is set at nought.
 
 HAHHY EGEETON. 20 5 
 
 And SO it would be, I believe, if tbey were 
 paid ; for, if tbey were no longer obliged to 
 flatter tire prejudices of tbe farmers, on 
 whom they were no longer dependent, tbey 
 wouldn't in many instances (where the pre- 
 dominant love of power was slightly de- 
 veloped) trouble themselves about professing 
 the popular views ; they would then have 
 no further weight, and the people would 
 want the stimulus which is now provided 
 by the active agency of the priests." 
 
 " That may be all very true," said Gre- 
 ville ; '^ but I don't believe that it would be 
 any use to pay them, as long as the Esta- 
 blishment remained. They'd make it a 
 handle to retain their influence, even 
 though they were paid. Eemove the Esta- 
 blishment, and then pay them, if you like ; 
 not out of our funds, though." 
 
 " Eut do you really mean to say, you 
 think that putting down the Church would 
 quiet the country ? " asked Lyons, looking 
 towards Greville. 
 
 '^ .'N'ot a bit of it," said Sir Henry, reply- 
 ing for him. ^* Take the Church grievance,
 
 206 HAEBY EGERTON. 
 
 if you like to call it one, from them, and 
 they'll work the land question. Yon see 
 how they identify themselves with that, in 
 order that they may have more than one 
 string to their bow. And it comes natural 
 to them to take it up. Half of them have 
 been brought up in small cabins or farm- 
 houses through the country ; and all their 
 lives they've been accustomed to hear about 
 the hardship of paying rent. '' Oh, the rint! 
 the rint ! that has to be paid." The griev- 
 ance appeals directly to their experience, 
 and if you don't diminish the motive for 
 keeping alive this congenial feeling — by 
 paying them, as I say — you'll have them as 
 hot and strong about the land (which the 
 people think a great deal more about) 
 as you think they are now about the 
 Church." 
 
 Greville rejoined, that he certainly did 
 not believe that abolishing the Church would 
 work wonders in itself. '^But what I do 
 think," he said, '4s, that it would be use- 
 less to attempt any other remedial measure 
 until the air had been cleared by some
 
 HARRY EGERTOIS'. 207 
 
 such, arrangement as would give tho Eoman 
 Catholics their proper place." 
 
 '' Bnt," chimed in another, '^ they can't 
 expect to have the same social position as 
 Protestant clergymen. They are a different 
 class of men ; they come from a much lower 
 grade of society." 
 
 ^' And they don't expect it either," said 
 Sir Henry. " It was only the other day 
 that the priest in my neighbourhood was 
 boasting to me how civil the Protestant 
 parson had been to him at some function 
 where they met. They know very well that 
 our clergymen are a higher class of men. 
 They are quite conscious of their own 
 inferiority, and, I believe, well content 
 enough with their position. They feel that 
 they haven't manners for society, the greater 
 number of them. Where could they get 
 them, bred in farm-houses, and brought 
 up at Maynooth? The reason why the 
 Eoman Catholic gentry wish them to be 
 paid (independently of its lessening their 
 influence, which they very much desire) is, 
 that they think it reflects upon them and
 
 208 HARHY EGEHTON. 
 
 their religion that the priests should have to 
 collect their stipend in the customary infra 
 dig. manner, by stations and compulsory 
 fees, and that kind of thing. This is the 
 only sentiment they have on the subject at 
 all ; and you'll see that, if this question of 
 the Church ever ends by the abolition of 
 the Establishment, you'll only be stirring up 
 the north, without in the least allaying the 
 discontent which prevails in the rest of the 
 country." 
 
 ^^ The north are such a very small 
 minority, that they would soon find dis- 
 cretion the better part, and accept their 
 position ; and as for putting an end to dis- 
 content, you'll never do that till you kill off 
 its parent, poverty ; but you may stop the 
 mouths of agitators and priests, who put 
 the general discontent into a definite form, 
 and foment it. The expression which it 
 assumes is rather the result than the cause. 
 There may, perhaps, be a sort of general 
 hatred of England forming a shadowy kind 
 of element in it, and, possibly, the ghost of 
 an idea that they have a right to the soil.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 209 
 
 But it is priest's agitation grafted upon 
 poverty -wliich produces the fruit that 
 every one tells you is the natural produce of 
 the Celtic stock. Improve their condition, 
 and then, if the priest's influence is re- 
 moved, you'll have them contented and 
 quiet." 
 
 ''You never can improve their condition," 
 said Sir Henry. '' They have no energy — ■ 
 no knowledge — no capital — ^no enterprise. 
 It's the most hopeless thing to attempt to 
 improve them. They don't want to be im- 
 proved, and they won't be improved. As 
 long as they have a potato to put into their 
 mouths, they're satisfied, and go to sleep, or 
 warm their shins over the fire, for the rest 
 of the day. The sort of landlord they prefer 
 is a man who lets them pay their rent just 
 as they like and when they like, or not at 
 all if they like ; who doesn't bother his head 
 about improvements, and, in fact, lets them 
 alone to do just as they please. If you try 
 to improve them, they offer to shoot you." 
 
 " If you try to improve them off their 
 land without any very good reason, perhaps 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 they do," replied Greville, with a smile. 
 " But I deny that an improving landlord is 
 not popular. I could name a dozen, in dif- 
 ferent parts in Ireland, who meet with 
 cordial co-operation and encouragement 
 from their tenants in their attempts to 
 improye their properties, and who are most 
 popular too. And even up in these moun- 
 tain districts (where idleness is more parti- 
 cularly the vice of the people), I don't find 
 making improvements the least unpopular. 
 They see what an advantage it is to them 
 in the end. And every year now I am 
 having more applicants for an advance of 
 rent, or a loan of money for reclaiming or 
 building, or something of the kind. I give 
 it to them on reasonable terms, and of course 
 I'm glad to do it. It's as much to my profit 
 as theirs. They become richer, and my land 
 becomes more valuable. I don't force them 
 to improve, but I point out to them that 
 when the money is always there, if they only 
 like to ask for it, it is their own loss if they 
 don't do it." 
 
 " Ah ! if all landlords now were to do
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 211 
 
 that," said Lyons, '^the value of Irish pro- 
 perty would soon increase." 
 
 "Well, all landlords can't afford to do it," 
 said Greville. " But if absentee landlords, 
 who can perfectly afford it, were to adopt 
 some such system, and so spend a little more 
 of their money upon their properties, we 
 should hear less of this cry about tenant- 
 right and compensation, which every good 
 landlord recognises as a matter of course." 
 
 He forgot for the moment that Sir Henry 
 had the name of being rather backward in 
 recognising the justice of such claims when 
 they clashed with the interests of his 
 pocket. But he continued — 
 
 " Of course there are bad landlords every- 
 where. But take the average of resident 
 landlords in Ireland, and I'll be bound they 
 are as good a lot as in England or elsewhere. 
 It is the absentees, and men who buy up 
 small properties on speculation, who bring 
 discredit on the tenure of land in Ireland. 
 All they care about is to get as much as they 
 can from their estates. And living at a 
 distance, they are never influenced by the
 
 212 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 feelings of humanity which a close contact 
 with distress might and does produce. So 
 that it would be most unjust, for the sake 
 of a few bad specimens, to compel all Irish 
 landlords to give long leases. A lease in 
 Ireland is a very different thing from a lease 
 in England. There, at the expiration of 
 it, the land is in much the same condition 
 probably, in most parts of the country, as it 
 was at the commencement. Xow, take this 
 immediate neighbourhood. Thirty years 
 ago, my property here was little more than 
 half the A^alue which it is now. So much 
 land has been reclaimed fi'om bog, drained, 
 and brought under cultivation in the inter- 
 val, and the produce has so considerably 
 increased in value. Well, if I had been, or 
 if my father had been, obliged to give long 
 leases of this land (supposing the amount of 
 reclamation to have been the same as it has 
 been under the present system of administra- 
 tion), for ten, twenty, five-and-twenty years, 
 the land would have been let at the low rent 
 at which it commenced, and we should have 
 been receiving a fifth part, perhaps, of the
 
 HARKY EGERTON. 213 
 
 value of the estate. It is the same with land 
 all over Ireland. The price of produce is 
 increasing every year, and the value of the 
 land in proportion. Acres of bog, and waste 
 land too, are reclaimed every year. And I 
 consider that a tenant has had fair comj)en- 
 sation for his industry when he has been 
 allowed to hold his reclaimed land at the 
 original nominal rent for a certain number 
 of years, during which time he has paid 
 himself over and over again for his original 
 outlay." 
 
 '' But that's just what you can't get the 
 beggars to see," exclaimed Sir Hemy. 
 ^^They won't acknowledge that you have 
 any right to your own at all. A fellow 
 thinks he is hardly treated because, after 
 you have allowed him the use of youi* land 
 for notliing, you may say, for so long, you 
 ask him to make some return to you by pay- 
 ing for it in future. A man reclaims an acre 
 of bog, say. Time and labour and breaking 
 cost him four or five pounds, perhaps. He 
 plants it with potatoes, and the first year 
 we'll say the crop hardly pays the expenses
 
 214 HARRY EGERTON". 
 
 of breaking. The next year, and the next, 
 he gives it another dose of lime, and the 
 second year's crop covers all expenditure 
 for these years, and leaves him a balance in 
 hand. The third year, and every year after- 
 wards (supposing that he has average crops), 
 he clears a good ten pounds an acre on land 
 for which he is paying, perhaps, a shilling 
 or two shillings. And when he has been 
 allowed to pocket this proht for some years, 
 he calls you a ruffian because you ask him 
 to share it with the owner of the land, who 
 gave him the ground to work upon. It's 
 no use trying to treat them as reasonable 
 beings. They won't listen to reason — they 
 don't understand reason." 
 
 ^' A resident landlord can do a good deal 
 towards improving them in that way; 
 They'll take persuasion from him much 
 more kindly than from an agent, who they 
 think is of course only acting in the interest 
 of the landlord. And agents, for that matter, 
 don't trouble their heads much about entering 
 into explanations, or smoothing down what 
 may appear injustice to the tenant. Then it's
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 215 
 
 undoubtedly a man's interest, too, to live 
 upon his property; for there's nothing so 
 calculated to promote industry as the fact of 
 his immediate presence. When the people 
 know that he takes an interest in their farms, 
 they'll often be ashamed that he should find 
 the land uncared for, and untidy, and un- 
 productive." 
 
 ^' Gad, I don't know," exclaimed Sir 
 Henry ; '^ they're a lazy, unprofitable set ; 
 they're just as pleased with a good crop of 
 weeds as anything else." 
 
 ^^Well, I believe," said Greville, '^that 
 if you could make landlords live upon their 
 properties, it would do infinitely more good 
 than any amount of laws for fixity of 
 tenure and all that kind of thing, which 
 would only create unpleasantness." 
 
 ^' Oh ! give 'em an inch," said Sir Henry, 
 " and you may trust them to take an ell — 
 give them the whip-hand over you, and the 
 next thing they'll ask for Avill be leases for 
 ever for nothing." 
 
 ^'For my part," said Greville, ^^ I hardly 
 ever give a lease at all, and I'm not often
 
 216 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 asked for one. They have a proper confi- 
 dence in my treating them fairly, and I 
 always find that the men with leases have 
 their land in the worst condition. It would 
 be as great a mistake, as great an unkindness 
 to the people themselves, to pass a sweeping 
 measure, compelling landlords to give leases, 
 as it was to emancipate the negroes. It 
 would have been a far greater kindness to 
 have devised some means of improving the 
 master's treatment of the negro. And it 
 will be infinitely better for the tenant to 
 awaken the landlord to a sense of his re- 
 sponsibilities. Leases would produce more 
 indolence, more poverty, and more discon- 
 tent. The Irish nature, as every one but an 
 English pamphleteer knows, is inactive to a 
 degree. As long as they make sufficient to 
 pay their rent, they are satisfied, and seldom 
 think of making improvements. For that 
 matter, they have no capital to do it with. 
 And people persistently forget this when 
 they argue from England and Scotland to 
 the little farms of onr poor country, which 
 are the majority by far."
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 217 
 
 "Isn't it amusing," said Lyons, "to 
 hear English people talking about Ire- 
 land ? They think, because they may 
 have stayed at a couple of country-houses 
 for a week or two, that they must be com- 
 petent to discuss the whole country, and 
 every question relating to it — like Count 
 Smorltork, in ' Pickwick.' " 
 
 "It's more aggravating than amusing, 
 I think," said Greville. " Ireland, more 
 than any other country, I suppose, re- 
 quires an intimate acquaintance with the 
 people and their habits, and the intri- 
 cate intersection of the various parties and 
 shades of feeling among the different 
 classes." 
 
 "Ay, what use, I wonder," said Sir 
 Henry, "would it be for us to draw out 
 leases with minute stipulations for the 
 quantity of manure to be expended on the 
 land every year, the succession of crops, and 
 so forth, as they do in the Lothians ? Why, 
 in many cases the incoming tenant with us 
 expends all his capital in the price he pays 
 for his lease, and if he has a couple of
 
 218 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 bad years to begin with, he's done for. 
 And if you don't make these stipulations, 
 you get your land back, at the end of 
 your lease, exhausted. The tenant takes 
 very good care, when his lease is falling 
 in, to take out anything that he has put 
 into it." 
 
 ''As to fines," said Greville, ''I never 
 let a farm to the highest bidder. It never 
 can pay in the end. The land can't produce 
 more than a certain rent, and the Irish 
 tenant, of all others, is not the man to make 
 it do so. I always have the farm valued, 
 and then get the best man I can for it, 
 choosing one, if possible, with a few pounds 
 of capital ; but they are rare in this part of 
 the country." 
 
 Sir Henry was objecting that if you don't 
 take the highest bidder, you would be 
 accused of favouring, when his remarks were 
 rudely interrupted by a prolonged snore 
 from Colonel Montgomery, who had been 
 for the last half-hour nodding his head in 
 unconscious acquiescence to remarks which, 
 under any other circumstances, would have
 
 HAERY EGERTON. 219 
 
 called forth a captious negative. The 
 laughter of the others woke him up with a 
 testy grunt, and the rest of the party 
 having finished their wine, a motion for 
 adjournment was carried without opposi- 
 tion.
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 There are few combinations of time, place, 
 and circumstance more thorongMy enjoy- 
 able than the first day on the heather 
 in mid' August. There is the novelty of 
 haying your gun once more in use, the re- 
 newed anticipation of sport, the elasticity of 
 spirit, the air, the scenery, the deep purple 
 bloom on the mountain side, and the lights 
 and shadows on the distant hills ; and there 
 is the sense of having risen above the world, 
 and left your cares and troubles, whatever 
 they may be, below, which is, perhaps, one 
 of the chief elements in that buoyancy of 
 mind which makes your step so light and 
 your laugh so gay. Greville and his party 
 are slowly winding up the slope which 
 stretches away behind the house. The dogs 
 are on in front with the keeper ; hangers-on
 
 HARRY EGERTON. " 221 
 
 of yarious kinds behind, some one or two 
 haying tacked themselyes on to the retinue 
 merely in the hope of seeing sport. This 
 loye of sport is an instinct in the Irish 
 nature. They take as keen an interest in 
 anything of the kind as if they had been 
 brought up to it all their liyes, eyen liking 
 the questionable amusement of beating, that 
 they may haye the satisfaction of applaud- 
 ing a good shot with ^' That was well done ! " 
 or, ^' More power, your honour." It is 
 only another eyidence of the freer, brighter, 
 fresher, more independent spirit which un- 
 derlies their nature. Poyerty cramps it, but 
 it's there ; and as they must haye a yent for 
 their spirits, they take to breaking each other's 
 heads sometimes for pure fun. It's worth 
 going out for a bad day's shooting, eyen to 
 hear the jokes which fly about among the 
 beaters. You neycr meet an Irishman who 
 can't appreciate a joke, — do you often come 
 across an English rustic who can ? IS'o — 
 abuse them as you please ; call them liars, 
 beggars, impostors ; tie a long string of vices 
 round their necks, but they'll laugh at you
 
 222 HAREY EGERTON. 
 
 out of the middle of it ; and you will have 
 to confess eventually that they are the finest 
 peasantry in the world ; and that in no 
 other country has Nature sown so many 
 seeds of that intuitive delicacy, sensitive 
 sympathy, and instinctive honour from 
 which the true gentleman springs. 
 
 The shooting party are presently joined 
 by a mountain keeper, who rejoices in the 
 somewhat redundant Chiistian name of 
 Jemmy Neddy; and who, with his merry 
 twinkling eye, rich brogue, and rollick- 
 ing gait, seems the very lean ideal of a 
 thoroughly good-humoured, ragged, laugh- 
 ter-loving Irishman, whose spirits even the 
 mists of a ^'melancholy ocean" have been 
 unable to damp. He welcomes his honour 
 to his own mountain with great cordiality, 
 takes off" his hat to the strange gentlemen, 
 and gives the hangers-on a " Good morrow, 
 boys," in a lower tone. 
 
 '' That's a fine day. Jemmy," says Gre- 
 ville. 
 
 'Tine day itself," he replies; ''the Lord 
 be praised."
 
 HAERY EGERTON. 223 
 
 ^' What stock of birds have you got for 
 us ?" asks his master. 
 
 ^^ Bedad, there's a power of grouse, then, 
 siirelj,^^ replies Jemmy IN'eddy, emphatically. 
 ^' They're lying in it as thick as peas, your 
 honour," he adds, with a cheerful confidence 
 which admits of no denial. 
 
 ^'You haven't been treading on them, I 
 hope." 
 
 " Well, it's not for the want of them, 
 indeed." 
 
 J. N., in fact, had never seen the 
 like, and drew largely upon his fancy for 
 similes which should do justice to the stock 
 upon the ground. Some parts, he said, 
 you'd think might be paved with them, 
 such a layer was in it upon turns. In the 
 lower grounds, again, the people were say- 
 ing that there wasn't a blade of corn left 
 with them for the grouse, which were in 
 such wonderful numbers that the air would 
 be black with them now and again. The 
 whole place, in fact, was alive, crawl- 
 ing with moor-fowl, and Jemmy Neddy 
 would think it strange indeed if they didn't
 
 224 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 be getting good shooting this day, any- 
 way. 
 
 He continued to rattle on in tlie same 
 glib and imaginative manner, provoking ap- 
 proving smiles and "Ah! Jemmy JSTeddy's 
 the boy;" ''Isn't he a great man to talk, 
 now ?" or similar marks of interest from the 
 men behind, nntil they arrived at the spot 
 where the keeper had halted with the dogs, 
 and proposed to commence operations. 
 
 J. N"., being appealed to as to the best 
 direction to go in, said that it would 
 be as good for them to take it out of face 
 (thereby meaning that they should take the 
 whole side before them) ; but they couldn- 1 
 go wrong, he said, whichever way they 
 went, — one part was as good as another 
 when the grouse were so plentiful. 
 
 This was good news ; and Egerton started 
 off with Lyons, prepared for a point at once. 
 But, curiously enough, the dogs continued 
 to range far and wide for nearly half an 
 hour, without acknowledging the presence 
 of game. '' They must be leaving birds 
 behind them," he said. '' They must, in-
 
 HARRY EGERTOX. 225 
 
 deed," the keeper replied. Eut he was 
 assured that they must come in upon them 
 soon — they would meet with them shortly ; 
 and for a time he continued to think that 
 they would. Eut the good ground never 
 came ; and he found out by degrees that it 
 was not necessary to go to the desert for a 
 mirage — that the same phenomenon was to 
 be observed through the medium of a moun- 
 tain keeper's imagination on Gal way hills. 
 The farther they went, the farther this 
 good ground receded ; and, abandoning at 
 last all hope of ever reaching it, he gave his 
 whole attention to the mechanical motion 
 required for jumping from tussock to tus- 
 sock. Yery different walking this from the 
 dry moors of Scotland. Here he seemed, as 
 he expressed it, a kind of jumping Jehosha- 
 phat, always in the aii', when he was not 
 struggling with one leg up to the knee in a 
 bog. The birds, too, would get up when 
 he was in mid-aii', and trying to steady 
 himself on the apex of the next tussock, his 
 gun would go off without any kind of aim, 
 and he would disappear from off his perch 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 (back or forwards, as the case might be), 
 rising again with an unpleasantly cold and 
 clammy feeling about the back. Those 
 dogs, too, and that keeper ! (J. N. had 
 been assigned to Harry and Lyons and 
 their dogs.) !N"o wonder they worked badly : 
 the man's tongue was never quiet. What 
 with whistling, and calling, and cracking 
 his whip, and swearing, and indulging in 
 the most marvellous noises that ever issued 
 from mouth of man, — it was enough to be- 
 wilder any dog of ordinary education. Then 
 he would run forward after either of the 
 shooters had clean missed a bird, to see 
 where it fell ; of course, putting up other 
 birds as he went. And yet the original 
 bird, to his great astonishment, did not fall. 
 "Wasn't it wonderful, now, that he'd be 
 able to fly that distance, after getting that 
 much shot?" If a feather resulted, " Be- 
 gob, he got a great tatthering !" 
 
 Lyons again. Jealous was not the word 
 for his shooting. Did the dogs point, away 
 he went pounding up to them, took Hany's 
 bird if he did get up in time before they
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 227 
 
 rose, or claimed it afterwards if lie missed 
 his own. If a single bird got up — palpably 
 Egerton's — Lyons had it down before Harry 
 could get his gun to his shoulder, apologised 
 profusely, and did the same thing again on 
 the first opportunity ; if they both fired at 
 once, assumed a smiling consciousness of 
 having bagged the bird, which was, perhaps, 
 more irritating than all. He very nearly 
 shot one of the dogs, too. It was not the 
 black of his nail from him, the keeper said. 
 And then he began to talk to Harry about 
 the precautions one ought always to take 
 out shooting, as if Egerton, and not himself, 
 had nearly killed the best dog in the kennel. 
 What a relief it was to come up with the 
 rest of the party, and to hear the keeper tell 
 Jemmy IN'eddy to let a screech out of him to 
 the boy with the luncheon basket ! 
 
 "While waiting for luncheon. Jemmy 
 I^eddy's lively imagination is again called 
 into play to find reasons for their not having 
 yet come upon the numerous packs of grouse 
 which were supposed to lie so thickly upon 
 the ground. He was quite equal to the
 
 228 HARRY EGERTOaS". 
 
 occasion, and insisted that they had all the 
 best ground before them still. But he con- 
 fessed to some surprise at not having met 
 with more birds in what they had already 
 travelled, ^^ for they'll be in it mostly every 
 minute and every hour of the day," he said. 
 Basket impacked, dogs and men retire to 
 the rear, and the shooters lean against the 
 rock, munching their sandwiches and look- 
 ing down upon the view. It was a bright, 
 warm, August day. The river below them 
 was glittering in the rays of a bui-ning sun, 
 now softly gliding between green meadows 
 and bushy brakes, now sparkling through 
 rocky clefts, or losing itself beneath the 
 dark shade of distant woods. The battle- 
 ments of the house just peeped from the 
 plantations below them, and the distance 
 was filled up with the mountains of Conne- 
 mara, — fading, still fading, till they were 
 lost or merged in the blue depths beyond. 
 Fleecy clouds relieved the clearness of the 
 sky, throwing their changing shadows over 
 many a heathery slope, or reposing them 
 lightly upon the bosom of sleeping lochs
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 229 
 
 amid the glens. Peace was upon all, and 
 peace liad wedded beauty, and their offspring 
 was delight. 
 
 Why, indeed, should Scotland be so fa- 
 voured above all, when Ireland, too, affords 
 such picturesque attraction ? Echo hears 
 the question in her distant cave among the 
 hills, and repeats it to the whispering airs 
 which wait upon her call. At once her 
 sighing assonance is wafted to the gales ; 
 light-footed breezes speed it o'er the deep, 
 and England melts, perhaps, at the gentle, 
 melancholy tones, which float in upon her 
 careless ear like the vald, despairing note of 
 some dying swan. 
 
 Luncheon is finished, flasks succeed, and 
 water is procured from the clear mountain 
 stream at theu* feet, where the men have 
 been quenching the ^^ great drouth " occa- 
 sioned by the heat of the day. Pipes are 
 lighted, and J. N. is again summoned to 
 point out the best direction to take. 
 
 He was in doubt which to recommend. 
 There was a reasonable share of birds, he 
 said, about the low bars above Oiny Tom's
 
 230 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 land, and there were good packs up above, 
 too, ^4f they're in it," — which was a 
 judicious saving clause. 
 
 '^ "Will they be at home, do you think ? " 
 Lyons asked. 
 
 " Oh ! damn the hate I know, sir ! — your 
 honour, that is " (they use ^'sir" in addi^ess- 
 ing each other). ''They be to be there, for 
 I never seen it without them." 
 
 Jemmy I^eddy even went so far as to 
 specify a pack of ten forenenst them, which 
 he could state positively he had never seen 
 fail. " And another of twelve away yon- 
 der," he continued, waving his arm vaguely 
 towards the neighbouring hill, '' and more of 
 them scattered about in every direction, for- 
 bye there." 
 
 ''What's that, your honour?" he asked, 
 having been so full of the coming sport that 
 he had not caught Harry's question upon 
 partridges in the low lands. "Is it par- 
 tridges ? IS'ot a colour of one ever was in 
 it ; — isn't it too moist entirely ? But it's 
 grouse that ye'll get there in the latther 
 ind of the saison. By japers ! the noise
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 231 
 
 they'll be making with, their crowin' in the 
 mornin's had like to deafen a man." Jemmy- 
 Neddy had a right to kno\Y, he said, for 
 didn't he see them sitting by scores upon 
 the ditches all round his own house, looking 
 at him ? 
 
 ^^ Well, which way. Jemmy, — up or 
 down?" asked Greville at last, getting up 
 from the heather. 
 
 He was told that it would be a good 
 chance below, — there was no better ground. 
 Eut his informant would not say at the same 
 time that the high ground was not every bit 
 as good. 
 
 There was a decision in the reply which 
 left no doubt upon their minds which line 
 to adopt, and they started off accordingly, 
 and shot on till evening, making a total bag 
 of some five-and-thirty brace. 
 
 Large bags were never made in Ireland, 
 Greville said to Harry, as they walked home 
 together. " The mountains are too wet, for 
 one thing. And another is that people 
 don't take any trouble about it. If English 
 people were to come over here as they do to
 
 232 HAREY EGERTON. 
 
 Scotland, you'd soon see the shooting im- 
 prove." 
 
 Harry wondered why they didn't; sup- 
 posed that a moor was to be had much 
 cheaper in Ireland than in Scotland. 
 
 ^^ For a quarter of the money," Greville 
 said; ^^and just as good shooting in some 
 of them, if it was properly looked after. 
 But there's an absurd prejudice in England 
 against everything Irish. !N"ow my mother 
 hates the country — for what reason I can't 
 tell you. People think that they are safe to 
 be shot if they come to Ireland. They fancy 
 that we are only in a state of half- civilisa- 
 tion, and they'll continue to think so till 
 they make themselves a little more inti- 
 mately acquainted with us. It's that 
 same feeling of insecurity which prevents 
 capitalists bringing their money here. Ire- 
 land has resources enough for any amount 
 of capital, but we have no means of develop- 
 ing them; and we shall remain poor and 
 backward till English capital does something 
 for us. You see how much better off the 
 people are in neighbom^hoods like Belfast,
 
 HAEEY egerto:n-. 233 
 
 where capital has found its way. There's 
 nothing stimulates energy like competition 
 and emulation. When a man sees his 
 neighbour improving and becoming richer 
 than himself, and leaving him behind, jea- 
 lousy, if nothing else, makes him more active 
 in looking after his own interests." 
 
 ^^But they're a better class of people 
 up in the north, ain't they? Isn't there 
 a lot of Scotch blood up there?" asked 
 Egerton. 
 
 " There is. And you see how the force 
 of example works. !N'ow, here in the moun- 
 tains they have never had any stimulus 
 to industry such as expenditure of capital 
 offers, and they hardly know what industry 
 is. "Whenever I can get a good man from 
 another part of the country to come here, I 
 give him a farm at a low rent, and plant him 
 for the benefit of the others. About here, 
 too, there are, a good many Eoman Catholic 
 landlords, who, as a rule, are not an im- 
 proving set of men. They are generally 
 harder upon their tenants, for they know 
 they can be so with more impunity.
 
 234 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 Any hostility they may excite will not be 
 countenanced by the j^riest in the same way 
 as it would if they were Protestants. Then 
 there are a good many Protestant absentees^ 
 who never think that, besides the more sub- 
 stantial benefits which their tenantry lose 
 by their non-residence, the influence which 
 they ought to exercise in counteracting the 
 power of the priests is also lost to the 
 neighbourhood. I never have the least 
 scruple in telling my tenants how to vote 
 at an election. They haven't education or 
 judgment enough to form an opinion for 
 themselves, and if I didn't lead them the 
 priest would. To introduce the ballot into 
 Ireland would be simply to hand over the 
 country to priests' rule. But people will 
 go on declaiming, I suppose, not knowing 
 what they are talking about, and the country 
 will remain pretty much as it is." 
 
 '' But now, how would you expend 
 capital?" Harry asked. ''Here, for in- 
 stance, — what would you do ?" 
 
 ''Well, just in this immediate neighbour- 
 hood, perhaps, there wouldn't be any opening
 
 HARRY EGERTOiS-. 235 
 
 for it, except in making a railway. If the 
 Goyernment were to take charge of the 
 railways, and increase the communication 
 throughout the country, and lower the tariff 
 for goods' carriage, it would give a fillip 
 to industry, and very soon, I believe, 
 attract more capital. For people can't go 
 on fancying that money invested in land or 
 mines, or that kind of property, ever could 
 be thrown away or lost, because there were 
 occasional disturbances in the country. And 
 the more employment the people have, the 
 less they will think about their wrongs. 
 Expenditure of capital will produce se- 
 curity. The one influence reacts upon the 
 other." 
 
 ^' But then, don't they say that it's dis- 
 heartening spending money upon labour in 
 Ireland; that the Irishman is so lazy he 
 doesn't give good value for his pay?" 
 
 ^^ People who don't want to spend money 
 say so. But I never heard that the people 
 who work in the manufactimng towns in 
 Ireland are a worse class of workmen than 
 those in England or Scotland. There are a
 
 236 HARKY EGERTON. 
 
 few excellent Irislimen who think fit to cry 
 down their own country, and help to spread 
 these notions. Colonel Montgomery there 
 will tell you that a railway is the most 
 damnable invention that it ever entered into 
 the mind of man to conceive. And he has 
 the most absurd notions about the Govern- 
 ment taking the management of the rail- 
 ways. ^ I say, the very idea of such a thing, 
 I say ! Have a Government official at every 
 railway station, influencing the elections ! 
 I say, Government spy — Government spy — 
 wouldn't countenance it for a moment.' He 
 has a good deal of property up in Ulster, 
 and these are the sort of notions that he 
 expects will improve it." 
 
 ^' They seem to run the trains in a very 
 casual kind of way now," Harry said; 
 ^^when the guard has had his joke the 
 train goes on — time apparently of no conse- 
 quence. And the stations give one the idea 
 of an idle country. There are always a lot 
 of people loafing about with their hands 
 in their pockets, as if they had nothing to 
 do."
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 237 
 
 ^' They would give up being idle if they 
 had something found for them to do ; they 
 haven't the means or the wish to find it for 
 themselves." 
 
 A man, better dressed than the ordinary 
 native, and with a close-cut beard, passed 
 at this moment, and Greville continued, 
 ^^ That's one of the men who do more harm 
 in the country than even the priests. That 
 man was in America for two or thi'ee years, 
 and came back here a year ago full of all 
 sorts of wild notions, which he spreads 
 among the people, making them more dis- 
 'contented than ever with their poverty. He 
 takes in a rebellious newspaper, too, and 
 reads the inflammatory articles aloud, I'm 
 told. He was turned out of the work a 
 short time ago, for getting up gambling in 
 the village. The whole neighbom-hood used 
 to gamble, and raffle their poultry, and meet 
 in his house to play cards at night — very 
 much, of course, to his profit. But can 
 you fancy four ragged Irishmen sitting 
 down to play whist, fowl points, and a 
 turkey on the rubber ? "
 
 238 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 Harry laughed, as he admitted that it 
 was a kind of chicken-hazard of which he 
 had had no previous experience. 
 
 ^^ Do you see that old woman ? " Greville 
 asked presently, pointing to a stooping form 
 in front of them. ^' You wouldn't think, 
 perhaps, that she was your nurse once ! " 
 
 ^^ Oh ! is that the old woman I met yes- 
 terday ? " exclaimed Harry. 
 
 ^^ Where did you meet her ? " 
 
 He explained the strange interview which 
 they had had. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! she's quite mad," Greville said. 
 '^ She has had a pension from me for a long 
 time. I never could get her to leave the 
 cabin her husband had when he was alive, 
 or else I should have made her more com- 
 fortable somewhere. If she prefers living 
 by herself, though, it is best to let her be." 
 
 They had come up with her as Greville 
 finished speaking, and he stopped and in-' 
 quired kindly after her health and comfort. 
 
 ^^ Oh, he was always very good to her, 
 indeed," she answered, with a long-di-awn, 
 absent sigh ; and then, as her eye fell upon
 
 HARRY EGERTOK. 239 
 
 Harry, tlie expression of her face changed, 
 and the same wild, anxious look came oyer 
 it which had startled him the day before. 
 She pointed her bony finger at him, and 
 asked Greville, in a husky yoice, what 
 brought Mm into the country ? It wasn't 
 him she nursed ; it was his brother, his 
 brother ; and she broke into a laugh, which 
 left a disagreeable impression upon the 
 minds of those who listened to it. 
 
 Greville asked her if she didn't remember 
 taking care of Harry as well, when they 
 were in Italy ; but her answers were 
 strange and incoherent. The subject didn't 
 seem to be a soothing one, and they walked 
 on and left her to fall on her knees, and 
 throw her hands above her head with such 
 wild gesticulations, that the superstitious 
 natives who were following edged away to 
 the opposite side of the road, for fear of 
 coming within her influence. 
 
 ^^ Isn't it rather odd," Harry said, " that 
 she should get so excited when she sees 
 me ? It doesn't seem to be love." 
 
 ^^ It is rather odd," Greville said. Then,
 
 240 HARRY EGERTOJf. 
 
 turning round to one of the men behind, he 
 asked, ''What would you take, Pat, to keep 
 house for old Biddy?'' 
 
 " Oh ! sorra much I'd be liyin' "with her 
 at all, your honour," was the reply. 
 
 " "Wouldn't she be good company ? " 
 
 "Divil a much I know about her, then. 
 They're tellin' queer tales in the country 
 of what she'll be sayin' when the fit's on 
 her." 
 
 " What do they say ? " asked Greyille. 
 
 " Oh ! not a one of me knows, your 
 honour," said Pat, throwing up his chin. 
 " They'll be sayin' that she'll talk a deal 
 of his honour here," looking at Harry; 
 "and more about his honour's brother — 
 that's Mr. Egerton — and her ladyship that 
 was his mother, and plenty more besides." 
 
 "But what does she say about them?" 
 asked Harry. 
 
 " Well, I couldn't say, indeed, your 
 honour. It's what I hear them talkin' in 
 the coimtry. There's times when she's quiet 
 enough ; but the counthry people believes 
 that his riverence knows more nor what
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 241 
 
 any other person does about th' onld 
 'oman." 
 
 '' What sort of a priest have you got ? " 
 asked Lyons, who had fallen back from the 
 party in front. 
 
 " Father Murphy ! Oh, he's a first-rate 
 fellow," answered Greville. '' That white 
 house there is his. If he knew we were 
 in this direction, he'd insist upon our com- 
 ing in to feed; he's importunate some- 
 times in his hospitality. He met us going 
 out to shoot those coverts over there one 
 day, and made us promise to take him on 
 our way back; and, when we looked in 
 at five o'clock, had a regular* collation 
 spread out — shoulder of mutton, turkey 
 (just killed), port and sherry, and all kinds 
 of things ; crammed our plates, and wouldn't 
 be denied, though it was within a couple of 
 hours of dinner." 
 
 " That good old sort is dying out," said 
 Lyons. ^'You don't often come across a 
 foreign- educated priest now, — do you ?" 
 
 '' No. And it's a pity," Greville replied. 
 *^ Besides being more polished and geutie- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 manlike, they were more liberal. ISTow th.ey 
 come up from the people saturated with the 
 prejudices of the country — narrow-minded 
 to a degree, and with the one idea of keep- 
 ing their hold upon the people and pan- 
 dering to theii' prejudices, never mind by 
 what petty acts and meannesses. Father 
 Murphy was educated in Spain ; and not- 
 withstanding a strong partiality for whiskey, 
 he still has a manner that would put to 
 shame half the gentlemen one meets. We'll 
 have him to dinner some night when the 
 Colonel goes." 
 
 And accordingly, a few days afterwards, 
 when the Orangeman had left, Father Mur- 
 phy was asked to dine. 
 
 Greville was quite right. There were 
 distinctly the manner and feelings of a 
 gentleman beneath that portly waistcoat and 
 rubicund face. A slightly perceptible shy- 
 ness, perhaps, caused by the feeling that he 
 was in an unusual position dining at a Pro- 
 testant's table. It is only the most inde- 
 pendent priests who do so. They think, as 
 a rule, that by appearing in the enemy's
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 243 
 
 camp in a friendly way, their influence 
 among their own people will be impaired. 
 
 Father Murphy was engaged in a lively 
 conversation with his host when Egerton 
 entered the room before dinner, and a 
 curious observer might have noted a slight 
 start of interest in his small grey eyes as 
 Greville mentioned Harry's name; but it 
 was only momentary, and his bow was as 
 courtly and polished as bows are said to 
 have been fifty years ago. The slight ab- 
 sence, too, which his next reply betrayed 
 might have been occasioned by any un- 
 known cause within his waistcoat. Harry 
 certainly thought, though, Avhen he hap- 
 pened to look up once during dinner, and 
 found Father Murphy's keen eye fixed upon 
 him, that there was an unusual look of 
 interest in it which he was at a loss to 
 account for. Struck by his appearance, he 
 possibly thought, and liked him accordingly. 
 
 A fear of di-opping incautious remarks 
 before the servants subdued his reverence's 
 conversation duiing dinner; but when the 
 whiskey and hot water and "materials".
 
 244 HAREY EGERTON. 
 
 were on the table, lie was the best company 
 possible — full of anecdote and general infor- 
 mation ; spoke with great respect about the 
 Protestant clergymen — (from motives of de- 
 licacy the Church question was not much 
 alluded to by any of the party) — touched 
 slightly upon the adrantages of denomina- 
 tional education, and was justly indignant at 
 the slight put upon the country by the per- 
 sistent absence of royalty. ^'Why, sii^, it's 
 a thing," he said, '' that wouldn't be tole- 
 rated in any country in Europe, How can 
 Englishmen expect the Irish people to like 
 their rule and to feel a profound attachment 
 to their Queen, when they never see her ? 
 Why, I wonder there's a loyal man left 
 in the country." 
 
 With this sentiment, at least, none of the 
 party disagreed. But when he began to 
 deplore the emigration mania, which was 
 depopulating the country, Greville and 
 Sir Hem^y both were at issue with him 
 there. 
 
 "We shall not agree upon that point, 
 Father Murphy," said Greville, who had
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 245 
 
 often argued the question with him before. 
 ^'It would be a different thing if the emi- 
 gration was from the middle or east of the 
 country, where the farms are larger, and 
 the population not more than the land can 
 support; but when it's nearly all from 
 these mountain districts, where many of 
 them, as they say, have neither cow nor 
 calf, ewe nor lamb, bit nor sup, why they 
 couldn't do better than go where they can 
 get good wages, and leave more room for 
 those who stay behind." 
 
 '^ 'Not a doubt of it," chimed in Sir 
 Hemy. ^^ There's twice the population in 
 Ireland that there ought to be ; and I shall 
 be very glad to see it half as thin again as 
 it is now." 
 
 ^^ Ah, isn't it a dreadful thing to see the 
 poor creatures leaving their homes like 
 that?" said the priest, who, in common 
 with most of his fraternity, deeply deplored 
 the exodus of his dues. 
 
 "They're much better off in America," 
 Greville said. " They can live like human 
 beings there, and very often are able to
 
 246 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 send home money to their relations. Here 
 they live a sort of troglodyte life, many of 
 them. They never could do anything more 
 than just pay the rent of their small hold- 
 ings; and their cabins are not worthy of 
 the name of houses.'' 
 
 Father Murphy still dissented, and Sir 
 Henry took up the thread of the conversa- 
 tion. ^^ If I had my way," he said, " I'd 
 clear off seventy per cent, of them, and 
 throw all these miserable little potato gar- 
 dens into respectable farms ; and then you 
 might expect some civilisation. But, dam- 
 me ! you might as well go and hang your- 
 self at once as propose to do anything of the 
 kind. Why, your life wouldn't be worth a 
 minute's purchase. They'd shoot you down 
 like a dog for daring to interfere with their 
 squalor and wretchedness." 
 
 '' Ah, you're hard upon the poor things," 
 said Father Murphy. '^ They have a great 
 fondness for their little bits of land. Sir 
 Hemy; and it doesn't do to be too rough 
 with them." 
 
 ^^ It zvould be rather a strong measure to
 
 HARET EGERTON. 247 
 
 make a clean sweep like that," said Greyille. 
 *^I'm all for their going; but I shouldn't 
 think of turning them out if they didn't 
 want to go. The worst of it is that all the 
 able-bodied men go, and leave the old men 
 and women behind to take care of the place; 
 and then the land goes to the bad, and 
 labour becomes scarce. So that it isn't very 
 much to the benefit of the landlord, however 
 much it may be of the people themselves." 
 
 From this to other topics of local interest, 
 until they retired into the drawing-room, 
 where Harry soon found himself engaged in 
 a hunting conversation with his reverence, 
 who had numbers of good stories to tell in 
 reference to that subject. By a natural 
 transition they came to the former owner of 
 Castle Greville; and then Harry asked if 
 he had known his mother. 
 
 Oh, he had known Mrs. Egerton ever 
 since she was a child ! 
 
 ^^ And his father?" 
 
 He had seen something of Mr. Egerton, 
 too, during his visits. 
 
 But upon this subject the worthy father
 
 248 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 had not so much to say. In fact, he became 
 curiously reserved, Harry thought. And as 
 some one else joined in their conversation at 
 this juncture, he had no further opportunity 
 of analysing his reserve.
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Sad delusion! The Irish weather seemed 
 to think that it had a character to lose, and 
 for really several days in succession it was 
 cheerful, and even brilliant. In wandering 
 over sunny moors, or throwing flies across 
 breezy pools and glancing rapids, the time 
 passed quickly away into September ; and, 
 amid the varied attractions of a wild country 
 life, Egerton had almost forgotten all about 
 his debts and his difficulties. At all events, 
 they were put aside for the present, until 
 unpleasantly reminded of them one rainy 
 morning by a budget of bills and letters, 
 
 which '•^ some d d good-natured friend " 
 
 had forwarded from his club. 
 
 It was a gloomy morning for such a 
 gloomy reminder. The rain poured down 
 unceasingly, and dribbled down the window-
 
 250 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 panes ; the wind rumbled mournfully down 
 the old chimneys. There was a chill and 
 wintry look without, and dead leaves came 
 tapping at the windows as the rattling gusts 
 hurried past. Harry had been left alone in 
 the breakfast-room to digest his post, and 
 he was gradually lapsing into that delightful 
 state of hopelessness and despair to which 
 he had become almost accustomed before 
 leaving London. He sat, letters in hand, 
 before the fire, which the damp chilliness of 
 the day had rendered necessary; and his 
 eyes, wandering upwards from the grate, 
 fixed themselves, at length, upon his 
 mother's picture. It was a similar one to 
 that in his father's study ; and as he gazed 
 now upon ^^ the meek intelligence of those 
 dear eyes," he wondered whether he would 
 have been in a better position if she had been 
 alive — longed to have felt her kind sympathy, 
 and to have been able to return the love 
 which that face expressed. He knew he 
 could have loved that picture ; and his 
 father, he thought, never could have scouted 
 him as he had done, if he had had a mother
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 251 
 
 to plead for his youthful extravagances — a 
 mother such as she would have been, in 
 whom he could have confided, and who 
 would have sympathised with his every 
 feeling. It seemed as if there was something 
 wanting, had been something left out all 
 through his life, not having ever had a 
 mother's tender care and loving watchful- 
 ness to soften the hardness of a male sur- 
 rounding. And a tear stole into his eye, 
 as fancy pictured to him the happiness there 
 might have been in the love of that graceful 
 woman. Her whole expression breathed of 
 kindliness, and affection, and sympathy, and 
 all the softer virtues and charms of woman's 
 nature, which were heightened in his eyes, 
 at the present moment, by the halo which 
 the image of a mother shed around them. 
 
 But his soft, absorbing melancholy, so 
 sweetly sad, was rudely dissipated, on a 
 sudden, by the noisy entrance of his mother's 
 namesake and her brother, who ran up to 
 him with a gaiety which no dull weather 
 could damp, and climbed up one on each 
 knee with such a laughing '' Good morning,"
 
 252 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 and such infectious spirits, that Dull Care 
 was sent about his business forthwith. 
 
 ^^ Jump me, Cousin Harry," cries little 
 Walter; and up he goes to the ceiling, 
 with a scream of delight. Once more — 
 again — now another ; and then it is Con- 
 stance's turn. Perilous feats of gymnastics 
 are succeeded by an equestrian performance, 
 in which the horse is not spared by either 
 of his riders. And now he has turned the 
 tables on them, and is chasing them round 
 the room, and through the hall, to the great 
 delight of the little pair, and to his own 
 relief. 
 
 It's a happy power not vouchsafed to 
 everyone, that of making oneself agreeable 
 to children. Some men, I suppose, are too 
 stiiT — have no sympathy with the exuberance 
 of young spirits; others, perhaps, are too self- 
 conscious, too painfully alive to the nonsense 
 which they are talking or acting, and think- 
 ing how ridiculous they would appear to 
 anyone who happened to be looking on; 
 and a good many, of course, have not the 
 requisite amount of good-nature which makes
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 253 
 
 it seem worth their while to try and contri- 
 bute to anybody else's happiness. Harry 
 Egerton, however, did not belong to the 
 latter class, or, for that matter, the former 
 either ; for Walter and Constance were rest- 
 ing from the laborious pleasure which he 
 had been providing for them, each with a 
 hand of his in their own, and chattering to 
 him with childish glee, when their father 
 entered the room, and they ran to meet him. 
 
 ^^Do you feel inclined to face the rain, 
 and come to petty sessions ? " asked Greville, 
 when the children had gone through their 
 morning embrace. 
 
 Egerton was perfectly indifferent to the 
 rain. " Anj-thing better than staying in the 
 house ;" and so, after duly providing them- 
 selves with frieze coats and waterproofs, 
 they started on an Irish car for the sessions- 
 house, two or thi'ee miles distant. Harry 
 was accommodated with a seat on the bench, 
 and inhaled with great gusto, for an hour 
 or two, the steam of wet fustian and unclean 
 garments, and persons of motley appearance. 
 Some of the cases were amusing enough,
 
 254 HARRY EGEETON. 
 
 from the sharpness and equivocation of the 
 witnesses. One old woman particularly 
 was a fund of laughter in herself. The 
 way she sat down and looked at the 
 attorney, the fixed expression of caution 
 on her wi'inkled face, the careful way in 
 which she weighed every question before 
 answering it, determined not to be caught 
 tripping, and then the feigned stupidity 
 and comic expression of sham bewilderment 
 which she assumed when hard pressed, 
 were a small dramatic entertainment in 
 their way. 
 
 It was a trivial case of robbing a small 
 shopkeeper, and the woman had been called 
 as a witness against her own daughter, who 
 was the accused. The point which the attor- 
 ney seemed anxious to make was, that money 
 had been given to her in a certain week by 
 her daughter, which the latter had not been 
 able satisfactorily to account for, something 
 of the kind having been hinted to a neighbour. 
 
 After attempting to arrive at his point 
 by a circuitous route, which long practice 
 had taught him to be the only way of
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 255 
 
 approacliing an Irish witness, and finding 
 that the old woman was as sharp as him- 
 self, and that he had elicited absolutely 
 nothing by his questions, he continued at 
 last in an angry brogue, — ''Now, old wo- 
 man, will you answer me this, — did you, 
 or did you not, receive money from your 
 daughter in that week?" 
 
 ''And why wouldn't I ?" she asks. 
 
 The attorney's face clears. Committed 
 her to it at last. "And now, my good 
 woman, will you tell me, was it five shil- 
 lings or ten shillings, or maybe more, that 
 she gave you?" 
 
 " What 'ud ail me ? Sure isn't her wages 
 half-a-crown the week, and doesn't she 
 always give me that, and I boar din' her ? 
 And not at all too much, your w^orship, 
 either. Wouldn't she pay that, and more, 
 with any other woman? and isn't it right 
 that she'd live with her own mother, that's 
 a widow, and a poor lone woman ?" 
 
 Prevailed upon at last to give her atten- 
 tion to the amount actually handed over to 
 her, she answers- — " And how would she
 
 256 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 give me more than her wages, I'd like to 
 know ? Isn't she a poor sarvin' girl ? — • 
 and it isn't the likes of them that's too full 
 of money. It's well on to ten years, your 
 worship, since the ould man died, — God 
 rest his soul ! — and not a day since but 
 
 what Is it money you're talkin' 
 
 about?"— in answer to another question, 
 — -^^ what money at all ?" 
 
 '^ What you told Widow Clancy you got 
 that week. Tell me, how much was it ? " 
 
 ^^ Sure, / gave no money to Widow 
 Clancy, nor she to me, and she'll tell you 
 the same herself." (The individual in ques- 
 tion had since had a stroke of paralysis, so 
 that it was very safe to refer to her.) 
 '^ Haven't we been neighbours this five 
 years ? and it's myself that ought to know. 
 Sure, your worship, the ould man was a 
 sister's son of her own father, and afore he 
 died, — peace be to his soul ! — he'd tell me 
 oftentimes his own self " 
 
 Attorney is now very angry indeed, and 
 puts a final question with a terrifying 
 expression of countenance, shaking his fist
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 257 
 
 close to her face. ^' Tell me this, ye 
 ould fiend ! — will you tell the Court, or 
 will you not tell the Court, what money 
 you got from your daughter in that 
 week ?" 
 
 The old woman looks at him for a mo- 
 ment, and, turning to the bench, clasps her 
 hands as she aj)peals to their compassion. 
 '' He wants to frighten me, your wor- 
 ships, — the poor lone widow!" A ragged 
 handkerchief is applied to her eyes, which 
 are moist with the ready tears, and Harry 
 conceals his laughter at the attorney's dis- 
 comfiture, as he tells her that she may go 
 down, and bad luck to her for a wicked old 
 woman. 
 
 The aggrieyed shopkeeper himself was 
 called next, and after giving his evi- 
 dence, was cross-examined by the girl's 
 attorney. 
 
 " You're not married, I think, Mr. — 
 "What's your name ? — Mr. Malone ?" 
 
 Mr. Malone. Well, indeed I am, sir. 
 
 Attort^t. And what age is your wife ? 
 
 Mr. M. {tvith emotion). Would yiz ask 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 HARRY EGERT05. 
 
 what age is a woman that's in her grave 
 this good while ? 
 
 Att. Sure you told me you were mar- 
 ried, man ? 
 
 Mr. M. Wasn't I married once ? 
 
 Att. {angrily). Did I ask were you 
 married once ? Don't I want to know are 
 you married now ? 
 
 Mr. M. Well, if it plase you, I am 
 not then. 
 
 Att. {insinuatingly). But maybe you'd 
 not think you're too old at all for marry- 
 ing again. 
 
 Mr. M. {jauntily). Indeed I would not. 
 {Laughter in Court.) 
 
 Att. That's what they're saying in the 
 country. But I wouldn't doubt that it's 
 every bit as pleasant to be a boy? 
 
 Mr. M. {who doesnH see the drift of 
 these questions). Well, indeed, I can't 
 say. 
 
 Att. {seductively). Yes, but I'll en- 
 gage you can say, Mr. Malone. Isn't it 
 coorting the gii'ls you are as well as the 
 youngest among them ? And, indeed, what
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 259 
 
 wonder ? for you're a well-looking man 
 enough. 
 
 Smothered laughter, — Mr. Malone's plain- 
 ness being undeniable; but he shifted his 
 position on his chair, smoothed his hat, and 
 admitted that the women liked his society. 
 
 Att. I expect you'll be making some of 
 them presents now and again ; it isn't every 
 one that has the means, like yourself, and 
 has the liberal hand. 
 
 Mr. Malone did not deny that a bit of 
 ribbon, or the like, might have passed be- 
 tween them on turns ; " but that's no harm, 
 any way. And if a man's a well-looking 
 man, it's not himself he has to thank for 
 that." (J/r. M. was not a popular man^ and 
 his modest speech was received with very dis- 
 respectful jeers.) 
 
 Att. {with significant glance to the bench). 
 And is it true that the prisoner was in love 
 with yourself? 
 
 Mr. M. Ah ! how would I know ? It's 
 like enough. 
 
 Att. She's a fine long lump of a i:>irl, 
 I'm thinking.
 
 260 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 Mr. M. She is then, — more's the pity. 
 
 Att. Was she long in the house ? 
 
 Mr. M. She was, a good while. 
 
 Att. And she got never a present at all, 
 I dare say. 
 
 Mr. M. [tvith energy). IN'ot a hate ever 
 she got, except that she took it herself. 
 
 Att. "Will you swear that ? 
 
 Mr. M. I will — barrin' a bit of a hand- 
 kerchief she begged from me at Christmas 
 last. 
 
 Att. (^glancing trkimphantly towards the 
 bench J severely to Mr. Malone.) You may go 
 down, sir. It's ashamed of yourself you 
 ought to be. An old man, with a family and 
 all, to be carrying on in a way that the 
 whole country's laughing at you. 
 
 The prisoner was put upon the table 
 again, and questioned by her own attorney 
 as to whether Mr. Malone had not given her 
 the money. 
 
 Apprehending the drift of his question at 
 once, she solemnly asserted that it was the 
 case, notwithstanding the ejaculations of 
 Mr. Malone down below, who invoked the
 
 HAERY EGEBTGN. 261 
 
 Deity to bear witness to the lies she was 
 telling, and was eventually removed from 
 Court by the police. The attorney then 
 proceeded to build, upon the admission of 
 the handkerchief, an airy castle of inference, 
 pointing out how evident it was to the in- 
 telligence of their worships that the money 
 had been given to the girl for a purpose 
 which Mr. Malone (the old rip !) was ashamed 
 to have known, and that when it had come 
 to be talked about through Widow Clancy, 
 to save his own character he had basely 
 and meanly accused this poor girl, his 
 dupe, of stealing. "Wasn't it a shame to see 
 a man — an ugly old man like him, too — 
 with a family of children, behaving in the 
 way he was? — to think that any man could 
 be found so mean as to first take away a girl's 
 character for modesty, and then, in order to 
 save his own, try and make ber out to be a 
 thief! He worked himself up to such a pitch 
 of native eloquence, that the picture he drew 
 of the blighted homestead, the weeping 
 girl, the sorrowing mother, and the deep- 
 dyed villain, was really most touching
 
 262 HARBT EGERTON. 
 
 (particularly if you knew that it was all 
 done for half-a- crown), and made a great 
 impression upon their worships on the 
 bench. 
 
 Greyille happened to be out of Court at 
 the time, and these worthies, after the at- 
 torney had concluded his impassioned ap- 
 peal for the acquittal of his client, put their 
 heads together, and decided that it was a 
 most gross case, really a most scandalous 
 action on the part of the prosecutor, and 
 acquitted the girl forthwith. The ugly and 
 respectable shopkeeper, besides being con- 
 victed of being a Don Juan, was also re- 
 quired to pay the defendant's costs. 
 
 Solvuntur risu tahulce^ as frequently hap- 
 pens at petty sessions. 
 
 ^^That day's mendin', your honour," re- 
 marked the ostler, as he arranged the reins 
 for Greville shortly after. 
 
 ^^ It is, Pat. We shall have a fine even- 
 ing yet. How's Mrs. Dolan, and all the 
 family ? " 
 
 ^^"Well, thank your honour. I hope your 
 honour and the childer's well?"
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 263 
 
 ^^The Lord be praised for that!" rejoined 
 Pat, on receiving an affirmative answer, ^^ for 
 they're beautiful cbilder surelj. Safe home, 
 your honours." And the car drives on 
 down the dirty street, where tail-coated and 
 knee-breeched natives were lolling at the 
 shop doors, in full gossip and indolence. 
 Many a hearty good wish is sent after 
 Greville as he passes, and the women 
 trudging home with their shoes in their 
 hands, give him a cheerful curtsey in re- 
 turn for his greeting, and look after him 
 with a grateful respect as he leaves them 
 behind. 
 
 ^' Ah, you wouldn't have seen shoes at all 
 some years ago," he said, in reply to some 
 observations of Egerton's upon the peculiar 
 mode which the people had of wearing those 
 articles. ^^ There's a very noticeable im- 
 provement in the dress of the people," he 
 continued. ^^ You don't see half as much 
 rags now as you used to, but there's a good 
 deal more than I like still. If they could 
 only be induced to take a little more in- 
 terest in themselves, it would do a deal of
 
 264 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 good. Now, look at those men leaning on 
 their spades, — they're only too glad to have 
 something to stare at, as an excuse for rest- 
 ing for a few minutes. Look at that bit of 
 lighted turf, too ; you never see men work- 
 ing in Ireland without a coal to light their 
 pipes from every now and then. They 
 wouldn't work at all, I believe, if they 
 couldn't rest at intervals to smoke." 
 
 " Such was the talk they held upon their 
 way," as they drove along in the brilliant 
 sunlight, which broke fitfully through the 
 heavy masses of clouds that were sweeping 
 across the patches of deep blue sky. The 
 dripping hedges and trees sparkled merrily 
 in the clear light, and the colours on the 
 woods and distant heather were ever chang- 
 ing, as the shadows swept across them, with 
 that cheery effect which belongs only to 
 sunshine after rain. Fresh, bright, exhila- 
 rating atmosphere, the spirits could hardly 
 be so ill-mannered as not to acknowledge 
 your effect upon them ! 
 
 '^ You see that donkey with her young
 
 HABRY EGERTON. 265 
 
 one," said Greville, laughing, as they drove 
 up to the house, — '^ Constance used to have 
 her milk to drink every morning. I found, 
 one day, that she didn't get as much as she 
 ought to have, so I ordered the donkey to 
 be muzzled. After a day or two, still less 
 came in, and I went out, and positively found 
 the mother muzzled, and the young one 
 fattening on what Kttle he could get. Irish, 
 eh?" 
 
 The doorstep put an end to their laughter, 
 and Greville proceeded to inquire after the 
 wants of the several men and women who 
 daily waited about the door to ask favours, 
 make complaints, get dispensary tickets, or 
 beg. Patient people, the Irish. If he was 
 not at home, they would stand about all day 
 quite contented till he returned. Possibly 
 they knew that, whenever through his fault 
 they had had a long wait, there was food in 
 the kitchen for them before they set off home 
 again. If it was very late, however, they 
 preferred foregoing the meal to having a late 
 walk through the dark. In Ireland the
 
 266 HAHET EGEETON. 
 
 country-people don't like being out at night 
 if they can help it, and it is a very stray 
 native who will say good night to you on the 
 road, if you are out an hour or two after 
 dark.
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 Egerton" had received otlier correspondence 
 that morning besides his budget of bills 
 and lawyers' letters. "We'll look them over 
 with him in his room, before he dresses for 
 dinner. 
 
 Maud Greyille's was the first that pre- 
 sented itself, — very affectionate, and very 
 underlined. Mamma and herself had been 
 so very glad to hear that he was at Castle 
 Greville, although they had gone away he- 
 fore he arrived. Maud was sure that her 
 mother must have been delighted to see him, 
 and sent so much love, and I don't know 
 how many kisses, to the children, combined 
 with an important message to Conny in 
 reference to a promised doll. "Uncle Philip," 
 she went on, "has another attack of gout, 
 and cannot leave his room. I'm sure he
 
 268 HARRY EOERTON. 
 
 misses you yery mucli, Harry, because 
 when we are by ourselves be is so cross. 
 Mamma says she tried to say sometbing 
 about you the otber day, and be stopped ber 
 at once, and said tbat your name was never 
 to be mentioned to bim. It is too cruel. I 
 have not enjoyed myself a bit tbis year 
 without you," &c., &c., for a sheet or two 
 more. Pleasant reading, women's letters. 
 They have not a soul above details, like 
 their more fortunate lords, whose letters, as 
 a rule, are so full of entertainment, so tersely 
 and so well expressed. 
 
 ^^Poor little Maud!" quoth Harry; — 
 ^^ stupid enough for her, I dare say. I won- 
 der if my father does miss me !" He rather 
 hoped that he did; wondered whether he 
 had fished alone tbis year, — taken Philip, 
 perhaps. And the notion of Philip's ever 
 doing anything he didn't care about, to 
 please anyone else, unless there was some- 
 thing to be gained by it, amused him for a 
 moment or two. Then he wondered whether 
 it was very wrong to dislike his brother, for 
 he certainly did dislike Philip, and always
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 269 
 
 had, he thought. Heigho ! by Jove ! there 
 was a letter from Tom Manners, which had 
 hitherto escaped his notice. '' I wonder 
 what you are about, you extravagant beg- 
 gar ! " he said, as he tore open the envelope, 
 and displayed Tom's bold scrawl. 
 
 *^The greatest larks, my dear Harry, you 
 can imagine, after you left us. Devilish 
 nearly wrecked going round the Mull of 
 Cantire — touch and go, old boy; rigging 
 flying, and the devil's own sea. Skindles 
 only saved by a fluke from being washed 
 overboard, — in a blue funk the whole time. 
 We weathered it safe enough, though, and 
 here I am pursuing the wily stag. We had 
 rare fun in the Hebrides, — ^what do you 
 think of a seal drive ? It was the greatest 
 joke you ever saw, to see those clumsy beg- 
 gars lolloping along into the water. We 
 got aground in Loch Moidart before going 
 there, and had a deuce of a job to get her 
 off. A confounded son of a sea-cook ran us 
 on to a rock, having previously told us that 
 he ought to know something about the coast, 
 for he'd been born in that part every day of
 
 270 HARHY EGEHTON. 
 
 sixty years. What you call being born 
 again with a vengeance, eh ? Skindles was 
 very sweet upon Tobermory in Mull ; he 
 thinks of coming back there some day. 
 Great place for bankrupts ; you can do the 
 trick in six weeks, I'm told, from there, — 
 recommend it to your notice ; " and so the 
 letter rattled on to the end, with a casual 
 mention of the fact that Murray was stay- 
 ing in the same house with him, with the 
 girl he kidnapped from Charlie Yillars. In 
 Tom's opinion, Murray would not be sole 
 possessor for very long, and he made other 
 remarks upon his wife, which are much too 
 interesting to be repeated. 
 
 ^^ I only hope she may cut him ! " 
 Harry soliloquised, as he finished the letter. 
 ^' Charlie's about right ; he's well out of it." 
 
 And then he re-read a letter from his 
 friend, which had been lying in London for 
 some days. Coming home, it said, in reco- 
 vered spirits, too ; supposed Harry was just 
 about starting for Scotland. 
 
 ^^ ^0 more Scotland for me, Charlie, just 
 yet," said Harry to the letter ; and his
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 271 
 
 thoughts wandered off to their reading 
 party a couple of years before, and again 
 they were strolling together through moun- 
 tain glens or by the banks of rocky rivers, 
 or dreaming away the summer weather upon 
 some loch, with the water gently rippling 
 with a sleepy sound beneath the boat. Two 
 years had made a difference in them both. 
 Both had felt that life was not all sunshine 
 and light boyish spirits and enjoyment ; and 
 Harry felt a strange momentary longing 
 pang, as he glanced back at the happy years 
 which had passed away for ever, and 
 thought that the same delightful, careless 
 zest of pleasure which came floating back 
 to him, like a dim enchanting dream, was 
 never more for him. He had passed on, and 
 others had succeeded — like him, perhaps, 
 to awake to the stern realities of trouble, 
 care, and life. Perhaps he took an unneces- 
 sarily melancholy view of his age — was 
 premature in his regret for the decay of 
 youth, and youth's enjoyment. Perhaps he 
 was — but I don't know — we do at times have 
 fits of melancholy beyond our years; and
 
 272 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 worry and anxiety age the mind with rapid 
 strides. 
 
 Yillars finished up by saying, that he 
 expected to be in England by the middle of 
 October, and Harry must come down and 
 see him at Mottistone. 
 
 Go down to Mottistone ! Ah ! that 
 would be pleasant — pleasant, but wrong. 
 Would it be wise to lay himself open to all 
 that self-control? However, there seemed 
 to be no objection to his getting up now, 
 and going to his dressing-case, unlocking it, 
 and drawing from its inner depths a photo- 
 graph — and therefore he did so. 
 
 It was a photograph of which he had 
 possessed himself during some previous 
 visit, and the clear air of IN'ice had not done 
 violence to any one of the features of the 
 original. Memory filled in the hues of 
 colour and play of countenance ; and, even 
 without these additions, it was a beautiful 
 face and a graceful figure. If you knew 
 the face, you might not, perhaps, wonder at 
 his sitting looking at it for so many conse- 
 cutive minutes with such absorbing interest.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 273 
 
 But you don't know it ; and, as it isn't very 
 kind to watch a man doing silly things, 
 which he thinks are not perceived by any 
 but himself, we may leave him alone to 
 enjoy all the satisfaction which he may 
 derive from looking so fixedly at that bit 
 of shadowy card. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 "When Ireland is always so glad to see her 
 English friends after the London season is 
 oyer, and when she makes herself so pleasant, 
 and dispenses with formality and ceremony 
 in such a natural way — it seems little less 
 than churlish not to take advantage of her 
 hospitality. But everybody has some ex- 
 cellent excuse for not dispossessing their 
 minds of the absurd notions they have 
 formed about the country. That dreadful 
 sea ! — and yet they can brave the disagree- 
 ables of the Channel to wear themselves out 
 with protracted gaiety at foreign water- 
 ing-places ; — or the Fenians ! or something 
 equally chimerical and ridiculous. It is 
 always a great satisfaction to a generous 
 mind to confess itself in the wrong; and 
 you might have this satisfaction amongst 
 
 )
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 275 
 
 yonr friends on your return. You could tell 
 them how you had always thought it to be 
 a wild, savage place, where the hedgerows 
 bristled with murderous weapons, and where 
 every tree could tell a tale of homicide — 
 where you were to be shot at continually 
 by scowling, low-browed ruffians, whose 
 faces were a concentration of every liideous 
 passion ; and lo and behold ! it had turned 
 out to be a green, smiling country, with the 
 most good-humoured, amusing natives, and 
 charming, hospitable people, who made you 
 welcome wherever you went — who took you 
 to see the most beautiful scenery, and made 
 you feel as much at home as if you were 
 in your own house. You couldn't have 
 believed it. 
 
 Harry Egerton had already cleared his 
 mind of many of the erroneous impres- 
 sions which he had brought with him, 
 and he was now about to do further 
 violence to his prejudices by going tlu-ough 
 a course of country-houses. Yarious peo- 
 ple had told him at various times that 
 he was to let them know if he ever came
 
 276 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 over ; and, having nothing to take him back 
 to England, he had accordingly done so, 
 and is on the eve of his departure from 
 Castle Greville. 
 
 It is a soft, clear autumn night ; the rest 
 of the party had dispersed, and Spencer 
 and Harry are enjoying their cigars after 
 dinner in the open air. The yellow harvest 
 moon shone brightly down upon the land- 
 scape, the mountains stood boldly outlined 
 in the mellow light, and ^^ silence heard 
 well pleased " the sounds of mirth and 
 laughter borne upon the light aii' from the 
 distant village, where some few still lin- 
 gered from their early beds to mingle their 
 jokes with the bright sparks which flew 
 from the open forge. 
 
 !N'either of the two has spoken for some 
 minutes. Greville' s thoughts were doubtless 
 full of some benevolent intent for the good 
 of his country and his people. Harry is 
 watching the curling wreaths of smoke 
 slowly ascending, expanding, fading, vanish- 
 ing into space, as he sits crossways upon his 
 chair, his arms resting on the top, and his
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 277 
 
 thouglits, — where should they be at such a 
 timej and under such a moon ? 
 
 ^^What are you going to do with your- 
 self all the winter?" Greville asked at 
 length. 
 
 Harry, reluctantly breaking from his 
 trance, says that he hasn't a notion, — of 
 course he shall not go to Leicestershire as 
 usual — and supposes that London will be 
 his head quarters. 
 
 Greville promises woodcock shooting if 
 he likes to come over, and stay as long as 
 he pleases. 
 
 '^ Thanks, very much," Harry answered ; 
 '' but you see, I haven't an idea at present 
 what I shall be doing. It is such a nuisance 
 having no sort of occupation. One feels 
 such a useless beggar, mooning about in this 
 way, doing nothing." 
 
 ^' That's true enough," replies Greville. 
 ^^But your father can't mean to keep you 
 idle all your life ?" 
 
 ^' I don't know, I'm sure. It looks like 
 it. A couple of hundred a-year would go 
 a very short Avay towards a profession ; not to
 
 278 HARRY EGERTOI^'. 
 
 mention the necessity of paying bills some- 
 times." 
 
 Harry had not gone into his affairs with 
 his cousin. He had merely given him a 
 general view of his position, not caring to 
 have more confidants than necessary on 
 money matters. Perhaps, therefore, Gre- 
 ville didn't know that he was really 
 hard up. Perhaps, if he had, he might 
 have offered to lend him money ; but I 
 doubt it. He knew that Egerton had been 
 rather extravagant, and had lived beyond 
 his allowance ; and he thought that his 
 father was justified in being angry, — though 
 perhaps it was rather a strong measure to 
 turn him out of the house as he had done ; 
 and jumping to what most people consider a 
 natural conclusion upon this point, he sup- 
 posed that Harry was still living as expen- 
 sively as ever — that he had no power of 
 self-restraint, and not much principle to 
 speak of, and, therefore, that money lent to 
 him would, according to precedent in such 
 cases, be money thrown away. Accordingly 
 he made no suggestion of the kind, and
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 279 
 
 thereby saved himself the pain of being 
 refused ; for having no ostensible means of 
 repaying money so lent, Harry would never 
 have thought, except under pressing neces- 
 sity, of accepting an offer of the kind. 
 Carelessness of paying is generally supposed 
 to accompany extravagance. But it is only 
 in the last stages of recklessness that the 
 originally well-principled spendthrift omits 
 to repay a loan from a friend or relation, or 
 a debt of honour — only when necessity has 
 blunted his principle, — when honour has 
 been put to flight by the urgency of his 
 creditors, — when the desire to live has 
 become stronger than the desire to live well, 
 — and when by small degrees he has become 
 accustomed to the disregard of those trifles 
 which formerly he used to set some little 
 store by. The flesh may often be weak and 
 impecunious, and thereby bring the willing 
 spirit into disrepute ; for the spirit often is 
 willing, without the means of showing it. 
 
 Harry broke the silence this time, and 
 abruptly too. 
 
 ^' Did you ever hear of there being any-
 
 280 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 thing odd about me ?" lie said ; ^' any doubt 
 about my being myself?" 
 
 Greville looked at him as if lie thougbt 
 liis senses were wandering^ and burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 '' What on earth do you mean, my dear 
 Harry?" 
 
 ^^ Why, I mean that my aunt has let 
 drop more than once mysterious hints about 
 my not being all right somehow. I can't 
 explain, for I don't know any more about it 
 than you seem to. She does, though. I'm 
 certain of that. And then I can't help 
 thinking that that old nurse of ours knows 
 more than she cares to tell about something 
 connected with our family. You saw how 
 wildly she looked at me the other day, when 
 we met her, and she went on in just the 
 same way to me the day before." 
 
 "But, my dear boy, that old woman's as 
 mad as any hatter. Anything she might 
 say wouldn't sui*prise me." 
 
 " But she didn't look in that way at you. 
 It was only when she looked up and saw 
 me that her face changed so."
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 281 
 
 ^' These are the strangest fancies, my 
 dear Harry," said Spencer ; ^^ I can't think 
 where you can have got them from. As to 
 my mother, I never remember hearing her 
 hint at any mystery in connection with you, 
 or any other member of the family." 
 
 ^' She said, unintentionally I think, that 
 my father had forbidden her to mention the 
 subject; so that it was only in a fit of 
 absence that she let it come out. Then, 
 again. Father Murphy — I found him look- 
 ing at me in a very odd way the other 
 night ; and you remember that man saying 
 that his reverence was supposed to know 
 more about old Biddy than other people. 
 Well, when I began to talk to him about 
 my father, after dinner, he shut up at once, 
 and he had been as lively as possible before. 
 There's something in it, depend upon it. I 
 don't pretend to say what, though." 
 
 ^' Well, I'm sure I can't help you, Hany," 
 said Greville. ^'You've piled up a little 
 case; but, I must confess, I don't see that 
 there's anything to be made out of it. I'll 
 try if there's anything to be got out of
 
 282 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 Biddy, if you like. It's a pity you're 
 going away to-morrow ; we might have had 
 another interview. The priest, of course, 
 would say nothing, even if he knew any- 
 thing that ought to be told. His confes- 
 sional oath is sacred." 
 
 Harry was rather annoyed at having cold 
 water thrown upon the interesting little 
 complication which he had made out for 
 himself. Where it would tend, if there 
 should be anything to unravel, he was per- 
 fectly at a loss to conjecture, and he was 
 obliged for the present to content himself 
 with Greville's assurance that he would in- 
 terest himself to find out whether there 
 really was anything in it all, or whether 
 his mystery was merely the fabrication of a 
 too ingenious fancy. 
 
 Early next morning, then, he started on 
 his journey, Greville laughingly promising 
 that he should hear from him touching his 
 embryo romance, — the children full of dis- 
 tress at his going, and extracting all sorts 
 of promises from him to come back and see 
 them again ^^ soon, Cousin Harry — very
 
 HAREY EGERTON. 283 
 
 soon." They kissed tlieir hands to him till 
 he was out of sight, and then returned, dis- 
 consolately, with their father indoors. 
 
 Harry, meanwhile, received a curtsey and 
 a '^ God send you safe. Master Henry!" 
 from the woman at the lodge; and the 
 same, or varieties of the same pious wish, 
 were despatched after him, at intervals, as 
 his car rattled him along on the first stage 
 of his journey. Many miles of posting, 
 with loquacious, lively drivers, who never 
 stopped laughing, or talking, or whistling 
 to their horses, or uttering the most curious 
 combination of labial incitements to speed 
 which you could suppose any horse of 
 average intellect could take delight in. And 
 so, eventually, he arrived at a railway sta- 
 tion and civilisation, and said good-bye to 
 the rugged mountains and rivers of the 
 west.
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 The weeks passed quickly away in pleasant 
 coimtry-houseSj amongst pleasant, hospitable 
 people, and time stole on into October al- 
 most unawares. Travelling expenses, too, 
 were eating into otu^ young friend's now 
 scanty allowance ; and when at last he 
 began to think of returning to London, he 
 found that he should only just about do it 
 on his remaining funds. 
 
 Accordingly, after devoting a day to the 
 apple -women of Dublin, and one or two 
 friends who were quartered there, he com- 
 mitted himself again to the sea, and arrived 
 next morning in dirty, muddy London. 
 
 Dreary, and dark, and cold St. James's 
 Place looked as he drove up to his old quar- 
 ters in a decrepit ^^ growler" from Euston 
 Square, tired and dishevelled with a night's
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 285 
 
 travelling, and ont of spirits at the prospect 
 of an indefinite stay in the gloom and smoke 
 of October and November London. How 
 deserted the whole place looked ! How 
 comfortless, bare, and iminhabited that 
 bedroom ! Dressing-table with nothing on 
 it but the looking-glass; fire not even 
 lighted, though it was a cold and shivery 
 morning; the genial blacks, too, thickly 
 seen on chimney-piece and table, foretaste of 
 the winter's smoke ; the housemaid coming 
 out of his room as he entered, dii'ty and un- 
 clean, fresh from the fenders and the grates; 
 the man-servant without a collar, — his rusty 
 clothes, his three-day shirt, — all gave him a 
 shudder of discomfortable horror as he list- 
 lessly watched the unstrapping of his port- 
 manteau. Desiring to be called at one 
 o'clock, he turned into bed, and for a time 
 forgot the situation in accommodating sleep. 
 An inch-broad line of sun was stretching 
 itself on the wall as he awoke, some hours 
 after, to the sound of the man's Imock ; and 
 even this thin allowance of sunlight, which 
 had made its way through some stack of
 
 286 HAERY EGERTON. 
 
 cliimneys opposite, had a cheering effect on 
 the awakening sense. 
 
 The prospect requii^ed a little light to set 
 off its shade. For now that he was in Lon- 
 don, Harry didn't in the least know what he 
 was going to do. In the first place, he had 
 no money — allowance not due for another 
 fortnight — must eat — food not provided 
 gratis in London — should have to borrow 
 from his landlady — rather mfra clig.^ but a 
 positive necessity — might borrow money 
 from some friend, perhaps. Eut he had not 
 yet got accustomed to the notion of coming 
 out as an actual pauper ; this was too much 
 for his pride at present. However, as think- 
 ing about it seemed to mend matters very 
 little, he jumped out of bed, dressed, and 
 started off to his club, in the hope of 
 meeting somebody there. And, better — he 
 found, to his delight, among other letters, 
 one enclosing a cheque for an old bet, which 
 he had long since despaired of ever receiving. 
 There were no bills, which was a cheerful 
 surprise. The autumn is a dull time for 
 duns. They are generally sunning them-
 
 HARRY EG*ERTON. 287 
 
 selves on Margate sands, or in other haunts 
 of the tradesman world, stretching their 
 necks from the top of Swiss mountains, or 
 airing their guide-books down the Cale- 
 donian Canal, or through the Trossachs of 
 Scotland — dispensing among coach-drivers, 
 or boatmen, or at table- cV ho tes^ the money 
 which they have been able to screw out of 
 reluctant customers. They have no thought, 
 therefore, of business at these times, and 
 relax for a season the bow which at other 
 times is ever stretched to shoot forth bills 
 against the unlucky impecunious wretch. 
 The latter, accordingly, enjoys for a time a 
 certain impunity, and begins to fancy him- 
 self in easy circumstances, unless he happens 
 to sit down next his tailor on board a steam- 
 boat, or jostle up against his bootmaker on 
 a crowded platform. 
 
 Egerton, too, had taken the precaution 
 of writing consolatory epistles to the most 
 attentive of his duns, from the west of Ire- 
 land. So that even stay-at-homc-for-want- 
 of-funds creditors had considered that send- 
 ing threatening letters to Ireland would be
 
 288 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 as useless as sending coals to iN'ewcastle. 
 They would, of course, be treated with the 
 contempt of security, and the object of them, 
 according to the custom of the country, 
 indulge in rippling laughter as he quietly 
 folded them to light his pipe. 
 
 Among other letters, Harry found one from 
 Yillars, touched, apparently, by his having 
 come over purposely to meet him — the writer 
 to be in London on the following evening. 
 
 '^ Beat him by a neck," soliloquised 
 Egerton, as he cracked another egg, and 
 looked forward to the near prospect of seeing 
 his friend again — her brother, too. 
 
 Having finished his breakfast-lunch, and 
 looked over the papers, he strolled out 
 towards Eaton Place, to know if his father 
 had been in town. 
 
 Notwithstanding the deserted appearance 
 of the streets, the sun made Piccadilly look 
 cheerful enough, and his spirits were some 
 way above zero, and rising rapidly, when he 
 suddenly stumbled upon Castleton, who was 
 now a promising cornet in a distinguished 
 regiment of cavalry.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 289 
 
 ^' Why, d n it all, if here isn'^t Harry 
 
 Egerton!" he exclaimed, as they shook 
 
 hands. ^^ What are you doing in this 
 
 place ? — passing tlu'ough ? " 
 
 ^^'Not a bit of it. I've just come back 
 from Ireland, — probably be here all the 
 winter." 
 
 ^' Well, by , I wish you joy of it ! " 
 
 returned Castleton, who had formed his 
 language upon the most approved regimental 
 model. ^' Which way are you going?" 
 
 Egerton wasn't particular, and turned 
 back with him towards Bond Street. Cas- 
 tleton informed him that he had been in 
 town since the end of the season — hardly 
 
 been away for a day, by . ^' Xot a soul 
 
 in town — and the heat in August, why, you 
 might have roasted your grandmother upon 
 
 the pavement. / never was in such a 
 
 place." 
 
 " You take second leave, I suppose," said 
 Harry, laughing at his pious reference to 
 his elderly relation. 
 
 "You may be well sui'o that you'll 
 
 not catch me in the place after the 1st 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 ILARRY EGERTON. 
 
 of December." Castleton further added that 
 his horses were at Slough until then, and 
 
 only that it was so hard to get away, 
 
 there was some hunting to be had from 
 London. ^' But why are you not in 
 Leicestershire ?" 
 
 Egerton had had a little difference with 
 his father, and asked if people were not 
 coming back to town. 
 
 '^ Not a soul," was the reply. ^' Are 
 
 you going down to Newmarket next week ?" 
 
 Newmarket ! There was a pleasant sound 
 about that word. Having given up his 
 interest of late in sporting matters, it had 
 not occurred to Harry that the Cambridge- 
 shire week was just coming on. But it did 
 occur to him now that it might be a good 
 opportunity for making a little money ; and 
 money was very much wanted. 
 
 ^^ I forgot all about it," he answered. " I 
 think I probably shall. What did you do 
 on the Leger ?" 
 
 ^^Won a trifle," Castleton said. Going 
 to races was about the only thing there was 
 to do for the last two months ; and he pro-
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 291 
 
 ceeded to regret that even all his fair ac- 
 quaintances were out of town, — gone to 
 Baden, or other resorts of gaiety and gay- 
 dresses, — and by this time they had ar- 
 rived at Douglas's. Hair cut and sham- 
 pooed, and the various seductive lotions and 
 tinctui'es declined, their walk was continued 
 towards Belgravia, and they separated at 
 Hyde Park Corner, after a contemplation of 
 the deserted appearance of the Park. When 
 last Egerton had looked in at this time of 
 day, it had been thronged with a double and 
 treble row of carriages, containing upright 
 young ladies and savage-looking dowagers, 
 who had come to air their charms before 
 well-filled rows of chairs, and moustachioed 
 young men of cotillons, or captains of the 
 guard. IN'ow there was not a horse in the 
 Eow, — one old man, and a very dirty old 
 man, resting upon a chair which appeared to 
 have lost its way, and a one-horse brougham, 
 which, in every point, — horse, driver, 
 vehicle, occupant, — had seen its best days, 
 and was rolling rapidly down the slopes of 
 time much faster than the horse cared to
 
 292 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 go. No, — there was one other object in 
 sight. Under the leafless shade of the trees 
 there wandered a disconsolate dancing-man. 
 A vacant melancholy sat npon his expres- 
 sive conntenance. He was lamenting over 
 the transient nature of London seasons, 
 connting the days which must elapse before 
 the next one began, dwelling with a natural 
 pride npon his appearance at that breakfast, 
 recalling with tender rapture the soft look 
 which he had given with such effect at that 
 ball, or the impression his fund of gossip had 
 made upon her Grace. That cotillon ! How 
 many little bows he had been presented 
 with ! how popular he had been that even- 
 ing ! Ah ! it was a delicious retrospect, — 
 why couldn't the season last for ever ? 
 
 And the customary simper stole over his 
 face as he thought, and he was again in 
 fancy pouring out his small stream of self- 
 satisfied twaddle into the delighted ear of 
 some female fac-simile of himself. 
 
 In the distance, Egerton saw him coming, 
 recognised the form, and fled. 
 
 His brother's servant opened the door of
 
 HAERY EGERTON. 293 
 
 his father's house, and informed him that 
 Mr. Egerton had abeady gone down into 
 Leicestershire, but that Mr. Philip was still 
 in town, doing duty with his regiment. 
 
 He was not at home just then. Eather 
 fortunate, Harry thought, as it gave him an 
 opportunity of doing the civil without any 
 disagreeable accompaniment. So he told 
 the servant to say that he had called, and 
 then Philip might come and see him or not 
 as he liked. 
 
 Having promised Castleton to dine with 
 him at his barracks, half-past seven found 
 him at the gate ; and as he was acquainted 
 with most of the unmarried officers, he spent 
 a sufficiently pleasant evening. Eivers also 
 he found there, who gave him a full, true, 
 and particular account of their yachting 
 adventui^es since he parted company with 
 them. 
 
 Then his renewed interest in sporting 
 matters received a considerable stimulus 
 from the conversation around him, which 
 was almost exclusively on racing topics. 
 'No, that isn't true; for there were many
 
 294 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 good stories flying about, — good, from their 
 strong flavour, — which provoked appreci- 
 ating laughter from the young cornets whose 
 intellects were just up to this mark. And 
 the female celebrities of the town made a 
 pleasant variety to the discussion of equine 
 pedigree and handicap prospects. 
 
 Their intimate familiarity with these two 
 subjects of conversation made it not un- 
 natural, perhaps, that some of the young 
 men in question should consider themselves 
 the young men of London par excellence. No 
 one would grudge them the proud position ; 
 but it may not always be necessary that 
 they should air their consciousness of superi- 
 ority so arrogantly over other poor devils, 
 who can't pretend to the same intellectual 
 eminence. It is very gratifying, however, 
 to see how thoroughly chaperones, and dow- 
 agers, and young ladies support their pre- 
 tensions. They are quite willing to overlook 
 the fact of their being mostly eldest sons, in 
 consideration of the mental qualities which 
 they so agreeably display. And being gene- 
 rally active and energetic dancers, these
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 295 
 
 superior persons have many opportunities of 
 showing off to advantage their powers of 
 making themselves agreeable. They are, 
 therefore, generally and deservedly popular. 
 So that merit, you see, however hampered 
 by the disadvantages of rank or wealth, is 
 sometimes appreciated, whatever cynical 
 people may say to the contrary. The ordi- 
 nary reader may, perhaps, be startled at hear- 
 ing that there is so much that is interesting 
 and attractive in a class of individuals to whom 
 a poor, unappreciating world is accustomed 
 to apply the rather contemptuous sobriquet of 
 ^^ plungers;" in which case it is very evi- 
 dent that the ordinary reader has never had 
 the happiness to arrive at that vein of lively 
 wit and intelligence which lies hid beneath 
 the stolid and immovable manner of the 
 cavalry officer. You have not been fortunate 
 enough to be admitted to a private view of 
 the stores of knowledge and information 
 which he has laid by dui'ing those hours 
 which he gives up daily to the education 
 and improvement of his mind. There may, 
 indeed, be some among them who are not so
 
 296 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 well stocked, who can only talk intelligently 
 upon the topics of the day, and enter into 
 general conversation with graceful ease. 
 Heaven forbid that there shonld be many 
 who would so disgrace their cloth ! You, 
 my dear captain of hnssars, or comet of 
 dragoons, who are unequal to the exertion 
 of dancing, you would never consent to be 
 ranked among the contemptible few who 
 positively think, poor creatures ! that they 
 have a soul above a stable and a race-course. 
 "Noj no. You have some notions of duty ; 
 your moustaches were not given to you not 
 to be waxed and curled ; and therefore you 
 will continue to direct your advantages to 
 their proper point, in spite of what a cavil- 
 ling world may say. Made virtute. There 
 will always be young ladies with capacities 
 equal to the admiration of your ornamental 
 merits ; and the sneers of ill-natured people, 
 who never will acknowledge anything great 
 or noble in their fellows, need not deprive 
 you of the satisfaction of feeling that you 
 have not lived in vain.
 
 CHAPTEE XYII. 
 
 A CROWD of thouglits come rushing back 
 upon Villars' mind as the Folkestone train 
 draws up to the Victoria platform. Full of 
 delicious hopes and dreams he had left it 
 some fifteen months before ; he was return- 
 ing to it (he told himself now) the victim of 
 despair. Quite a delusion on his part. It 
 is only in stories of very romantic sentiment 
 that the poor unfortunate, who has not been 
 so successful as he could have wished in his 
 early love arrangements, refuses to be happy 
 again. 
 
 Constant change had almost obliterated 
 all traces of the sad disappointment which 
 was to have made him miserable for ever ; 
 and it was only as he nearod again the 
 familiar scenes, which memorj^ peopled 
 with a host of sunny passages, that Master
 
 298 HABRY EGERTOX. 
 
 Charlie began to think himself an object for 
 the world's compassion. 
 
 But the habitual bright look returned to 
 his face again, as bright and happy as you 
 please, when he caught .sight of Harry 
 Egerton awaiting his return, faithful and 
 true, where he had parted from him months 
 before. It was something to have a friend 
 to whose affection absence and separation 
 made no difference. It was something, he 
 thought, in his present mood, to find one 
 constant quantity in the sum of human 
 nature. 
 
 They met — 'twas in a crowd— and in a 
 crowd of returned tourists, too, amongst 
 whom Charlie's sunburnt face and broadened 
 shoulders appeared to some advantage. So, 
 at least, Egerton thought. I don't fancy he 
 liked the tourist much. Not from a super- 
 cilious contempt for his inferiors, or that he 
 grudged them their enjoyment ; but the 
 manners, and behaviour, and appearance of 
 the Englishman when he tours jar upon 
 any nerves which pretend to a sense of 
 refinement. Old clothes, too, are not becom-
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 291) 
 
 ing ; and there is an appearance of dirty 
 vulgarity about a crowd of English, tourists, 
 which even " the best people," when they 
 tour, must have great confidence in them- 
 selves to feel entirely free from. 
 
 Villars was to stay in town that night — 
 would of course put up with Harry — would 
 equally of course dine with him. 
 
 Servant and luggage, therefore, to St. 
 James's Place : they to the St. James's Club. 
 
 There was so much to hear and so much 
 to be told on both sides that dinner seemed 
 to have flown down their thi^oats, and they 
 are already in the smoking-room. There, 
 after a pause, Harry delicately approaches 
 the subject of his friend's little misfortune, 
 venting all his abuse upon the gay deceiver 
 who had stolen his love away. After all, he 
 thought that Charlie, having got over it, was 
 better off as he was. It would have been 
 a bore to be married so young, — too early to 
 settle down into a life of humdrum respect- 
 ability. For his part, he didn't intend to 
 marry till he was five-and-thirty (a fine 
 branch of peculiarly acid fruit dangled before
 
 300 HARRY EGERTOX. 
 
 the impostor's eye as he spoke), and even 
 then, by the way, he didn't see what he 
 shoukl have to marry npon. So they agreed 
 that altogether the whole business was a 
 matter for congratulation rather than other- 
 wise, and Charlie changed the subject with 
 a sigh. 
 
 Egerton's own prospects were then dis- 
 cussed. He had better come down to 
 Mottistone, Yillars said. They would all 
 be charmed to see him. 
 
 Harry replied that he should like it above 
 
 all things ; but and he hesitated, and 
 
 the other looked at him. 
 
 " But what ? There's no reason why you 
 shouldn't, old boy. It's much better than 
 staying in London." 
 
 Harry again said that he should like 
 nothing better, and the prospect seemed so 
 delightful that he puffed away ^dgorously at 
 his cigar, and didn't say that he would go. 
 
 Yillars thought he hesitated, perhaps, 
 because he didn't like to appear to be mak- 
 ing use of him, and so he reiterated his 
 assurance of the pleasm-e which the whole
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 301 
 
 houseliold would feel at his presence, for as 
 long as ever he liked to stay. And then he 
 went on, as if prompted by some passing 
 thought, " You didn't see much of my people 
 in London this year, did you ? My sister 
 hardly ever mentioned your name latterly." 
 
 ^^ ]N'o, not very much," Harry replied, 
 with slightly heightened colour. '^ I didn't 
 go out very much last season. I'm begin- 
 ning to get rather tii^d of balls." 
 
 This was not by any means the case, for 
 he had gone out a great deal, and was not at 
 all tired of balls yet ; but he was obliged to 
 say something, and fiction was better than 
 nothing. 
 
 '^ So yoiuig, and yet so llase .^" Charlie re- 
 joined. " But about your coming down to 
 us?" he continued, coming directly to the 
 point. ^^Why not come at once? You 
 have nothing to do here." 
 
 ^^I couldn't just now, — thanks, old boy," 
 answered Harry, slowly ; ^^ because," — a 
 happy thought occurred to him that he had 
 half promised to go to IN'ewmarket the fol- 
 lowing week ; and the present crisis now
 
 302 HARRY EGERTON. 
 
 determined him to try his luck on the turf 
 again, — ^' because I promised to go to New- 
 market with Castleton and some other fel- 
 lows next week." 
 
 Oh ! was Castleton in town? Yillars asked. 
 What was he doing? ^^ But you'd much 
 better not go and begin betting again. 
 You'll only lose more money." 
 
 '^ But then there's the chance of winning ; 
 and I shall only bet in very small amounts, 
 if I do at all." 
 
 ^' You'll be safe enough to bet, if you go." 
 
 Egerton, however, stuck to his determi- 
 nation, and promised to go down to Mot- 
 tistone some other time, trusting to some- 
 thing else turning up which might give him 
 an excuse for resisting temptation. It was 
 almost worth resisting to experience the 
 elevated sense of self-satisfaction which so 
 great an exhibition of moral courage and 
 self-denial produced in his mind. He 
 thought himself quite a superior creature in 
 having been able to prefer the excitement 
 of the turf to the delicious but dangerous 
 society of a hopeless attachment.
 
 HARRY EGERTON. 303 
 
 BecoUections of former Cambridgesliire 
 meetings were naturally suggested by con- 
 siderations of Newmarket; and once more, 
 in fancy, they were racing their hacks along 
 the smooth turf of the Beacon course, 
 through the gathering twilight of October 
 days. Every post was remembered, every 
 turn, every field. What days those were ! — 
 could they but come again ! The night was 
 far too short for all they had to say about 
 the dear old place, the acquaintances who 
 were scattered, the adventures they had 
 shared, the good fellowship they had en- 
 joyed, the friendships they had formed. 
 
 " Ah ! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy ?" 
 
 New friends and new interests may 
 have replaced the old; present ties may 
 be as engrossing and attractive as the 
 former were — present life as full of plea- 
 sure, and as devoid of care. But there is 
 a poetry about the past, about the days of 
 our schoolboy or college life, — a lingering 
 charm which the mists of time never can 
 obscure, — which attracts us ever back to
 
 304 HARRY EGERTOK. 
 
 the green memories of those early years; 
 which causes old men to look with such 
 eager longing down the dim vista of age, 
 to recall the trivial interests which cluster 
 round each well-remembered spot, or to trace 
 the first germs of that dear friendship which 
 sheds so soft a light upon the fading prospect. 
 True it is that early friendships die and 
 pass away ; but will memory not preserve 
 the seeds of these withered flowers, so 
 bright while they bloomed, and treasure 
 them up to germinate afresh in later years, 
 when the pleasures of the world and life 
 shall have been exhausted, — when the 
 weary man is looking back with a yearn- 
 ing regret to those fresh feelings of youth 
 which he never more shall know, and which 
 the friends of his boyhood will have such 
 power to recall ? Let us live, and hope. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 TIBTUK AND CO., PBINTERS, CITY BOAD, LONDON.