THE 
 
 ANGLO-IRISH 
 
 OF 
 
 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 VOL. I.
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, 
 
 Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
 
 THE 
 
 ANGLO-IRISH 
 
 OF 
 
 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUiMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1828.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE following appeared among the notices 
 of " Deaths'" in a London Magazine for 18 . 
 
 " At his mansion in Grosvenor-square, the 
 Viscount Clangore, aged forty-six. His Lord- 
 ship was only son of the late Viscount. Part- 
 ly through his co-operation in Ireland with 
 a highly-gifted fellow-countryman, now enno- 
 bled, and almost at the head of the English 
 Cabinet, his Lordship became at an early age 
 a distinguished Irish politician. The states- 
 man alluded to delivered to the Irish House 
 of Commons, in his twenty-second year, his re- 
 markable oration, supporting Ireland's claim to 
 trade with India on free principles : Lord Clan- 
 gore's maiden speech in the Irish House of 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 2060835
 
 2 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Lords, at little more than the same age, imme- 
 diately and ably seconded him; and from this 
 circumstance may be dated the political alli- 
 ance between both, now dissolved only by the 
 lamented demise of his Lordship. 
 
 " When experience of the dangerous ten- 
 dency of Irish sentiments in favour of the 
 pernicious principles of the French Revolution, 
 soon after convinced the youthful commoner 
 that he had erred in enlisting himself in the 
 ranks of those who were called popular ora- 
 tors ; and when, in consequence, he appeared, 
 in 1795, as a zealous supporter of Lord Cam- 
 den's Irish Government, his noble admirer, 
 the subject of our obituary, did not long he- 
 sitate to give proofs of a similar correction of 
 opinion. 
 
 " Indeed, Lord Clangore was one of the few 
 of his countrymen who, in the almost boyish 
 debut of the aspirant, discovered the promise 
 of that ability and wisdom which have since 
 wielded, with consummate power and address, 
 the destinies of Europe ; and, although having 
 the advantage in rank, and, by a few years, in 
 age, of the object of his sagacious interest, 
 his Lordship may be said to have even then 
 deferred to the commanding intellect, that he
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 3 
 
 foresaw needed only the countenance of the 
 high and influential, to confer on all his Ma- 
 jesty's subjects of Great Britain, as well as of 
 Ireland, solid advantages and unrivalled glory. 
 
 " Realizing his Lordship's views, the Honour- 
 able Mr. Stewart quickly obtained a seat in the 
 Irish Cabinet, and during the succession of dif- 
 ficulties which the young Minister had to en- 
 counter, from the Irish Rebellion of 1798, down 
 to the felicitous moment when he effected the 
 Legislative Union between his native country 
 and Great Britain, he found no political friend 
 more faithful, and few more valuable, than Lord 
 Clangore. The firm course pursued by His 
 Majesty's Vice-regal administration, in suppress- 
 ing the ill-judged insurrection alluded to, is 
 sufficiently well known; but it was his Lord- 
 ship's fate, in conjunction with his distinguished 
 protege, to have his motives on that occasion 
 somewhat misrepresented. Of the cruelties 
 which marked the times, both are charged with 
 having being the instigators. But surely a mi- 
 nister or his friends are not accountable for all 
 the excesses that characterise civil warfare. Be- 
 sides, the minister was then, as will be recollected, 
 very young ; and as well might he have hoped 
 to still the tempest with his voice, as to have
 
 4 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 assuaged the vengeance and violence of either 
 party. 
 
 " Of the share which his Lordship had in 
 effecting the Irish Union, he might safely boast 
 as the most important event of his public life. 
 The soundness and excellence of his private 
 as well as political character, are evinced in 
 his unchangeable attachment, through good and 
 ill, to the fortunes of his now illustrious survi- 
 vor. After the transit of that eminent indivi- 
 dual from the Irish to the United Parliament, 
 and (in consequence of his able support of Mr. 
 Pitt) after his nomination, in 1805, to the Bri- 
 tish Cabinet, the Viscount Clangore shared with 
 him all the ministerial fluctuations for which 
 the two ensuing years were remarkable ; until, 
 in 1807, on the retirement of the Grey and 
 Grenville administration, his Lordship had the 
 gratification to see him created Minister of 
 War ; and finally, notwithstanding a renewed 
 deprivation of office, to witness, upon the la- 
 mented death of Mr. Perceval in 1812, the 
 elevation of the object of his early patronage, 
 and we may add, good augury, to the high 
 office he at present fills with so much honour to 
 himself, and triumph to these favoured islands. 
 
 " In the difference, and consequent duel, be-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 5 
 
 tween the now great minister and Mr. Canning, 
 still fresh in the public mind, it may be added, 
 as an evidence of the personal friendship of 
 the former towards his noble countryman, that, 
 through the progress of that interesting event, 
 Lord Clangore's judgment was not unconsult- 
 ed. But perhaps, the strongest proof of this 
 friendship is to be stated. Conjointly with a per- 
 sonage almost equally illustrious, though in a 
 different career, as also with a near relative of 
 the late Viscount, residing in Ireland, the most 
 successful minister England ever saw, has ac- 
 cepted the guardianship of Lord Clangore's 
 children, two sons and a daughter, now, by 
 their father's death, left without the care of a 
 parent ; their noble mother having died in 18 , 
 as a reference to our number for the month of 
 
 in that year will show. 
 
 " Although possessing heraldic claims as 
 strong perhaps, if they were defined, as many 
 Anglo-Irish families, the Viscount Clangore 
 evinced, during his useful life, little anxiety 
 for a proved and emblazoned pedigree of any 
 great extent, willing to rest his ancestral pride 
 chiefly upon the successful bravery, in Ireland, 
 of a soldier of the Commonwealth, who, after 
 the Restoration, had confirmed to him the con-
 
 b THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 fi seated Irish property won by his courage and 
 talents from the crimes and turbulence of the 
 natives, and from the admiration and gratitude 
 of the Protector. Similar good services ren- 
 dered by the immediate successor of this distin- 
 guished individual to William III. during that 
 monarch's campaigns against the mere Irish 
 abettors of his infatuated father-in-law, enno- 
 bled the family. The late Viscount's efficient 
 support of His Majesty's Government, as well 
 in England as in Ireland, enabled him to add 
 to his patrimonial inheritance a considerable 
 estate, purchased in this country ; and fame 
 informs us, that his Lordship's advance in the 
 peerage could only have been checked by the 
 melancholy event which it is our painful duty 
 to record." 
 
 IN a short time after the appearance of this 
 obituary, measures were taken by the guardians 
 of the late Viscount's children, to make an ar- 
 rangement for their future career and happi- 
 ness. The eldest son, in his nineteenth year, 
 and the second, a boy of fourteen, had been 
 summoned, immediately upon their father's 
 death, which was unexpected, to the town house
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 7 
 
 of a maternal relation, the one from Cambridge, 
 the other from Westminster, to attend, after a 
 proper season of retirement, a consultation of 
 their legal parents. Their sister, about thir- 
 teen, could not safely join them. Nursed by 
 the lady of the third guardian named in Lord 
 Clangore's will, she was residing, at the recom- 
 mendation of a medical authority, on the coast 
 of Devonshire ; and, especially upon such an 
 occasion, it seemed injudicious to remove her to 
 London. 
 
 The husband of her present protectress was 
 a second cousin of the noble testator, whom in 
 early youth the Viscount had noticed, but who, 
 within the last eventful ten years, had gradually 
 slipped out of the list of his Lordship's intimate 
 acquaintances : perhaps, having lived since the 
 Irish Union in different countries, this circum" 
 stance was as much the result of chance as of 
 intention on the part of either. Lord Clangore 
 never admitted that the fact of Mr. Knightly 
 having voted in the Irish House of Commons 
 against the measure, which thus separated them, 
 changed his private feelings towards his old 
 friend ; and although their personal intercourse 
 soon ended, and few letters passed between the 
 resident Irish squire and the absent Anglo-
 
 8 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Irish nobleman, Mr. Knightly, on his part, sel- 
 dom missed any opportunity of promoting, in 
 a neighbourly way, the Viscount's local Irish 
 interests. 
 
 Soon after the decease of Lady Clangore, her 
 only daughter showed symptoms of the nation- 
 al malady which had hurried herself out of the 
 world, and was ordered to remove, under the 
 care of an affectionate nurse, from a London 
 atmosphere. The afflicted father, scarce able to 
 snatch from official labour as much time as was 
 necessary for considering the subject, looked 
 round in vain, amongst the few English con- 
 nexions he had made by his marriage, in the 
 hope of selecting an individual at once compe- 
 tent and willing to protect and comfort his 
 child in the salutary exile to which she was 
 doomed. In his dilemma he recollected that in 
 the person of Knightly^s wife, whose domestic 
 character, even at an early age, he had remark- 
 ed, there appeared one eminently fitted (could 
 she temporarily forego the superintendence of 
 her own family) to undertake the task ; and, 
 deciding to make the trial, he wrote to his old 
 acquaintance. Knightly answered the letter by 
 a visit, for the first time in his life, to London, 
 accompanied by his lady ; the next day, Lady
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 9 
 
 Augusta Blount proceeded to Devonshire under 
 Mrs. Knightly's protection ; and the next, not- 
 withstanding the persuasions of the grateful 
 father to lengthen his stay in Grosvenor Square, 
 Knightly himself bustled back to Ireland. 
 
 Lord Clangore, somewhat piqued at the ab- 
 ruptness of his Irish cousin, almost regretted 
 that he had accepted such an obligation at 
 Mr. Knightly's hands. He was grateful for 
 the act, but not conciliated by the method of 
 doing it. " 'Tis the thing, but 'tis not the 
 manner of the thing, 1 ' soliloquized his Lord- 
 ship. And he proceeded to reflect, that either 
 Knightly was much changed for the worse, 
 since their parting in 1800, or that, remaining 
 stationary as Lord Clangore had left him, the 
 improved ideas of manner and character, which 
 the Viscount had gradually acquired in Eng- 
 lish society, now laid open to detection many 
 disagreeable peculiarities of the thorough Irish 
 squire. Willing, however, to manifest a con- 
 tinued sense of gratitude, he wrote, during the 
 course of the ensuing year, while Lady Au- 
 gusta still remained in Devonshire, several let- 
 ters to Knightly, pressing him to re-visit Lon- 
 don, and also to name in what way an influential 
 friend could promote his welfare. But to some 
 B 5
 
 10 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 of these letters Mr. Knightly returned hasty 
 and brief refusals of all the honours intended for 
 him, and others he left unanswered. 
 
 Lord Clangore felt, not without reason, in- 
 creased chagrin, and would have removed his 
 daughter from Mrs. Knightly's care, if Lady 
 Augusta's strong and quickly formed affection 
 for her nurse had permitted the measure. 
 
 But to his sons he failed not to criticise, as it 
 justly seemed to merit, this (as he called it) 
 mere Irish pride ; in temperately, and, perhaps, 
 enviously cherished, and clownishly expressed. 
 From their infancy, it had been his study to 
 impress upon his children the necessity of em- 
 bracing all that the superior country proposed 
 for adoption ; and in the abrupt conduct of 
 their Irish relative, appeared new and practical 
 reasons why they should avoid imitating a se- 
 condary standard of propriety. 
 
 Fully agreeing with their parent, and, per- 
 haps, even going beyond his views on the sub- 
 ject, his two sons could feel little less than per- 
 sonal indifference to Knightly, if not dislike of 
 that gentleman. It was, therefore, with much 
 surprise that they learned the name of the 
 third guardian appointed, by Lord Clangore's 
 will, to preside over their minority. Mental
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 11 
 
 weakness, the accompaniment of sudden and 
 increasing malady, alone seemed to account for 
 the appointing to such a trust a person for 
 whom they knew his Lordship to have enter- 
 tained no respect, and, notwithstanding an 
 early friendship, scarce any esteem. To unite 
 in common authority with a prime minister, 
 and one of the first generals of his age, a rugged 
 country-gentleman from the wilds of Ireland, 
 also seemed very grotesque ; and in fact, the 
 young Viscount and his brother, the Honour- 
 able Gerald Blount, awaited in no favour- 
 able anticipations the official meeting with their 
 yet unseen cousin. 
 
 Mr. Knightly, though speedily apprised of 
 Lord Clangore's death, repaired on no mission 
 of condolence to London. A formal intimation 
 of the day appointed for the consultation of all 
 the guardians seemed necessary to force him 
 out of his beloved Ireland. Even when that 
 was sent in time to allow of a leisurely journey, 
 and some days to spare before the conference, 
 his non-appearance, almost on the eve of the 
 appointed morning, caused some annoyance, and 
 created a very unfavourable impression. Just 
 saving his distance, however, separate notes 
 addressed to his brother-guardians, and to his
 
 12 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 noble young kinsmen, late on the very last 
 evening, when he could not, without glaring 
 impropriety, have continued silent, announced 
 his arrival in town " at the Saracen's Head, 
 Snowhill;" and farther, requested information 
 as to the exact hour, next day, appointed for 
 his appearance in St. James's Square ; for there, 
 at the mansion of the minister, he was to pre- 
 sent himself. His wards allowed his notes to 
 remain unanswered ; and indeed his whole cor- 
 respondence was recognized only by a line of 
 studied official politeness from the Minister's 
 private secretary, expressive of the pleasure 
 with which he would be received, at nine o'clock 
 the ensuing morning, when all parties concerned 
 in the business in hand were expected to meet 
 at breakfast. 
 
 Nine o'clock the ensuing morning was strik- 
 ing by the splendid timepiece over the man- 
 tel of the Minister's library ; and he, the next- 
 named guardian, General Sir Robert Flood, 
 and the brothers, Lord Clangore and the 
 Honourable Gerald Blount, stood listening for 
 the breaking-up of the aristocratic silence of 
 the Square abroad, by the expected rattle of 
 Mr. Knightly's carriage ; but no such sound
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. IS 
 
 met their ears. Ere the silvery strokes had com- 
 pleted the prescribed number, the fine and 
 bland face of the now ennobled statesman 
 turned to the bronzed visage of his gallant 
 countryman, and during the glance which they 
 interchanged, a smile of mild contempt of the 
 obscure person who could break such an ap- 
 pointment, escaped the one, and a slight quick 
 frown the other. The eyes of the young bro- 
 thers also met ; Lord Clangore, from his su- 
 perior years, exhibiting for the schoolboy's 
 response the displeasure he took no pains to 
 conceal. 
 
 But, as has been said, this happened ichilst 
 the hour was striking, and, such are the chances 
 of life, proved, by a second or two, an anticipa- 
 tion : for, almost simultaneously with the ninth 
 stroke of the timepiece, although no rattling 
 wheels or clattering hoofs (St. James's Square 
 was not macadamized then) had heralded his 
 approach, a kind of postman's double-knock 
 smote the hall-door, and presently a footman, 
 magnificently liveried, ushered into the library, 
 by the name of Knightly, a strong and square- 
 built person, about the middle stature, having 
 a broad-featured, horny face, and a dark small
 
 14 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 eye, wearing his coal-black hair smoothed down 
 over his forehead, a brown surtout, although 
 it was a warm April-day, half-buttoned over a 
 bright blue coat, and smiling and carrying his 
 hat protectingly in his hand.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF the persons of this scene the schoolboy is 
 my hero, and I shall therefore transcribe his 
 impressions of it. 
 
 Gerald, then, at the mere appearance of 
 his third-named guardian, painfully felt the 
 contrast between his unfashionable, though re- 
 spectable dress and mien, and the tall figure of 
 the Minister, clad in a silken and richly-flowered 
 morning-gown, as, advancing a step, he grace- 
 fully returned the loose, abrupt bow of Mr. 
 Knightly. The frank military politeness of Sir 
 Robert Flood, and the air of his straight person, 
 neatly expressed in a blue undress frock, braid- 
 ed and buttoned up to his chin, produced ano- 
 ther contrast, as he and Knightly greeted each 
 other, equally unfavourable to the Irish squire. 
 In turn, the visitor was named to Lord Clan- 
 gore, and Gerald noticed the bare civility of 
 his brother's recognition. In some surprise, 
 however, he remarked the final issue of their 
 meeting.
 
 16 THE ANGLO IRISH. 
 
 Knightly, after his second butting bow to the 
 Genera], turned quickly, with outstretched hand, 
 and some modification of his set smile, to his 
 titled ward ; the young nobleman all but step- 
 ped back, and not withdrawing his eyes from 
 the other's face, as if to form a reason for not 
 seeing his hand, just inclined his chin towards 
 his breast, whereat Mr. Knightly checked him- 
 self, looked askance, tried to imitate the polite 
 nod, new-fashioned to him, with which he was 
 received, and, during the attempt, Gerald 
 thought that a slight but bitter smile darted 
 out of the corners of his mouth and of his half- 
 closed lids. Could this uncouth gentleman feel, 
 or rather affect to feel, any unbecoming senti- 
 ment towards Gerald's brother ? But he was 
 not able to conclude his mental question, when 
 the subject of it suddenly wheeled round upon 
 himself, and, not waiting for formal presentation 
 to the schoolboy, or giving him time to stand 
 on his guard, plunged on both his hands, and, 
 with strong and overcharged language, ex- 
 pressed his joy at seeing him. 
 
 All proceeded to the breakfast parlour, Mr. 
 Knightly still keeping firm hold of his new hat ; 
 and, ere he would occupy the chair pointed out 
 to him, he bethought himself of walking quickly
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 17 
 
 across the room, and depositing it on a side-table. 
 As he returned to his chair, a servant, removing 
 it to the hall, called from him a questioning 
 glance ; and though, at length, he seated him- 
 self quietly, and with somewhat of the self- 
 possession of a gentleman, Gerald smiled to ob- 
 serve the grave scrutiny with which he peered 
 at (so Gerald thought) the flame lighted under 
 a richly-embossed chocolate-pot. 
 
 " Peter Bell," whispered Lord Clangore to 
 his brother, who sat close by him ; "he carries 
 all the out-of-doors character of Peter in his 
 face ; and has he tied his ass to the railings?" 
 
 " Caliban," answered Gerald, " the marks of 
 his talons are on my hands." 
 
 " Observe him now, Gerald," as Mr. Knightly 
 took a steady survey of the dishes round the 
 table; " attend, and you may see 
 
 ' The longings of the Cannibal arise, 
 Although he speaks not, in his wolfish eyes.' " 
 
 And allowing for some poetical license, the 
 quotation seemed not misapplied. After de- 
 clining, but not till he caused his host to repeat 
 its name, to be helped to Perigord-pie, Mr. 
 Knightly demanded what was a round, en- 
 crusted, disguised something, in the middle of
 
 18 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 the board. At the answer " smoked tongue,'' 
 his countenance brightened, and he zealously 
 put in his claim for some to the General, and at 
 the same time plied Lord Clangore, who pre- 
 sided over a pair of cold fowls. And over 
 and over again he would be helped to both to- 
 gether ; and between his pauses, having tea to 
 his hand, cup after cup slaked his insatiate 
 thirst it was prodigious. Once he seemed to 
 relax, and an attendant motioned to change 
 his plate ; but the sudden way in which Mr. 
 Knightly seized, and, with an earnest " beg 
 your pardon," detained it, smiling to himself 
 all the time, startled and amused, at once, the 
 two junior spectators. 
 
 Catching Gerald's eye during his serious 
 occupation, Mr. Knightly smiled more expres- 
 sively than ever, and seemed to think there 
 might exist some slight necessity for palliation. 
 " Ay, my honourable young cousin," he said, 
 " when you come to see us in Ireland, this is 
 the way we '11 teach you to breakfast : first 
 teaching you that a couple of hours' walk before 
 hand is indispensable in the case: I have just 
 been rambling over Primrose Hill as far as 
 Highgate." 
 
 " My brother thanks you, Sir," said Lord
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 19 
 
 Clangore, after exchanging a glance with Gerald, 
 " and when he goes to see you in Ireland, will 
 most gladly become your pupil." 
 
 Gerald, not quite so fully possessed with a feel- 
 ing of equality towards men of matured years 
 as was his Lordship, feared this irony might 
 prove too strong ; he comforted himself, how- 
 ever, with the hope that it would not be under- 
 stood ; and, indeed, the quiet " You are very 
 good, my Lord," with which Mr. Knightly re- 
 plied, set him at ease. 
 
 " Over Primrose-hill, and on to Highgate ! v 
 said the Minister, smiling : " indeed, Mr. 
 Knightly, you astound us poor cockneys." 
 
 " I fear so, my Lord ; but Irish mountaineers 
 will follow their old habits." 
 
 " No doubt," said Sir Robert. " Are they 
 getting any quieter, Mr. Knightly ?" 
 
 It was a quick turn of the conversation, yet 
 Mr. Knightly ""s " No, indeed, General," showed 
 that he accepted it quite in course. 
 
 " Unhappy, misguided creatures," continued 
 Sir Robert. 
 
 " Unhappy, misguided creatures," assented 
 Mr. Knightly, much in earnest. 
 
 " And when will they grow quiet, Sir ?" 
 
 " When, indeed, General ?"
 
 20 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " What with White-boys and Right-boys, 
 United-men, Shanavests, Caravats, Threshers, 
 Carders, and now, Rockites, I believe, all I have 
 heard or read of them since I left the country, 
 shows that the old people of Ireland never can 
 be peaceable so long as they remain what they 
 are." 
 
 " Plainly shows it, Sir Robert." 
 
 " The mass of our half-countrymen are cer- 
 tainly difficult to govern," said the Minister ; 
 " I fear, they may be said to give His Majesty's 
 Councils as much continued, though petty trou- 
 ble, as any people who are, or have been, our 
 declared enemies." 
 
 " And I fear so, too, my Lord." 
 
 "And 'tis a problem they should, Mr. Knight- 
 ly ; for whether we consider their long expe- 
 rience of the Government and of the laws of 
 England ; or their necessitous knowledge of 
 their own level in the scale of nations ; or their 
 constant opportunities to grow wiser, by obser- 
 ving the course pursued by other people, and 
 especially by their neighbours, towards happi- 
 ness and prosperity ; in fact, in whatever way 
 we balance the question, we are unable to forge 
 it into any tangible solution capable of being
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 21 
 
 comprehended according to the rules of cause 
 and effect."" 
 
 Here may be detected instances of the rather 
 infelicitous clash of imagery that occasionally 
 marked his Lordship's language ; without depri- 
 ving it, however, of the power of persuading or 
 convincing, which it is well known to have pos- 
 sessed, and in which few were his rivals. 
 
 " One is sometimes thrown," said Mr. Knight- 
 ly, " upon the unphilosophical supposition that 
 would attribute to an ill-organized nature, their 
 restlessness to use no harder word, my Lord. 1 ' 
 
 " Their turbulence, their ferocity, Sir," resum- 
 ed Sir Robert Flood : " their thirst of human 
 life ; and there, Sir, I have used your harder 
 word, though you will not call it too hard, after 
 all." 
 
 " Not a bit too hard, Sir Robert." 
 
 " And in Heaven's name, Mr. Knightly, re- 
 suming my former question, when are we to 
 witness any abatement of excesses, which refuse 
 peace, nay, even personal security, to such Eng- 
 lish capitalists, or English gentlemen, or Irish 
 gentlemen of English descent, as may think of 
 settling in the country ?" 
 
 " I suppose you to ask, General, if atrocities
 
 22 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 are becoming less frequent, and I answer, no. 
 It was but a few nights before I began my 
 journey to England, that, only three miles from 
 my own house, an industrious Scotchman, who 
 had recently taken a large farm, fell a victim, 
 along with two of his servants, to the savage 
 vengeance of Captain Rock's desperadoes." 
 " And yet you live in Ireland, Sir !" 
 " Why, Sir Robert," smiling apologetically, 
 " one must live where one can. Perhaps if I 
 lived in your affluent and luxurious England, 
 along with my half-dozen of raw-boned sons, 
 and my seven or eight gadding daughters, I 
 could not well manage my small means for liv- 
 ing at all ; and so, as in the hope of advantage, 
 the East-Indiaman braves the Cape, and the 
 caravan the Desert, I must brave no not 
 brave that wouldn't do but I must take my 
 chance against Captain Rock." 
 
 " It is, however, to be hoped," resumed the 
 Minister, " that when the important measure 
 of Union, as yet but nominally effected between 
 the two countries, shall have fully come into 
 operation, there will begin, in Ireland, a change 
 of character, which must speedily repay us for 
 the season of turmoil we now endure, and which
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 23 
 
 will show itself as much the result of a well- 
 squared dove-tailing with England, taking 
 root during a necessary previous time, as the 
 present sad state of things may be said to flow 
 from a want of that close and kindly interweav- 
 ing between the two people." 
 
 " If your Lordship means that Ireland will 
 never be quiet, or prosperous, or worth living 
 in, until English views, interests, industry Eng- 
 lish character, in fact take place of the views, 
 interests, and indolence, instead of industry 
 which confer its present character then I agree 
 with your Lordship," said the General. 
 
 " In detail, Sir Robert, I meant that." 
 
 " In a word, until the great majority of the 
 population cease to be merely Irish, and be- 
 come, like the only portion of it who are now 
 respectable, intelligent ay, or civilized, Eng- 
 lish-Irish," continued Sir Robert. 
 
 " Well, and my meaning allows of that con- 
 struction too," assented the Minister. " Yes ; 
 I like your word, Sir Robert ; it defines almost 
 to a point what I might admit to have been 
 my own previous opinion : yes, my first cure 
 for the evils of Ireland, certainly would be to 
 make all her people English-Irish."
 
 24 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " And it would be my first cure too, 1 ' ob- 
 served Mr. Knightly, as if rather speaking to 
 himself, than to those around him. 
 
 " Begin then, my Lord, we pray you," said 
 the young Viscount. 
 
 " Or, my Lord," added Gerald, upon whom 
 little of the conversation had been lost, " Wal- 
 ter, here, or I, shall scarce live long enough to 
 pay our Irish tenantry a visit ; don't you think 
 so, Walter ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do." 
 
 " But why, my good young friends ?" asked 
 the Minister with a condescending smile. 
 
 " Explain as well as you can, Gerald," said 
 Lord Clangore. 
 
 " Thus then, my Lord ;" and in a little em- 
 barassment the schoolboy addressed the Minis- 
 ter " until one can sleep soundly in one's bed 
 in Ireland, one can hardly think of going there ; 
 and Sir Robert, and Mr. Knightly, and even 
 your Lordship, seem to say, that this must not 
 be expected for a great many years." 
 
 " Fairly argued, Gerald," laughed Sir Ro- 
 bert. 
 
 " My dear young Lord Clangore," resumed 
 the Minister, assuming one of those full, manly 
 expressions of face and manner which often
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 25 
 
 distinguished him ; " it is due to your ripening 
 years, to remind you that, as has already been 
 noticed, his Majesty's Government have made 
 the beginning you so properly wish for. The 
 legislative Union of Great Britain and Ireland 
 may, indeed, be said to be the first link of that 
 great chain which, in intellect, civilization, hap- 
 piness, and glory, and at the same time, in 
 habits, pursuits, and morals, is destined to inter- 
 fuse into one national current, the people of 
 England and Ireland." 
 
 " I thank your Lordship for your explana- 
 tion," said Lord Clangore, " and I fully accept 
 it; and yet it is grievous to think that our 
 young logician here is still right, when he sup- 
 poses that many, many years must elapse before 
 an Irish nobleman or gentleman, or, as I admit 
 the propriety of the epithet, an English- Irish 
 one, can reckon upon residing comfortably and 
 happily amongst his mere Irish dependants." 
 
 " Before that, many, many years must pass 
 away, indeed," remarked Knightly. 
 
 " Meantime," resumed Lord Clangore, 
 " while the purely Irish of the present day, 
 in different ranks of society, utter the lan- 
 guage of disaffection to England, or fright- 
 fully outrage her laws, what shall we call 
 
 VOL. i. c
 
 26 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 their conduct with reference to the expected 
 change ?" 
 
 " Call it, if your Lordship pleases, the 
 yeasty workings, which denote a decomposing 
 process in the moral elements of the people, 
 and which, pursuant to the theory, must leave 
 behind a settled and purer state of society," an- 
 swered not the Minister, nor the General, but 
 Mr. Knightly, out of his turn and place. 
 
 " And are we merely to look on at the fer- 
 mentation ?" continued Lord Clangore, glancing 
 round to his more important friends. 
 
 " I suppose so," again put in Knightly ; " fid- 
 dling" with his spoon. 
 
 " But can you not also suppose, Sir, a mo- 
 ment, during which we could not merely look 
 on ?" 
 
 " I had rather not, my Lord :" Knightly 
 smiled and bowed. 
 
 " Tut, my good young Lord," said the Ge- 
 neral, rising; " you only contemplate circum- 
 stances as likely as any that could occur to fa- 
 cilitate the change we all think desirable. And 
 so, indeed, says our distinguished countryman, 
 now immortalizing himself on the Peninsula. 
 One of the chief causes of Ireland's turbulence 
 is her self-flattering conviction, that, as yet, she
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 27 
 
 has been but half conquered. Whenever she 
 deserves it, then, he argues, conquer her to her 
 heart's content, and she will be quieter. And I 
 think it a fair syllogism ; and, for my own part, 
 can imagine no state of things better calculated 
 to let us remodel the old Celtic character to 
 make it, in fact, English-Irish that 's still my 
 word than one offered by the salutary humili- 
 ation, perhaps diminution, of a newly-conquered 
 people !" 
 
 " Faith ! and it might be as good a way as 
 any, General," assented Mr. Knightly. 
 
 " I agree," said Lord Clangore. 
 
 " And I," said Gerald. 
 
 All now arose, and as a hint for furthering the 
 real business of the morning, the Minister show- 
 ed the way back to his library. 
 
 It often happens that, when men meet about 
 some specific matter of importance, the acci- 
 dental conversation which precedes its discus- 
 sion, proves tenfold the extent of that which 
 arranges it. And such was the case in the 
 present instance. Little could be suggested for 
 the future advantage of their wards by the 
 three guardians, or by one of the wards, Lord 
 Clangore, in behalf of his brother, or his sister, 
 or himself, which all did not seem to have 
 c 2
 
 28 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 previously, though tacitly, agreed in. Lady 
 Augusta could not yet be removed from De- 
 vonshire, nor invited to resume her literary and 
 other studies, notwithstanding a manifest im- 
 provement in her health, reported by Lord 
 Clangore, who, since their common calamity, 
 had been to visit her. The young Viscount 
 would return to Cambridge, complete his terms, 
 and at one and twenty inherit his considerable 
 estates in England and Ireland : then, if state 
 ambition swayed his mind, no young nobleman 
 could have better prospects. And, almost upon 
 the same plan, Gerald was to go back to West- 
 minster, afterwards to the University, and 
 against the time when he must be called upon 
 to consider it, make up his mind in the choice 
 of a profession, the portion of patrimony 
 lying in Ireland, to which his father's will en- 
 titled him, not seeming to dispense with his own 
 exertions in the world. At present, he could 
 not say what profession he might ultimately 
 select. 
 
 During the conversation on these points Mr. 
 Knightly scarce spoke a word, except when he 
 assented. As the meeting was about to dis- 
 solve, however, he asked, 
 
 " When Lord Clangore shall have attained
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 29 
 
 his twenty-first year, I presume we may reckon 
 upon seeing him amongst us in Ireland ?" 
 
 " That requires consideration," said the 
 Minister. 
 
 " The late Lord Clangore often objected to 
 any son of his residing in Ireland," said Sir 
 Robert, " or even temporarily mixing in the 
 anomalous crowd called Irish Society, at least 
 till an advanced period of life." 
 
 " Then you will be one of the true English- 
 Irish, my Lord ?" pursued Mr. Knightly, 
 good-humouredly. 
 
 " I will, Sir," answered his noble ward. 
 
 " And so will I," echoed Gerald. 
 
 " Like all of us who to speak modestly 
 do not put Ireland to the blush," resumed Sir 
 Robert Flood. 
 
 " We shall regret your absence, even while 
 we admire the motive for it, my Lord ; w and Mr. 
 Knightly was bowing himself out of the room. 
 
 " Do you leave town soon, Sir ?" asked Sir 
 Robert. 
 
 " To-day, General, for Devonshire, in the 
 three-o'-clock coach, that starts from Lad-lane ; 
 and thence, with little delay, home to Captain 
 Rock ;" and continuing his bows, Mr. Knightly 
 withdrew.
 
 30 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " AND, Gerald," said Lord Clangore, keep- 
 ing up with his brother some confidential dis- 
 course, upon the evening previous to their 
 separation, the one for Cambridge, the other 
 for Westminster "make no friends and few 
 acquaintances among the boys fresh from our 
 father's country you may meet at school ; 
 guard yourself, at least, against the manners, 
 temper, and even the brogue, for which -such 
 of them as continue very national, and wish 
 to be so, are remarkable." 
 
 " Indeed, Walter, I know but one boy at 
 Westminster x>f Irish connexion, that I 've 
 any fancy to know ; Charles Flood, the Gene- 
 ral's son : and he, I assure you, thinks so nearly 
 with ourselves on this subject, that his ac- 
 quaintance must be of use, rather than other- 
 wise : he's very witty, and droll, and" 
 
 " Have a care, Gerald, how you give him 
 credit for that very kind of wit which you
 
 THE ANGLO IRISH. 31 
 
 have yourself defined in so questionable a man- 
 ner ; for, in fact, drollery is not wit, except, I 
 suppose, in Ireland." 
 
 " Charles is witty, though, Walter ; per- 
 haps I need not have said droll : there 's no- 
 thing broad about it ; nothing buffoonish or 
 vulgar; but all so quiet and unawares, you 
 would think, when you look at him lisping it 
 out with his raised eye-brows and half-shut 
 eyes ; and then, as I was going to say, though 
 he makes us all laugh, whatever subject comes 
 up, Charles is never so delightful as when he 
 talks to us of the Irish people, men and 
 women, and of the Irish places and things he 
 was bred and born amongst." 
 
 " c Bred and born f that 's as good an Irish- 
 ism as I 've heard, Gerald." 
 
 " Well, may be so ; but one can easily for- 
 get, you know." 
 
 " And if you got it from young Flood " 
 
 " No, Walter, I bar that." 
 
 " * Bar that !' over again !" 
 
 " Well to be sure !" continued Gerald, in 
 intended self-defence, while he really achieved 
 a climax of Irish phraseology, garnishing it, 
 too, with a very sweet bit of brogue. His 
 brother raised up his hands and eyes in mock
 
 32 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 horror, and when Gerald saw and acknow- 
 ledged his stumble, both laughed heartily, 
 and the subject changed. 
 
 " I wish our poor Augusta had never fall- 
 en into the care of her present protectress, 
 Gerald." 
 
 " So do I, for every reason ; and first, 
 because she would not have been ill enough 
 to require it." 
 
 " And next, because of all ladies I have 
 ever seen, Mrs. Knightly is the most Irish ; 
 so peculiarly mannered, so strange and ante- 
 diluvian, so talky, and, sometimes, so droll 
 too, Gerald ; why, the very nationality of her 
 tones will be injurious to our sister, if, indeed, 
 they remain long enough together to allow of 
 Augusta's unconscious imitation of them." 
 
 " That will be bad, Walter ; particularly 
 for a lady destined to move and excel in Eng- 
 lish society. 1 " 
 
 " Did you like Mrs. Knightly, during our 
 short visit, Gerald ?" 
 
 " I I don't know ; I can't exactly say ; I 
 never thought of the matter, then or since ; 
 but I believe not. Can't Augusta have an- 
 other companion in Devonshire ?" 
 
 " The good Irish lady has, Irish as she is,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 33 
 
 been very attentive and kind to her, and 
 evidently won Augusta's affections; so that 
 separating them, at present, or, indeed, until 
 our sister perfectly regains her health " 
 
 " Oh, it wouldn't do. But write to Au- 
 gusta on the matter." 
 
 " So I intend." 
 
 " And when I go down to Devonshire, next 
 vacation, I '11 report to you, Walter." 
 
 The brothers parted. Gerald arrived at 
 Westminster while the boys were out of doors, 
 and hastened to join such of them as had been 
 his companions. He soon found them, forming, 
 along with some others, a little crowd, which 
 hovered on the steps of a solitary lad, who, at 
 a glance, Gerald saw was a new comer. 
 
 " Oh, Blount !" lisped young Charles Flood, 
 after temperately shaking his hand, and while he 
 pointed to the sad -looking stranger, and affected 
 a strong Irish accent ; " Oh, Blount, did you 
 ever in your life see a pay-cock ?" 
 
 " A what !" laughed Gerald, and the crowd 
 loudly echoed his anticipating glee. The object 
 of their ridicule was within hearing. 
 
 " Why, a pay-cock, man : wait till I tell 
 you ;" and Flood, mimicking the face of a 
 person astonished, and a little embarrassed in a 
 c 5
 
 34 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 new situation, began to stare about him as he 
 drawled out ' James ! James ! ' (that 's the 
 curious serving man that came here with us) 
 ' Oh, James, James ! ' * Eh-a, Masther Harry ?' 
 ' James, look at the pay-cock !' 
 
 This sally, obviously caricaturing a scene all 
 had recently witnessed during the last interview 
 between the new comer and his Irish servant, 
 produced a fresh burst of laughter, which, how- 
 ever, was interrupted in a startling way. Flood 
 had scarce uttered his last mouthful of brogue, 
 when a sharp and rather large stone, whizzing 
 through his crowd of admirers, struck him on 
 the head, and, as he lay stunned on the ground, 
 the dangerous person who had hurled it, darted, 
 with flashing eyes and features swollen, and 
 stained with recent tears, upon his prostrate tor- 
 mentor, as he shouted out " No! but, James ! 
 James ! where are you to look at the puppy !" 
 
 " Tear away the Pat !" cried several voices, 
 as they saw him attempt farther to annoy young 
 Flood. He was soon secured by Gerald and 
 others. 
 
 "There's his Irish treachery!" they conti- 
 nued ; " a blow even without a word !" 
 
 " He has been with Captain Rock among the 
 boss !" cried others.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. S5 
 
 " Report him! report him! and we shall soon 
 be rid of him !" 
 
 Flood now started to his feet and said "No! 
 let no one here speak of tale-bearing, or I am 
 his enemy. We can settle the matter in another 
 way." 
 
 " Ay, serve him out for it ! serve him out !" 
 was now the cry. Flood walked up to his 
 assaulter. 
 
 " Williams, if that is your name ? " 
 
 " It is my name," angrily interrupted the 
 captive. 
 
 " Very well. Let him go, Blount ; my merry- 
 men, let him go ; we shall have a quiet word 
 together:" he was released. "Williams, then, 
 most princely and most Milesian Williams 
 though 'tis not a Milesian name, after all smells 
 of the leek, I think but 'twill do as well 
 Taffy is as hot as Paddy any day and when 
 mixed, as in thy puissant person " 
 
 "Balderdash!" exclaimed Williams, " say it 
 at once, if you're not afraid of the very sound 
 of it." 
 
 " Nay, gentle Pat ap Taffy ap Wil- 
 liams, courage and good humour may go to- 
 gether." 
 
 " You want to fight it out with me ?"
 
 36 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Thou hast expressed it : lads, get him a 
 friend and a bottle-holder among you ; Blount 
 and Morton, you are for me ; come along." 
 
 " I want no friend here" growled Williams ; 
 " I can do it alone." 
 
 "Friend, or no friend, there shall be fair 
 play," said several ; and while the greater por- 
 tion of the crowd hurried off to prepare a ring on 
 the destined spot, a few ran to provide brandy, 
 as an approved stimulant for the mettle of the 
 combatants. But, by some unknown means, 
 one of the authorities received notice of the in- 
 tended battle, though not of the aggression that 
 had led to it, and soon appearing on the ground, 
 commanded peace, in the name of heavy pe- 
 nalties and punishment. As the disappointed 
 throng dispersed, Flood whispered in Williams's 
 ear, *' To-morrow evening, then, and here." 
 
 " Any evening, and any where," he was an- 
 swered ; and, taking Gerald's arm, Flood turned 
 away, as also did every other boy from the tur- 
 bulent stranger, leaving him quite alone cut, 
 in fact. 
 
 " Now there 's a drop of the true Hibernian 
 blood for you, Gerald," said Flood, as they 
 walked on. 
 
 *' Shocking!" replied Gerald: " he shows no
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 37 
 
 notion of resentment in a fair way, or even a 
 manly way." 
 
 " And yet he 's not one of the prime ones ei- 
 ther; being no Roman-Catholic, in the first place, 
 and having nothing to do with the good old 
 stock in the second ; but, of course, he learned it 
 amongst them." 
 
 " He must forget what he has learned then, 
 if he means to live here, Flood." 
 
 " Let 's see how he '11 take the initiation 
 to-night," answered Flood ; " that tries temper 
 and sense." 
 
 " Yes ; and he '11 have time to cool," agreed 
 Gerald. 
 
 The night came, and about the hour when 
 the clock was striking twelve, Williams, awak- 
 ing out of a sound sleep, in consequence of 
 some sudden rough treatment, found himself 
 lying on the floor, surrounded by a hideous 
 row of figures in white drapery and with devi- 
 lish faces, visible only by the phosphoric light 
 smeared over them. A subdued howl, at the 
 same time, assaulted his ears ; and, after a 
 second's recollection, he thought he felt as 
 if he had been soused in water. The na- 
 tural terror that his first glance around him 
 had brought to his heart, was corrected by this
 
 38 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 latter observation. It seemed now clear that, 
 instead of being haunted by evil spirits, he was 
 suffering much ill-treatment at the hands of his 
 school-fellows ; and never having heard of such 
 proceedings, and construing into a particular 
 personal outrage pranks that many a boy had 
 experienced before him, the moody young Irish- 
 man gave way to a paroxysm of fury, which 
 spent itself in the wildest efforts at retaliation. 
 But those efforts proved as vain as they were 
 wild. In a few moments he found himself in 
 utter darkness, far from his bed, in what direc- 
 tion he could not tell, and receiving, at the 
 hands of his unseen persecutors, a succession of 
 ill-usage, their knowledge of the localities of 
 the apartment enabling them to keep out of his 
 reach, while the well-known sounds of " James, 
 look at the pay-cock !" proved, if any proof were 
 wanting, to whom he stood indebted ; until at 
 last, after hours of misery, chilled, and drenched, 
 he sunk on the boards, and became at once tamed 
 and comforted in the deep sleep of exhaustion. 
 
 " He will make a story of it in the morn- 
 ing," whispered Flood to Gerald, as they part- 
 ed for the night ; " his nature is enough for 
 any thing." 
 
 But in this instance only they wronged the
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 39 
 
 Hibernian. He took no steps to obtain satis- 
 faction at the hands of the constituted authori- 
 ties ; he even did not allude to the scene of 
 the previous night in their presence. A con- 
 firmed gloom of brow, and a sullen silence, alone 
 showed the sense of wrong that brooded within. 
 Through the whole day he sat or strayed about 
 alone. The evening, and with it the hour for 
 renewed battle, drew on, and he was the first 
 on the ground. Against his repeated protest, 
 friends were allotted to him, and he and Flood 
 " set-to." Williams was the stronger and elder 
 boy, and when his hits told, as at the com- 
 mencement was the case, his adversary suffer- 
 ed from them. But Flood had the advan- 
 tage in " the science" " the real thing ;" be- 
 sides being much cooler, and more on his 
 guard ; and after a few rounds, gradually ha- 
 rassed his man, until feebleness and insensibility 
 began to appear. Williams then partook, for 
 the first time, of the proffered stimulant, that 
 Flood had not from the outset refused ; rallied, 
 and did some wild work ; but after a contest of 
 an hour, finally lay powerless. Many boys, 
 interested by his spirit and bravery, took care 
 of him ; and even his first offence seemed almost 
 forgotten.
 
 40 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Will the Milesian be more rational now ?" 
 inquired the victor of his friend Gerald, as 
 they returned from the ground. 
 
 " We can watch him to-morrow," replied Ge- 
 rald ; " and, Flood, if he promises fair, no need 
 to cut the poor devil altogether, you know." 
 
 " Certainly not on this account ; but let us see." 
 
 Flood had already shaken William s's hand, 
 but as he could scarce have been sensible of the 
 overture, fresh advances towards good-fellow- 
 ship were made the ensuing morning. But the 
 beaten boy scowlingly drew back from his con- 
 queror, muttering that it was not over yet ; and 
 still he sat or sauntered moodily alone. In the 
 course of the day he was observed to speak 
 apart with a Jew-hawker, who came within 
 view ; and, seemingly at his instance, the iti- 
 nerant merchant retired, after a few hours re- 
 appeared, and Williams purchased something of 
 him. Gerald met him walking rapidly towards 
 the more frequented part of the play-ground, 
 his hands thrust into his pockets, and a mixed 
 satisfaction and fierceness in his look. 
 
 " Where 's Flood ?" he asked, as they passed. 
 
 Gerald answered. "Follow me, then; youVe 
 his friend, and he may want you ; follow me."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 41 
 
 Gerald did follow in his hasty steps, and they 
 soon came up with Flood. 
 
 " There, fellow !" cried the Irishman, fling- 
 ing down one pistol, as he took out another ; 
 " meet me like a gentleman at last, since I can't 
 wait to learn your * stable-boy' knack of fight- 
 ing put him on his ground !" 
 
 An assistant of the school seasonably inter- 
 fered, the whole transaction was reported to 
 the master, and next day Williams was ordered 
 home to Ireland. 
 
 " They never forgive," observed Flood to 
 Gerald ; " they will never let you be friends 
 with them." 
 
 " I have often been told that," replied Gerald, 
 " and now I see it." 
 
 " They must have fighting, Blount; 'tis meat, 
 drink, and clothes to them (indeed, sometimes 
 they want it as a substitute for these matters) 
 if they can have it with an enemy, and with an 
 Englishman above the world, all the better; but 
 rather than go without it, they must have it 
 from each other." 
 
 The young friends, along with other boys of 
 their age, rowed up the river the same evening, 
 beyond Chelsea. By the way, the manful com-
 
 42 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 mand which Westminster boys of twelve or 
 thirteen, exhibit over a four-oared, sometimes a 
 six-oared boat, is quite delightful to witness. 
 An equal number of professional watermen 
 could not much surpass them; as, sitting strip- 
 ped to their work, they pull with their little 
 muscular arms, and bend their little bodies in 
 masterly unison. 
 
 " Hark !" cried Flood, as they passed 
 Cheyne-walk, " I hear the sweet silvery sounds 
 of home ;" a loud clatter from a group of 
 Irish labourers just then broke on the ears of 
 all. The men stood debating round the door 
 of a public-house, seemingly half tipsy, and 
 as if cordially, though so boisterously, ex- 
 horting each other to step in again and become 
 wholly so. The juvenile boatmen rested on 
 their oars to observe them. 
 
 " They are going to fight," said Gerald, who 
 did not understand Irish vivacity : " they are 
 going to fight, Flood, amongst each other, 
 just as you said it, a few hours ago. 1 ' 
 
 " No, no,' 1 replied Flood, " that 's to come : 
 this is only the love-making that brings it on. 
 Pull, lads, we shall be time enough on our re- 
 turn from Battersea or the Red-house."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 43 
 
 So well had he prophesied, that, just as the 
 boat shot by the same spot, after about half an 
 hour's absence, a discordant yelling and voci- 
 feration issued from the public-house, and, in a 
 few minutes, out rushed the dearest friends in 
 the world, breaking each other's heads, some 
 with the very utensils in which they had been 
 pledging mutual love, and peace, and happi- 
 ness; some with portions of chairs, wrenched 
 asunder for the occasion, and some with pokers. 
 No brow amongst them was unstained with 
 blood ; few were able to stand upright for more 
 than a second at a time, ere they were felled to 
 the earth; and many lay motionless, perhaps 
 dead, upon it. But I will not detail the scene. 
 The only relief it shall receive at my hands is, 
 by contrasting such a display of strange and fo- 
 reign uproar, with the systematised quiet and 
 indifference, not to say contempt, with which 
 it was regarded by all classes of the people 
 amongst whom it occurred, and who, evidently 
 against their taste, were lookers on. 
 
 " There 'tis for you now, Gerald," remarked 
 Flood. 
 
 " Fickle, turbulent creatures ! " exclaimed 
 Gerald. " No, I see it, plainly, they never can
 
 44 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 be quiet ; you never can be at peace with them :" 
 and in strengthened conviction, he recollected 
 the theory of a total change of nationality, ori- 
 ginated by his friend's father, and asserted to 
 be an indispensable step towards the peace and 
 happiness of his paternal country. 
 
 Upon another evening, when he, Flood, and 
 the rest of their little boatVcrew, had proceeded 
 down the river as far as Bermondsey, and when, 
 in search of some refreshments, they landed and 
 explored that dirty and straggling ramification 
 of the overgrown Babylon, a general riot and 
 panic possessed its narrow warehouse, or shed- 
 house lanes, the Irish population, which there 
 preponderates, having just turned out in civil 
 warfare. The yells and imprecations of the 
 half-mad people rang far and wide ; with gashed 
 heads and shattered limbs the discomfited par- 
 ties lay on the pavement ; constables interposed, 
 and in a twinkling were routed and sorely mal- 
 treated ; until at length, whenever a peace-mak- 
 ing Englishman presented himself, or even a 
 merely peaceable one, who had in no way in- 
 terfered, the staves of the enfuriated rioters 
 were dealt round in indiscriminate, and, it 
 might seem, merely impulsive fury. The place 
 appeared like a town just stormed and taken
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 45 
 
 possession of by a band of pirates, before whose 
 animal desperation the quiet inhabitants shrunk 
 in dismay, or were flying in terror. But Gerald 
 did not require this new fact to strengthen his 
 former conclusions. He was only more disgusted. 
 Vacation came on, and, previous to his jour- 
 ney to Devonshire, Gerald spent a few days 
 with his friends in town ; one he devoted, still 
 in the company of Flood and a few other 
 boys, to an exploring ramble from the West 
 End towards the city. Walking into Hoi- 
 born, the now familiar noise of Irish uproar 
 once more reached them down one of the nar- 
 row alleys that communicate with the very ca- 
 pital of Irish London colonies dear St. Giles's 
 itself. Gerald would have declined farther no- 
 tice of the disagreeable occurrence, but, yield- 
 ing to the wishes of his young friends, he at 
 length advanced, with them, to the outskirts of 
 the fray. It is enough to observe, that it ge- 
 nerally resembled those he had before witness- 
 ed, with the addition of female combatants, 
 scattered through the male ranks, or screaming 
 and imprecating, four or five at a time, out of 
 all the windows within view. Cautiously pass- 
 ing the unruly mob, the young party turned 
 down another street of the same colony, in
 
 46 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 which reigned comparative peace, but which 
 presented other fruitful subjects for contem- 
 plation. Here, in the very core of English 
 cleanliness, order, and comfort, was a picture of 
 all Gerald had ever heard about Irish nastiness 
 and misery, as vivid as if he stood on Irish 
 ground, or as if the wretched beings, by whose 
 agency it was displayed, had never had an op- 
 portunity of seeing or knowing better ; though 
 they need but turn round their eyes, or at far- 
 thest walk a few steps, to supply themselves with 
 contrasts that ought to bring into their cheeks 
 the blush of shame, and into their hearts the 
 zeal of amendment. The door of almost every 
 dingy house stood open, and women, and girls, 
 untidily dressed, with unwashed faces, sat or 
 grouped round the thresholds, gabbling loud, 
 and doing nothing. Squalid and ragged chil- 
 dren sprawled about the streets, which were 
 puddly, though it was summer, and while every 
 street that led into the vile district, was clean ; 
 and cabbage-leaves, and cabbage- stalks, and a 
 variety of other rubbish, offended the eye of 
 even the least orderly observer. 
 
 " See, v said Flood, " it is not the heroic 
 tastes of our dear countrymen I so much mar- 
 vel at, but they cannot even be taught to "
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 47 
 
 " They will never be taught any thing they 
 should know as long as they are Irish," inter- 
 rupted Gerald. 
 
 One of Gerald's companions was a young Eng- 
 lish gentleman of that well-regulated turn of 
 mind, dignity of manner, and openness of heart, 
 which mark the best specimens of English charac- 
 ter. Upon their boating parties to Chelsea and 
 Bermondsey he had witnessed scenes, already no- 
 ticed, and while it was evident that his notions of 
 propriety received, on these occasions, a disagree- 
 ble shock, yet a with an amiable and delicate tact, 
 he strove to conceal from Gerald any strong ex- 
 pression of feeling that might tend to humiliate 
 him. Now, however, as they all turned out of 
 St. Giles's, he could not avoid saying " Blount, 
 I am sorry these people are your countrymen/' 
 '' Then your sorrow is unnecessary," replied 
 Gerald, " for my countrymen these people are 
 not. You might, indeed, during his lifetime, 
 have fixed them upon my father, though in 
 spite of him ; but I was not even born amongst 
 them : at all events, if I am to be called Irish, 
 let it be with a word prefixed English-Irish." 
 " That is " said his friend. 
 " That is," continued Gerald, energetically, 
 " even if Irish by birth "
 
 48 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Or rather, by having been born in the 
 country," put in Flood. 
 
 " Yes, Flood ; for, after all, people of Eng- 
 lish blood, in the first instance, do not grow 
 Irish, by being born in Ireland : but I mean, 
 that, supposing such to be my case, I wish to be- 
 come English, purely English, in all my habits 
 and notions; and more, as your father says, 
 Flood, I believe Ireland never can be in any 
 respect what it ought to be, until all the people 
 in it, or the greater number of them, at least, 
 are made as English, as I hope, I am." 
 
 " My excellent father is, no doubt, excellent 
 authority," said Flood ; *' but his commander- 
 in-chief must, according to the articles of war, 
 be allowed to be better ; and it is well known, 
 Blount, that the Great Captain, of course seeing 
 things as you and I, and all of us do, rejects the 
 name of Irishman, and desires to be considered 
 a (I believe his term is) British subject." 
 
 " Your father's term would be better, Flood." 
 
 " I wish this had been sooner understood by 
 our countrymen, at least by any of them who 
 ever escaped out of Ireland, good Gerald," said 
 Flood to Gerald, a few days after, as, under the 
 magnificent roof of Westminster Abbey, they 
 resumed the question.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 49 
 
 " And it was," answered Gerald ; " look 
 here," leading him up to Goldsmith's monu- 
 ment, " here is a proof. It is well known that 
 Goldsmith drew from his Irish recollections 
 when he wrote the * Deserted Village ;' what 
 but a disinclination to link himself with Ire- 
 land, could have hindered him from placing 
 the village where he really found it ?" 
 
 " It might have been too dirty a village, 
 where he found it," said Flood ; " a little St. 
 Giles's." 
 
 " Well," resumed Gerald, smiling ; " even 
 so you prove that in Goldsmith's judgment 
 it was first necessary to make it English-Irish. 
 But this is not the only way in which he has 
 shown a prudent shyness of the country that 
 happened to give him birth. He satirized it 
 at every opportunity." 
 
 " I remember," said Flood, 
 
 " ' There's my countryman, Higgins, och ! let him alone, 
 For making a blunder, or picking a bone !' " 
 
 " And the epistle you quote from," resumed 
 Gerald, " was written to Lord Clare ; and as 
 Goldsmith must have known, from his Lord- 
 ship's previous sentiments, that he would enjoy 
 a keen, though deserved taunt on mere Irish 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 peculiarities, we may conclude that he, too, 
 was English-Irish." Had the reading, or the 
 memory of the young theorist served him, he 
 might have named more important instances of 
 his assertion, as well before as at the time now 
 chosen. Among others, the great Duke of Or- 
 monde would have shown that, whether in his 
 national policy, or in taking care of his personal 
 interests, (and he excelled in the one as well as 
 in the other,) to make Ireland English, and him- 
 self, English-Irish, was, long before the era of 
 Goldsmith or Lord Clare, the guiding wish of 
 the most ancient nobleman of the English, or 
 rather of the Anglo Norman Pale in the sister 
 country.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GERALD proceeded to visit Lady Augusta 
 in Devonshire, travelling in a spruce-built 
 buggy, driven by a servant. His sister occu- 
 pied a pretty cottage, in one of the most beau- 
 tiful situations outside a sea-coast village. At 
 some distance the road commanded a view of 
 the cottage ; and as it was a steep road, and he 
 could not be very speedily driven down, he 
 jumped out of the vehicle and ran before it, 
 hoping to meet Lady Augusta on his way, or 
 at least to see her on some one of the paths 
 about the little residence. 
 
 At a turn of the road, where on one side 
 the fence was high and overshadowed by an 
 elegant group of slight ash trees, the sound pf 
 young female voices, in laughter and joyous 
 hilarity, caught Gerald's ear. Climbing gently 
 up the fence, and peeping through a cluster of 
 bushes, he saw, seated in a garden-chair, em- 
 D 2
 
 52 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 ployed at her needle, his sister's protectress 
 and nurse, Mrs. Knightly ; before her, on the 
 grass, and sitting face to face, were his sister 
 herself, looking much better than he had ex- 
 pected to meet her, and a little girl, some years 
 her junior, with glowing blue eyes, flaxen hair, 
 shaken wildly about her face, beautiful straight 
 nose and cherry mouth, and cheeks so bril- 
 liant with the colour of health and loveliness, 
 that they might remind one of sun-light 
 breaking in transparent suffusion through a 
 garden screen of roses. A book, turned down 
 on the grass, a guitar, and a little work-basket, 
 lay near them ; but they seemed to have given 
 study and work of every kind to the winds, if 
 any could have blown strong enough for the 
 purpose, on that delicious summer day ; and 
 laughter, nay, shouts of laughter rang merrily 
 through their rural retreat as the strange girl 
 archly contested some point with her scarcely 
 less vivacious companion. 
 
 As Gerald peeped at this scene, his first feel- 
 ing was sympathy with its unrestrained enjoy- 
 ment, particularly on account of his sister, 
 whose health and spirits seemed at last equal to 
 so happy an assertion of existence. The sub-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 53 
 
 dued, motherly smile of Mrs. Knightly always 
 kept up, but increased every now and then by 
 a glance at the two delighted girls, or by some 
 ecstatic climax of their laughter, also pleased 
 and interested him ; yet soon after he began 
 to ask himself if such a display was charac- 
 terised by the elegant decorum to which Lady 
 Augusta ought to be habituated, and, indeed, 
 (previous to her retreat to Devonshire,) of the 
 constant impression of which upon her habits 
 and manner she had given such full evidence. 
 Then he was struck by what he felt to be the 
 boisterous mirth of her little playmate ; by a 
 peculiar air about the child that, beautiful as 
 she was, seemed, when put in comparison with 
 the high-born children of her age, to whose so- 
 ciety he had been accustomed, neither fashion- 
 able nor proper ; and at length, some words 
 and phrases addressed by her to Lady Augusta 
 becoming distinctly audible through the laugh- 
 ter of both, Gerald began to doubt if her rank 
 and quality entitled her to be made, by Mrs. 
 Knightly, the familiar companion of his sister. 
 
 " Sing it, I tell you P cried the blooming 
 little stranger, holding up to Lady Augusta, in 
 mock threat, two or three long stalks of grass
 
 54 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 she had just plucked at her side: and the tone 
 in which she spoke, though musical, had a 
 strange sound. 
 
 " I can't, Rhoda!" replied her companion, 
 clasping her hands playfully in appeal. 
 
 " Say it, then !" 
 
 " Nay, that 's the difficulty, Rhoda ! I've no 
 great demur to your air 'tis pretty enough 
 but your words oh, your words !" in affected 
 horror, and ending in another triumphant laugh. 
 
 " Sing it, or say it, or /'// kill you dead!" 
 continued Rhoda, shaking aloft the formida- 
 ble scourge in one hand, and twining the 
 other through Lady Augusta's beautiful brown 
 tresses. 
 
 " The pure brogue," thought Gerald. 
 
 " Come !" Rhoda went on, gently apply- 
 ing the grass stalks to her playmate's neck, 
 while both now clung to each other, and con- 
 tinued their loud laugh " Come, you proud 
 English lady ! say my words my beautiful 
 Irish words or /'// be the. death o* you ! what! 
 they ugly ! they not musical !" 
 
 " The little pigs say words like them !" 
 shouted Lady Augusta, struggling with her 
 dictator.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 55 
 
 " Take that, then ! and that, and that !" and 
 Rhoda again used her scourge ; " that for your 
 disobedience and that for your bad speech !" 
 
 " Well, Rhoda I will, I will learn them 
 of you!" 
 
 " Listen, then !" and Rhoda warbled to an 
 air that Lady Augusta had called pretty, 
 "her beautiful Irish words," during the pro- 
 nunciation of which, although assisted by 
 melody, the harsh sounds of several acghs, 
 ocgks, and ucghs, sadly offended Gerald's ear. 
 
 " Why don't you go on ?" resumed Rhoda, 
 as Lady Augusta interrupted her with mock- 
 ing laughter. 
 
 " No not for the world !" answered her 
 pupil, putting out her hands in abhorrence. 
 
 " You won't, won't you ?" and again Rhoda 
 offered to inflict chastisement ; again was re- 
 sisted ; again ensued a struggle ; until clasped 
 in each other's arms, they finally rolled down 
 on the velvet grass. 
 
 Gerald now felt displeased : it was evident, 
 he concluded, that in the person of this little 
 wild girl, Mrs. Knightly had introduced to the 
 intimate acquaintance of his solitary sister, the 
 child of some Irish peasant- servant, brought
 
 56 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 over by the good lady from the hills and 
 bogs of her native country. With some cold- 
 ness and reserve of manner he presented himself 
 to Mrs. Knightly from his peeping-place, and 
 passing her, after a low bow, gravely advanced 
 to Lady Augusta. As his eye still dwelt on 
 Rhoda, her dress corrected his first conclu- 
 sion ; it might, however, have been bestowed 
 on her; but when, as much in consequence 
 of Mrs. Knightly's gentle exclamation of sur- 
 prise and welcoming, as of his own approach, 
 Lady Augusta started up to embrace her 
 brother, the sudden change from hilarity to 
 gravity and self-possession, and from that 
 again to a provoking mixture of loftiness 
 and naivete, of propriety and archness, which 
 marked Rhoda's manner, more fully con- 
 vinced him she was no clown's child, born or 
 educated. 
 
 " Gerald, Gerald !" said Augusta, after their 
 embrace : " come here and know and fall in 
 love with ray friend and companion, during 
 many months my wild Irish princess, who 
 sings me wild Irish songs made to her beau- 
 teous wild Irish ancestresses, ever so long ago, 
 by bards with white beards, on their wire harps
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 57 
 
 and things our good, kind, delightful little 
 
 cousin, Rhoda Knightly." 
 
 " Miss Knightly I" stammered Gerald, bow- 
 ing. 
 
 " My daughter, Sir, Miss Knightly ;" and 
 the mother, quietly evincing the impression, 
 such as it was, which she had received from 
 Gerald's reserve at his first appearance, rose, 
 and held her daughter by the hand, at her 
 side. 
 
 " All the worse," thought Gerald " the 
 kind of assumed equality here will only as- 
 sist the impression of disagreeable peculiari- 
 ties, on my sister." 
 
 But while in the very act of thinking those 
 words, Rhoda returned his repeated bow in a 
 way so distant, and, using Gerald's own men- 
 tal definition, proper, as must have satisfied, so 
 far as it went, the most scrupulous brother. 
 And, indeed, it went far to satisfy him, as 
 might be seen by the expression of his face, 
 changing from the blank of disapprobation to 
 the glow of interest. Mrs. Knightly saw the 
 change, and was quickly responsive to it ; her 
 good-humour became fully restored, and in 
 D5 "
 
 58 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 features, voice, and words, in all she said or did, 
 there was visible a wish to make her young 
 people happy. " The good lady is kind," so- 
 liloquised Gerald, " and, perhaps, of a respect- 
 able class in her own country ; but much is 
 wanted for England. The daughter, too, 
 seems not quite so strong a character as I had 
 at first supposed : yet, see there " 
 
 Rhoda, escaped from the demureness half 
 produced by, and half-affected at, the sudden 
 appearance of a stranger, was relapsing into a 
 vivacity Gerald thought un-English. Holding 
 a grave side-face to him so long as she pre- 
 tended to think he was regarding her, she 
 voted his eyes off whenever she pleased, and 
 then, with strange contortions of her beautiful 
 features, continued playfully to threaten Au- 
 gusta for her recent obstinacy, and do all in 
 her power to keep up the loud mirth of that 
 young lady. Again, however, something dig- 
 nified or graceful appeared about her, which, 
 recommended by her beauty, the young critic 
 admired ; and yet again, its effect was marred 
 by a return of something so arch, he nearly 
 called it bold ; and thus did Gerald's notions 
 of his new acquaintance fluctuate for some time.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 59 
 
 A servant a REAL Irish peasant girl ap- 
 proached from the cottage, with cream and 
 strawberries. The broad though rosy face, 
 wide-winged nose, and wide mouth, which, 
 when she smiled, allowed the upper gum to be 
 seen, reminded Gerald of visages he had be- 
 held in St. Giles's; and indeed, laid claim to 
 almost unadulterated Celtic descent. Her shy- 
 ness too, her gait, and the crude fashion in 
 which her gown had been cut, (obviously she 
 had brought it from home with her,) struck 
 him as characteristic of sad inferiority in the 
 scale of her parallel class in England, as de- 
 cisive, indeed, as was the difference between 
 Mrs. Knightly and her daughter, and other old 
 and young ladies of his acquaintance. 
 
 " Get more cream, Biddy ; Lady Augusta 
 likes it," said Mrs. Knightly, as the girl de- 
 posited her dishes and plates on the grass. 
 
 " God bless her darling young ladyship, I 
 sholl, mam," answered Biddy, with a drop- 
 curtsey, so sudden and deep as to be rather 
 startling ; and though the zealous smile that 
 lighted in her large good eyes, and the phrase 
 of respectful affection towards his sister, with 
 which it was accompanied, were not quite lost
 
 60 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 upon Gerald, still the broad, sing-song brogue, 
 the vile " sholl, mam," the very name, " Bid- 
 dy," and even the wordy acquiescence, when 
 silence and obedience alone should have been 
 her proper part, effectually disposed of the girl 
 in his estimation. He became confirmed in 
 all his former dislikes to pure Irish people, 
 and the reflection that Augusta was surround- 
 ed by indifferent specimens of native manner, 
 pressed upon him. 
 
 He turned an eye, prepared for renewed cri- 
 ticism, on Rhoda ; but just at that moment, his 
 heart found cause to oppose his calm opinions. 
 The sunny-faced child was in the act of spread- 
 ing over Augusta's knees, as she again sat on 
 the grass, a little white handkerchief ; and then 
 she bounded up, telling her " for her life" not 
 to " stir a single bit," returned with the fruit 
 and cream, adjusted it nicely on the handker- 
 chief, put the dessert-spoon into her companion's 
 hand, and commanding her not to " leave a 
 single one," and holding up her lips for a kiss 
 of promise, snatched her own little portion, 
 Mrs. Knightly and Gerdd having been help- 
 ed and then confronted, as if to watch her, 
 the object of her fond care and interest.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 61 
 
 " How very, very well you are getting, dear 
 Augusta," said Gerald, as, gazing on his sister, 
 he enjoyed the look of her round cheeks, co- 
 vered with natural though delicate blushes, and 
 dimpling in smiles that proclaimed freedom from 
 pain or lassitude, and the reign of high spirits 
 and heart's ease. 
 
 " Yes, 1 ' laughed Rhoda, " the lady looks 
 quite impudent with her good health, to-day ." 
 
 Gerald did not like the style of the comment. 
 
 " Then, Gerald, thank our dear Mrs. Knight- 
 ly, and our dear, dear wild Irish Rhoda," re- 
 plied Augusta. 
 
 " Thank the good Giver of health and of 
 every blessing, my love," said Mrs. Knightly. 
 
 " Ay, thank the good God, indeed," agreed 
 Rhoda, in serious earnestness that once more 
 pleased Gerald " but," she added, changing 
 both her manner and her style of speaking, so as 
 to efface the favourable hit " if you dare thank 
 me, Augusta I'll settle you for it, when I catch 
 you by yourself." 
 
 " The girl should have said Lady Augusta," 
 thought Gerald. 
 
 But Augusta showed by her laugh that she 
 had not missed the formality. " And now,
 
 62 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Rhoda," she resumed, " sing those two curious 
 lines you sing us every day when we have had 
 this fruit ; 'tis such an Irish simile ! so poeti- 
 cally Irish ! 
 
 And without hesitation Rhoda hummed, in 
 an affected drawling way, adding to her own 
 little brogue, and carefully pronouncing, as the 
 reader shall see it spelled, the last word of the 
 couplet : 
 
 " Her cheeks are like roses, her mouth much the same, 
 Like a dish of fresh strawberries, smothered in 
 CRAME." 
 
 "Vile," thought Gerald: and "yes," he 
 said aloud, with emphasis, and without a smile, 
 though his was the only grave face " yes, 
 Augusta, in sentiment, words, and style, 'tis in- 
 deed very Irish." 
 
 " Oh, very ! very !" cried Rhoda, perhaps 
 not insensible to the point of the remark, al- 
 though, for that very reason she hummed the 
 lines over again. " Come, now !" she went on, 
 jumping up; " we want our asses! 'tis time for 
 our asses ! where are they ?" 
 
 " Lady Augusta says donkeys," observed Mrs. 
 Knightly.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 63 
 
 " Well, I know, mamma ; but isn't it all the 
 same in Ireland ? ay, and in proud England, 
 too ? Isn't an ass an ass any where ?" as she 
 glided by Gerald. He thought she glanced at 
 him ; he reddened and hated her ; but he might 
 have mistaken ; and the doubt left him his self- 
 command. 
 
 '' Isn't it time for our ride, mamma isn't it, 
 isn't it ?" importuned Rhoda, running to her 
 mother, and clinging round her. Mrs. Knightly, 
 kissing her forehead, assented. Gerald felt no 
 interest in the Irish mother kissing her forward 
 Irish child. Rhoda continued, " Then you 
 give the word, do you, do you ? For you know 
 you must give it, mamma, or Augusta won't 
 come for my leave, though I often tell her not 
 to mind you " she added, playfully glancing 
 at Mrs. Knightly from under her long eye- 
 lashes, and running away. 
 
 " Dan ! Dan ! where is Dan to ride with 
 us ?" still cried Rhoda. 
 
 ** Perhaps Mr. Blount will ride with his sis- 
 ter to-day, Rhoda," said Mrs. Knightly. 
 
 " Oh, very well, don't stir, Augusta don't 
 stir a step !" stamping, and clenching her little 
 hand ; " I'll run to the house, and tell Biddy to
 
 64 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 tell Dan to come with three asses donkeys 
 instead of two, to the gate at the road-side, a 
 little way yonder." 
 
 " And Mr. Blount may prefer to ride out 
 with Lady Augusta, alone," resumed Mrs. 
 Knightly, as her lively girl flew off. 
 
 " Oh, very well," again said Rhoda, not 
 stopping. 
 
 " No, Rhoda, no !" cried Augusta, while 
 Gerald remained silent " order the three don- 
 keys round to the gate ; I'll not ride at all with- 
 out you ; Gerald won't ride without you." 
 
 " Very well, very well !" and she disappeared, 
 and in a few minutes returned, out of breath, 
 her own hat and little habit put on, while she 
 carried Augusta's upon her arm. With every 
 contrivance that could save the invalid the least 
 effort, Rhoda then insisted on " doing her up." 
 
 " 'Tis ostentatious, troublesome attention, after 
 all," thought Gerald ; thus allowing Rhoda to 
 slip from the only hold she had before taken 
 upon his interest. Dan quickly came to the 
 gate near at hand with the donkeys, and the 
 young equestrians trotted forward on the road 
 towards the high grounds, at some distance. 
 
 " How well you have learned to ride here,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 65 
 
 Augusta," said Gerald, as, led by Rhoda, they 
 pushed on as fast as the moderate-paced animals 
 could or would allow them. Though a good 
 horseman, Gerald's total want of acquaintance, 
 previously, with the humours of a donkey's 
 paces, made him feel sensible of some inferio- 
 rity. 
 
 " Yes, 11 replied Augusta, " Rhoda taught 
 me but I am yet much inferior to my mistress: 
 see, we must switch our steeds to keep up with 
 her : how boldly she rides !" 
 
 " Very boldly," answered Gerald, as, at the 
 increased motion, slight as it was, of his donkey, 
 he wavered somewhat in his stirrups. 
 
 " Which way do we take ?" he enquired, as 
 now all kept on abreast. 
 
 " Up against that hill and then that and 
 then down that and that," replied Rhoda, point- 
 ing onward, " and 'twill be so pleasant ! Come, 
 Neddy " shaking her switch " oh, why are 
 you an ass, Neddy, and not a lady's hunter?" 
 
 " Up and down such hills as those ! " cried 
 Gerald, startled at the whole speech, for his 
 sister's sake, as well as for its own sake and 
 his own sake, too " Augusta, are you per- 
 mitted to take such rides ?"
 
 66 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Oil, yes ever since a week or so after 
 Rhoda came from Ireland." 
 
 " Permitted !" echoed Rhoda ; " why, Master 
 Blount, who 's to hinder us ? or what ? we 're 
 not afraid, are we ?" 
 
 " No, Miss Knightly, I am sure you're not 
 afraid," said Gerald. 
 
 " And are you ?" 
 
 " Not by your side, certainly." 
 
 " But you're not by my side, certainly, nor 
 at Augusta's either why you keep behind, Sir, 
 when you ought to attend at our bridles, from 
 one to another, and go on before us to see if the 
 road is clear, and be ready to lead us over a 
 stream, in a hollow, or over a heap, or things of 
 that kind" (Rhoda was thinking of by-roads 
 in Ireland) " goodness gracious ! if Robert 
 O'Rourke was now on your little beast's back ! 
 he's a littler boy than you, Master Blount, 
 and younger by a year or two, but he'd think 
 less of the tallest hunter his father has, than 
 you think of that creeping go-by-the-ground " 
 
 " And where is this mighty Robert ?" asked 
 Augusta. 
 
 " Och ! in Ireland to be sure dear, dear 
 Ireland !" 
 
 " I wish you were with him there," thought
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 67 
 
 Gerald, as, at a hasty application of its rider's 
 switch, his donkey swerved aside, and again 
 discomposed him. 
 
 " Come on, Sir," continued Rhoda, putting 
 her animal to the best of his sluggish mettle. 
 
 " This wretch will not allow me an Irish 
 donkey, I warrant," he continued, in a mutter. 
 
 " No, Sir; but mightn't an English ass be in 
 fault ?" and Rhoda, laughing spitefully, and 
 now leaving no room to doubt of her intentional 
 satire, left Gerald to follow as he best could. 
 " Ay," he soliloquised, when at length he had 
 mastered his donkey ; " Augusta shall have 
 other associates now that she gets better; the 
 old lady's kindness and successful nursing must 
 not, of course, be forgotten ; Walter and I, and 
 Augusta, too, must, in every possible way, and 
 in every prudent way, recompense her, but not 
 in THIS way ; not by leaving a young lady to 
 be inconvenienced by the manners of her and 
 her daughter, more than she has been served 
 by their attentions." 
 
 The heights, after all, were explored, up and 
 down. Rhoda still boldly led on, till at last the 
 young trio turned towards home by a different 
 road.
 
 08 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " I do like this place, for 'tis like Ireland j" 
 said Rhoda, looking around on their broken 
 path. 
 
 " Then I like it too," assented Augusta, 
 " because you like it, and because it is like 
 what you like." 
 
 *' I can like it, only because 'tis England," 
 demurred Gerald ; it was clear they would not 
 agree. 
 
 " And I could almost hate it, if I had no 
 other reason to like it," retorted Rhoda; "Eng- 
 land must be Irish, or look Irish at least, the 
 hills, and the fields, and the places ; the cows, 
 the sheep, and the birds ; and the men, the 
 women, and the children ; and smile and laugh 
 Irish, and talk to me, and do to me Irish, before 
 I once love or like a sod or creature of it." 
 
 " And I fear," rejoined Gerald, now laugh- 
 ing at the energy of Rhoda's assertions, while 
 their blind nationality confirmed him in his 
 judgment of her character ; " I fear, Miss 
 Knightly, that the people, at least, of Ireland, 
 must undergo a similar, and I hope, more pro- 
 bable change, ere / can be in love with them.' 1 '' 
 
 " Poor people ! and what will they do now for 
 any one to be in love with them ?" said Rhoda.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 69 
 
 '* Mamma," resuming the subject, (which ob- 
 viously rankled in her little female vanity, as 
 much, perhaps, as in her national pride) as all 
 sat in the garden after dinner; " Mamma, which 
 is, Ireland, or England, the handsomer country ?" 
 
 " Handsome, is a very odd word, Rhoda." 
 
 " Now, mamma, you do know what I mean ; 
 which has the best hills and rivers, roads and 
 mountains, fields and houses?" 
 
 '* England the best, Rhoda." 
 
 " Fye, Mamma ! Higher mountains, and 
 finer rivers than Ireland ?" 
 
 ** No, Rhoda ; nor finer fields either ; but 
 the hills and rivers, fields and roads, and all, 
 are better in England, because they are turned 
 to a better account ; and as to the houses, Rho- 
 da, if you take in the houses of every rank, they 
 are finer and better too." 
 
 " Mamma, are the people better and finer ?* 
 persisted Rhoda, not discomfited, though mor- 
 tified. 
 
 " How, better, my love ?" 
 
 " Are they kinder, or more polite, or more 
 friendly, or handsome, or agreeable ?" 
 
 " No, Rhoda." 
 
 " Are they near as much ?"
 
 70 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " The English, I think, are not, generally 
 speaking, a handsomer people ; as kind, and as 
 friendly as the Irish they may be, amongst 
 themselves; but in their way of showing kind- 
 ness and friendship, by the thousand little ways 
 that it can be shown, the live-long day, they 
 disappoint Irish notions and feelings; and, 
 therefore, as I am Irish, I must call them our 
 inferiors in those things, Rhoda."" 
 
 " The lady mistakes what true, unostenta- 
 tious civility means," reflected Gerald. 
 
 " Mamma, do you like the English ?" 
 
 " Perhaps, Rhoda, I have not seen sufficient 
 of English society to answer you fairly." 
 
 " I 'm sure of that, madam," continued Ge- 
 rald to himself. 
 
 " But I may say that the lower orders here 
 in the country, at least, are more abrupt, more 
 uncommunicative, and perhaps more selfish than 
 those of their class I've been used to in Ireland ; 
 and as to the few circles of English ladies I 
 have had the honour to mix in, they are perfect 
 ladies indeed ; that is, perfectly at their ease ; 
 but, somehow, they do not leave me quite so." 
 
 " How can you expect it, good lady ?" Ge-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 71 
 
 raid went on to himself: " to feel at ease, one 
 must be used to one's company." 
 
 " Perhaps I might, in a little time, become 
 more at home with them," resumed Mrs. 
 Knightly. 
 
 " Too late for that," pursued Gerald. 
 
 " I give a strange turn to our conversation 
 by saying that the beggars of England the 
 few of them who now and then take courage to 
 address you on a private road I do not like at 
 all." 
 
 " A strange turn indeed," thought Gerald. 
 
 " Give me a halfpenny, if you please, ma'am 
 do, if you please, ma'am if you please, 
 ma'am, do a halfpenny, if you please, ma'am 
 is the usual extent of an English beggar's ap- 
 peal : how inferior," continued Mrs. Knightly, 
 smiling, and assuming the broadest brogue she 
 had ever heard in her country ; " how inferior, 
 Lady Augusta, my love, to the downright ora- 
 tory of the Irish mendicant : ' Give us a penny, 
 only a little penny, your honour's ladyship, and 
 God's blessing on your kith and kin ; give us, 
 and may you have a long life, a happy death, 
 and a favourable judgment !' "
 
 72 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 While Augusta and Rhoda laughed heartily 
 at this sally, intentionally made for the amuse- 
 ment of the former, Gerald felt his tastes more 
 inconvenienced than ever, and said to himself, 
 " Ay, and this is a sample of the drollery that 
 Walter spoke to me of, and which, with sharper 
 eyes than mine, he noticed before." 
 
 " Jump up, Rhoda, and dance us a jig on 
 that plot, Augusta's favourite one, the Kerry 
 jig, and she will thrum it to you," continued 
 Mrs. Knightly, placing a guitar in Augusta's 
 hands. 
 
 Up jumped Rhoda, and to the rapid time 
 given by her friend, performed a dance so un- 
 measuredly wild and peculiar, although so viva- 
 cious and expressive, that Gerald, in the sur- 
 prise and misgivings it created in him, lost all 
 sensitiveness to its merits, if indeed it possessed 
 any. The ease and exhilaration with which the 
 beautiful Irish child performed it was lost on 
 him, too, in doubts of the seemliness of her va- 
 garies. A little Indian, he thought (though 
 here his knowledge of exactly what kind of 
 thing an Indian dance is, failed him), might 
 have accomplished movements as eccentric, and 
 indeed as interesting.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 73 
 
 "How did you learn the tune, Augusta?" 
 he asked, after Rhoda, panting, and with flam- 
 ing cheeks and eyes, and hair shaken into a mop, 
 sat down. 
 
 " Oh, Rhoda taught me, to be sure.' 1 
 
 " And Rhoda will teach you the jig, too," 
 said her companion. 
 
 " Yes, my love, in a little time," added Mrs. 
 Knightly. 
 
 " Not if I can help it," cogitated Gerald. 
 
 In fact, for some days that he spent in their 
 cottage, Gerald saw nothing but additional rea- 
 sons why, in conjunction with his brother and 
 his two most important guardians, he should 
 take measures to put an end to the close ac- 
 quaintance between Lady Augusta and her very 
 Irish friends. Negligence of manner he de- 
 fined to himself to be the most charitable name 
 he could bestow on almost every thing they 
 did; and Irishism and brogue ran, sufficiently 
 strong to injure, through their language and 
 accent. The only question he had to debate 
 was, whether or not his sister would, without re- 
 gret, or even with a little, that might not prove 
 a check to her improving health, consent to a 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 speedy separation from persons who had ob- 
 viously won her heart. 
 
 Upon the evening previous to his departure 
 from Devonshire, as he and Augusta walked 
 out together, he proposed the matter indirectly. 
 
 " Now that you are so much recruited, Au- 
 gusta, you will take up your former studies 
 again, of course, and join your governess and 
 masters." 
 
 " Oh yes, Gerald ; let my masters come as soon 
 as possible ; but pray tell my guardians, that 
 since my meeting with Mrs. Knightly, I love 
 her though she is not a governess and yet, she 
 promises, offers, to do any thing for me, along 
 with Rhoda. I love her above all the gover- 
 nesses in the world, and would rather stay with 
 her." 
 
 " But Mrs. Knightly cannot return with you 
 to London, Augusta." 
 
 " And why need I return to London, 
 Gerald?" 
 
 " Because in London alone, dear Augusta, 
 can you meet that society and companionship 
 which is to perfect your mind and manners for 
 joining the circles in which your birth entitles, 
 indeed commands, you to move."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 75 
 
 " Oh, no one in the world is like Mrs. 
 Knightly ! so good, so kind, so gentle, so in- 
 structive ! and no child in the world half so 
 delightful as Rhoda!" 
 
 " Augusta, Mrs. Knightly and Rhoda must 
 soon go home to Ireland, you know." 
 
 " Then I will go with them. Oh, dear 
 Gerald, tell Walter, and tell our guardians, 
 this Mrs. Knightly and her dear, dear girl 
 have snatched me from the grave, and " she 
 became so agitated that Gerald repented of his 
 premature plan ; and, after all, was compelled 
 to avoid any determination, which might have 
 the effect of distressing, if it did not deprive 
 him of an only sister.
 
 76 THE ANGLO-IR[SH. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " AY, here," said Gerald, as, five summers 
 after his visit to Devonshire, he sauntered back, 
 upon a glowing August evening, by the beau- 
 tiful St. Neot's road, to the Colleges of Cam- 
 bridge, whence, some hours previously, he had 
 issued forth to walk, " here are the pursuits 
 and the recollections that at a fit age fill the 
 minds of Englishmen with the elements of suc- 
 cess in upholding their country's grandeur, or 
 in impressing individually their own characters. 
 
 " Here, by treading in the almost visible 
 footsteps of wisdom and genius, they learn to 
 be great themselves, and to leave behind, for 
 successive generations, the added impulses of 
 their own fame, that so, the national mind, ever 
 gathering power to go on, may, in an immea- 
 surable sweep of light, be shot into futurity. 
 
 <{ Is it, indeed, mere fanciful language to say
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 77 
 
 that around me, as I walk and ponder, the spirits 
 of the Living-Dead speak to my spirit ? Though 
 the corners of the intellectual earth be familiar 
 with their names, have they not, among these 
 leafy shades, and through the cloisters of yon 
 superb group of academies, more than upon 
 any other place on earth, breathed out their all 
 but palpable essence ? Can I stand at New- 
 ton's casement, and not lift up my eyes, as if 
 with him, in reverential daring towards the de-> 
 serfs of space ? Can I, by his side who sung of 
 Heaven and Hell, sit under his time-worn tree, 
 and not catch some echo of the imaginings that 
 at one moment brought him angels' whispers 
 from the bowers of Paradise, and, at another, 
 the thunders of God, rolled over the serene of 
 Heaven, or launched after the rebellious, down 
 the ' vast profound,' the bellowing horror 
 the rattling of the wheels of Almighty war 
 the clash of the shields and spears ' the tri- 
 umph and the shouting ?' 
 
 " In many situations, England, may thy cha- 
 racter be estimated ; amid thy thronged resorts 
 of commerce, in thy senates, in the countless 
 streets of thy empress-city, or amid the teeming 
 perfection of thy fields. But here is the ground
 
 78 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 from which to obtain, in one look, a grand 
 though shadowy picture of all that thou art ! 
 Here thy past and present blend into a mighty 
 mass a giant shape ! Here we recollect and 
 distinguish the seedling minds that, transplanted 
 one by one, from their academic nurseries into 
 the broad gardens of the land, have yielded 
 fruit and increase, ten times tenfold, until at 
 last, through all varieties of its growth, intel- 
 lect flourishes ! 
 
 " From one or other of these seventeen colleges 
 went forth the greater number of the men who 
 have digested the laws that give thee peace and 
 security at home ; who exerted the wisdom that 
 often saved thee from foreign enemies; who 
 cultivated and spread around the science that, 
 through every sinew of thy frame, now sends 
 multiplied power ; who vindicated against scep- 
 tics and scoffers the religious doctrines that 
 comfort thee; who built up thy learned name 
 into a tower of strength unto the world ; and 
 who, mindful of the classic garlands that beau- 
 tify the awful brows of Antiquity, wove for thy 
 brows a chaplet of unequalled song ! 
 
 "At my first glance to thee, ancient Pembroke,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 79 
 
 (' Oh, Domus antiqua et religiosa!'*) what 
 names occur ! Ridley, Edmund Spencer, Wil- 
 liam Pitt! The 'Fui Caius Vivitpostfunera 
 virtus? of thy second patron, old Gonville, is not 
 more true of himself than of the succeeding 
 minds it must have helped to form of Jeremy 
 Taylor, of Thurlow, and of him whose memory 
 must fitly live to the last pulse-throb of civilized 
 life William Harvey ! Thy magnificent cha- 
 pel, King's ! fresh as a work of yesterday, from 
 the chisels of the fifteenth century, o'er-towers 
 not the recollection of Waller, of Walpole, and 
 of Camden : Erasmus alone, of all her other 
 boasts, suffices for thy Queen-sister : Latimer, 
 John Milton, Porteus, and Paley, will keep 
 thee in mind, venerable Christ's ! Thou, too, St. 
 John's, dost speak to us of the glories of intel- 
 lect in wonderful diversity : by the side of thy 
 profound and subtle Burleigh, calculating his 
 nation's strength to resist an Armada, we see 
 * Rare Ben,' chuckling over the country epistle 
 from his brother dramatist, that pleasingly 
 renewed all they had seen ' done at the Mer- 
 
 * Queen Elizabeth's well-known exclamation at first 
 seeing Pembroke College.
 
 80 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 maid;' Philips indites to his Amaryllis from 
 the same bower in which Stillingfeet laboriously 
 plans his folios : at the next glance we see, side 
 by side, Otway, weeping over his Monimia, and 
 Lee busy in mechanical combinations : the ma 
 thematician, Ludlam, then stands hand in hand 
 with him, who in his ' Alma-Mater 1 did not 
 forget thee; and between Hammond and Mason, 
 and let him not be omitted poor Kirke White, 
 appears the philosophic front of John Horn 
 Tooke. And as for thee, aristocratic Trinity ! 
 can thy children, to the remotest generation, 
 pace thy lofty hall, and not experience the high- 
 est sentiments of reverence, love of wisdom, and 
 ambition of fame ? Let them but look around, 
 and who are they that watch them from thy 
 walls, or speak to them in the silence of study ? 
 Bacon, Coke, Cowley, ' Glorious John, 1 Por- 
 son, and, itself a starry galaxy Isaac Newton ! 
 " I have not enumerated all the names that 
 ennoble thee, proud Cambridge ; and yet, are 
 there not here enough ? what Englishman, call- 
 ing them up as I do, must not feel proud that 
 he is an Englishman ? and can any man of any 
 other country, pondering the same thoughts, 
 fail to regret his claims to that title ? most of
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 81 
 
 all, can one connected with thy unfamed as well 
 as unfortunate Island-sister, avoid feeling impa- 
 tient of the accidental tie that thus half keeps 
 him, England, from perfect identity with thee, 
 and with the glories and the pride of thy name? 
 
 " But may not such a man take advantage of 
 his original claims to thee, his early education, 
 almost nursing on thy bosom, his innate sym- 
 pathy with every thing that is thine, and aban- 
 doning, with indifference or disgust, though 
 perhaps with some regret, a connexion which 
 only embarrasses him, fix his foot proudly on 
 English soil, and cry, " I also am an Eng- 
 lishman !" 
 
 Gerald, treading loftier as he ended his re- 
 verie, gained his chambers, and soon after, 
 those of a friend in Trinity, who, upon that 
 day, entertained a dinner party. Among the 
 guests were three or four Irishmen, egotistically 
 vain of their country, and ostentatious of the 
 display of a certain genteel swagger of manner, 
 which characterised, though, I allow, in a 
 stronger shape, some of their compatriots coeval 
 with Fighting Fitzgerald, and which is, perhaps, 
 not quite worn down amongst themselves at the 
 present day : it may, indeed, be almost always 
 
 E5
 
 82 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 detected, however highly it is polished, when 
 English gentlemen and Irish gentlemen come 
 closely together. 
 
 My hero had not before observed it, and now, 
 particularly in the continuance of his late mood, 
 it seemed disagreeably apparent. Not even ap- 
 proaching to unseemliness, properly speaking, 
 this peculiarity was marked by perhaps a pac- 
 ing gait, or an air of the head, or a rapidity or 
 bluntness of assertion, or a quickness of tone 
 (to say nothing of brogue), that Gerald knew 
 not well how to criticise, or did not care to lose 
 time in criticising, except by the one epithet 
 Irish. Even the national vivacity of his new 
 acquaintances, their play of eye and counte- 
 nance, their humour, sometimes their wit, had 
 an engrossing, eager, exhibiting way with it, 
 which, he thought, sprang from a resolve to 
 appear important, where there was a chance of 
 appearing the contrary. It was the brisk asser- 
 tion of doubtful claims; uneasiness making itself 
 easy ; in fact, Irishmen anticipating equality, if 
 not more, with Englishmen. " Cannot these men 
 sit quieter, and sometimes sip their wine, without 
 interrupting their own good things, and talk a 
 little less loud, and, in a word, do as others
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 83 
 
 do ?" he asked himself : " Cannot they perceive, 
 in the persons of their English associates, that a 
 gentleman who has no fears concerning his own 
 respectability, ceases to trouble his head about 
 it : always assured, however, that his very com- 
 posure on the subject gives the best evidence of 
 his claims?" 
 
 And some time after, he made another reflec- 
 tion : " If these men, who are not mere Irish 
 either, for they are Protestants, and of English 
 derivation and hark ! how they blunder and 
 squabble amongst themselves about the great 
 bone of contention, Catholic Emancipation but 
 if they have learned all this at home, what, 
 upon his own soil, must be the genuine Hiber- 
 nian papist, politician, and with an O to his 
 name ?" 
 
 As the night advanced, Gerald was strength- 
 ened in his disinclination to be intimate with 
 his Irish companions. First, it appeared, that, 
 after volunteering some common national toasts, 
 such as " Erin-go-bragh," or " Ireland, the 
 right arm of England," &c. they began, during 
 quick revolutions of the wine, to deprive them- 
 selves, inch by inch, of almost all the ground 
 for love of country which, it might well be sup-
 
 84 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 posed, had previously supplied their position. 
 They called the peasantry of Ireland besotted 
 in superstition, indolent, savage, and treache- 
 rous ; their priests, illiterate, clownish, bigoted, 
 officious, and an incubus on the mind of the 
 country ; the middle ranks of the Catholics, 
 who were starting into professional, or mercan- 
 tile, or agricultural importance, they described 
 as pert, or rude, or vain, or ill-mannered : they 
 admitted that there was no living quietly or 
 even safely in their beloved country ; and that, 
 in fact, one had better live any where else on 
 the face of the earth ; so that having thus de- 
 nounced about three parts in four of the popu- 
 lation of Ireland, and farther proved it to be 
 the best place in the world to live out of, the 
 previous reasons for their patriotism seemed 
 rather debateable. " They would, if they knew 
 how," Gerald continued to think, " assert them- 
 selves what I am, English-Irish ; at all events, 
 when even they admit such good causes for it, 
 I can well afford to defend my principles." 
 
 " The small hours," as the Hibernians called 
 them, continued to strike on, and other things, 
 more national, appeared in their conduct. One 
 got so inconvenienced with wine, that his fellow-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 85 
 
 countrymen were obliged, with much loud mer- 
 riment, to bear him off, between them, to his 
 chambers. Having returned to their host, and 
 sat about an hour longer, no one at table, al- 
 though they were not yet quite inebriated, talk- 
 ed a tenth part so much as they. Their theme, 
 too, was local Irish politics, little interesting to 
 English gentlemen ; and " a difference of opi- 
 nion," as defined by Sir Lucius, soon occurring, 
 they quite monopolized the conversation, and 
 at last two of them really quarrelled. With 
 feelings of mixed indignation and shame, Ge- 
 rald saw the chambers of his high-born, well- 
 balanced English friend, become the arena for 
 nonsensical discussion, and still more silly alter- 
 cation, between a few abrupt, though high- 
 blooded, Irishmen, too. None of the English 
 portion the majority of the company thought 
 it worth while to interfere ; and one of the dis- 
 putants stalked away, muttering to his antago- 
 nist threats of a reckoning in the morning. 
 
 At length the whole party broke up, and Ge- 
 rald was, against his will, compelled to walk to- 
 wards Queen's, with the two Irishmen not yet 
 disposed of; they and he were members of that 
 college.
 
 86 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Upon the way they would call to inquire 
 after the friend whom, some hours before, they 
 had helped to remove from table and deposit in 
 bed, and Gerald was strongly pressed to accom- 
 pany them. He did so from a watchful curio- 
 sity. They knocked loudly at the outer door 
 of their friend's apartment ; sleepy groans an- 
 swered them. They increased their noise, and 
 at last awoke the disturbed snorer, who, 
 without stirring, exhorted them to go to the 
 devil. 
 
 The college had been undergoing some slight 
 repairs ; they procured large stones in the 
 court, and, in one crash, stove in the pannel of 
 the outer door, until the lock of the inner one 
 appeared, with the key turned in the keyhole. 
 One of them then displayed a phial of some of- 
 fensive-smelling drug ; spilt it on a coil of 
 tow ; introduced the tow thus saturated through 
 the key-hole, applied a candle to it, and await- 
 ed the result. From what did result, it would 
 seem that the still half-tipsy sleeper had been 
 provoked beyond the bounds of temper, or, in- 
 deed, sanity, by the atrocious fumigation that 
 soon reached him. He must have staggered, 
 very carefully, out of bed, and with almost savage
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 87 
 
 precaution arranged his measures of vengeance ; 
 for those abroad did not catch the sound of his 
 motions until, suddenly, the lock shot back, and 
 through the partially-opened door came the 
 snap and flash fortunately but in the pan of 
 a pistol. " And this," said Gerald, as, much 
 shocked and disgusted, he turned homeward, 
 leaving his companions to settle their affairs as 
 they could " this, I suppose, I am to regard 
 as a model of Irish humour and hilarity." 
 
 Before retiring to bed he sat down, late as 
 it was, to revise the heads of a speech which he 
 intended to deliver, the next evening, at the 
 Union Debating Society, when the question pro- 
 posed for debate was the policy of England to- 
 wards Ireland. Some arguments in advocacy 
 of Irish pretensions to a more liberal policy, 
 which in a benevolent humour Gerald had pre- 
 viously arranged, he now felt half inclined to 
 leave out. But he reflected that, although he 
 had just got good cause to be vexed with indi- 
 viduals of the country, the principles previous- 
 ly weighed remained unaltered ; and, checking 
 his impatience with his better judgment, he laid 
 down his emendating pen, and went to rest. 
 
 Upon the following evening the debate was
 
 88 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 opened, to a thronged meeting, by Gerald's young 
 host of the preceding night. The speaker's first 
 step was to show, that in the legislation of this 
 country for Ireland, particularly since the reign 
 of Henry VIII. as well as in the conduct of the 
 English Lords of the Pale, Lord-deputies, or 
 Lord-lieutenants, almost down to the present 
 day, the sister country had been rather coerced 
 than invited, rather driven than led into a con- 
 nexion. This stated, the speaker then endea- 
 voured to prove that different measures might 
 have better succeeded in leaving, at the present 
 hour, that connexion in a more settled and hap- 
 py, and, for the interests of both countries, ad- 
 vantageous state. Conciliation would, he argued, 
 from the nature of things, have proved better 
 policy than coercion. It would also have formed 
 a generous and noble policy. And, he con- 
 cluded by endeavouring to convince his hearers 
 that, apart either from strict political specula- 
 tions, or the attention of Englishmen to their 
 own sense of national interest and honour, Ire- 
 land, from the outset, had deserved the treat- 
 ment he would recommend. 
 
 From the little Gerald knew, and the much 
 he imagined of Irish self-opinion, he believed
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 89 
 
 that few of his genuine countrymen would have 
 felt greatly indebted to this vein of advocacy. 
 The high English feeling which ran through it, 
 seemed, even in the very effort at vindication, 
 to acknowledge how little Ireland had ever yet 
 done towards commanding the respect, and, 
 through it, the considerate indulgence of Eng- 
 land. Sincere as was the speaker, he seldom 
 warmed in his subject, as if he doubted either 
 its possible effect on his audience, or its want of 
 materials to enable him to convince his hearers. 
 He appeared aware that those who followed 
 him rather condescended to do so, than believed 
 themselves called on even to discuss such a ques- 
 tion. His charges against English deputies and 
 generals were timid, or made in the abstract; 
 and when he strove to urge the claims of Ire- 
 land, it was by appealing to the lofty minds and 
 virtuous hearts of Englishmen, to assist him in 
 discovering such claims ; thus arming national 
 pride against national prejudice, sooner than run 
 the risk of pleading the cause of Ireland upon 
 merits of her own. 
 
 " The honourable opener" sat down amid few 
 plaudits, and was followed and replied to by an 
 M. A., many years his elder, who, in a very
 
 90 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 matured style of oratory, mixed with cutting 
 satire, seemed, if the cheers of the assembly were 
 evidence, completely to dispose of the subject. 
 
 He denied that the firm measures adopted by 
 this country to keep her footing in Ireland ever 
 came under the name of coercion. They natu- 
 rally sprang up in self-defence, from the conti- 
 nued turbulence, breach of faith, and atrocities 
 committed, century after century, upon the 
 English settlers of the Pale, and afterwards 
 upon the English settlers every where spread 
 through Ireland. In this view, no policy but 
 a strong and severe one could have emanated 
 from British councils, unless Englishmen would 
 consent to show themselves pusillanimous in the 
 face of savage violence ; no not even for the 
 sake of the honied epithets with which the ho- 
 nourable mover was willing to disguise what 
 must have been the real designation of the po- 
 licy he proposed. As to the merits of Ireland, 
 in this question the point could scarce be ap- 
 proached without a laugh. The answer given 
 to the honourable opener's first proposition, con- 
 tained an answer to that. If the strong policy 
 of England had always been called forth by a 
 succession of Irish misconduct, where were the
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 91 
 
 claims of Ireland to a different policy ? To this 
 day, where were her claims ? In loyalty, in ci- 
 vilization, in learning, in arts, or manufactures, 
 where were they ? Must we turn to 1798, or 
 even to Captain Rock, of 18 , for an answer 
 to the former part of the question ; to T. C. D. 
 for an answer to the next part of it ; and to the 
 linen looms of the colonial and Protestant North, 
 the only looms in Ireland, for an answer to the 
 last ? 
 
 Though Gerald felt this speech, as it has been 
 described, one indicative of oratorical power and 
 facility in the speaker, he also felt that, consi- 
 dered by itself, and applied to the subject in 
 hand, it was deficient in depth, in information, 
 in philosophy, and even in reflection. The ac- 
 complished M. A. confessedly one of the best- 
 prepared speakers on other occasions, had not, 
 he thought, vouchsafed to muster, for the present 
 one, much in addition to the general and some- 
 times loose notions and facts with which, upon 
 Irish questions, Englishmen are often content- 
 ed. It showed, therefore, in detail, common- 
 place invective, recollected from school-books, 
 or from histories read in boyhood, or, since that 
 time, unconsciously gleaned out of pamphlets,
 
 92 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 newspaper " leaders," or occasional conversa- 
 tions. And yet, although thus meagre in mat- 
 ter, it struck him as delivered in a feeling of 
 superiority to all objections, such as should 
 legitimately mark only the infelt possession of 
 extensive knowledge and lengthened deliberation. 
 Perhaps, spite of himself, his Irish blood pre- 
 ponderated over its English admixture, when, for 
 a moment, he accused the speech of some haugh- 
 ty indifference to a thorough intimacy with its 
 subject, growing out of a too-English contempt 
 for Ireland, and an over-readiness to believe in 
 national infallibility. Yet he really objected 
 more to the want of material it evinced, than to 
 the principles it asserted : to its almost audaci- 
 ous jumping upon conclusions, than to the con- 
 clusions themselves provided the speaker had 
 entitled himself to make them. For, above all 
 other considerations, Gerald was sufficiently 
 English to feel a degree of personal pride when- 
 ever England's character was properly upheld. 
 
 He rose third in the debate, and almost with- 
 out agreeing with the first speaker, or conflict- 
 ing with the second, delivered an oration ex- 
 pressive of his own long-cherished views on the 
 question. We are prepared to expect that the 
 policy Gerald at once recommended from Eng-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 93 
 
 land towards Ireland was that which should, by 
 all possible means, tend to make the people of 
 Ireland " English-Irish." In this light, such 
 policy ought to be free from every thing that, 
 by irritating the Irish against the English, 
 could keep up a feeling of national dislike, and 
 consequently perpetuate national distinctions, 
 and thereby check the progress of his plan. If 
 a perfectly good understanding between the two 
 people were first created, all the stations of su- 
 periority which England holds would soon be- 
 get a zeal of emulation among her neighbours ; 
 assimilation would ensue, and with it, Ireland 
 would lose her distinct character, and grow into 
 what she ought to be and what it is the inte- 
 rest of both countries she should really become 
 one large, integral portion of England. So far, 
 Gerald carried with him all his auditors. When 
 however, he began to suggest in what instances 
 his good-natured policy must show itself; when 
 he asserted that it should dispense with penal 
 restrictions or precautions, many murmurs in- 
 terrupted him ; and no sooner had he uttered 
 the words " Catholic Emancipation," than he 
 was greeted with a chorus of groans. In vain 
 did he explain that this part of his system went 
 to tear up by the roots Irish Catholicism itself;
 
 94 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 that hitherto restrictions had provoked that 
 religion into its present predominance in Ire- 
 land ; while if left to its own chance, without 
 the important stimulus of state-jealousy, it 
 might now be even numerically insignificant. 
 All that Gerald could say was of no avail to 
 silence the disapprobation of his zealous though 
 indeed not numerous opponents. 
 
 After he had sat down, many inferior speeches 
 were made, which tired him, as well with the ora- 
 tors as with the subject. Amongst those, Ireland 
 had her advocates in common with her accusers; 
 but the shallowness of both, whether in eulogy 
 or blame, defence, or vituperation, was equally 
 obvious. Some spoke set essays, supplied 
 mostly by a yearning imagination ; the theme 
 looked poetical, and they would try their 
 flowery sentences on it: and some allowed to 
 escape them a tirade of every-day bigotry, not 
 extenuated even by the boyish faults of fancy ; 
 they were going into the church, and would not 
 miss such an occasion to show their shallow zeal. 
 Altogether, the want of real information, or, as 
 before observed, even thought, in the debate, 
 surprised Gerald ; and, so far as he yet had an 
 Irish feeling to be wrought upon, humiliated
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 95 
 
 him. For, this want did not arise from any 
 lack of ability to remedy it, in the debaters, 
 but purely from a lack of interest, and the 
 habit of not paying attention to Irish concerns. 
 While he could smile, therefore, at the violent 
 ignorance of an embryo church dignitary, he 
 was more than ever ashamed of his paternal 
 country, which did not command, among the 
 more liberal of his associates, sufficient acquire- 
 ment to put the fool down. Nor did he think 
 himself at liberty to be angry with his friends 
 on account of their habitual indifference on the 
 point : " For," ruminated Gerald, " Ireland 
 presents such a mass of confused and disagree- 
 able matter to the eye of an inquirer, originally 
 uninterested about her, that we may well ex- 
 cuse the natural inclination to ease and pleasure 
 with which he turns from the task of exploring 
 and arranging the heap, to continue mental 
 pursuits that have always brought him en- 
 joyment."
 
 96 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE day upon which it is necessary that 
 Gerald should again come before the reader, 
 occurs nearly two years after the time of the 
 last chapter, when he appears deeply interested 
 in the perusal of a letter received from his 
 brother. 
 
 " MY DEAR GERALD, 
 
 " Now, at least, in the possession of all the 
 college honours and titles a gentleman of your 
 rank need desire to attain, we cannot help feel- 
 ing anxious for your arrival in town. You seem, 
 yourself, quite aware that no more time should 
 be lost in deciding upon your future course : 
 and while none of your friends feel inclined in 
 the least degree to bias your choice, it is only 
 natural for all of them to wish the choice made. 
 If you retain your predilection for the bar, pray
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 97 
 
 let us soon have the pleasure of seeing you 
 dining in Lincoln's Inn. Should your thoughts 
 have, since we last spoke together, turned 
 towards an official life, the path is open for you. 
 Indeed, I can say as much, as well from my 
 own little interest, resulting from my peer's 
 seat, as from the assurances of our friends high 
 in office. In either case, we trust you will 
 speedily bring your talents (amongst them 
 your oratorical ones not forgotten) to an ho- 
 nourable trial, by going into the Lower House 
 for one of the boroughs to which I am so anx- 
 ious to nominate you. 
 
 " By the end of the approaching recess, at 
 all events, we hope to see you fairly started to- 
 wards whatever goal your deliberations may 
 propose as a fit object of accomplished ambition; 
 and, as a preparatory step, your farewell to the 
 academic shades of old Cambridge, and your 
 appearance amongst us, are, I repeat, every day 
 looked for. 
 
 "Augusta, though I hope perfectly re-esta- 
 blished in health, goes once more to Ireland this 
 morning. She travels with the young and 
 pretty Lady Cox, whom you met in town a few 
 months ago, spending the first months after 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 marriage with her lively, though quite Irish fox- 
 hunter, Sir Richard ; (by the way, Gerald, you 
 admitted that the almost childish bride was pret- 
 ty.) But though Augusta only speaks of pass- 
 ing some time with this happy pair in Dublin, 
 and afterwards at their country-seat, I fear, in- 
 deed I believe, she will not return to England 
 without paying as long a visit, at least, to her 
 old friends the Knightlys ; for, unfortunately, as 
 I understand, the baronet's mansion and Mr. 
 Knightly's great farm-house are not far asunder. 
 I have not lately, any more than yourself, 
 preached to Augusta on the head of her rooted 
 predilections ; it is not part of our system to- 
 wards an only and dearly-loved sister, afflicted 
 as she has been, to wound her even misdirected 
 feelings ; and then, she is too good and gentle 
 to be scared with a parade of paternal autho- 
 rity ; to say nothing of her being now almost 
 her own mistress for Augusta is nearly twenty. 
 Let us hope, notwithstanding her long intimacy 
 in an Irish circle, not even of the higher class, 
 that her previous English education, the super- 
 intendence of the English governess who, after 
 your visit to Devonshire, accompanied her to 
 Ireland, and her late introduction among fash- 
 ionable people here, will not leave much, if any
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 99 
 
 thing, to disquiet us on her account, or on our 
 own. Indeed, have we not agreed, when you 
 were last in town, that, excepting only a few 
 slight peculiarities, our sister was all that a 
 high-born and accomplished woman need be ? 
 
 " Perhaps my real uneasiness on account 
 of Augusta's present journey to Ireland, arises 
 from the increasing disturbance and misery of 
 that turbulent and most miserable country. 
 For, by the latest information received in Lon- 
 don, Captain Rock has just acquired, parti- 
 cularly in the southern counties, a formidable 
 colleague in his devastations. Famine and he 
 now co-operate among the hills, and bogs, and 
 deserts of Ireland ; while disease, plague, in fact, 
 under the name of typhus fever, may be said 
 to bring up their rear. Yet, here in England, it 
 seems a plentiful and healthy season. What 
 peculiar curse can have blasted the crops, and, 
 above all, the potatoe crop, of green Erin ? 
 
 " My letters from my Irish agent, are ample 
 evidence to me of the state of things I describe. 
 No rents ; no lease-premiums; no renewal-pre- 
 miums. In some instances, he in vain ejects the 
 cotters and small farmers, who will not pay him 
 a shilling ; for either the ground remains unlet, 
 or Captain Rock shoots, burns, or drives away, 
 F 2
 
 100 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 a new tenant. In other instances, illegal pos- 
 session is kept, and, again under the patronage 
 of the doughty chieftain, the law of the dear 
 land becomes dead letter. So much to gratify 
 your lurking interest about Irish affairs. I 
 will add, that a renewed discussion of the Catho- 
 lic Claims comes on after the recess ; and, so far 
 as, with certain barriers still unremoved, success 
 can be anticipated, the friends of the measure 
 are sanguine. 
 
 " Will you not think of qualifying yourself 
 to take a part, if only by voting, in a question 
 that I know you have considered ? Come to us 
 then, prays, 
 
 My dear Gerald, 
 
 Your brother and friend, 
 CLANGORE." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I did think her pretty very 
 pretty," was the first reflection with which, 
 strange as it may seem, Gerald laid down this 
 epistle, nor did his thoughts engage him in 
 other topics, till he had added " Certainly 
 the best specimen of an English-Irish lady, 
 educated and living in Ireland, I have seen ; 
 for all her tastes, or rather propensities, were
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 101 
 
 English : what a pity she had not an English 
 husband;" and perhaps an impudent though 
 faint piece of vanity, suggesting to him that 
 the young Lady Cox had seemed, during the 
 short period of their acquaintance, to recipro- 
 cate the good opinion he had evinced of her, 
 formed the conclusion of Gerald's reveries on 
 this point. 
 
 " The law is a fine profession, 1 ' was his next 
 mental soliloquy : " to say nothing of its rank in 
 old France, its Court influence, and its order of 
 Knighthood, we have the names of Lyttleton, 
 Coke, Mansfield, Thurlow, Erskine, to ennoble 
 it at home. The only thing I cannot under- 
 stand in it is, how a man shall state, for a 
 guinea, as truth and fact, what he even sus- 
 pects to be falsehood or subterfuge; or how, 
 after pleading to-day the cause of oppressed 
 innocence, or of outraged virtue, he can stand up 
 to-morrow the infelt apologist of tyranny, vice, 
 or profligacy. Allowing its full force to the 
 term professional advocacy ; allowing him to 
 be but the machine through which a bad or 
 false client chooses to make certain assertions ; 
 still he is a conscious machine ; still he knows 
 such assertions to be founded in fallacy, or
 
 102 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 worse ; so that, after all, that is the very pro- 
 blem I cannot solve. And it becomes more 
 enigmatical, when we suppose this professional 
 machine endowed with commanding professional 
 talents, which must send strongly recommended 
 to a jury-box the worst cause he may state 
 merely state ; for, in this view, he is not only 
 the speaking machine of a bad principle, but, 
 to all intents and purposes, the aider and 
 abettor of vice the promoter of its possible 
 success. Again : supposing, in any one in- 
 stance, such success attained ; suppose the op- 
 pressor of the widow or of the orphan trium- 
 phant in his false though ingenious arguments, 
 conveyed through the conscious and helping 
 advocate ; in what self-applause, in what self- 
 estimation, in what peace of heart and dignity 
 of mind, can that advocate come home from 
 the forensic arena and sit down among his 
 family and friends? The kind of man I have 
 before my imagination is possessed, naturally, 
 of honour, of simple, unargumentative ho 
 nour; by what process of the most subtle 
 the most professional casuistry, shall he quite 
 convince himself that, partly by his agency, 
 the widow's tears that moment do not flow
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 103 
 
 and the orphan's cries do not that moment 
 rise up before another tribunal ? These, 
 however," added Gerald, " are not charges, 
 but loose notions, merely: I will speak, the 
 first opportunity, to some really high-minded 
 man amongst them, who must have to con- 
 sider my questions every day ; perhaps he can 
 satisfy me." 
 
 Meantime he felt no disinclination to consi- 
 der the alternative of an official life, proposed 
 by his brother, Lord Clangore. 
 
 " A man can be eminently useful in the ser- 
 vice of his country," he continued, " and Parlia- 
 ment presents an opportunity for showing claims 
 for getting on ; but I will go into office, and 
 into the House, too, unrestricted by the political 
 principles of my friends ;" he rose and walked 
 to his window, strong in the thought " that is, 
 if I go at all into either. We shall see ; I'll 
 satisfy Walter, and be visible in town at once ; 
 there, a few words can settle it, better than a 
 year's debating here come ! and now for the 
 world at last !" 
 
 Such of my readers as vividly recollect the 
 almost agitating egotism in which they have first 
 received or adopted plans for their great change
 
 104 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 from the theoretic bustle of youth to the real 
 business of life, will understand Gerald's sensa- 
 tions, as, step after step, round his chamber, he 
 continued to pace himself through all the im- 
 portant possibilities of manhood. His nerves 
 seemed to knit stronger, his head grew more 
 erect, his brows bent in anticipated abstrusive- 
 ness ; events to come, in their elementary con- 
 fusion at least, appeared to buzz and roll through 
 his brain. Many situations of effort and re- 
 sponsibility started up before his imagination, 
 of which the whole accomplishment and dis- 
 charge rested on his shoulders and promptly 
 and energetically, and with surprising success, 
 did he see himself act in all. 
 
 It is a delightful hour, as delightful in recol- 
 lection as in experience, and that does not often 
 happen, when the young, ingenuous, and gifted 
 mind, just spreading its pinions for flight from 
 the flowery verge of philosophy into the barren 
 truths of things, thus waves them to and fro, 
 in real strength, although in but fanciful achieve- 
 ment ! 
 
 In his abridged prospect of all he might be 
 called on to do, Gerald did not forget the chal- 
 lenging situation of Ireland ; but, after a few
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 105 
 
 calmer thoughts in detail upon that subject, 
 and a reference to the facts of his brother's let- 
 ter, he could but say, " wretched country !" and 
 turn from it, once more to plunge into his more 
 general reveries. 
 
 " Ay, wretched, wretched country !" Gerald 
 resumed, as, upon his coming up to town from 
 Cambridge, which speedily followed the receipt 
 of Lord Clangore's letter, he saw, from the 
 windows of his carriage, whilst whirled through 
 the northern outskirts of the city, bill after 
 bill, placard after placard, posted, or borne on 
 polls, on men's shoulders, of which the large, 
 inch-long capital letters of each proclaimed 
 " FAMINE IN IRELAND ; " Public meeting." 
 
 " The affluent and happy of affluent and hap- 
 py England, will now subscribe a million and 
 half;" he said ; " and yet, as soon as the 
 scarce-felt donation has been bestowed, know as 
 little of the causes, whatever they may be, 
 which, in this appalling effect, call for an exer- 
 cise of their mixed benevolence and pride (yes, 
 Rochefoucauld, thou art right in thy theory of 
 mixed motives) as they have done during nearly 
 eight hundred years, of to say the best of it, 
 disgusting connexion between the two Islands ' 
 F 5
 
 106 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 know ?" continued Gerald, with a sigh, made 
 up, as was the philosophy he praised, of blend- 
 ed sentiments " ay ! or care, either." 
 
 Proceeding along Oxford-street towards 
 Grosvenor-square, some obstruction, caused by 
 the crossing and entanglement of vehicles of 
 every description, occurred, and, -while he stood 
 still, Gerald was able more attentively to re- 
 gard some of the bills posted at either hand. 
 Out of many, one particularly caught his eye. 
 It was the play-bill of an actor, notorious for 
 much besides great acting, and ran something 
 
 in the following style ; " Theatre Royal : 
 
 Distressed Irish. Mr. , in noticing his 
 
 Benefit for Wednesday next, the 18th of begs 
 leave to announce, that it is his intention to 
 evince his gratitude for the frequent and warm- 
 hearted support experienced at the hands of an 
 Irish public, by appropriating one-half of the 
 receipts of that forthcoming benefit towards the 
 relief of the present sufferers in Ireland." 
 
 " Drive on, Sir !" cried Gerald, as soon as he 
 had glanced over the sad stuff " why do you 
 stop ? This is too bad ;" sinking back on his 
 seat. And contempt for the impudent and, 
 with all its stately-affected sentiment, the heart-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 107 
 
 less flourish of the actor, mingled with some 
 Irish feelings not yet perfectly subdued in his 
 bosom. " What ! can the unhappy country 
 be indeed fallen so low as, in the face of a Bri- 
 tish people, to allow of this speculating charity ? 
 Drive on, Sir.' 1 The meeting between the 
 brothers, a few moments afterwards, was kindly 
 and brother-like. 
 
 They began to speak, almost immediately, 
 about Gerald's views and pursuits ; Gerald deci- 
 ded, to the manifest gratification of Lord Clan- 
 gore, in favour of an official life. Their dis- 
 tinguished countryman, the Minister, stood in 
 need of a private secretary ; had intimated to 
 Lord Clangore a wish to confer the situation 
 on his brother ; an interview the next morning 
 might at once settle the matter : and under no 
 other auspices did it seem likely that a young 
 candidate for public honours, of the description 
 aimed at by Gerald, conld start with such hopes 
 of success. 
 
 " His Lordship does not forget the political 
 alliance and personal friendship he engaged in, 
 at an early period of life, with our father, Ge- 
 rald :" continued Lord Clangore " With re- 
 gard to me, he has already shown his recollec-
 
 108 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 tion of it ; perhaps you will find him still more 
 zealous on your behalf: besides, he respects 
 your talents, and esteems your character." 
 
 " I will study to make some return for the 
 honour his Lordship does me, Walter ; but " 
 
 " And only ask yourself, what other political 
 tutor living is, all circumstances considered, so 
 happily qualified to commence and advance 
 your political education ?" resumed Lord Clan- 
 gore, his vivacity, if nothing else, producing an 
 interruption of Gerald's " but." 
 
 " I quite agree, Walter." 
 
 " Then, immediately after the approaching 
 recess, you can, as I before told you, step into 
 your seat in the House ; and so go on, practi- 
 cally and theoretically, together. 1 ' 
 
 " Still I have to thank all my friends, and 
 you among the number. Let me add, however, 
 that I bring certain opinions at least on the 
 subject of our paternal country into whatever 
 situation I may have the honour to fill." 
 
 " Very well of course you do." 
 
 " Some, indeed, in which you, for instance, 
 do not happen to agree with me." 
 
 " To be sure : every man in entitled to his 
 opinions in every situation ; that is, if they are
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 109 
 
 not very much opposed to the duties he binds 
 himself to perform." 
 
 " Pray, now, allow me to understand you, 
 Walter. My vote, if nothing else, must always 
 go for the full rescinding of " 
 
 " The laws against Roman Catholics," again 
 interrupted Lord Clangore : " so it can." 
 
 " Yes ; but as you vote the other way, I 
 suppose my notions on this question may not 
 be thought compatible with the discharge of 
 as you just now said the duties of any office I 
 may hereafter hold." 
 
 "I see no incompatibility in the matter. 
 The minister himself is on your side." 
 
 " I did not forget he was ; yet I doubted if 
 either by him or by the majority of his cabinet 
 colleagues, it would be thought strict etiquette, 
 openly to recruit forces for a division-night."" 
 
 " Neither they nor he see much in it, I be- 
 lieve," said Lord Clangore, with a slight ex- 
 pression of official closeness of meaning Ge- 
 rald paused a moment, and quickly asked 
 
 " Our distinguished friend is, of course, 
 to the fullest extent, in earnest upon this 
 question ?" 
 
 " Of course to the fullest possible extent."
 
 110 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Do you express him or yourself, Walter, 
 in that parenthetic ' possible ?' '' 
 
 " Perhaps only my own strong opinions were 
 indicated by it ; speak to the minister on this 
 point to-morrow, Gerald ; that will be the 
 better way." 
 
 " I will. The doubts and fluctuations of 
 ' possibility,' " continued Gerald, " are not con- 
 templated, I should think, where a fledge is 
 given." 
 
 " Come, come, reserve your case of con- 
 science till to-morrow, I say : now you are 
 otherwise to engage yourself ; we do not dine 
 at home ; for many days you have been in- 
 cluded, with me, in an invitation for a small 
 friendly dinner-party to the Secretary for 
 
 the ; where, I believe, along with 
 
 Lord Harmer, the Bishop of , and others 
 
 of our true English-Irish cast, we shall meet 
 the clever young Scotchman who writes so 
 variously and well ; bustle ; the carriage alrea- 
 dy draws up." 
 
 The Secretary^ lady being at a watering- 
 place, Gerald, in about half an hour, formed 
 one of a dinner-party exclusively made up of 
 his own sex.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. Ill 
 
 The brothers found their host in his draw- 
 ing-room, which by the introduction of a pile 
 of books, reviews, pamphlets and manuscripts, 
 all lying round him, or at the table to which 
 he sat, he seemed, in the thus outraged ab- 
 cence of the gentler portion of his family, to 
 have half transformed into an occasional library, 
 or, it might be, office. When the servant 
 threw open the door, he appeared writing, 
 very rapidly, and at the same time conversing 
 with several gentlemen who were seated near 
 him, or standing at the windows of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The first of these persons that fixed Gerald's 
 glance was easily recognizable as the church 
 dignitary mentioned by Lord Clangore. The 
 Bishop's face, stature and air were imposing; 
 health spoke out on his cheek, and spirit, if 
 not command, or an inclination to command, 
 in his eye. Beside him sat Lord Harmer, a 
 very gentlemanlike old man, and with features 
 that in youth must have been handsome ; now, 
 however, his stilled blue eye, and a disposition 
 in his lower jaw to send his chin dropping on 
 his breast, betokened perhaps as much feeble- 
 ness as amiability of character ; but when he
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 rose to return Gerald's bow, as the Secretary 
 presented them to each other, the great suavity 
 of his manner ensured full respect. 
 
 The individual next named to the brothers, 
 for both had previously been unacquainted 
 with him, was Mr. Gore, from the county 
 
 of in Ireland. Gerald thought he should 
 
 have discovered the gentleman's country with- 
 out a verbal notification of it. At a first view, 
 there was about him a sufficient portion of 
 the elegant display of features and manner to 
 which, particularly at Cambridge, our hero 
 had been accustomed, in the persons of his 
 Hibernian fellow-students. He rose up to 
 his full height, and that was commanding, 
 gracefully assumed his best position ; and, all 
 the while that his round ruddy face glowed 
 with smiles, and his expressive mouth insinu- 
 atingly curved up at one side, slid off a bow 
 so exploded although so easy, that nothing 
 but his absence from court during the last 
 five or six years could have well excused it ; 
 and Gerald deemed, so much having been 
 done, there was an end, for the present, to 
 civilities; but Mr. Gore, again assuming his 
 full height, and stepping to the brothers with
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 113 
 
 something of the noble style which Watteau 
 has so well imparted to his minuet-moving 
 old gallants, possessed himself, I cannot say 
 unceremoniously, for it was the very perfec- 
 tion of polite ceremony, of a hand of each, and 
 in rich, not vulgar, Irish, made a handsome 
 speech. 
 
 " My dear Lord Clangore my dear Mr. 
 Blount, how happy to have the honour of meet- 
 ing you knew your distinguished and amiable 
 father well, before his political duties placed 
 him highly for the advantage of his country, 
 though much to the regret of his early friends, 
 here in England ; have been so fortunate to 
 be presented to your accomplished sister, at my 
 particular friend's Sir Richard Cox's house, in 
 Dublin and often heard her speak, in delight- 
 ful vivacity, of the brothers Lady Augusta 
 esteems so warmly : Mrs. Gore and the Misses 
 Gore also had the honour " 
 
 Taking advantage of a little pause, one of 
 many that Mr. Gore usually made during his 
 soft, measured way of speaking, Gerald, who in 
 common with his brother had not yet heard 
 from Lady Augusta, since her last journey to 
 Ireland, asked how his sister did, if indeed,
 
 114 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Mr. Gore meant a very recent meeting with her 
 in Dublin ? 
 
 Yes, Mr. Gore meant a very recent meet- 
 ing, indeed ; one of little more than two days 
 old : it was his good fortune to meet Lady 
 Augusta the very evening she arrived in Dub- 
 lin, and she did indeed seem, after a little rest, 
 quite refreshed, quite spirited and happy ; for, 
 Mr. Gore continued, " he had himself got to 
 London but this very morning; hurrying, in 
 fact," and here his melodious voice sunk into a 
 lower key, " to present himself, with the assis- 
 tance of such kind friends as he could presume 
 would do him a favour, to an official personage, 
 concerning an official vacancy that had sudden- 
 ly occurred at the other side of the water, and 
 about which he would perhaps by and by snatch 
 a disengaged moment to speak more to Lord 
 Clangore." 
 
 Bowing acquiescence to this intimation, Lord 
 Clangore turned with a " Ha! Horseman town !" 
 to a young nobleman about his own age, but, 
 for his years, rather encumbered with flesh, 
 who came from the recess of a window, slowly 
 and somewhat pokingly, to accost him ; " I did
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 115 
 
 not expect you would have so soon come over, 
 this year." 
 
 " Nor I," answered Lord Horsemantown, 
 gravely. 
 
 " How does Lord Vesey ? M 
 
 " My father was well when I left him ;" still 
 very seriously. 
 
 " And how go on the crucibles and the al- 
 kalis, and the grand elixir?" demanded Ge- 
 rald, who was also intimate with his lordship. 
 
 " I've got through no experiments, lately," 
 he was answered ; the good-humoured satire of 
 Gerald's question being either unnoticed, or, 
 by the time the answer came, forgotten ; or 
 perhaps it had never reached the young and 
 noble chemist. 
 
 " By the way, Horsemantown, that business 
 of my last letter to Augusta turned out a sad 
 affair." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " Surely you cannot forget that, at her re- 
 quest, you solemnly promised to receive in Ire- 
 land, under cover for her, all the epistles I 
 should write her from Cambridge ?" 
 
 " No; I remember that."
 
 116 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " And, you know, you were to frank them 
 and forward them, in course ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did you strictly keep your covenant ?" 
 
 " There was one letter, I believe," ruminated 
 his lordship, aloud, as he bent his eyes in an 
 effort upon the carpet: and he said no more. 
 
 " Yes, and it lay on your table two months, 
 / believe," continued Gerald. 
 
 " I don't know how it could have happened, 
 then ; scarce a morning passed that I did not see 
 it on the library table, and make up my mind 
 to frank it ; Lord Vesey often heard me say 
 so. I've been really much to blame, but cannot 
 account for it ;" and joining his hands with a 
 little difficulty behind his back, he took two 
 steps towards the window from which he had 
 made his appearance, threw up his eyes and 
 chin, and earnestly gazed out at the sky. 
 
 " Account for it ! who expected that ?" asked 
 a low middle-aged gentleman, habited, not 
 smartly, in black, turning round from another 
 window where he had been tete-a-tete with a 
 fine-looking, pale-cheeked, pale-browed person ; 
 and, as he spoke, his sharp tones, and the set 
 elevation of the muscle that raised his nostrils,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 117 
 
 might betoken a man who, easily situated in 
 life, is included in friendly dinner-parties for 
 the privileged good things to which, without 
 particular nicety to our sensitive feelings, he 
 may choose to give utterance. Meantime his 
 face, taken together, was not devoid of as much 
 natural kindliness as its cynical habits allow- 
 ed it to retain : and Gerald further perceived 
 from his accent, and, indeed, from his uncere- 
 monious, sometimes abrupt manner, that he was 
 more purely English than the bland Mr. Gore, 
 at least. 
 
 " Let my good young friend alone, Gunning," 
 said the Secretary, not looking up from the ruled 
 paper which, occasionally glancing into books 
 at either hand, he continued rapidly to cover 
 with bold and dashing writing, that, to Gerald's 
 sympathizing eye, bespoke original composition 
 thrown off at the instant. There was ridicule 
 in his tone, though, his friends would aver, good- 
 nature in the motive for his words. Indeed, it 
 was said that the Secretary thought kindly to- 
 wards every human being ; only he had a bad 
 way of showing it. And, " yes, bishop," he re- 
 sumed in a breath ; " as you were saying, it is 
 a great bore to write in one country, and print
 
 118 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 in another :" and still he pursued his seemingly 
 necessary task of filling sheet after sheet. 
 
 " So much so," answered the dignitary, " at 
 least, after my experience of the fact, that I 
 will never write again, unless, by some happy 
 chance, my duties in Ireland allow, for a season, 
 my attendance in London while the sheets go 
 through the press." 
 
 " Yet some of the folks, in Ireland, could 
 sometimes spare your lordship," observed Mr. 
 Gore, with his fine and insinuating smile. 
 
 " Spare .'" cried the Secretary, while an ex- 
 pression, elucidating his half-punnish application 
 of the word, relaxed the sombre official cast of 
 his not unclassic features : " Spare ! no if those 
 said ' some' had the bishop amongst them on 
 a hill-side in the county of Tipperary ask 
 Daniel their man. But I believe acting on your 
 experience of ' the trade/ as the publishing 
 and printing people call themselves we owe 
 your present appearance amongst us to an anx- 
 iety to preside over your announced third edi- 
 tion, Bishop." 
 
 " I am, indeed, in London, duteously attend- 
 ing the pleasure of these gentlemen, for that 
 purpose."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 119 
 
 " How stupid I was," whispered Gerald to 
 Mr. Priestly, the pale, grand-looking person 
 before noticed as having been in conversation 
 with Mr. Gunning. 
 
 " Was r interrupted Gunning, close at hand. 
 Gerald smiled, as bound to do, at the intended 
 smartness, and proceeded " how could I, after 
 finishing only yesterday the perusal of his theo- 
 logical work, forget the dignatorial title of its 
 author ?" 
 
 " And while you but overlook your sheets 
 at your leisure," continued the Secretary, after 
 the Bishop's last word, " here am I compelled 
 to do a little seeming rudeness, some of you 
 may say affectation, while, in half an hour 
 snatched from the more serious business of the 
 day, I try to keep my promise forced from 
 me indeed to send Murray a sheet this even- 
 ing, for his * ever-gaping-wide-mouthed-wad- 
 dling 1 Quarterly." 
 
 " Oh, friends who know your responsibilities 
 will not, as you suppose, think one thing or the 
 other," resumed the Bishop. 
 
 " Besides," said Mr. Gore, " the Secretary 
 writes so fast, and with such little demand on his
 
 120 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 attention, or loss to his friends, that, particularly 
 when the public are to gain so much by it " 
 
 "And the author he is reviewing;" inter- 
 rupted Gunning, now sitting in the middle of 
 the room, watchfully leaning on his stick. 
 
 " No doubt, Sir," assented Mr. Gore, bowing 
 and smiling: and Gunning and the Secretary 
 sneered answering sneers, though their eyes had 
 not met. 
 
 " Yet I doubt if milady herself will agree," 
 he went on. 
 
 " Come, Gunning, no allusions," said the Se- 
 cretary ; " I know you would give a pinch of 
 snuff to ask not pertinent questions ; but you 
 shall be left in the tortures of curiosity." 
 
 " Well, I am not, at all events, an author 
 in youi hands, Secretary ;" remarked Gunning. 
 
 " Thank heaven for it, my good fellow." 
 
 " How ! at escaping you ?" 
 
 " No 'tis a bad trade." 
 
 "Have you always thought so?" asked Gun- 
 ning; and though no consciousness, not even 
 a shade, came over the well disciplined face of 
 the Secretary, Gerald felt, on his account, some 
 pain at what he thought the rudeness of the 
 question, inasmuch as, to his own honour, and
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 121 
 
 that of the poor Nine, be it spoken the secre- 
 tary stood indebted to a clever local satire, 
 in verse, for a first step towards his present 
 considerable rank and importance in the official 
 department of the first nation in the world. 
 
 " Lady Morgan was much annoyed by the 
 Quarterly review of her last book, however," 
 said the matter-of-fact Lord Horseman town, 
 solemnly turning round after catching the latter 
 part of this conversation. 
 
 The door opening in good time, Mr. Stewart, 
 Mr. Grady, and Mr. Pack, were announced. 
 
 " That 's the very clev 3r Scotchman," said 
 Lord Clangore to his brother, as a handsome 
 young man, wearing clouds of black hair round 
 his almost feminine features, walked across to 
 the Secretary. 
 
 " And Mr. Grady is the editor of the even- 
 ing paper, the quite a clever person, too; 
 
 friendly, in his way, to our honourable Secre- 
 tary." 
 
 " Useful," emendated Gerald. 
 
 " You split words with me still, though you 
 have left Alma-mater, at last," continued his 
 brother, smiling as, with a show of being at 
 home, and yet too many prefatory small bows, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 the subject of their remarks glided after his 
 friend Mr. Stewart. 
 
 " I should add, Gerald, that the gentleman 
 is, in one important sense, one of us ; English- 
 Irish." 
 
 " And the third gentleman, who stares so 
 straight before him as he approaches his pro- 
 foundly-respected host ?" 
 
 " A kind of little author, too," supplied the 
 still over-hearing Mr. Gunning ; " comes from 
 Connaught, they say ; and writes books about 
 it , they say too ; but I never believed that 
 since the last time and it was also the first 
 time I heard him speak ten words together." 
 
 " Is not your strong opinion uncharitable, to 
 say the least of it, at a first hearing ?" asked 
 Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " I '11 die in it, though," persisted the cynic 
 tranquilly. 
 
 As soon as the three new guests had touched 
 hands, Mr. Stewart sat close by the Secretary, 
 quietly looking over, at the request of his friend, 
 some sheets of his writing; and Mr. Grady 
 and Mr. Pack took chairs at a little distance, 
 both evidently wrapt up in the important per- 
 son and present pursuits of one of their admit-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 123 
 
 ted masters ; although the former continued to 
 show his respect and interest in a less remark- 
 able way than the latter. 
 
 " Will it do ?" asked the Secretary of Mr. 
 Stewart : and having received, in a low, quick 
 Scotch tone, what must have been a favourable 
 answer, he set down his pen, and continued 
 " then away with it ! Pack, do touch that 
 bell ; Grady, oblige me by enveloping all this 
 paper ; let 's see," pulling out his watch 
 " ay the time nicked to a minute ;" a servant 
 appeared, handing a note " tut, tut," the ho- 
 nourable Secretary went on, as he read it, 
 " copy, copy, copy ; here 'tis for them : pray 
 use your own seal, Grady ; there ; does dinner 
 wait ?" 
 
 The servant answered that it was served. 
 
 " Then but no let me see !" and his ex- 
 pressive eyes might have glanced, under their 
 lids, at the admiring faces of Messrs. Grady and 
 Pack the young Caledonian managed things 
 better than they "yes send some one down 
 to Mr. Green's office, and say I wish to see 
 him a moment." The servant disappeared. 
 
 " My friends will excuse me ; I demur as 
 much as any one to what may appear the mix- 
 G 2
 
 124 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 ing up together of business and dinnering, or 
 relaxing of any kind ; but we are compelled to 
 some attention to things, for a few weeks, or so. 
 Oh, Green ;" as the sleek official helper ap- 
 peared " I shall want you to go down the Me- 
 diterranean for me to-morrow ; so you will be 
 in readiness. 1 ' Mr. Green bowed and withdrew ; 
 and at the intimation which speedily followed, 
 all repaired to the dining-room.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 125 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FROM such a group of, with few exceptions, 
 English-Irish as Gerald now sat down amongst, 
 he anticipated much conversation on Ireland 
 and Irish affairs, in reference to English policy ; 
 but he had, at least, to wait some time before 
 his anticipations were gratified. Perhaps most 
 of the company went with him in his mental 
 choice of a subject for discussion, but, from 
 a certain shyness of the very matter that en- 
 grossed them, and even with which they were 
 personally concerned, also shared his disincli- 
 nation to bring it forward. 
 
 " I believe," he said to himself, " that 
 amongst Irishmen living in England, or 
 through England, the last admission comforta- 
 ble to make to one another is the admission 
 of their Irish derivation. And who can wonder 
 if such is indeed the case ?" 
 
 Meantime Gerald was not uninterested with 
 the gradual developement of the characters
 
 126 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 of those around him, given in the turn of 
 their opinions on other passing subjects ; nor 
 did some of those opinions fail to engage him 
 for their own sake. But he sat beside Mr. 
 Gunning, who, from the moment he had ad- 
 justed his napkin until the dessert appeared, 
 never opened his lips, except to partake of 
 almost every change and remove of viand that 
 came on the table ; not indeed so much after 
 the manner of a mere eater, as after that of an 
 epicure, and one well skilled in kitchen myste- 
 ries : so, from him Gerald hoped nothing : 
 Lord Clangore seemed engrossed by the elo- 
 quent and pleasing Mr. Gore (for, notwith- 
 standing some first prejudices, Gerald now 
 thought him very pleasing) ; and perhaps one 
 of the chief topics between them might be 
 connected with the official vacancy before allud- 
 ed to by that gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Stewart talked quickly, and, owing to 
 his habitually low tone and Scottish accent, 
 almost unintelligibly, to the Secretary, across 
 the Bishop of ; Lord Harmer and Lord 
 Horsemantown sat very quietly together ; 
 the Bishop interchanged short syllables, still 
 across his neighbours, with the interesting Mr.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 127 
 
 Priestly; Mr. Grady and Mr. Pack enter- 
 tained each other; and thus again Gerald 
 was not only obliged to wait for the possible 
 occurrence of the conversation he preferred, 
 but his share in conversation of any kind. 
 
 At length, after his second glass of cham- 
 pagne, Mr. Gunning said to him " How 
 that young man cackles." 
 
 The allusion was to Mr. Stewart, and, though 
 severe, induced a smile, for it did a caricature 
 sort of justice, at least, to its subject. 
 
 " Now, that 's all about Scotland, and Scotch 
 people," continued Mr. Gunning, who seemed 
 getting into just good-humour enough to be 
 ill-natured ; " for they never speak a word 
 about any thing but each other, unless it may 
 be th em selves. 1 ' 
 
 " I like their nationality," said Gerald. 
 
 " I don't ; I don't like nationality of any 
 kind ; least of all, theirs ; what has any body to 
 do with it ? how can it interest any body ?'' 
 
 " But, as an Englishman, you are yourself 
 national." 
 
 " Not a bit : no true Englishman is ; no 
 true Englishman cares a fig for England, ex- 
 cept so far as it is necessary to him."
 
 128 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " I hope your true Englishmen are not 
 numerous." 
 
 " I know they are : and one of the reasons 
 why I prefer you, half-Irish gentlemen, is, that 
 you never bore us about Ireland." 
 
 " You are perhaps magnifying our necessity 
 into a virtue." 
 
 " 'Tis politeness, at least " 
 
 Gerald bowed, on behalf of his English-Irish 
 constituents " even though you don't intend 
 it," added Mr. Gunning. Could the bow have 
 first been set down on the table in a tangible 
 form, Gerald would now have put it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 " We have few of the impulses of vanity to 
 force Ireland upon the notice of our friends," 
 he resumed. 
 
 " No, indeed ; and therefore you very proper- 
 ly let her alone. An old Spanish courtier who, 
 a long time ago, wrote apophthegms, says that 
 the unfortunate are always to be cut ; you are 
 quite right." 
 
 Before Gerald could perfectly separate the 
 sincerity from the sneers of this sentence, Mr. 
 Gunning, catching up a phrase that had just 
 escaped Mr. Stewart, cried " A good talker !
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 129 
 
 And who, may I ask, Mr. Secretary, are you 
 so defining ?" 
 
 " Sir Walter," answered the Secretary. 
 
 *' I told you," muttered Gunning, aside, to 
 Gerald : then he proceeded aloud ; indeed very 
 loud ; " Good talkers ! I don't know a more 
 silly cant of this canting day. Mention the 
 name of minister, poet, painter, actor, or essay- 
 ist, and the question is, not how does he tax 
 us, or rhyme, or paint, or act, or twist a simple 
 thread of common sense, but ' how does he 
 talk ?' that's the important point." 
 
 " But a great name is adorned, at least, by 
 the possession of this pleasing quality," said 
 Mr. Stewart. 
 
 " Indeed, Sir; 1 ' Gerald thought that the 
 cynic was gratified to engage Mr. Stewart upon 
 a question, in the discussion of which he could, 
 to the utmost verge of language, inconvenience 
 that gentleman's national ty; " Pardon me, 
 it is eclipsed by it. There's Coleridge has lost 
 his poetical name altogether, by his fascinations 
 in the new mode of egotism. The Count de 
 Soligny, in his last letters on England, after 
 giving but a cold account of the bard's pub- 
 lished works, adds, ' But I have heard him 
 G 5
 
 130 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 talk P thereby grounding his admiration of 
 Coleridge's genius on the man's wwpublished, 
 talking essays." 
 
 " I was indeed hurt myself to read , this 
 morning, in a licentious periodical work, the ac- 
 count of Coleridge's egotism, given by a cockney 
 essayist," said the Bishop ; " While 'explaining 
 the different notes of the nightingale to his sis- 
 ter,' Coleridge's ' chaunt' is, in a strong vein of 
 affectation, much lauded." 
 
 " Chaunt ! Good !" resumed Mr. Gunning ; 
 " ay, and Wordsworth's chaunt too ; and this 
 is the same essayist who constantly exhibits old 
 Northcote as such a talker ; adding not a word 
 about his easel. Pray, Secretary, how does 
 your courtly Sir Thomas talk ? very smoothly 
 I know, and all that ; but how else ?" 
 " Very sensibly." 
 
 " He doesn't mean his answer," whispered 
 Gunning to Gerald, and then continued : " Dr. 
 Morris, during his visit at Abbotsford, thought 
 little of the great Northern until he began, 
 after dinner, to recite or talk some of his ' auld 
 world stories ;' and then such a picture as we 
 get of his style of recitation, and of his eyes, 
 eyebrows, and all !"
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 131 
 
 "And the hero of the Shandrydan," said 
 Gerald, " in afterwards instituting a comparison 
 between c the Great Poet of Scotland, and the 
 Great Poet of the lakes,' certainly says not a 
 word about their works, but all about their 
 * different styles of conversation/ " 
 
 " To be sure : and Wordsworth's * sonorous- 
 ness ' chaunt, I suppose drawl I am sure, 
 is quite as much admired as Coleridge's since 
 has been. Then Hobhouse wrote a large vo- 
 lume, partly of memoirs of the Italian rhyme- 
 sters ; and there we find ingenuity on the stretch 
 to ascertain Ugo Foscolo's method of talking. 
 On the authority of * a lady' who enjoyed the 
 advantage of Ortis's private society, he seems to 
 be a rapid, ceaseless babbler, until we are check- 
 ed by the grave historical account of his statue- 
 like delivery of certain set speeches in Venice, 
 when we are given to understand that he never 
 loosed his two hands from the back of a chair, 
 nor raised his voice beyond a monotonous rum- 
 ble." 
 
 " Who is Ugo Foscolo ?" asked Lord Horse- 
 mantown. 
 
 " Ask John Murray," answered the Secretary, 
 sneering.
 
 132 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 "And honest John will tell your Lordship 
 that he knew him very well," added Gunning ; 
 " and perhaps he can also supply some notion 
 of Ugo's diversified manner, when upon certain 
 occasions he used, in the fervour of his talking, 
 to toss himself about upon a chair or sofa, and 
 strew the carpet with his locks of not * sable' 
 but brickdust, ' silvered.' 
 
 " The Edinburgh was half right, some time 
 ago " began Mr. Stewart. 
 
 " What ! do you ever think it right ?" in- 
 terrupted Mr. Gunning. 
 
 " Apropos to that, or to something like it, 
 I beg pardon a moment Nixon, pen, ink, and 
 paper," said the Secretary, of a sudden, 
 " Pray let me stand excused ; but there is one 
 little matter I shall have no time but this even- 
 ing to-do just a scribble and I stop no one, 
 not even your discussion, Gunning, for you 
 know I can write and talk together," and, as he 
 had done speaking, the servant placed the pen, 
 ink, and paper to his hand, and the Secretary 
 immediately began his new task. 
 
 " I was about to mention," resumed Mr. 
 Stewart, " that though we seldom agree, I did 
 think the Edinburgh warranted in censuring,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 133 
 
 as scarcely polite, the very talent for which 
 John Philpot Curran's Irish admirers highly 
 praise him ; his engrossing habits of conver- 
 sation at table, and his setting the table in a 
 roar, and all that." 
 
 " No doubt they were right, Sir," assented 
 Mr. Gunning, in a view of his own ; " and yet, 
 I presume, the Scottish critic would be one of 
 the first to bless the man who, in his own house, 
 makes his Welsh guest, among others, listen to 
 retails or anticipations of poems or novels, sold, 
 or to be sold." 
 
 " But poems and novels of which the repeti- 
 tion can never tire," said Gerald. 
 
 " In the reading, I grant you ; you will re- 
 mark, Sir, that, we do not now speak of their 
 extraordinary merit indeed, not at all of them, 
 but merely of their being so talked about." 
 
 " Can't men think ?" observed Lord Horse- 
 mantown. 
 
 " No, my Lord, because they talk. Talkers ! 
 we are grown a nation of talkers. We usurp 
 the women's ancient privilege, and they can 
 only listen to it ; it is come to that with them. 
 We leave it to the North American Indians 
 to say * much talk, little do ;' and their Squaws
 
 134 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 are the only remaining branch of the gentler sex, 
 whose taciturn husbands allow to female tongues 
 the enjoyment of their prescriptive right." 
 
 " There is an actor," said Mr. Grady, mys- 
 teriously, " who for talking Greek, after dinner, 
 gets more puffed by the press than on account 
 of his doings behind the lamps." 
 
 " I propose a college of talkers," said the 
 Secretary, not stopping his pen, at least ob- 
 servably ; " nay, a London University, with 
 preparatory schools. I propose an abolition of 
 printed poems, and all kind of books, and the 
 substitution of talking bodies " 
 
 " Of the first of which Coleridge shall be 
 president,' 1 put in Gunning. 
 
 " If you like ; but in them let the cha- 
 racters of literary men, at least, be fixed, by 
 good talking works, and afterwards dissemi- 
 nated, by affiliated institutions, over the world." 
 
 " It might be a good way, Secretary, to save 
 ourselves the perplexity of our present mixed 
 notion of only doubtful prose or rhyme, and 
 good talking. We should then get a whole 
 character before us." 
 
 " Newton knew nothing about talking," ob- 
 served Gerald. 
 
 " He had no need," said Lord Horseman town.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 135 
 
 " I know of a Newton who does/' observed 
 the Secretary, in his dry way. 
 
 " The very delightful painter ?" inquired 
 Gerald. 
 
 " Mr. Newton the painter," reviewed the Se- 
 cretary. 
 
 " And after all," continued Gunning, " even 
 when we give one of these gentlemen his most 
 wished-for title of * good talker,' 'tis but a li- 
 mited and qualified title. They cannot always, 
 nor in every situation, talk well nay, at all. 
 Thus, Coleridge and Wordsworth are supreme 
 in metaphysics ; the one in his metaphysics, the 
 other after a sermon : give them Cobbett, and 
 they stare : yet the turnip-farmer is choice on 
 his own plot of ground ; to all intents and 
 purposes, a first-rate talker. Ay, or place the 
 dreamer of the Ancient Mariner, and the dream- 
 er of the Excursion together, and, all to nothing, 
 one becomes a listener, or both wax stupid. 
 Foscolo told me he knew Coleridge when he 
 first came to England ; I believe they lived 
 some time in the same house, (at least Ugo said 
 so,) but did not continue friends. I remem- 
 ber him averring, in a torrent of stunning 
 volubility, that the Highgate Hermit talked too 
 much."
 
 136 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 "Moore is a fascinating table or drawing- 
 room man," said Gerald ; " but what could he 
 do with Wordsworth's 'chaunt?' or in his trip- 
 ping gait, how keep pace with Coleridge's seven- 
 leagued periods ?" 
 
 *' Or what could they do with him ? No- 
 thing," continued the cynic ; " if he dined or 
 supped with either, he should hold his tongue, 
 or, at least, be nobody ; and, if they returned 
 the favour, they should comply with the terms, 
 else were the fable of the fox and the stork read 
 at school in vain. And, no doubt, in his old 
 feudal towers, and no Coleridge or Wordsworth 
 to contest with him, and within hearing of that 
 devil of a piper, that he keeps as Byron kept 
 his bear at college, and who, at a signal, blows 
 you up such a convincing tempest of Highland 
 music, Sir Walter was sovereign. Next morning, 
 too, he could easily keep all the fascination to 
 himself as he ambled through ' the rhymer's 
 glen,' which is now his own farm ; and as for 
 holding forth, within or without the walls of 
 * fair Melrose,' mortal men must not here dis- 
 pute his right. But suppose Wordsworth at 
 his board , the evening Peter speaks of, or plod-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 137 
 
 ding, pedlar-like, by his stirrup, next morn- 
 ing, the exciseman and he could not keep up, 
 five minutes, an equal conversation. They 
 could not support, strike each other out. Even 
 let them oblige each other, (in the case of talk- 
 ers an impossibility,) by reciting and chanting,al- 
 ternately, equal portions of Highland legends and 
 village metaphysics ; both would be uninterest- 
 ing. Alternation without continuance of sub- 
 ject,between two lecturers, no matter how chaunt- 
 ing or sonorous, proposes in itself a tiresome si- 
 tuation ; but the mere infelt humiliation of a 
 * good talker' at being obliged to share his lau- 
 rels with a brother, would certainly produce a 
 languor in each of these great men, or in any 
 other two, or twenty, that must individually de- 
 prive them of their undisputed claims to ego- 
 tism, when only astonishing such docile listeners 
 as Dr. Morris." 
 
 " Very well indeed, Gunning," said the Secre- 
 tary ; " here, Stewart, look over that/' handing 
 a sheet of paper, at the first view of which Mr. 
 Stewart smiled in evident satisfaction 'very 
 well talked indeed,' writing again, ' and with- 
 out at all outraging in your own person the
 
 188 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 rules you lay down for others now, no reply, 
 till you criticise a few lines of doggrel for me, 
 while Stewart does the same by some others 
 there," pushing over a slip of paper folded 
 down " and now, Bishop, and now Lord 
 Harmer, and now Mr. Priestly, what are we 
 indeed to say of Gunning's abuse of talkers ?" 
 
 It will not be inferred that, during the time 
 he was writing, the honourable Secretary had 
 been inattentive to the guests he now addressed, 
 or indeed to any others at his table, or that they 
 had not occasionally joined in the past conver- 
 sation, although for the purpose of getting to- 
 gether, in preference, what fell from Mr. Gun- 
 ning, he and they seem, according to our report, 
 to have been silent, or silenced. 
 
 During the answers and remarks produced by 
 his present question, Gunning spoke aside to 
 Gerald : 
 
 " The lines are quite good, and quite like 
 him terrible satire, that spares nothing and 
 nobody. Read them, before he despatches them 
 to Ebony." 
 
 " Is it lawful?" asked Gerald. 
 
 " Yes, yes ;" answered the Secretary himself, 
 observing in a side-glance his hesitation ; " they
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 139 
 
 are not worth a mystery," and as he quickly 
 turned to continue speaking to the Bishop and 
 Lord Harmer, Gerald read the following : 
 
 " POLITICAL ALPHABET ; OR THE YOUNG 
 MEMBER'S ABC. 
 
 " A, was an Althorp, as dull as a hog; 
 
 B, was black Brougham, a surly cur dog ; 
 
 C, was a Cochrane all stripp'd of his lace ; 
 
 D, was a Douglas, who wanted a place ; 
 
 E, was an Ebrington, dismal and dumb; 
 
 F, was a Finley, a hogshead of scum ; 
 
 G, was a Gordon's preposterous phiz ; 
 H, was a Heron, a damnable quiz ; 
 
 J, was Joe Jekyl, whose law is a jest ; 
 
 K, was a Knox, in a sinecure nest ; 
 
 L, was a Lambton, sour, saucy and sad; 
 
 M, was Paul Methuen ! a dandy gone mad; 
 
 N, was big Nugent, who " Portugal" writ ; 
 
 O, was an Ossulton, small as his wit ; 
 
 P, was poor Preston, stark mad about oats ; 
 
 Q, was a Quin, who with neither side votes ; 
 
 R, was dark Romilly's hypocrite look ; 
 
 S, was a Sefton, Lord, coachman, and cook ; 
 
 T, was Tom Thompson, a Tinker from Hool; 
 
 V, was a Vernon, an asphaltic* fool ; 
 
 * One of Mr. V 'a speeches was laughed at for a 
 
 metaphor about the Asphaltic Lake.
 
 140 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 W, was a Warne, 'twixt a wasp and a worm ; 
 But X, Y, and 7i, are not found in this form, 
 Unless Moore, Martin, and Creevy be said 
 (As the last of mankind) to be X, Y, and Zed." 
 
 " Terrible, indeed," whispered Gerald, " even 
 upon his enemies." 
 
 "And yet none of them are his enemies, either, 
 or in other words, he feels no more than simple 
 constitutional enmity to any of them, except 
 two out of the last three; and I should not 
 wonder if the whole alphabet was got up merely 
 to give a seemingly impartial opportunity for 
 emitting the gathered venom expressed on X 
 and Zed. 
 
 " But now you conjecture twenty-three per- 
 sons flayed alive without a motive. 1 ' 
 
 " No I've also conjectured the motive." 
 
 " It amounts to no more than convenience." 
 
 " And is not that enough ?" 
 
 " Well ; admitting your view, why are X 
 and Zed to be especially put to death ?" 
 
 " X, once stood in his way, and Zed now 
 speaks against him whenever he comes up 
 officially to the house." 
 
 " But do you call it prudent thus to satirize 
 so many considerable individuals who, one day
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 141 
 
 or other, by some probable topsy-turvy freak 
 in the cabinet, may get power, or become the 
 supporters of the powerful ?" 
 
 " He doesn't care." 
 
 " How ? 1J 
 
 u He would be in with them, and keep his 
 place still." 
 
 " How, again ?" 
 
 " By supporting them, or all or any thing 
 they might support to be sure, and by being 
 ready to make out for Blackwood another al- 
 phabet of any twenty-four of their opponents." 
 
 " That 's talent, indeed." 
 
 " Yes ; our friend, with all his good qua- 
 lities, has a little of the cat in him ; he is attached 
 to place, not peisons but the lines are very 
 clever." 
 
 " Very ; only, I still demur to the unsparing 
 nature of the satire." 
 
 "'Tis his style. You have seen the little 
 pasquinade he wrote on the actors in Dublin, 
 long ago, when he was a Barrister walking the 
 hall of your Four Courts there, and when his 
 clients, at least, (though from their numbers we 
 need not think much of their opinion) scarcely 
 dreamt of his present success P' 1
 
 142 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 *' It has never come in my way." 
 
 " That's unlucky, if you care to be convinced 
 of his natural tendency to this kind of satire. 
 Witness a quotation from it upon a woman, 
 one of the poor Dublin actresses, and, until his 
 criticism, popular among the Dublin people 
 but first to show him in his best vein 
 
 ' Williams comes, the rude and rough, 
 
 With face most whimsically gruff; 
 Aping the careless sons of ocean, 
 He. scorns each light and easy motion ; 
 His elbows to his sides he pins; 
 And dabbles with his hands like fins ; 
 Would he express the greatest woe, 
 He slaps his breast and points his toe ; 
 Is merriment to be expressed ? 
 He points his toe and slaps his breast.' " 
 
 " Churchill never excelled that," said Gerald ; 
 perhaps seldom equalled it." 
 
 " Now you get him in the humour you are 
 inclined not to patronize," said Gunning, and 
 went on with his quotations. 
 
 ' " But lo ! his wife, whose every feature 
 Foretells the talent of the creature; 
 Lively and vulgar, low and pert, 
 She plays f au vif the pleasant flirt,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 148 
 
 And hits, without the slightest aid 
 From art, the saucy chambermaid; 
 Oh might her merits ne'er presume 
 To figure in a drawing-room !*' 
 
 I believe I forget the remaining lines until 
 he advises her, in accordance with her nature, 
 
 to 
 
 ' Decline Bizarre and play Lamoree.' " 
 
 " You get the man's mind there, I think." 
 
 " And his heart too," added Gerald. 
 
 " Pho ! heart ? what's that ?" 
 
 " A mystery to you, I believe, Sir," replied 
 Gerald, in his own mind, " as much as to him, 
 if indeed your comments are to be taken for 
 fact, when at the moment you share his cup, 
 you can thus expose your seeming friend to a 
 comparative stranger. But, 1 ' Gerald continued, 
 " such ought to be the kind of friendship sub- 
 sisting between them ; it would be a pity were 
 it of a different description. I suppose even 
 the terms of it are mutually understood."" 
 
 " I guess," resumed Gunning, proceeding to 
 give him certainty on the point, " I guess 
 by your eye that you take my remarks on the 
 Secretary as unfriendly towards him ; but you 
 mistake ; I would serve him and he would serve
 
 144 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 me, as far as it conveniently lay in the way 
 of either, though I show him up now and 
 then, and though he knows I do ; he knows I 
 am at it this moment : I caught his eye glan- 
 cing after his ear while we discussed him ; 
 besides he would show me up in the same way 
 if you were by his side instead of sitting 
 here." 
 
 Gerald rather coldly concurred in the pro- 
 bability. " Or he would take the same free- 
 dom with yourself, if he knew as much of you 
 as I do," half sneered Gunning in revenge for 
 the slight change of face and manner his 
 practised eye soon detected. " But do you 
 surmise my reason for holding forth, just now, 
 so vehemently against talkers ?" 
 
 " You simply dislike them." 
 
 *' Not always ; I had a more particular 
 motive. There is your countryman, Mr. Gore, 
 who, whatever may be the subjects he can 
 handle, is, I am sure of it, in good estimation 
 with himself as a graceful and pleasing talker ; 
 and, just before I commenced my sermon, I 
 saw his handsome red face waxing redder all 
 over, and his mouth curving up, in the preface, 
 to a volume of soft speeches. I stopped him
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 145 
 
 by what I said, however, to say nothing of 
 the good I did the young Scotchman. Mr. 
 Gore all this time has had no hearer but your 
 brother a mercy to every one else. Now, 
 though, I fear we shall get him all round, 
 if the Secretary does not 'pull up in the road 
 he has just started on, and if he does not, 
 I 'm off. 1 ' 
 
 " Like Sir Peter, then, I shall leave my 
 character in your hands," said Gerald, once 
 more smiling. 
 
 " We '11 take care of the little trust for you ; 
 and, after all, I think the Secretary, along wkh 
 all the rest of you that now (we are come to 
 a pretty pass) sit in the Cabinet for us, and 
 make law for us, and fight the French for us, 
 I hate Frenchmen more than Scotchmen 
 something like a credit to Ireland, or to that 
 half, or quarter of it, or whatever portion it is, 
 which will have us call it English-Irish." 
 
 " Let us see,* 1 thought Gerald. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " MY friend George is one of the best talkers 
 I know," was the remark of the Secretary that 
 produced the turn in the conversation, to which 
 Mr. Gunning metaphorically alluded in the last 
 chapter : " one of the best, though the most bor- 
 ing : he talks sentences always, never phrases ; 
 and there are his eulogy and criticism together. 
 He is good for a solemn morning call on you, 
 when from occupation, just before, you are 
 prepared not to tire of his compositions ; but he 
 is not good for the evening." 
 
 " You speak of our countryman ; what is he 
 doing ?" asked the Bishop. 
 
 "Why he has been writing a comedy (he 
 called it so) for one of the theatres ; * The 
 Angel of the World' and its publisher having 
 fallen together. And he dedicated it by per- 
 mission to Canning." 
 
 " Has any thing come of the compliment ?"
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 147 
 
 '* Yes," answered Gunning ; " a new version 
 of the Apocalypse, by which the destruction of 
 Popery, root and branch, in a very short time 
 indeed, is demonstrated, by the Rev. George 
 Croly." 
 
 " That sounds strange, though not unpleas- 
 ing. May I ask what you mean, Sir?" in- 
 quired the Bishop. 
 
 " Why, Bishop, Canning having forgotten 
 the dedication, its writer published some matter 
 of the kind I speak of, about the very time 
 that his negligent patron made his most celebra- 
 ted speech in favour of your great Hibernian 
 question." 
 
 " Both might have been better employed," re- 
 sumed the Bishop, " and in furtherance of their 
 different objects, too : though/" (pausing,) "their 
 motives may be essentially the same, after all." 
 
 " Your Lordship, I thought, knew that one of 
 these gentlemen is not disposed to agree in ac- 
 ceding to those people any increase of political 
 power,'" observed Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " I know it : yet, though two loyal gentlemen 
 may widely differ on the question, I suppose, at 
 least I strongly hope, they have in view a com- 
 mon result, even while they differ." 
 H 2
 
 148 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " I coincide with your Lordship," said Ge- 
 rald. 
 
 " I have not yet the honour to apprehend his 
 Lordship's meaning," resumed Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " Nor I," said Lord Harmer. 
 
 " Nor I," echoed Mr. Grady, Mr. Gore, and 
 Mr. Pack. 
 
 " I 'm off', as I told you," whispered Gunning 
 to Gerald, as the Bishop, smiling a conscious- 
 ness of the easy reconciling of his seeming pa- 
 radox, was about to proceed : (t all this is going 
 to be all about Ireland ; and though, I believe, I 
 have myself to blame for giving the word, and 
 lough I 'm not quite so tired of Ireland as 
 
 am of Scotland, yet, not being Irish even 
 half-way through, I can never stand it ;" and 
 rising slowly on his stick, he soon left the room. 
 
 "The loyal gentleman," continued the Bi- 
 shop, " who disallows those claims, does so, 
 because he thinks that an extension of power 
 would strengthen the claimants in influence 
 and numbers; and the loyal gentleman who 
 advocates those claims, does so, because he 
 thinks that the removal of restrictions of 
 every kind would leave the claimants, parti- 
 cularly in Ireland, more leisure and inclination
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 149 
 
 to attend to the teaching and preaching of a 
 pure doctrine, which eventually, in the oppor- 
 tunities he would create, must supersede the pre- 
 sent superstition : so that, while one refuses the 
 boon, lest the petitioners should grow stronger, 
 the other cedes it to make them even weaker 
 than they are ; and hence their motives are, as I 
 said, essentially the same." 
 
 " Now I understand your Lordship," said 
 Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " And I have to thank your Lordship for 
 stating my views so clearly," said Gerald. 
 
 " We, in Ireland, my Lord," said Mr. Gore, 
 " who hold the views first stated so well by 
 your Lordship, have, indeed, the same good 
 hopes of our loyal fellow-subjects in both 
 countries. While they differ from us on the 
 important question, we believe they do not 
 mean to expose us, more than we are exposed, 
 to the insidious encroachments of a religion 
 deeply hostile to us ; to our religion and theirs ; 
 to our political ascendency ; in fact, to all that 
 we are so proud to hold by virtue of our Eng- 
 lish descent, principles, and connexion." 
 
 " The supporters of the measures, English or 
 Irish, with whom I have spoken," said Lord
 
 150 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Clangore, " that is, with whom I could pro- 
 perly speak in confidence, certainly have no 
 such meaning ; and though I differ from them 
 in the principle of their policy, so much justice 
 may be done to their intentions." 
 
 " The first point is this" remarked Mr. 
 Grady, composing a leader " what is the cause 
 of the present unhappy state of Ireland ? why 
 is she the only uncivilized portion of the three 
 kingdoms ? After more than seven hundred years 
 of identity with this country " 
 
 " Not identity, Grady ; that almost makes 
 you speak a paradox," said the Secretary. 
 
 " Connexion, Sir ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then, Sir, conjunction ?" 
 
 ** Not even that, unless you mean our gram- 
 matical anomaly, a disjunctive conjunction ; call 
 it wrangling and squabbling." 
 
 " I will, Sir ; and that is the very thing I 
 would show, and at the same time question ; 
 why should it have been to this day wrangling 
 and squabbling?"" 
 
 " The Irish people have not been taught to 
 think, 1 ' said Lord Horsemantown ; " have not 
 had mental objects to engage them, and thereby
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 151 
 
 keep them quiet ; for a man whose mind is em- 
 ployed on pursuits that tend to improve it, 
 knows and cares little about politics, after com- 
 ing to one simple conclusion namely, honour 
 and respect for King, Laws, and Government." 
 
 " Scotland, that much later than seven hun- 
 dred years ago was the declared and powerful 
 enemy of England, is now her feal friend," said 
 Mr. Stewart ; " indeed, both are but parts of 
 one great kingdom." 
 
 " And still, I ask, why has not Ireland fol- 
 lowed her example ?" pursued Mr. Grady : 
 " years have gone by, since, through the wis- 
 dom of an English minister, and of our great 
 countryman at present at the head of affairs, she 
 gave up one of the chief, at least one of the 
 most obvious landmarks of distinction between 
 her and us her Parliament." 
 
 " Her absurd Parliament her exquisitely 
 Irish Parliament, 1 ' resumed the Secretary : " it 
 was a riotous, popular assembly, not a Parlia- 
 ment : men went there to make speeches, not to 
 deliberate ; to call each other f out,' not to con- 
 vince each other ; and their wives and daughters 
 used to sit in the galleries to hear husband or 
 father deliver orations that had been twenty
 
 152 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 imes read at home, and to encumber with their 
 presence every thing like freedom or manliness 
 of debate. Burke was a tolerably good speci- 
 men to an English House of Commons of the 
 elaborate, rhetorical fuss, the unbusiness-like 
 declamation, the sputtering and roaring, that, 
 even in the persons of its most boasted orators, 
 sunk the character of the Irish House of Com- 
 mons." 
 
 " Yes, Sir," argued Mr. Grady ; " I have 
 spoken with many of the old reporters who vi- 
 sited the gallery, here, in his latter days, and 
 they assure me he was the greatest bore the 
 House ever heard. He used to roar, Sir, as you 
 say, walking up and down by the table, like a 
 wild beast, until two- thirds of the members went 
 away,and the press along with them: I assure you, 
 Sir, it came to that ; they wouldn't ' take him.' " 
 
 " I 'm sorry for it, Sir," said Gerald, " for 
 however inconvenient might have been the de- 
 livery of Mr. Burke's opinions, they read well ; 
 and only that the gentlemen you mention might 
 have felt too much annoyed, I should regret the 
 loss of any of his speeches." 
 
 " Returning to Mr. Grady's queries," conti- 
 nued the Secretary, <f suppose we say that the
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 153 
 
 undeniable inclination of the old Celtic blood of 
 old Ireland to kicking up a row, may account 
 for even the present want of civilization and 
 happiness in that country, which he so truly 
 recognizes ? It is said, generally, of the Celts 
 and Normans, that while the one race always 
 weakened, and kept themselves ignorant and 
 savage, by domestic quarrellings, the other race, 
 united in arms, in arts, in interests, and in di- 
 versified improvement, every where found them 
 an easy conquest. But the mere conquering 
 them could not change the grand passion of 
 their nature, or their old habits. Thus, 
 though universally deprived of their inde- 
 pendence, they still kept up the old game ; 
 still squabbled upon the most trivial occa- 
 sion, or upon no occasion, with their masters, 
 or with one another ; still left themselves no 
 time for the mental pursuits, scientific or other- 
 wise, so well suggested as a nostrum for 
 them by my excellent friend, Lord Horseman- 
 town ; until, to this very day, we find them what 
 they have ever been in Ireland and what 
 they are." 
 
 " For whatever good conduct, industry, mora- 
 lity, intellect, or rank, we possess in Ireland, we 
 H 5
 
 154 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 are assuredly indebted to this great country," 
 said Mr. Gore. 
 
 " Absentee landlords, they aver, make one 
 chief cause of their wretchedness and turbu- 
 lence," remarked Mr. Stewart, as usual speaking 
 very rapidly in his throat : " but that 's stuff ; 
 no man who considers the subject, scientifically, 
 can entertain it for a moment. I don't say that 
 resident landlords are an absolute evil to any 
 country; but I do say, that in the present ano- 
 malous position of Ireland, the absence of her 
 landlords might, if properly taken advantage of, 
 prove a good, instead of a curse ; indeed it is 
 idle to debate the matter ; it has been proved 
 by M'Culloch." 
 
 " Some say that Sir Walter Raleigh is to be 
 blamed in a great degree for the evils of Ireland 
 since about the time of Elizabeth," resumed the 
 Secretary. 
 
 " How so?" asked Lord Horsemantown, 
 
 rather interested. 
 
 " Because they assert that the potatoe is the 
 
 root from which its evils spring," he went on, 
 
 in a sneer that Lord Horsemantown did not see. 
 " Come," said the Bishop, " I have listened 
 
 to many opinions, as to the cause of those evils ;
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. ]55 
 
 but surely no man of ordinary observation, 
 living in Ireland, can mistake the true one her 
 teachers." 
 
 " Her teachers, indeed !" echoed Lord Har- 
 mer, turning from a quiet tete-a-tete with Lord 
 Clangore. 
 
 " The bane of the wretched land," agreed 
 Mr. Priestly, with an earnestness that indicated 
 long and settled conviction, and of which he had 
 shown few other instances during the evening. 
 
 " Perhaps, in a more general phrase, we should 
 say the superstition she bows to," continued the 
 Bishop ; " only, that at the hands of these men it 
 is ministered in every form most calculated to 
 besot the human intellect, deprive its blind vota- 
 ries of all self-estimation, perpetuate mere animal 
 passions, and generate all the impulses to re- 
 venge, treachery, and bloodshed, of which day 
 after day we are doomed to witness the results 
 Dangerous as is the mere profession of Popery 
 in its best shape, I do not think it could work 
 as it does work in Ireland but for the mode in 
 which it is put forward by her priests; and 
 therefore I particularly select them, when I 
 would advance, in a word, the cause of the pre- 
 sent state of that wretched Island."
 
 156 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Then, my Lord, having the real cause be- 
 fore us, let it be removed," said Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " You can't remove them" answered the 
 Secretary. 
 
 " Remove the poor people from them," said 
 the Bishop. 
 
 " And go to the work boldly, 1 ' resumed Mr. 
 Priestly. " With good intentions on this sub- 
 ject, we have as yet only stopped short at half 
 measures, disguising our motives in school 
 education, and when charged with a wish to 
 insinuate (rather than inculcate) the truth, equi- 
 vocating like cowards, as if we feared either 
 that our cause would not bear the light, or that 
 we shrunk from a contest with its enemies. Let 
 us march into the field more like courageous 
 soldiers ; let us say to the people of Ireland, 
 in plain language, ' We wish to change your 
 religious belief, because we know it keeps you 
 poor, ignorant, miserable, and most of all, be- 
 cause it is a blasphemy ;' and let us at the same 
 time say to their priests, ' You hear our purpose 
 proclaimed, meet us in the field, and oppose us 
 and conquer us if you can. Show these, your 
 most unhappy flock, good reasons for the faith 
 that is in them, if indeed you have imparted
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH 157 
 
 one clear notion, however erroneous, upon the 
 doctrine of salvation ; refute the reasons we 
 give for a better faith ; do this, and we will leave 
 in your hands the minds, the morals, the hap- 
 piness, here and to come, of the land." 
 
 " Thus should we proceed, indeed/ 1 said 
 Lord Harmer. 
 
 *' I would approve such a course," said Lord 
 Horsemantown, seemingly becoming possessed 
 of a new and pleasing idea. 
 
 " I know Ireland well," said Mr. Gore, " and 
 will go so far as to declare, that, in my opinion, 
 it requires but a few years' perseverance in the 
 plan proposed, to rescue the great majority of 
 the Irish people from their present thraldom.' 1 
 
 " Ten years only, 1 ' agreed the Bishop. 
 
 " There is nothing in the good work but the 
 trouble of teaching," resumed Mr. Priestly. 
 " We are not, generally speaking, faced with 
 the difficulty of pulling down an old edifice in 
 order to erect a new one ; for, in truth and fact, 
 the people know nothing at all of religion of 
 any kind." 
 
 " To what, then, do they give the name ?" in- 
 quired Gerald : " what are they taught by their 
 priests ?"
 
 158 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Mummeries, Sir," answered Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " Forms that are mummeries," added the 
 Bishop : " they are taught to go to mass, of 
 which they do not understand a word ; to use 
 holy-water ; to mumble prayers to the Virgin, 
 as they tell their beads ; to wear charms against 
 sickness, sorrow, and fairy blasts ; to kneel down 
 before rude pictures and images ; to think that 
 the priest's wrath can warp their limbs, blight 
 their crops, and destroy their cattle : these are 
 the chief if not the only matters of a spiritual 
 kind with which the poor Irishman is made ac- 
 quainted ; and, as my worthy friend observes, 
 none of them contain any prepossessions against 
 the real doctrines of religion." 
 
 " Could Scotland have been what she now 
 is, if her mind and energies had been kept 
 down by superstition like this ?" inquired Mr. 
 Stewart. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Gerald ; " but, my 
 Lord, the priests of Ireland must, along with 
 their other dangerous qualities, be as ignorant 
 as their poor flock, to inculcate such supersti- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " The greater part of them is ; that is, almost
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 159 
 
 all those who, coming into orders from the 
 plough or the mechanics' workshop, have late- 
 ly been educated at home ; they with as much 
 new acquirement as enables them to read their 
 breviary and mass-book, they may be class- 
 ed in the intellectual scale, and even in scrip- 
 ture knowledge, with their old brethren of the 
 clod, whom they are sent back from some local 
 seminary to teach : sometimes you find them ti- 
 morous, clumsy, poor men, bold in nothing but 
 disguised bigotry ; sometimes you can scarcely 
 distinguish them from the hardy, bluff clown 
 out of orders, or at best from the strong-bodied 
 farmer's son who goes out to hunt, now and 
 then, on a strong-bodied horse ; and their best 
 specimen is to be seen in the town curate, or 
 parish priest, who, wearing a better coat and 
 professional boots, can wrangle over his tumbler 
 of punch, about some abstruse, superfluous and 
 (by him) but half conceived metaphysical de- 
 finition of the attributes of Divine Essence. 
 From none of them should we expect clear or 
 serious views of what they ought to teach their 
 people ; but such are the majority of the priests 
 who, along with hatred to England, and every
 
 160 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 thing English, in either country, do teach their 
 people the childish superstitions I have enume- 
 rated." 
 
 " I should like to hear your Lordship's ac- 
 count of the minority ; of those, I presume, 
 who have not been educated at home ?" 
 
 " The few among the present body of Irish 
 priests," continued the Bishop/'who have studied 
 at Salamanca or at St. Omers, enjoy, of course, 
 a more liberal round of acquirement than their 
 indigenous successors ever pretend to ; they 
 also have, perhaps, Scriptural learning, and 
 (witness (TLeary) are generally adroit dispu- 
 tants : but they are never found among the 
 country people, in country parishes; and if 
 they occasionally convey to their town flocks an 
 arbitrary interpretation of a Scripture text, the 
 great mass of the people catch no sound of it ; 
 while the cold and profitless observations of 
 those poor creatures are, by their most enlight- 
 ened guides, never prohibited. They enjoin 
 them, then, since they tolerate them. And are 
 these educated priests, themselves, believers 
 in the superstitions they enjoin ? I think not : 
 their state of intellect seems to make the ques- 
 tion unnatural. If they are not, what is to be
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 161 
 
 said of their countenancing, with a view to their 
 own pecuniary profit and priestly influence, 
 abominations that they know to be insulting to 
 God, and death to the soul of his creature ? 
 Here we have Jesuitism, calculating, evading, 
 cruel Jesuitism, doing, in their persons, the 
 work of almost brute ignorance in the persons 
 of their locally-educated brethren. As for hos- 
 tility to all that makes the happiness and glory 
 of England, and, through connexion with her, 
 which ought to make the happiness and glory 
 of Ireland, if home-instruction gives that,' in 
 abundance, to the young priesthood, we have 
 little difficulty in determining to what extent 
 it must have been imbibed, in continental col- 
 leges, by the old." 
 
 " Only that I have resolved," said Gerald, 
 " never, in the present condition of Ireland, to 
 pay her a visit, I should certainly like to fall 
 in with an Irish priest." 
 
 " You can do so without your alternative," 
 said Lord Clangore, " and this very evening, 
 too : you know we look in at the Spanish Am- 
 bassador's, and I have been advised, by our hos- 
 tess elect, that, amongst other motives, she gives 
 her party to-night, in order to get subscriptions,
 
 162 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 to be solicited by herself, or at least by his ap- 
 pearance before us, for a very poor young Irish 
 priest, though one of the smart, town ones first 
 described by his Lordship, towards repairing 
 the miserable chapel he has been sent to pre- 
 side over, here, in one of our London Irish 
 colonies." 
 
 " I attend her Ladyship then." 
 
 " But why not visit us ?" inquired Mr. Gore, 
 very insinuatingly, and with a personal compli- 
 ment meant. 
 
 " Never, Sir," replied Gerald, " until Ire- 
 land, by more closely resembling England, be- 
 comes more my country ; never until from that 
 resemblance I can calculate her happiness and 
 respectability, and feel pride in owning myself 
 half her son. But until then, England is my 
 country ; Ireland cannot now be called so : she 
 presents, in religion, in mind, in manner I 
 mean" (checking himself, and bowing, as he 
 saw Mr. Gore grow disturbed,) " I mean, of 
 course, with reference to the mass of her purely 
 Irish population nothing in common with me, 
 or with what I admire, respect, and hope to 
 attain. No ; she is not my country ; nor yours,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 163 
 
 Sir ; nor, my Lord, yours ; nor the country of 
 any one of us. 11 
 
 " Ah, my excellent young friend, 11 said Mr. 
 Gore, with a sigh, " how well do we, who live 
 in her bosom, surrounded by all that is hostile 
 or strange to us, how well do we feel the truth 
 of your remark, and how willingly, how eagerly 
 would I adopt your plan of avoidance, if most 
 dear, and (allow a father's egotism) most amia- 
 ble, deserving, and, alas, without me, helpless 
 objects of domestic solicitude, did not command, 
 absolutely command, my residence in the unfor- 
 tunate country. But pray, my dear Mr. Blount, 
 do not deprive us of all hope of the pleasure of 
 seeing you. Even in Ireland, few in number as 
 we may be, compared with the native popula- 
 tion, we compose, beyond doubt, a highly re 
 spectable and enlightened community : standing 
 by each other, our circles are select, and, quite 
 as far as the resemblance can ever approach, 
 would remind you of the superior country. I 
 have the honour of knowing many, many distin - 
 guished friends who would make you at home ; 
 and, I trust, I need not add, that amongst the 
 immediate members of my own family, you
 
 164 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 would experience nothing inattentive or, from 
 three young ladies, not reckoned either unac- 
 complished or unattractive, (excuse the father 
 again, Sir,) nothing disagreeable." 
 
 " The three most beautiful creatures in Dub- 
 lin, Sir," whispered Mr. Grady, " particularly 
 the youngest." 
 
 " Well, Sir," answered Gerald, returning, 
 without affectation, some of the soft smiles with 
 which Mr. Gore regarded him, and perhaps not 
 before he had involuntarily conjured up (Ge- 
 rald was only one-and-twenty) the pretty pic- 
 ture of a young gentleman, just like himself, 
 domesticated among " the three most beautiful 
 creatures in Dublin," and sung to, and talked 
 to, all day long " Well, Sir, whenever I do 
 visit Ireland (and perhaps your partial vindica- 
 tion of it has removed some of my prejudices), 
 I shall not forget the kindness and politeness 
 with which you are now pleased to express 
 yourself." 
 
 " My dear Sir !" was Mr. Gore's answer, as, 
 half rising, he took Gerald's hand across the 
 table. In fact, Mr. Gore liked the Secretary's 
 claret, and by this time he had evinced his liking. 
 
 " No rash promises, Blount," said the Secre-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 165 
 
 tary, at this bit of a scene, though he had not 
 heard the conversation ; " See the lady first." 
 
 Mr. Gore laughed heartily. 
 
 " She must not be mere Irish," observed the 
 Bishop, also smiling. 
 
 " No, my Lord ; I disclaim every thing or 
 every body that is not English-Irish, at least ; 
 and till Ireland is so, I am forced to disclaim her." 
 
 " Poor Ireland I" said the Secretary, strapge- 
 ly reminding Gerald of a former sneer of little 
 Rhoda Knightly. 
 
 " Ireland must be made so, or remain for 
 another thousand years contemned by the world, 
 Mr. Blount," continued the Bishop. 
 
 " First, then, make her English in Religion," 
 said Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " Yes, that first of all." 
 
 " First of all," agreed Lord Harmer. 
 
 " How ?" inquired the Secretary. 
 
 " Preach to her openly," said Mr. Priestly. 
 
 '' The landed interest will support you, Sir," 
 said Lord Harmer. 
 
 " They will, and they ought," added Lords 
 Horseman town and Clangore. 
 
 " Write down Popery ; get the press on the 
 right side," exhorted Mr. Grady.
 
 166 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Write it down in every way," said Mr. 
 Pack, uttering almost the first loud sentence he 
 had that night ventured, and now looking sur- 
 prised, if not agitated, at the sound of his own 
 voice ; " write it down in tracts and magazines, 
 as well as in the daily and weekly papers ; and 
 don't you think, Sir, that even works of imagi- 
 nation, that little tales, embodying with the 
 doctrines sought to be inculcated their fine 
 local superstitions and legends, might, if distri- 
 buted among the peasantry, have a good effect ?" 
 
 " I quite agree with Mr. Pack," answered 
 the Secretary, seriously nodding his head twice 
 or thrice, as his deep grey eyes fastened on the 
 speaker. 
 
 " Lock up their mass-houses if you can," ad- 
 vised Mr. Gore ; " when they were locked up 
 before, we had more peace and influence in the 
 country." 
 
 " Too late for that, Sir," remarked Gerald; 
 " but I agree that a change of religion is indis- 
 pensable." 
 
 " Then begin we, in the name of all that can 
 prompt us, or give us success/' resumed Mr. 
 Priestly : " with the promise of support from 
 such quarters as now promise it, I, though not
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 167 
 
 professionally called to the task, have no fears in 
 personally undertaking it. If the poor people 
 we shall convince be shielded by the high and 
 wealthy, from the vengeance, or worse, from the 
 consequences of the neglect they must expect at 
 the hands of their old friends, and if, perhaps, 
 even a little assurance of protection accompany 
 
 or precede the first inculcation of doctrine " 
 
 " It shall," interrupted Lord Harmer. 
 " Then to the battle let us go," said Mr. 
 Priestly. 
 
 " Yes ; but provide make other opportuni- 
 ties for success," said Gerald ; " make, in fact, 
 the one so eloquently propounded by his Lord- 
 ship awhile ago ; emancipate them first, that 
 their angry passions being laid asleep, and the 
 great rallying point of their demagogues re- 
 moved, they may have leisure to listen to you, 
 and you a natural reason for convincing them." 
 " We would emancipate them," replied Mr. 
 Priestly, " fully, gloriously emancipate them ; 
 but, I believe, rejecting the means you pro- 
 pose." 
 
 " Indeed," cried Gerald, surprised, for he 
 thought the gentleman had before tacitly agreed 
 in his policy ; " and, indeed, my Lord," he re-
 
 168 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 peated, when, to his continued surprise, the 
 Bishop added ; " no the wilfully blind and ob- 
 stinate bigot, who, out of the chimera of his su- 
 perstition, shapes hostility to us, and to all con- 
 nected with us, him we can never admit to po- 
 litical power." 
 
 " Who drinks coffee ?" asked the Secretary, 
 as the servant appeared. 
 
 All arose. 
 
 " I am not convinced, however," ruminated 
 Gerald, though the Bishop's firmness had stunned 
 him. 
 
 " What think you, Sir ?" he resumed, as he 
 and Mr. Stewart met in their progress to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " In fact, Sir," answered Mr. Stewart, his 
 utterance, whether naturally or affectedly, in- 
 creasing in quickness, until, indeed, as Mr. 
 Gunning had remarked, he seemed to cackle; and 
 at the same time he held himself very straight, 
 and kept chucking his head very high ; " in 
 fact, Sir, make your people a moral, industrious, 
 calculating people. I don't pretend to know 
 how it is to be done, Sir ; since Popery is in the 
 way, I should certainly get rid of it, by all pos- 
 sible means ; but I don't pretend to know Ire-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 169 
 
 land much farther; only just make her people 
 a moral, and an industrious, and a calculating 
 people, Sir." 
 
 " Coxcomb!" muttered Gerald, turning away. 
 " Mr. Secretary, pray favour me with your 
 real opinion of all that has been said this even- 
 ing." 
 
 " All stuff and nonsense," answered the Se- 
 cretary, in a close, confidential, and abrupt 
 whisper; " What do you think? By virtue of 
 certain old black-letter enactments, these Catho- 
 lics are, this moment, eligible to political power, 
 without ceasing to be Catholics : but such is the 
 legal ignorance on both sides, that neither Ca- 
 tholic nor Protestant sees or admits the fact. 
 Come a cup of coffee." 
 
 In about an hour afterwards Gerald was 
 making his bow to the lady of the Spanish Am- 
 bassador. Her Ladyship's rooms were full, 
 mostly of foreigners ; but the fashionable crowd 
 numbered amongst it many English persons of 
 both sexes, of rank and title, official as well as 
 patrimonial, and Catholic as well as Protestant. 
 With a little pressing, if not ostentatious zeal, 
 she availed herself of every polite opportunity 
 to get subscriptions "pour le pauvrejeune pretre 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Irlandois? and was not long in addressing her- 
 self to Gerald. He liberally subscribed her 
 list, and inquired after the reverend mendicant. 
 The lady led him into a back drawing-room, 
 and introduced him at once to " Monsieur FAbbe 
 O'Burn:' 
 
 Mr. O'Burn sat on a small sofa in almost de- 
 voted attention to the discourse of another Ro- 
 man Catholic clergyman, an old French priest, 
 of a venerable, imposing air, and possessing the 
 suavity of the ancien regime. And this was a 
 bad situation for Mr. O'Burn. His vulgar, 
 (yet not vulgar-featured) face, his uneasy figure, 
 his restless hands and legs, his ill-worn new- 
 clothes, every thing about him contrasted with 
 the staid, complacent, self-possession of his com- 
 panion. On being introduced, he started up, 
 bowed six times very strangely, mumbled, laid 
 one hand on a corner of the sofa, and between 
 the finger and thumb of the other kept coiling 
 the corner of the lapel of his coat. Nothing 
 could well be more certain than that he felt 
 himself painfully out of place in that house on 
 that awful night. Indeed his fidgets made him 
 pale ; and his legs seemed ashamed of their new 
 acquaintances, the black silk stockings, they
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 171 
 
 did so shift, and shy, and behave themselves in 
 such a manner. 
 
 As soon as some quiet was restored, and 
 Gerald had taken a place at his side, they began 
 to speak about Ireland. But this Gerald did 
 not exactly want, so much as what it would 
 lead to. Collegiate pursuits in Ireland turned 
 up. The man proved to be really uneducated, 
 although, with poor smiles that petitioned for 
 indulgence and good opinion, he quoted Latin 
 every second sentence. Polite literature was 
 glanced at ; he was dumb. Some slight ge- 
 neral views of the country were taken ; he 
 was an ass. 
 
 Gerald prepared to leave him, when, with" 
 many curious circumbendibusses, what shall we 
 suppose the poor young man proposed ? An 
 invitation " to eat a leg of mutton with him 
 next Sunday." Gerald, wishing he could swoon, 
 politely (and, in pity, his politeness was more 
 kindly than stiff,) pleaded a prior engagement. 
 " Well, Sir, but the next;" another engagement. 
 " Well, then, but sure the next ;" another ; " the 
 next" was called up from the womb of time ; 
 and, in short, to save Mr. O'Burn the trouble 
 of going through what remained of the year's 
 i 2
 
 172 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 calendar, Gerald at last seemed to assent. In 
 a few days he sent, of course, a formal though 
 still not unkind apology : a quick answer came, 
 that, with all its offences against common usage 
 and common sense, only proved that the writer 
 had not understood the politeness with which 
 he was treated. It breathed very Irish wrath, 
 suppressed into the utmost possible Christian 
 charity, and a sickly sense of having been ill 
 treated, mixed up with a bad effort at eccle- 
 siastical grandeur, which was exceedingly risi- 
 ble. " I must have stood very low in your 
 opinion, Sir, when you absolutely refuse to dine 
 with me," it said ; " but believe me, Sir, you 
 are not warranted by any previous conduct of 
 mine in violating every rule of good-breeding 
 towards me. But I forgive you, dear Sir ; 
 for although my family motto is," (here follow- 
 ed some Latin Gerald could not make out,) 
 " I assure you I don't keep ill will to any one 
 in my mind many minutes. However, a respect 
 I have for myself as a clergyman and as a 
 gentleman, obliges me to say (however reluc- 
 tantly) that you never again shall be annoyed 
 by an invitation from me. However, God 
 bless you, my dear Sir, and although I don't
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 173 
 
 mean to see you again, I hope time will change 
 the opinions you too hastily formed of 
 
 Your humble servant." 
 
 " Why, yes," said Gerald, holding the curi- 
 ous epistle in his hand, " if, under all his 
 boorish blundering about his 'leg of mutton,' 
 and under all his mental and social deficiencies, 
 this poor fellow really hides a bigot's heart ; 
 and if, indeed, he be a proper specimen of his 
 fellow-labourers in the Irish vineyard misera- 
 ble most miserable is your religious lot, O 
 peasantry of Ireland !" 
 
 Upon which point, as well as upon others, 
 discussed in this chapter, Gerald was fated to 
 receive more authentic information, within the 
 limits of the Irish vineyard itself.
 
 174 THE ANGLO IRISH. 
 
 CHAPTER. IX. 
 
 AFTER breakfast next morning, Mr. Gore 
 called upon Gerald's brother, and they went 
 but to canvass for the appointment, in pursuit 
 of which that gentleman had come to England. 
 
 Gerald repaired to the house of the Minister. 
 His reception proved flattering, if not kindly. 
 Perhaps, had it not been felt that he had busi- 
 ness in hand, his guardian would have shown 
 less of the watchful dignity of manner which, 
 in all official situations, trifling as well as im- 
 portant, characterised him. 
 
 Gerald returned thanks for the offer of ap- 
 pointment made through Lord Clangore. The 
 Minister felt assured that Gerald's talents and 
 principles entitled him to expect attention from 
 his friends, and that nothing but a knowledge 
 of a little of the theory and habits of busi- 
 ness a knowledge gradually acquirable was 
 wanting on his part to ensure satisfaction to
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 175 
 
 his well-wishers, and success and honour to 
 himself. Gerald bowed, and ventured to say 
 that if by method and care such knowledge 
 were to be had, he would not despair of soon 
 possessing it. The Minister was still assured. 
 A short pause occurred ; and then he was 
 asked, when he thought of going into the 
 House ? 
 
 " A seat in the House is the nearest object 
 of my ambition," replied Gerald : " and per- 
 haps I may add, to your Lordship, that, as soon 
 as I hold it, the great Irish question may 
 be considered as having gained an additional 
 friend/' 
 
 " All very well," the Minister said. 
 
 " And, if I do not speak superfluously, my 
 Lord, I should wish to mention two grounds 
 upon which my opinions are formed." 
 
 " By all means go on, Mr. Blount." 
 
 " First, it appears to me, after some consi- 
 deration, that the pressure hitherto used to 
 keep down the religion of Ireland, to this day 
 ensures it vigour and compactness; and I would 
 remove the pressure, in order to approach it in 
 a less resisting state, with a view towards its 
 suppression by other means."
 
 176 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Sound policy, generally speaking," assented 
 the Minister. 
 
 " Next, my Lord, I must own that I would 
 emancipate the Roman Catholics of Ireland, in 
 redemption, if for no other reason, of a pledge 
 lately given them, as I think on the question ?" 
 
 " A pledge, Mr. Blount ?" 
 
 " During the negotiation of the National 
 Union between the two countries, my impres- 
 sion is, that, to secure their acquiescence in the 
 measure, the English Government did pledge 
 itself to grant full relief to the Irish Catholics." 
 
 " We were, I believe, scarcely aware of the 
 fact," said the Minister. 
 
 " The words of the Act of Union declare, 
 ' That every one of the Lords and Commons of 
 the Parliament of the United Kingdom, and 
 every member of the United Kingdom, in the 
 first and every succeeding Parliament, shall, 
 until the Parliament of the United Kingdom 
 otherwise provide, take the oaths now provided 
 to be taken." 
 
 " Those are the words, indeed, Mr. Blount." 
 
 " And it seems to me, my Lord, that they at 
 
 least imply " Gerald paused, vexed at his 
 
 own interpretation.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 177 
 
 " Words may seem to imply many meanings," 
 remarked the Minister, smiling. 
 
 " To mean," rallied Gerald, " that after the 
 Union, a change in ' the oaths to be taken,' by 
 which change Roman Catholics might sit in 
 Parliament, was then intended, or professed to 
 be intended." 
 
 " The clause may probably bear your con- 
 struction, in part." 
 
 " In proposing these Articles of Union to the 
 House of Commons," continued Gerald, " Mr. 
 Pitt said that, ' in the present state of things, 
 and while Ireland remains a separate kingdom, 
 no man can say that full concessions can be 
 made to the Catholics.' And here I find the 
 inference, my Lord, that, as soon as Ireland 
 should become united to England, the full con- 
 cessions could be made." 
 
 " You might add," still smiled the Minister, 
 " and as soon as ' the (then) present state of 
 things should have changed;' for the sentence 
 you quote contains the double proviso. Both 
 events are said to be indispensable to the grant- 
 ing ' full concessions.' " 
 
 " The expression, ' present state of things/ 
 struck me, my Lord, as only alluding to the 
 i5
 
 178 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 then state of Ireland, considered as < a separate 
 kingdom.'" 
 
 " Others may read the sentence differently, 
 Mr. Blount ; and suppose that Mr. Pitt alluded 
 to ' a state of things' distinct from the question 
 of Irish Union, which, as I before said, it was 
 as necessary to see materially altered, before 
 emancipation could be granted, as it was neces- 
 sary to see Ireland united to England, before 
 the same measure could be entertained." 
 
 " My Lord, Mr. Pitt and his leading friends, 
 as he writes himself to Lord Cornwallis, 
 finding, after the Union, insurmountable ob- 
 stacles to the bringing forward measures of con- 
 cession to the Catholic body, whilst in office, 
 felt it impossible to continue in administra- 
 tion under the inability to propose it with the 
 circumstances necessary for carrying the measure 
 with all its advantages; and he and they 
 tendered, for that reason, their memorable re- 
 signation." 
 
 " True, they did so," assented the Minister, 
 
 " And presumptive proof appears here, my 
 Lord, that he and they believed they had given 
 the pledge I speak of."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 179 
 
 " It was not thought, Mr. Blount, at least so 
 far as we can ascertain, that a pledge of any 
 kind was given." 
 
 " Then, my Lord, hopes were held out." 
 
 " Many are of your opinion." 
 
 " Hopes," continued Gerald, spiritedly, " by 
 which the Irish people were deceived." 
 
 " Their own hopes may have deceived them." 
 
 " But may we not also say, my Lord, that 
 they were deceived into those hopes ?" 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Blount," again smiling kindly ; 
 <f we may not say so." 
 
 " Well then, my Lord," and Gerald re- 
 sponded the good humour of the Minister's 
 handsome features ; ** only this ; they were al- 
 lowed to deceive themselves." 
 
 " Perhaps that comes nearer to it." 
 
 Gerald having previously risen, the Mi- 
 nister now touched his hand, and bowed him 
 out. 
 
 " Yes," he soliloquized, as he walked down 
 Pali-Mall, " I suppose, after all, such is the 
 real state of the case. I wish, for their own 
 sakes, as well as for facilitating the regeneration 
 I propose in their favour, that my half-country-
 
 180 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 men would get rid, in a degree, of their 
 habit of taking for granted every thing they 
 hope may come to pass. Notwithstanding his 
 coxcombry, Mr. Stewart meant them no harm 
 last night, when he commanded me to make 
 them * a calculating people.' Does their sim- 
 plicity arise from ingenuous feelings, or from 
 careless and rash habits of thinking? from a 
 freshness of heart that cannot conceive of others 
 the simulation (old Bacon's lauded word) it is 
 itself unconscious of, or from unformed cha- 
 racter, and that ardour to obtain, which is a 
 feature of mental indolence ? At all events, 
 they don't seem to know the world."" 
 
 " My dear friend ! my dear Mr. Blount ! 
 my dear Gerald !" exclaimed Mr. Gore, coming 
 up behind, and breaking through his reverie, as 
 thus, by a handsome climax, he gained the top 
 of perfect familiarity ; " A thousand thanks to 
 your excellent brother! and, on his account, a 
 thousand thanks to you, too ! wish me joy ! 
 My little affair is already settled, through Lord 
 Clangore's friendship, and that of the Secretary, 
 and now I have only to wish my London friends 
 health and happiness, and return at once to my 
 dear, dear home !"
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 181 
 
 " I congratulate you, Mr. Gore, and am glad 
 my brother could be useful to you." 
 
 " Ah, my excellent young friend, I know 
 how you feel ; I know the hearts of all your 
 amiable family."" They had now joined arms, 
 and were walking on together: " Yes; this 
 very day I must leave you, every thing re- 
 quires it; business, prudence, the feelings of 
 a fond father ; every thing ; but, good God !" 
 He stopped suddenly, and laid his hand on his 
 breast, as if to check some disagreeable or pain- 
 ful oppression of the blood, perhaps. 
 
 " Are you ill ?" asked Gerald, in something 
 of the dismay depicted on the face of his friend. 
 
 *' No, thank you, no not absolutely ill ; no 
 physical sensations I beg your pardon ; come 
 on," with a heavy sigh. 
 
 " But may I ask the cause of your agita- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " No matter ; I scarce wish to trouble you 
 by mentioning it, and, only that I know your 
 heart, I would not ; but, in fact, called on, as I 
 am, by the united voices of duty and affection, 
 to leave London to-day, I forgot, in the height 
 of my spirits at the thought, that, owing to my 
 hurried departure from Ireland, and not having
 
 182 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 calculated certain claims connected with my 
 appointment, and just made upon me, I do not 
 stand prepared to in a word, I cannot possi- 
 bly stir till I receive an answer to a letter I 
 must write home this very instant." 
 
 Understanding this, though he only inter- 
 preted it literally, Gerald had before obliged 
 his English-Irish countrymen, and with the 
 best heart in the world (Mr. Gore said he 
 knew it was,) he therefore hesitated. While at 
 Cambridge, expected remittances used some- 
 times to take a long time in coming from Ireland 
 to certain of his friends there, and Gerald, 
 more than once appealed to, seldom refused to 
 make up for their delay. But after their arri- 
 val at Cambridge, at least after the day when, 
 making every possible allowance, they ought to 
 have arrived, he was surprised that, in the pro- 
 portion in which he had anticipated them, they 
 took a still longer time in coming to him. In 
 fact, he was obliged, on one occasion, to tres- 
 pass on his brother, (a thing, no matter how 
 sincerely they esteemed each other, he felt dis- 
 tressed at doing,) when at last convinced that 
 they would not come to him at all. And as no 
 Englishman or Scotchman of his acquaintance
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 183 
 
 ever appeared thus skilled in spending more 
 than they could afford, and forgetting to re- 
 fund the borrowed surplus, or, as it might be, 
 were ever compelled to trouble their friends 
 in consequence of having been boldly sent out 
 into the world without having the means of 
 meeting its claims, Gerald concluded the prac- 
 tice was purely Irish ; and for all these reasons, 
 as I have said, he now hesitated, though only 
 one-and-Lwenty, to reply at once to Mr. Gore's 
 statement. 
 
 "But do not let me annoy you with my 
 private affairs," continued Mr. Gore : " I shall 
 only trouble you for house-room to scribble my 
 letter, Lord Clangore's house being at hand, 
 and my hotel so far off; without particular 
 connexions in London, I must submit to my 
 fate as I can, for a week at least ; though," 
 heaving another sigh, "heaven only knows 
 what may happen at home, in the meantime !" 
 
 Gerald's hesitation vanished. Mr. Gore seem- 
 ed to hint that some inconvenience, no matter 
 what, might possibly arise, by his absence, to 
 " the three most beautiful creatures in Dublin," 
 and he was conquered at a blow. 
 
 " My dear Sir," he said, " you must not, in
 
 184 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 this case, at least, regret the want of close con- 
 nexions in London, if, indeed, you can allow 
 me to have the pleasure of obliging you." 
 
 " Excellent friend ! dear Mr. Blount !" as 
 he seized Gerald's hand, u I did not dream of 
 making such a request ; but, since you have so 
 kindly expressed yourself, I but again, I fear 
 the amount of the necessary sum puts it out of 
 the question ; for I am called on, since my ap- 
 pointment, to expend, one way or other, and on 
 account of the appointment alone, about three 
 hundred and fifty pounds." 
 
 It was, indeed, a sum much more considera- 
 ble than Gerald had contemplated ; but he 
 could not well draw back. He only ventured 
 to inquire if three hundred and fifty pounds 
 would quite enable Mr. Gore to undertake, 
 without delay, his journey to Ireland ? 
 
 " Quite : of course all my travelling expendi- 
 ture has been calculated ; this unexpected de- 
 mand could alone cause any inconvenience." 
 
 Gerald stepped into a shop, and wrote a 
 draft on his banker for the sum. 
 
 " Thanks, my dear young friend ! and be 
 assured, that my punctuality in a remittance" 
 (Gerald winced at the word) " shall be the first
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 185 
 
 proof of my lively recollection of your kind- 
 ness. God Almighty bless you, farewell !" 
 
 I shall not decidedly state, from my authen- 
 tic sources of information, whether or not " the 
 appointment"" really, and exclusively, made 
 this sudden claim on the worthy Mr. Gore; 
 whether or not part, at least, of Gerald's three 
 hundred and fifty pounds contributed, in va- 
 rious little ways, to a subsequent display, in 
 Dublin, which, with his fascinating lady, and 
 the three " most beautiful creatures," the spend- 
 thrift and needy Irish gentleman would, for 
 reasons of his own, have almost " coined his 
 heart" to keep up ; it is sufficient for the pre- 
 sent (we may meet Mr. Gore again) to inform 
 my reader that (how Gerald honoured, as his 
 sole comfort, his first misgivings!) the promised 
 remittance, which was " to give the first proof," 
 &c. took as long a time in travelling from the 
 Pigeon-house to Holyhead, as any of its visio- 
 nary predecessors, before alluded to, had done. I 
 will be generous, and anticipate a little more. 
 It never " came to hand." 
 
 Gerald took his seat in the House. The night 
 for the discussion of the Catholic Claims drew 
 on, and he prepared the heads of his maiden
 
 186 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 speech. Upon the last division on the question, 
 it had passed the Commons with a majority ; 
 a small one, indeed, but still a majority ; and 
 now he anticipated some increase of numbers. 
 However, while the opponents of the measure 
 did not relax in their ardour and unanimity, 
 there was a difference of opinion among the 
 usual friends of the Catholics, as to the fitness 
 of the present time for renewed discussion. 
 Upon some trifling point, too, naturally sepa- 
 rated from the merits of the question, such as 
 the duty of an advocate to receive, or not to 
 receive, from the Catholic Committee in Dublin, 
 instructions for a remote contingency, misun- 
 derstanding had arisen, and personal feelings, 
 not perhaps quite surmountable by the most 
 dignified statesman or senator, were allowed to 
 mingle with and to sway convictions long set- 
 tled down, and zeal that could not be impeach- 
 ed. But the leaders consented to bring the 
 matter to a debate, and Gerald did not doubt, 
 although apprized of what has been mentioned, 
 that, when once in the field, their energy would 
 appear manifest in all its former force, and that 
 their friends would still rally round them, and 
 ensure a majority.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 187 
 
 The view of the House, as he entered it, upon 
 the evening of the debate, was, however, omi- 
 nous enough. It could hardly be called a full 
 house ; and the careless or loud chatting of the 
 members, during the disposal of some preced- 
 ing routine business, so different from their 
 serious silence or close whispering just before 
 the opening of other debates, in the probable 
 issue of which Jie had known them to have been 
 absorbed, struck on Gerald's heart with in- 
 creased foreboding. Looking more observantly 
 around him, the Treasury benches seemed better 
 filled than those of the Opposition, and this did 
 not give him re assurance. 
 
 The grey-headed veteran of the Roman Ca- 
 tholics arose, and, notwithstanding the previous 
 symptoms of indifference, commanded great at- 
 tention. It was impossible for either lukewarm 
 friend or determined foe to look on him, and 
 listen to him, and refuse this tribute. No mat- 
 ter what might be their inclinations to the 
 cause, its faithful and life-long advocate stood 
 before them. Sincerity, divine sincerity, the at- 
 tribute that raises man nearest to his God, sin- 
 cerity, once flashed from the eagle-eye of youth, 
 and still mildly beaming upon the snowy brows
 
 188 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 of age, could expect and obtain no less, even 
 if alone with hatred. 
 
 Recollecting the attributed differences just 
 then existing between him and his Roman Ca- 
 tholic clients, perhaps there might be observ- 
 able some slight want of identity with them, 
 not visible on former occasions ; some subdued 
 independence of every consideration but the 
 abstract greatness of his cause. But no other 
 change could be detected. With a peculiar elo- 
 quence, which gained from his own genius 
 what it wanted of the academic severities of the 
 old models, he still laboured to place, upon its 
 broadest pediment, the question of human 
 rights and freedom. Philosophy and imagina- 
 tion, so seldom found together, lent their hands 
 by turns, and with equal force and propriety, 
 to speed his task. In the quiescence of age, 
 in the experience of reason, poetical associations 
 still had their influence upon him, and, through 
 him, upon his hearers too. After arguing a 
 position, until it gradually assumed all the fea- 
 tures of truth, the religious reverence that its na- 
 ture had called up, beguiled him, for instance, 
 into some old cathedral, and the pealing of the
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 189 
 
 organ-hymn through the length of the fretted 
 roof, added sensations of holy influence, to the 
 effects of human reasoning. He sat down ; 
 and, so soon as feeling could change into ad- 
 miration, the cheer that greeted the veteran 
 was the united voice of the House. 
 
 And here ended the interest of the evening. 
 To Gerald's surprise and mortification, neither 
 the friends nor the enemies of the measure went 
 to much trouble in supporting or opposing it. 
 That the venerable Henry Grattan should be 
 heard at length, seemed to have been fixed; 
 but that a certain result should follow, as much 
 in course as if he had not opened his lips, 
 seemed also taken for granted on both sides. 
 Shadows and skeletons of speeches were, indeed, 
 put forward ; but, connected with them, the 
 sole thing which challenged Gerald's attention, 
 was the fact that some were, in part, delivered 
 by former supporters of emancipation, who now, 
 upon principles of temporary expediency, stated 
 their intention not to vote for going into a com- 
 mittee. His patron, the Minister, was foremost 
 in the rank of expediency-men, and, of course, 
 Grattan found himself in a minority.
 
 190 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 *' Why, this is worse than our debates at 
 Cambridge," said Gerald to himself, as he 
 made his way out of the House. 
 
 " What 's the matter now ?" asked his friend 
 Gunning, who, with his hands and chin leaning 
 on his stick, had been sitting, introduced by a 
 member, listening to Grattan's speech, under 
 the gallery. 
 
 " Walk out with me and you shall hear," 
 answered Gerald, offering his arm. 
 
 " Move slower, if we are to stay together," 
 said Gunning, not relishing Gerald's bustling 
 through the crowds in the lobby. " Stop a mo- 
 ment," it was only an excuse to take breath 
 and balance himself " there 's the little wooden 
 pillar," touching it with his stick, " that was 
 covered the other day with poor Perceval's 
 blood." 
 
 They gained the piazzas and "Well ?" con- 
 tinued Gunning. Gerald stated all his surprise, 
 his disappointment, and his mortification. I 
 omitted to mention that, in the moderate tem- 
 perature in which he found the House, he had 
 magnanimously spurned the notion of throwing 
 away upon it his " cram" speech.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 191 
 
 " And is that all ?"" resumed Gunning ; 
 " why, how would you have it ? There has 
 been more talk, to be sure, on former occasions ; 
 but what good did that do ? what good would 
 it do now to you, or me, or any body ?" 
 
 " It would advance the question." 
 
 " Not a peg. Come ; you have left school, 
 and ought to be growing into a practical man. 
 It is very fine for a statesman of one-and-twenty 
 to tell us that we should give up a certainty for 
 a probability." 
 
 " Pray tell me more particularly what you 
 mean. 11 
 
 " As particularly as you like. Englishmen 
 know that they enjoy their present independ- 
 ence; their liberty to read, and think, and 
 speak, without a book-censor, or an inquisitor ; 
 to go to church or stay at home of a rainy 
 Sunday ; to pass a shovel-hat in the street with- 
 out being afraid of it, these, and other com- 
 forts, they know they possess, chiefly because 
 Romanists have been and are kept down. And 
 do you think that they will set Romanists up 
 again, upon the remotest chance of losing any 
 one of their pleasant privileges ? or, most sa-
 
 192 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 pient legislator, even upon the chance of taking 
 the sting out of the Romanists by making them 
 all good Church of England-men ?" 
 
 " I thought, Mr. Gunning, that a little more 
 of generosity of motive and view might have 
 come to the consideration of this question,"" said 
 Gerald, half forsaking what he thought his own 
 exclusive grounds of advocacy. 
 
 " Why should it ? Generosity ! what 's that ? 
 amongst men of sense, even of the best feeling, 
 properly directed, it can and ought to mean no 
 more than promoting others' interests without in- 
 juring your own. In any other definition, it be- 
 comes wild and unprincipled impulse, destructive 
 to its possessor, and dangerous to the well-being 
 of society. Here is a clear case of almost cer- 
 tain injury to ourselves by obliging others, and 
 therefore here can be no generosity, as you 
 call it." 
 
 " These are your true sentiments ? v 
 
 " To be sure they are ; and the true senti- 
 ments of the majority, I tell you, of true Eng- 
 lishmen I don't care a straw about the word 
 Protestant Englishmen will do. We are re- 
 flecting people selfish, if you will and I do 
 believe, that what in other countries is called
 
 THE ANGLO IRISH. 193 
 
 amor patrice. is, amongst us, nothing but a huge 
 conglomeration of love of ourselves ; but I am 
 glad of it ; I like selfishness ; there's sense in it; 
 there 's the germ of universal good in it ; be- 
 cause, where every man in a country takes care 
 of himself, all the men of a country will pros- 
 per, and, better than that, be independently 
 prosperous. I'm selfish myself; I take care of 
 myself ; and 'tis because I do take care of my- 
 self that I would not give another single chance 
 of injuring me to these Catholics : and, I say 
 again, 'tis because millions of men are of my 
 mind that, till minds and things change, they 
 must stay as they are." 
 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Gunning, since it happens 
 to be partly a religious question, that some 
 slight religious feelings, either drawn from my 
 view, or from the charitable spirit of Christia- 
 nity, do not seem to influence the heavy majo- 
 rity you would claim on your side." 
 
 " Religious fiddlestick ! Charitable politics 
 indeed ! all very fine for school-dreams, but ri- 
 diculous when forming any part of the calcula- 
 tions of a man of the world. But stop; since 
 you have brought in the Church, there's the 
 most holy and apostolic bench, who, though not 
 
 VOL. i. K
 
 194 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 exactly with me, are against you. And how do 
 you hope to dispose of them ? Have you never 
 chanced to suppose that one of th_> first results 
 of Catholic emancipation in Ire 1 ^.nd would be a 
 strong effort, at least, to overhaul the rent-rolls 
 or tithe-rolls of the Establishment ? And al- 
 though I have nothing to do with them are 
 you valiant enough to hope that the anointed 
 lords, and their family connexions, the other 
 lords, who, taken together, form, and always 
 must form, two thirds of the Upper House, will 
 ever contemplate a measure leading, even by 
 possibility, to church retrenchment ? This is 
 all as old as the moon's horns to me, but you 
 really seem to have to think of it, yet." 
 
 " But, notwithstanding your thundering pro- 
 phecies, we are making way," resumed Gerald. 
 
 " How ? your question has passed the Com- 
 mons. 'Tis lost again. 'Twill pass again ; 
 and will be lost again. But let it always pass, 
 and go up to the petticoat Lords, what will you 
 have gained ? what way made ? Members of 
 the Cabinet now and then vote with you. The 
 votes of the same number of the dumb men 
 would count as much. When you make it a 
 Cabinet question I '11 speak to you more on that
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 196 
 
 point. But it passes the Commons now, and 
 some Ministers vote for it, and this did not hap_ 
 pen twenty years ago. Granted. Not an inch 
 of way really made yet. The true obstacles 
 remain as undiminished as ever. Is it possible 
 that in these seeming lapses into liberality, as 
 you call it, you, a senator and a philosopher, 
 see much more than the well-calculated appear- 
 ances permitted, nay, organized, for the purpose 
 of keeping the wild Irish people from playing 
 the devil, out and out ? ' Evidences of the 
 march of mind,' and so forth I know you call 
 them. Stuff. If a certain finger but wagged, 
 they would, few as they are, vanish like your 
 poetical mist of the morning. Do tell your dear 
 Irish connexions not to be making so many mis- 
 takes. But no no, don't. If the delusion be 
 broken, they may kick up their heels, and that 
 might annoy us just now ; though as Wellesley 
 is going on so well in the Peninsula, perhaps we 
 may soon not care whether you do or not." 
 
 If what certain finger wagged?" asked 
 Gerald. 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear !" cried Mr. Gunning, 
 half aifecting, half feeling peevishness ; " what 
 am I to do with him ? Hark you, our States- 
 K 2
 
 196 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 man ; first get a majority of one hundred, in- 
 stead of four or fifteen, in the Commons, and 
 I'll praise you; next get the bishops to give 
 you a majority of one, and I'll praise you 
 more ; and (whisper) then get a Royal as- 
 sent, drawn from the coronation -oath and the 
 conscience-keeper, and then 
 
 ' Thy stone, oh Sisyphus ! stands still, 
 Ixion rests upon his wheel, 
 And' the wild Irish ' dance* 
 
 " Good night ! come and see me." 
 
 " Ay," ruminated Gerald, now left alone ; 
 " there might indeed have been other changes, 
 as my patron says, than the change of Irish 
 orators to an English Parliament, contemplated 
 and meant by Mr. Pitt, in that clause ; and if 
 only half of what Gunning asserts, exists in 
 fact, the people of Ireland have been indeed, 
 and are, allowed to make great fools of them- 
 selves. Wretched people ! And, in the same 
 view the Minister and I vote according to our 
 fancies, without lett or hindrance ; pshaw ! 
 I'm tired already ; there is nothing to be done 
 but to assimilate them ; though, how that itself 
 is to be done, no one will let me think."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 197 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 <: NEXT Wednesday evening," read Gerald 
 out of a Morning Paper, some weeks after, " the 
 Countess of Kilbane gives her first evening 
 party, this season.' 1 ' 
 
 " And I am to go, and here was I thinking 
 it a week farther off," he continued, addressing 
 Lord Clangore. " And that very day, too, we 
 dine with the Minister, I believe, Walter." 
 
 " Yes ; but you will have full time for her 
 ladyship." 
 
 " You forget his lady's conversazione.' 1 '' 
 
 " No, even allowing for that." 
 
 " Do you go ?" 
 
 " I rather think no," answered Lord Clan- 
 gore tiredly ; "to you it will be agreeable 
 enough, even if Lady Kilbane, or her friend Lady 
 Offally, asks you to take some of the heavy 
 business of their Irish-improvement-society off
 
 198 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 their hands ; you can laugh, or accept the ho- 
 nour, just as you like, and then otherwise 
 amuse yourself ; but I 've been asked so often, 
 'tis death ; and then, from my * official im- 
 portance,' as they say, I am a mark for being 
 asked again." 
 
 " What is the Society about ?" 
 
 " Mercy, Gerald; don't put such a question!" 
 
 " Will it do any good ?" 
 
 "Ah, how can I tell? Go to Lady Kil- 
 bane's, and ask there, and listen you have only 
 to listen and then judge for yourself." 
 
 " A countess in her own right, you say ?" 
 
 " Yes and married twice ; and now, at for- 
 ty-five, the Countess of Kilbane is still eligible 
 to matrimony ; try if she 's not ; for I do sus- 
 pect your many questions about her Ladyship, 
 as well as about her unincumbered tract of 
 Irish hills and bogs, Gerald." 
 
 " No, sister Ann ; I Ve not courage enough 
 for a female blue-beard ; but I '11 go and see 
 her." 
 
 At about half past nine o* clock, next Wed- 
 nesday night, Gerald accordingly escaped from 
 a conversazione that was waxing heavy to his 
 apprehension, and soon found his carriage stopt
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 199 
 
 half the street away from the blaze of light in 
 front of Lady Kilbane's mansion. After enjoy- 
 ing many minutes the usual noisy emulation 
 between different coachmen before him ; their 
 scolding and calling names, and sometimes 
 their flagellating each other, mixed with the 
 dictatorial orders and commands of officers and 
 constables, or the shouting of the curious crowd 
 round the door, as a panel or spoke gave way 
 when its enthroned director would not ; Gerald 
 at last gained the skirts of a fashionable throng, 
 who, immediately in advance of him, were enter- 
 ing the hall, or bustling up the stairs. Before he 
 could make much way, a strange double-knock 
 sounded at the door, now closed behind him ; 
 and, as he turned in quick surprise, a servant 
 admitted a strange-looking visitor. This was 
 a little old man, low, fat, and waddling in his 
 gait, with a healthy red and white but most vul- 
 gar face, a vast bald head, and wearing, loosely 
 buttoned about him, a kind of easy great-coat, 
 misshaped and uncouth, and of a coarse mate- 
 rial, such as, to Gerald's eye, seemed of fo- 
 reign manufacture. 
 
 " Is your lady in the place, Sir ?" asked 
 this person of a sneering servant, speaking in
 
 200 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 an Irish brogue, too broad even for the gross 
 stage caricature, as he slowly took pf his na- 
 tional wrap-rascal and handed it to be put by, 
 now showing himself clad all in new black, and 
 standing in a pair of hob-shoes, covered, as was 
 the skirt of the great-coat, with the mire of the 
 streets, through which he had tramped to the 
 rendezvous of elegance and fashion. 
 
 " Tell her Ladyship, then, that Misther Cor- 
 nelius O'Hanlon is here below," he resumed, 
 after the attendant had answered in his own 
 way, and, half shrinking back, accepted, be- 
 tween a finger and thumb,, the precious article 
 committed to his care " but stop, my friend," 
 still pursued Mr. O'Hanlon "there's some- 
 thing in the right-hand pocket of that snug 
 coat I '11 be asking from you ; it isn't with 
 these upon my feet I 'd go up to her Lady- 
 ship," smiling and pointing to his brogues, as 
 they might be "but as the streets were so bad 
 for walking, I just drew them on to save the 
 clane pair I put in the pocket : give 'em, and 
 I'll thank you ; I can just sit down here, in the 
 corner of the hall, while the company is mo- 
 ving up, and put them on the poor feet." 
 
 The scandalized attendant indignantly led
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 201 
 
 him into a room off the hall ; and by the time 
 that Gerald gained the middle of the stairs, 
 Mr. O'Hanlon, holding with both hands by the 
 bannisters, and his clean shoes creaking at 
 every step, waddled to his side, and, Gerald 
 drawing back, passed him. 
 
 Looking through the door which allowed a 
 view of the spot Lady Kilbane had chosen to 
 receive her visitors, Gerald soon after saw him 
 make his bow, and (but not until he had stood 
 some time, evidently to her embarrassment, at 
 the side of his hostess,) turn off with another 
 singular-looking man, and retire to a corner. 
 Mr. O'Hanlon 's acquaintance showed, indeed, 
 little of the peculiar vulgarity which fully in- 
 vested himself; yet it was almost as startling to 
 see, in such a situation, one or other of the gen- 
 tlemen. His face was not, like Mr. O'Hanlon's, 
 broad, round, and ruddy, and surmounted by 
 a shining ball of bare skull; yet its swarthy 
 paleness, its close deep expression, its large 
 black watchful eyes, and the sleek black hair 
 that ran straight across the forehead, within an 
 inch of the brows, gave, no more than did Mr. 
 O'Hanlon's, any notion of rank, or even of gen- 
 tlemanly habits of mind or person. 
 K 5
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Defend me !" thought Gerald ; " amid the 
 refinements of this assemblage and place ; amid 
 Lady Kilbane's tasteful decorations, her flowers, 
 her plants, her furniture, her music, her blazing 
 lamps, and her little army of sumptuous atten- 
 dants, how, or why, in the name of taste and 
 probability, are those two persons found here ?" 
 
 He caught, for an instant, the eye of his 
 highly-rouged hostess, and, as he took a step 
 towards her, Gerald's surprise did not abate in 
 consequence of some words of (though they 
 were not addressed to him) explanation upon 
 the very puzzle that absorbed him. 
 
 A serious, if not stately lady, of the middle 
 age, leaning upon the arm of Gerald knew 
 her husband, as serious, and claiming by his 
 brow and air to be still more stately than she, 
 were passing Lady Kilbane, after a salute, when 
 the lady's glances fixed on Mr. O'Hanlon, now 
 at a distance, and, in obvious wonder, she di- 
 rected her husband's attention, by looking into 
 his face, towards that individual. 
 
 " Ask me could I have helped it, dear Lady 
 Offally," whispered Lady Kilbane, loud enough, 
 however, to be heard by Gerald, " and 1 answer 
 I never thought of the poor gentleman till this
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 203 
 
 very day, after the Education Meeting, where, 
 you know, he said so much to the purpose in 
 furtherance of our exertions ; and then, you 
 may remember, you left him chatting at the 
 door with Mr. Loupe and me, and I was com- 
 pelled to interrupt what he was advising, and 
 defer it to another time, when, in the great 
 simplicity of heart that so much characterizes 
 him, he proposed to attend me, at my house, 
 this evening ; and as Mr. Loupe was by, and is 
 his friend, patron rather, and all of us willing 
 to meet Mr. Loupe any where, and he so anx- 
 ious too, to get O'Hanlon in wherever good 
 may be done in fact, I was compelled to say 
 yes ; the trouble being, however," continued 
 Lady Kilbane, with a smile, " to have him un- 
 derstand that he was not to call ' at tay-time.' ;> 
 
 " Perhaps, indeed," said Lady Offally, " good 
 may be done by making Mr. O'Hanlon more 
 known ; and, after all, his peculiarities are not 
 his faults." 
 
 " And having run such risks with his old 
 friends," resumed Lady Kilbane, " he is enti- 
 tled to our protection. Besides, a little atten- 
 tion of this kind will make him what he is so 
 anxious to become, for the sake of the new cause
 
 204 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 he engages in more English than, without us, 
 he could possibly be." 
 
 Lord and Lady Oflally passed on, and 
 Gerald saw an opportunity to make his bow to 
 Lady Kilbane, and, immediately after, he was 
 obliged, without a word, to yield place to a 
 group of new guests. Turning away, the sound 
 of a stick, on the carpet, at measured intervals, 
 caught his ear from behind ; and a glance round 
 showed him his old acquaintance Mr. Gunning. 
 
 " The trio of originals complete !" said 
 Gerald, " though his presence here is not so 
 surprising." 
 
 " I was off but that I saw you," said Gun- 
 ning. 
 
 " Tired so soon ?" 
 
 " Yes of the two men I 've just left yon- 
 der." 
 
 " What two?" 
 
 " One of them a countryman of yours." 
 
 " I am not quite Irish, you know." 
 
 " Well that's the very thing he says ; half- 
 Irish." 
 
 " Tell me about him." 
 
 " Mr. Cornelius O'Hanlon was, till about 
 two years ago, a hedge-schoolmaster in the
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 205 
 
 kingdom of Kerry, teaching his ragged boys to 
 bless themselves and ' consther' Homer, and 
 going to mass every Sunday, and to heaven, 
 as his Milesian sires had gone before him. 
 
 " But some echoes of some of the Bible-meet- 
 ings got up by you half-Irish people, and, 
 indeed, by us whole-English people, found their 
 way to Mr. O'Hanlon, in the solitude of his 
 thatched seminary ; and, either getting a call, 
 or curious to try a new calling, he turned round 
 upon his parish-priest, and became a stout 
 biblical. Perhaps he had wit enough to anti- 
 cipate that the novelty of his appearance in the 
 field would, as much as any thing else, create an 
 interest for him ; I mean his personal as well 
 as any other appearance ; in fact, the real, li ving 
 descendant of a hundred old popish Milesians, 
 coming over in his frieze coat at sixty years of 
 age, with his luscious brogue, and his rustic 
 simplicity, as it were, a converted soul from the 
 darkness of Popery to the light of Scripture- 
 knowledge, might, even to Mr. Cornelius's 
 innocent thoughts, be a very picturesque and 
 effective matter." 
 
 Has he since lived in London ?" 
 
 " Chiefly, I believe ; the resentment of his
 
 206 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 former friends, in Ireland, and all that, not 
 being a thing to be faced ; and it is marvellous 
 in what places I have met him, telling his 
 smooth Kerry stories about himself and his 
 conversion, and the thirst he had left, before he 
 quitted them, upon the souls of his bog-trotting 
 countrymen, for the word of life, and all such 
 admirable matter." 
 
 " Now, his friend, Mr. Loupe." 
 
 " Oh, I see you've heard of him, then. I 
 can't well make that man out. But ask Lady 
 Kilbane ; perhaps she can. This is her fifth 
 season in town, since the death of her second 
 spouse; and as, whether from fear of her, or 
 that she grows so vast, to say nothing else, few 
 among her own set seem over anxious to give 
 her a third chance (between you and me, the 
 first two died of her) ; as this is whispered to be 
 the case, her ladyship, now arrived at the se- 
 rious days of life, becomes Godly, and is given 
 to religious societies, religious meetings, and 
 Mr. Loupe." 
 
 Where did she find him ?" 
 
 " I don't know. Nobody knows where he 
 came from, or to what country or tribe he be- 
 longs. Purely for the sake of poking him out,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 207 
 
 I have myself been at the trouble of talking to 
 Mr. Loupe ; but while the language he speaks 
 is certainly not English, but rather a kind of 
 foreign idiom translated into English words, 
 and those words not every-day words either, 
 but the strangest old-fashioned cant, picked out 
 of the Old Testament, still I hesitate to call 
 him German, Italian, Turk, or Hamburg Jew. 
 My best surmise, however, is, that he has been 
 an old clothes-man." 
 
 " A Jewish convert ?" 
 
 " Don 't ask me, I tell you ; his own rigma- 
 role account of himself is the puzzle. If you 
 credit him, we have the honour of redeeming 
 him, not from an aversion to pork, but from a 
 professorship in the Vatican, I believe; and 
 he farther talks of having been at the tops of a 
 great many mountains in Asia, distributing, 
 with permission of Popish Patriarchs, that 's 
 the best of it, half-crown Bibles to Jews and 
 Romanists he found there. And he has been, 
 or is to be, in Ireland, too, assisting Mr. Priest- 
 ly, who is here to-night, and Lord Harmer, 
 and yourself, and the whole of you, in the 
 reformation of that popish country. Go and 
 speak to him ; he will delight you."
 
 208 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Mr. Gunning turned away, but Gerald did 
 not follow his advice. He saw matter more 
 attractive for conversation. Through the open 
 door of a second room appeared his old ac- 
 quaintance, Lady Cox, sitting upon a sofa, and 
 listening gravely, and, he thought, stupidly, to 
 a young dragoon officer, who, his complete dress 
 of scarlet half hid in lace, and his spurs intrud- 
 ed amongst flounces and slippers, sat, lounging 
 sideways, the very prince of elegant puppies, as, 
 with persevering smiles and ceaseless sentences, 
 he lispingly addressed her. The young and 
 pretty Lady Cox had changed in appearance 
 since Gerald and she last met. Her fine form 
 was more matured ; it displayed a womanly 
 luxury of line ; but, Gerald thought, had an air 
 of indifference to its own appearance, a neglect 
 of display, that might be called half sad, half 
 slovenly, and that the impression of the hand- 
 some face to which it belonged farther illus- 
 trated. While Lady Cox wore her splendid 
 dress in almost the carelessness of dishabille, 
 her slightly-pencilled black eye-brows t,o the 
 destruction of the perfect arch Gerald remem- 
 bered them to have once described without 
 positive frowning almost touched her eyelids ;
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 209 
 
 those lids half closed over the dark eyes, that 
 used, when nearly rounded in natural expan- 
 sion, to flash good humour and enjoyment on 
 every side ; and her small, full lips, of which 
 the former habit had been to remain apart, 
 out-breathing the joyous spirit within, were 
 now closed in a hard, discontented pout, the 
 under-one pressed into little wrinkles, and 
 changed from ruby-red to a cold, bloodless 
 colour. Her cheeks, indeed, were rounder than 
 ever, assisted, perhaps, in this character, by 
 the firm closing of her mouth. 
 
 It was evident, as has been intimated, that 
 she did not care one farthing about all the lan- 
 guid efforts made by her military fop to interest 
 her ; and yet Gerald felt an unnecessary impa- 
 tience of the self-assumed ease with which he 
 lisped on, so close at her ear. Who was he who 
 could thus engage, indeed monopolize, so inter- 
 esting a woman ? " And what is that to you ?"" 
 asked Gerald's common sense of Gerald's non- 
 sense. " Pho !" answered would-be wisdom ; " I 
 have known her and her husband ; and her hus- 
 band is not now at her side, and this dandy is ; 
 that 's all." 
 
 Lady Cox, turning lazily, caught his eye at
 
 210 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 the moment, and, as she half clapped her small 
 gloved hands, a change came over her dull ex- 
 pression of face and manner, that in a degree 
 restored both to their old character. Gerald did 
 not pause to analyse the nature of the interest 
 with which he now rapidly stepped up to her. 
 They met ; and Lady Cox would have " an 
 Irish shake-hands from her old friend Gerald 
 Blount." 
 
 " Blount ? M lisped the young officer, at her 
 side, " Gerald Blount ?" 
 
 " Flood ! is it possible !" and Gerald with 
 some difficulty recognised his Westminster 
 class-mate. They had not met since Gerald left 
 school for College ; Flood, at the early age of 
 sixteen, having entered into active service on 
 the Peninsula. So here was what ought to be 
 one of the proverbially delightful meetings be- 
 tween old school-fellows, long separated, and 
 again coming in contact with each other in man- 
 hood, and in the world. Gerald, indeed, was 
 almost springing to shake Flood's hand, when 
 an extended little finger of that gallant person, 
 covered with white shining kid, seemed to give 
 the cue for moderate transports. There was no 
 superciliousness in the action, no half-cutting ;
 
 THE ANGLO IRISH. 211 
 
 considering the whole character of the man, ab- 
 solutely no coldness even ; Gerald did not there- 
 fore draw back, or draw up ; but, after a mo- 
 ment's quick reasoning, advanced a little finger 
 in return, and was only very much amused. 
 
 Friendship of boyhood ! delicious is your re- 
 collection said to be, but sad are your common 
 fate and history. After all that has been be- 
 lieved to the contrary, how seldom does your 
 scented blossom bring forth ripe fruit ! I tread 
 in imagination within the now deserted precincts 
 of the old school-house, where to know was to 
 attach and be attached, and a friend meets me 
 in every young shiny face, and in the accents of 
 every gabbling tongue ; I quit my dream, and, 
 standing out in the world, I look round for 
 those faces, and listen for those accents; and, 
 alas ! I see them not I hear them not ! Some 
 of the old familiar features are changed into 
 coldness or dislike; a word, I may have 
 penned or spoken, and forgotten an articu- 
 lated puff of breath has made them enemies ; 
 others are estranged from the mere maturity of 
 different characters within us, that in the 
 little miniature world of the school-house had 
 not developed themselves, or had been unno-
 
 212 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 ticed, or mistaken ; and others still vail to my 
 glance, in the sad inferiority of social degrada- 
 tion. Oh ! of the fading of many into the con- 
 fusing shadows of the tomb, I speak not, think 
 not ; but of the fortunes of those friends of 
 childhood and of boyhood, whom in every other 
 way I have lost, a tale might be told, exhibit- 
 ing in epitome all the causes for regret, for 
 moralizing, for tiredness of human life and ex- 
 perience, for very dislike of human nature, and 
 yet, more than all, for the revellings of human 
 pity, to an extent, and in a diversity, that would 
 startle, with truth and wonder, every heart ! 
 Ay, were I to show how, one by one, the smil- 
 ing eyes of youthful friendship grew cold or 
 abashed to mine, and how, scarcely with an ex- 
 ception, they left me to form, in the unnerving 
 scrutiny of observation, new preferences, new 
 facilities for enjoying life, I must necessarily 
 compile a journal of true romance, so absorbing, 
 so wretched, and in some instances, so terrible, 
 that the philosophy which would confine its 
 study to man, need not require with it a se- 
 cond volume, in order to grow perfect in know- 
 ledge, in reflection, and in disgust ! 
 
 " My excellent fellow, how d'ye do?" asked
 
 THE A.NGLO-IRISH. 213 
 
 Flood, in a shrill variation of tone from his or. 
 dinary flippant lisp, as their little fingers touch- 
 ed : " and where have you been lost during the 
 awful and tradesman-like lapse of, I take it, 
 seven whole years since we parted at Westmin- 
 ster ? I've caught, it strikes me, a confused 
 notion of your recent visibility among human 
 affairs, and, I rather believe, was to have in- 
 quired you out, or some such thing; but, friend 
 of my youth, and all that, to what purpose have 
 you breathed, I still venture to ask, until the 
 month before the last, or thereabout ?" 
 
 Gerald, good humouredly, gave an account 
 of himself. " As to you, Flood," he continued, 
 " I thought, but that I meet you here to-night, 
 I should have been at no trouble to supply a 
 general idea of your life, during the same period 
 of seven years ; but I suppose you have only 
 just been dispatched home from the Peninsula." 
 
 " Ah, no! too flattering biographer; more than 
 five years, as they told me, I was, indeed, now 
 and then bored, along with many others, in march- 
 ing and countermarching after the very tiresome 
 French people, and sometimes put to the trouble 
 of marching on before them, and sometimes of 
 knocking them on the head, or of taking a knock
 
 214 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 from them" this, to Gerald's observation, was 
 indeed apparent ; for from beneath the fair and 
 well-curled and well-oiled hair of the narrator 
 issued a sabre cut, that obliquely traversed his 
 round boyish cheek, proclaiming, amid the very 
 consummation of coxcombry of character, some 
 abiding portion of the cool, unostentatious bravery 
 that, in the case of the young Irishman, Wil- 
 liams, had distinguished him at school ; indeed, 
 of his bravery, as well as of his other good quali- 
 ties, Flood never was ostentatious; but, amusing 
 to say, no human being took more pains to dis- 
 play his own follies and nonsense ; " and so 
 wore away the dull time but nay ; ungrateful 
 and oblivious that I am ; thus it did not. I 've 
 but mentioned the exceedingly tedious accidents 
 of life ; its real business went on among the 
 sunny cottages or curious old family castles of 
 the fair south, where sun-burnt beauty, not 
 less beauty for all that, tended the war-worn 
 man, night and day, or with guitar and castanet 
 made him dances in the noon-tide shade vastly 
 natural, fine women, the women of those coun- 
 tries, Lady Cox ; and black hair, black eyes, 
 high foreheads, and little, little red mouths, and 
 the shape tending to the embonpoint, quite their
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 standard of beauty, suffer me to assure you." 
 This digression was delivered in a lisp of, to Ge- 
 rald's ear, confounded impudence, as the half 
 closed eyes of Flood languidly glanced from one 
 to another of the characteristics he enumerated, 
 so obvious in the face and form of Lady Cox ; 
 " And then, good Blount, all this apart, one does 
 get such things, and, if one will be at the trou- 
 ble, learn such things, in those abroad-places ; 
 it is enormously agitating to bring matters to 
 mind, as connected with dates and localities ; 
 but, as it just now strikes me, it was at or 
 about a village called Niza, while domesticated 
 in the prettiest villa in Portugal, among the 
 freshest-hearted creatures, Lady Cox, that I 
 had the happiness to obtain my two dozen of 
 undoubted Barcelonas ; in the citadel, or some 
 such part, of Badajos, an old Frenchman, my 
 prisoner on parole, after that excessively annoy- 
 ing affair, gave me, out of pure gratitude, ray 
 peerless marasquina and oil-of-lavender-black- 
 ing receipt, which I would not exchange for a 
 majority ; an ancient man, with a vastly long 
 beard, Turkish I fancy, who attended our camp 
 near Merida, let me have, after days of negoti- 
 ations, for fifty pounds, my box of cigars, (in-
 
 216 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 eluding my amber cigar-tube,) of which even 
 the yet unexhausted portion is beyond double the 
 money ; my incomparable Poodle (some aver 
 the original chien Munito; he can do such 
 things, Lady Cox every thing but speak, 
 and sometimes he rather startles me with that 
 too, as we sit alone together, I not minding 
 him, over my meerchaum, and he at last losing 
 patience, asking me to play with him,) my 
 Poodle, I say, I picked up on the road to Bur- 
 gos ; this quiz-chain, true Asiatic twist and joint, 
 and weighing above half a pound of gold, cost 
 me a little trouble ; at Talavera, if I do not 
 atrociously err, I happened to see one of our 
 fellows disposed to sabre a young officer of the 
 very teazing enemy, who was already down, 
 and, you know, the case required me to go to 
 the trouble of taking the cut on my own sword ; 
 but the uncommon inconvenience the young 
 Frenchman put me to did him no good, for the 
 bullet he had previously received was abun- 
 dantly sufficient for him, without the favour 
 intended by our rascal; in truth, I imagine he 
 did not hold out above a few minutes after I 
 spoke to him ; but the youth fancied I was so 
 friendly that his very last words endowed me
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 217 
 
 with this trophy. I value it on his account 
 as well as its own," continued Flood, " for even 
 during the very limited period of our mortal ac- 
 quaintance I had a notion though I do deeply 
 sicken at what you philosophers, my Blount, 
 call observation of character I had, however, 
 an excessively slight notion that I might have 
 liked the lad, provided he could have arranged 
 to stand up, take my arm, and limp with me to 
 my quarters, and afterwards live, like a rational 
 person, some time within the sphere of my ac- 
 quaintance. Poor fellow !" he went on, forget- 
 ting for an instant his affectation, much to Ge- 
 rald's delight, though immediately after he re- 
 sumed it " poor fellow ! he pressed my hand 
 too, in their violent French way ; and it occurs 
 to me as possible that the absolutely last word 
 he tried, and could not finish, was ' mother !' 
 but confound him, that's all such vast non- 
 sense." 
 
 The self-compelling military dandy here took 
 out a gold snuff-box, but with a " bah ! only 
 my engine-turned, 1 ' put it up again and pro- 
 duced a second, an antique, richly and curiously 
 embossed, and adding " ay here is the true 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 high-dried !" exquisitely flattered his nasal appe- 
 tite with a few grains held on the upturned 
 thumb. 
 
 " Ah, poor, vain human nature ! w said Lady 
 Cox in an " aside," that only Gerald heard, 
 and that was uttered very gravely, and follow- 
 ed by a little groan. He did not know what 
 to make of the expression, or of the manner 
 and cadence accompanying it ; but supposing 
 the present moment unfelicitous for hinting at 
 an explanation, turned again to his old school- 
 fellow. 
 
 " How do our mere countrymen get on in 
 the field, Flood ?" 
 
 " The question rather preposterously sup- 
 poses one disposed to make observations," re- 
 plied Flood, proceeding with his pinch ; " but 
 against any such inexpressibly curious chimera, 
 I Ve a faint notion my voice has before been 
 slightly heard. However, people you are 
 amongst do talk of those things, and it does, 
 in a most shadowed manner, occur to me that 
 I may produce some remote resemblance of an 
 answer to your serious and incommodious ques- 
 tion, worthy Blount. Generally, then, you will 
 comprehend that our mere and dear Irish con-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 219 
 
 nexions do not get on at all ; that is, I incline 
 to believe, using the term in the sense of ad- 
 vancing themselves in the noncommissioned 
 list, or in the particular estimation of discipli- 
 narians ; but nothing inclining by it to aver 
 that, in the field, with the bayonet, they do 
 not get on considerably, one may suppose, to 
 the inconvenience of the enemy, and, it may 
 be added, in a monstrously ferocious way. My 
 most esteemed parent, Sir Robert Flood, has 
 had the honour of counting some regiments of 
 them in his brigade ; and from him, and many 
 other people, (if one could be bored by minute 
 recollection of things,) as well, I may distantly 
 venture to intimate, as by one's individual re- 
 marks, (if, again, one could always be bound 
 to recall the matters that one's eyes present 
 to one's comprehension,) but by those several 
 means, perhaps, it has reached me that the 
 pure Hibernian fellows on the Peninsula may 
 be said to be exceedingly good for close and 
 hot work ; for instance as I fancy I have 
 just now indicated the turning a wing with 
 the steel ; or taking the forlorn-hope across a 
 lake or river, in open boats, under a three- 
 tiered battery of grape, into some kind of 
 L 2
 
 220 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 breach or other, upon which no ordinarily- 
 rational person would make attempt, even sup- 
 posing the open-boat business remotely out 
 of the question ; and now it does occur, in a 
 less faint shape, that at the word ' prepare to 
 charge P they are in the preposterous habit of 
 taking off and hiding under some bush or 
 stone their shoes and gaiters, and then gal- 
 lopping forward, rather than observing the al- 
 lotted double quick time, with very extraor- 
 dinary yells, to the column pointed out for 
 their work" and Flood went on, his sympa- 
 thizing bravery once more nearly putting his 
 affectation out " I 've an idea, like that of a 
 scattered dream, of some such event, that once, 
 while on such a forlorn-hope as T in the second 
 instance glanced at, they used to send up, from 
 their little boats, the same atrocious descrip- 
 tion of national war-whoop, for every shower of 
 grape and shell that came from the old fortress, 
 though with it, portions and members of them- 
 selves flew rather numerously over the water, 
 and boats sunk or turned up, and so forth, 
 until by the time a landing happened to occur, 
 one fellow out of twenty might have been in 
 a convenient state to effect it ; but to all this
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 let it be added that the provost-serjeants, and 
 the trees of Portugal and Spain were much 
 inconvenienced by them, in consequence of 
 their occasional abduction, upon, perhaps, a 
 forced march, or sometimes during some- 
 thing resembling a run, as from Burgos, of 
 such hens and ducks, kids, lambs and little 
 pigs, as were to be found in the track of a 
 column. 1 " 
 
 " In fact," said Gerald, " they are occasion- 
 ally good auxiliaries in a field ; but an army 
 exclusively composed of them " 
 
 " Would, it occurs to me, be with consider- 
 able facility outmanoeuvred, surrounded, cut 
 off from supplies, or such things," interrupted 
 Flood. 
 
 " But not as easily beaten hand to hand ?" 
 still questioned Gerald. 
 
 " Possibly not that is, if you are disposed 
 somewhat explicitly to mean, good Blount, the 
 very limited portion of success, in rather exten- 
 sive affairs, which may be said to depend on 
 mere fighting." 
 
 " I 've heard you mention you had not lately 
 returned from the Peninsula, Flood." 
 
 " My good Blount, if I were to particularly
 
 222 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 tax my memory, I do suppose nearly two hu- 
 man years have elapsed since my excellent fa- 
 ther sent me, not to England, but to dear, dear 
 Ireland, to be nursed, as he and my Irish old- 
 maiden friends called it, out of the accidental 
 results of a hurt I had had the honour to receive 
 at Fm sure I will not now aver where." 
 
 " I remember it, however," said Gerald, 
 " and remember, too, that the newspaper list 
 gave but few hopes to an old school-fellow of 
 ever seeing you again, though it had missed me 
 that we are indebted to Irish hands for almost 
 completely restoring your visage to its original 
 comeliness." 
 
 " It was not this, my excellent fellow," touch- 
 ing his cheek, " but rather one of the French 
 musket-balls, so remarkably smaller than ours, 
 which caused the slight inconvenience we allude 
 to : a few months, however, in Ireland, again made 
 your ancient friend fit for the aspirations after 
 the tented field, and so forth, that I can recol- 
 lect we used so poetically to read of, now and 
 then, at Westminster ; and my gracious parent 
 received due intimation of the circumstance. 
 But he was pleased to impose his commands for 
 a still longer sojourn in the greenest isle in the
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 world ; and to render his sentence remotely to- 
 lerable, your exile became appointed aid-du- 
 camp to the deputy King of that emerald coun- 
 try ; nay, and held his distinguished appoint- 
 ment until within a very few days ago, under 
 the successor of the vice-regal monarch it was 
 his felicity first to serve. And oh ! curious- 
 minded and man-and-thing-observing Blount ! 
 why were you not in my place, to be inexpres- 
 sibly the better for all I saw and heard, but, 
 for your inestimable sake be it regretted, cannot 
 now accurately call up to improve you ? Some 
 snatches of the agreeable dream I was, however, 
 attempting for Lady Cox's attentive ear, before 
 you condescended to join us. 1 ' 
 
 " Go on, go on," said Gerald. 
 
 " School-mate, never distress one by asking 
 in so impatient a way ; but I conjecture I had, 
 when you came up, just been noticing to her 
 Ladyship, the regal state and observances of 
 my first Irish Sovereign. He was a big, a very 
 big vice-king, addicted, out of patronage of his 
 adopted people, to playing of rackets, and im- 
 bibing the illicit distillation of their mountain 
 corn. As one of his pun-gtnt Dublin judges 
 said of his own situation, my monarch kept a
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 racket-court be it permitted to his Excel- 
 lency's ex-servant to add, inside his castle, 
 as well as out of it. The never-fading ho- 
 nour has been mine to hold the deputy royal 
 hat, coat, and vest, (and dram and bottle, 
 too,) while, clad in Welsh flannel, his mus- 
 cular arm struck out the bounding racket- 
 ball. The unpretending individual who sits 
 before you has listened twice, or, could he 
 boast a memory, perhaps more than that, to 
 the historical anecdote of the York whisker, its 
 destruction and scattering to the winds of Hea- 
 ven, by the fierce pistol-bullet of his illustrious 
 chief. 
 
 " Under this, my first master, we were all 
 Orange/' 
 
 " Do, Flood," interrupted Gerald, " since 
 you must have seen and heard so much about 
 it, do tell me exactly what that word means, in 
 Ireland ?" 
 
 " Incredibly monstrous question, fellow-stu- 
 dent Hope nothing from us, ' exactly.' One 
 cannot be an Irish party prism in your philo- 
 sophic hands, to collect, so very precisely, the 
 intellectual rays, that, in your paternal land, 
 fascinate the eye with orange, blue, or green.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 225 
 
 We were Orange, I aver, and I aver no more. 
 Our court graciously received Orange addresses, 
 congratulations, and duteous requests not to go 
 away, and we vouchsafed affectionate answers. 
 There was a statue of a man with a philibeg on 
 horseback, in the middle of a Dublin street, and 
 this was our Jaggernaut ; and neither the old 
 man of the sea, nor the metal man that rowed 
 a boat round the adamantine mountain, nor yet 
 the metal horse on the top of that mountain, 
 three personages to be met with, 1 fancy, in 
 the pleasant volumes of the Arabian Nights' 
 Entertainments, ever created a more absorbing 
 interest. The question was, should the egg be 
 broken for eating at top or bottom ? in other 
 words, should this bare-legged man and his 
 horse be dressed or not be dressed, with a score 
 yards of ribbons, once or twice in the year ? 
 Behold the grand question that agitated our 
 Court. Your poor friend and orator has as- 
 sisted at its discussion, and conveyed dispatches 
 about it, often enough to entitle him slightly 
 and modestly, to lay claim to the gratitude of 
 his paternal country. 
 
 "It does not strongly occur to me to deno- 
 minate our colour under my next master. Per- 
 L 5
 
 226 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 haps it might be speculatively called a dun- 
 colour ; or, if we were Orange, we did not imme- 
 diately care to blazon it forth ; or we had vastly 
 more serious things to do. Our Court now 
 became a proper, virtuous, well-behaved Court. 
 We cultivated turnips in the lawn of our Vice- 
 Regal Lodge in the Phoenix Park : and our 
 Deputy-Queen and the young Princesses held 
 sober drawing-rooms, or went forth arrayed in 
 Dublin Liberty Tabinet, to rescue, by a sub- 
 scription ball at the Rotunda, thousands of the 
 vastly ingenious manufacturers of that excellent 
 and glossy article, from immediate demise by 
 hunger, and the dearth of Bible." 
 
 " Pray be less profane in your expressions, 
 Captain Flood," said Lady Cox, severely. He 
 flowed on without minding. 
 
 *' There our sovereign and his consort sat on 
 little thrones, and we of the household, the cor- 
 poration, the law, and the prescription, formed 
 around a goodly court. It was excessively en- 
 tertaining. One could hardly see king and 
 queen better performed at the more regular 
 theatres ; and all the tabinet women of Dublin 
 round about us ; all the lady-mayoresses for 
 twenty years before, mostly keeping their titles,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 because during office, James, John, or Tom, 
 had been dubbed Sir John, Sir James, or Sir 
 Tom ; and the sheriffs' wives, too, all calling 
 each other * my lady,' and the whole of this 
 being Dublin aristocracy." 
 
 " Come, Flood, now show us a few of the 
 beauties of your Rotunda assembly, 11 said Ge- 
 rald. 
 
 " Indeed !" resumed Flood, speaking to him- 
 self; " can it be so possible?" quite re-assuming 
 the languid lisp he had lately in a degree for- 
 gotten. " Yes, though -Blount, your pardon 
 Lady Cox, yours to think of seeing her here !" 
 and with his curious quizzing-glass, suspended 
 from his half-pound Asiatic gold-chain, he was 
 sliding off, when the catching of his spur in one 
 of Lady Cox's negligently -disposed flounces, 
 caused a moment's demur. With Gerald's as- 
 sistance, however, Flood scarcely noticing the 
 disaster, but still looking off the flounce was 
 quickly restored to its liberty, and at last the 
 gallant young dandy clanked to a card-table, 
 and they saw him address and stand over the 
 chair of a very charming young girl. 
 
 " And now he is gone, 11 said Lady Cox, " I 
 don't know when I have been so much relieved.
 
 228 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 He's a very tiresome, spoilt young man. I 
 knew him in Dublin ; but, although not inde- 
 pendent in point of personal happiness of any 
 proper friendly attention, his levity, and I 
 repeat what I've just charged him with his 
 irreligious turn, were not the things for me." 
 
 " How r cried Gerald, still quite at a loss 
 to make out Lady Cox in her new character, 
 " and could so much merit, in every way, 
 stand in need of " 
 
 " Mr. Bloimt," interrupted her Ladyship 
 more gravely than ever, while her eyes sought 
 the floor, " if, at a former period of our acquaint- 
 ance I was child enough to interchange such silly 
 allusions and conversations, allow me to inform 
 you, that reflection and good example, assisted, 
 perhaps, by the want of the personal happiness I 
 have before alluded to, now warn me to adopt 
 a different style of speaking, as well indeed, as 
 of acting. I am, let me be thankful for it, 1 ' 
 her dark eyes half moistened, were here lifted 
 up, " I am in time, I hope, arrived at the 
 settled conviction, that in this uncertain and 
 contemptible life we have only one anchor, one 
 true source of enjoyment." 
 
 " Then I have the honour to think with you,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 229 
 
 Madam," said Gerald, getting out of his puz- 
 zle a little ; yet why any portion of the conver- 
 sation they might have held together, during 
 the short period of their last and first meeting 
 should thus be so particularly, and, he thought, 
 penitentially adverted to, seemed to propose a 
 new puzzle, though of a different kind. 
 
 " And, 1 ' continued the young, and, notwith- 
 standing her protest, the still almost childish 
 Lady Cox " and Mr. Blount, the reason why, 
 without either affectation or doubt, I tell you 
 I can draw some interest from your conver- 
 sation in general society, is, because from my 
 observation of your character I think you 
 well-founded in religious principles at least, 
 and therefore, not likely to speak as irreve- 
 rently as other young men do on religious sub- 
 jects." 
 
 " How suddenly sage the lady gets ! This 
 is partly sullenness, on some domestic account ; 
 partly affectation, in spite of her disclaim- 
 er ; and partly caught from some Dublin 
 Saint-Society," thought Gerald : but, when he 
 spoke aloud, he made proper acknowledgments 
 for the confidence placed in him, and the honour 
 done him.
 
 230 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Both remained an instant silent. Then, act- 
 ing upon the first partial cause ascribed by 
 him for the lady's humour, he suddenly asked, 
 looking round on every side, " Where 's Sir 
 Richard ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Blount !" in almost sufficient ener- 
 gy to attract twenty neighbouring eyes, " can 
 you ask so cruel a question ?" 
 
 "Cruel! I beg pardon for any mistake I 
 may have made ; but let me also assure your 
 Ladyship, I was unaware of any one circum- 
 stance calculated to make my question disagree- 
 able." 
 
 " Then I forgive you for it ; but no more 
 now ; Lady Offally, Lady Angelica Hunt, Miss 
 Flint, Miss De Vere, my mamma, and all their 
 coterie come this way : and do not go either ; 
 what they come to talk about ought to interest 
 you." 
 
 " Is he dead ? or drinking claret, or whisky 
 punch, day and night, in old Ireland ? or lying 
 ill of typhus fever, or what ?" soliloquised 
 Gerald.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 231 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OF the group alluded to by Lady Cox, 
 Gerald exchanged symptoms of recognition with 
 Lord and Lady Offally, with Mrs. Sparrow, 
 mother to Lady Cox, and wife of an Irish 
 Archdeacon, whom in softness of manner, of 
 face, or person, and even of voice, she little 
 resembled ; with Lords Horsemantown, and 
 Harmer, and with the sombre, grand-looking 
 Mr. Priestly ; and Lady Offally made him known 
 to the Lady Angelica Hunt, " her sister patro- 
 ness," and to the Misses De Vere and Betsy 
 Flint, the first " one of the Secretaries to the 
 London Committee of the Parent Society ;" the 
 other a Secretary also, to the most considerable 
 of the very important Irish associations branch- 
 ing from it. 
 
 " Patronesses and Secretaries ?" queried Ge- 
 rald, as he got through his bows ; " Parent 
 Society and Branching Associations? oh, I
 
 232 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 forgot; here we have the matter Clangore 
 warned me of." 
 
 " And now, Mr. Blount," said the seriously- 
 dignified Lady Offally, " we come to you across 
 the room to make a request, and you cannot 
 refuse us." 
 
 "You ivon't" Mr. Blount, pleaded Miss Flint, 
 with a fussy energy of features that had seen 
 their spring-time, and that appeared cast in 
 the very mould for business; " you won't, 
 because we all know your sentiments on the 
 subject of poor Ireland, and your disposition to 
 do good of any kind, and your talents to do 
 whatever you like; and when you hear how 
 heavy our duties are becoming, and consider 
 how much more fitted for certain parts of offi- 
 cial affairs you gentlemen are, than we poor 
 ladies, and the great deal more you have in 
 your power, every way, and then our loan- 
 system, that cannot, according to the tiresome 
 Act of Parliament, go on with security to our 
 funds, unless a committee of gentlemen be 
 ready to assist us in the recovering of sums 
 from defaulters, and idle, cheating people, in 
 every district in Ireland think of that ; when 
 you call all this to mind, I am sure, I say, you 
 will afford us a hand and a heart together."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 233 
 
 Gerald while bowing in double acknowledg- 
 ment of the compliments contained in the first 
 part of this address, and of general acquiescence 
 in the claim made upon him, could scarce restrain 
 a smile at the facility of speech it rather omi- 
 nously imported in, he ventured to surmise, 
 the person of some Irish town-goody, who, 
 from her recent appointment as " Secretary" 
 and correspondent with the " London com- 
 mittee," drew the present pride and glory of her 
 existence. 
 
 " It is, indeed, impossible," said Lady An- 
 gelica Hunt, in whose full, rich, and widely 
 parted lips and beautiful long neck, Gerald 
 recognized the original of the companion for 
 the Chapeau-de-Paille, painted by an eminent 
 artist, either at her ladyship's or her honour- 
 able husband's instance, and since engraved 
 and hung up in all the print-shops through 
 town ; " it is, indeed, impossible that ladies 
 should engage in a work of any extent without 
 being frequently and painfully aware of their 
 own deficiency of strength to carry it on with 
 the degree of vigour, perseverance and exactness 
 which they so much desire to apply to it; and 
 I may add, that, fully agreeing with me, the 
 honourable Everard Hunt is, so far as his in-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 tentions can go, seriously disposed to co-operate 
 in our views." 
 
 " The degree of precision and constant at- 
 tention," subjoined Miss De Vere, whose Eng- 
 lish sobriety of manner, simplicity and beauty, 
 interested Gerald more even than the ardour of 
 her Irish sister Secretary, " which is required 
 in those who have the chief management, would 
 be a mere nothing to men of business." 
 
 " Whose hearts are interested in the service 
 of their God and the welfare of their fellow- 
 creatures," sighed, or rather slightly groaned 
 the pious Lady Cox ; her untidy charms and 
 her sullenness still keeping up, in Gerald's 
 mind, a provoking, and, though they should 
 not have done so, a kind of unholy interest. 
 
 " Nothing effective can ensue if a committee 
 of gentlemen are not ready, in every part of 
 Ireland, to prosecute the abominable persons 
 who break faith with the society ,** remarked 
 her Ladyship's mamma, with a frown, an out- 
 curling of the under lip, and an abrupt manly 
 tone, that, aided by her stature, must have 
 had on any half-crown defaulter as much 
 effect as the civil bill course she advocated. 
 
 "Good Lord Offally," smiled Miss Flint,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 235 
 
 glancing up at his Lordship, who stood in 
 much dignity and a little stiffness at her side, 
 betraying, in the habitual curve of his brow, 
 and in the sometimes fierce (else they might 
 have been silly,) gleams of his angular eye, 
 a kind of old feudal hauteur not yet laid aside 
 by some of the noblemen of Ireland " good 
 Lord Offally has been with us a long while ; 
 and here 's Lord Harmer and Lord Horseman- 
 town we have enlisted this evening ; and Mr. 
 Priestly, too and where 's Captain Flood? 
 he also surrendered to my first unassisted 
 attack, provided and I assure you, Lady An- 
 gelica, he was quite serious in making his terms 
 provided I agreed to let him have from one 
 of our country shops half a dozen linsey-wolsey 
 jackets for his next summer campaign in Spain, 
 where the weather is so exceedingly hot there 's 
 no wearing their heavy regimentals think of 
 that!" 
 
 " It is certainly the interest, as well as the 
 duty of the nobility and gentry of Ireland to 
 support this lady's society," predicated Lord 
 Offally. 
 
 " One of the means of doing permanent good 
 must arise from it," assented Lord Harmer.
 
 236 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " The dyers and bleachers brought up under 
 its care may be taught the value of the common 
 materials they use," said Lord Horsemantown. 
 
 " Others of your newly acquired friends of 
 this evening have made their terms as well as 
 Captain Flood,"" observed Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " Oh, we recollect all that," replied Miss 
 Flint, " only, for our lives, we must not fright- 
 en the poor Irish with it yet, Mr. Priestly : one 
 thing at a time, you know ; when we make them 
 industrious, and self-respecting, and self-sup- 
 porting, and tidy, and well-dressed, and self- 
 reflecting, and all their cabins white-washed 
 for you, think of that then you and Lord 
 Harmer, and the Education Societies, and the 
 Tract Societies, just step in, you know, and the 
 good work is done. 1 ' 
 
 '" One of your proposed objects is ' to en- 
 courage the poor to send their children to 
 school,' " resumed Mr. Priestly, " and so much 
 being openly professed, and known to be so, by 
 the people, surely you can in the meantime 
 further promote the arrival of the happy sea- 
 son you anticipate, Miss Flint, by arranging 
 that the children shall be sent to the proper
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 237 
 
 school-houses ; to those where they can hear 
 the words of the book of life." 
 
 " To no other must they be sent," said Lady 
 Cox. 
 
 " Make it an indispensable proviso to our 
 assisting their children or themselves, 1 ' advised 
 Mrs. Sparrow. 
 
 "No, no," demurred Miss De Vere; "from 
 what I have heard of the Irish peasantry, and 
 poor of every description, that would, at the 
 present time at least, deprive us of all oppor- 
 tunity of improving them in any way." 
 
 " I cannot, upon strictly conscientious 
 grounds, recommend disguised measures any 
 longer," urged Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " And yet, we that know the characters and 
 situation of the Irish, from constantly going 
 amongst them, would still recommend a post- 
 ponement of all professed views of changing 
 their religion, while we teach them not to 
 starve," said Lady Offally. 
 
 " But I am sure your Ladyship has not for- 
 gotten the advice of Mr. Boanerges, a few days 
 ago," continued Mr. Priestly. 
 
 " I have not, indeed, Sir."
 
 238 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 "Who that has the future interests of the 
 unhappy people at heart, can forget it," said 
 the Lady Angelica Hunt : " brilliant creature ! 
 no zeal was ever more pure or delightful than 
 his/ 1 
 
 " Oh, were you there, Mr. Blount ?" eagerly 
 asked Miss Flint. 
 
 " Where, madam ?" 
 
 " At the meeting where he spoke that speech, 
 to be sure ! oh, I will never forget it ! After 
 fully impressing us with the necessity for ba- 
 nishing the cloud of scriptural ignorance that 
 overshadows wretched Ireland 'With my 
 exhortations and my morning and my nightly 
 prayers,' continued the divine man, ' I have, 
 at present little aid to afford you ; gold or 
 silver is not in my purse ; here, notwithstand- 
 ing, here is the dying gift of an only and heart- 
 loved brother, sent to me across the wide At- 
 lantic ' at this moment, Mr. Blount, the dear 
 Mr. Boanerges pulled out " 
 
 Miss Flint's utterance became impeded. 
 
 " Some valuable trinket ?"" asked Gerald. 
 
 " His poor brother's watch, Sir !" answered 
 Miss Flint, bursting into tears, and then re- 
 lieved, went on : * Take it, my Lord,' he said,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 239 
 
 addressing the chairman, ' take it and keep it, 
 until Heaven gives me the means of releasing 
 it ; and those means may, I hope, soon accrue, 
 from'" 
 
 " From what, madam ?" again inquired Ge- 
 rald, as the fair and faithful reporter again 
 paused. 
 
 " ' From the sale of my last volume of ser- 
 mons, published by Mr. Type of Cornhill, my 
 Lord !'" sobbed Miss Flint. 
 
 "Indeed!" cried Gerald. 
 
 " Oh Mr. Blount, have you got a copy ? I 
 have, we all have ; the carriages drove straight 
 from the meeting to the publisher's, and, by 
 this time, they are printing a second edition." 
 
 " We mark you down as one of us, Mr. 
 Blount ?" asked Lady Offally. 
 
 " By all means, Madam ; any object propos- 
 ed by such advocates must be noble, indeed, 
 and any connexion with it, an honour. But may 
 I inquire, more particularly, into the nature 
 of that object ?" 
 
 " Our ultimate view and hope is, that the 
 impulse we propose to give to industry and 
 good order among the poor of Ireland, will 
 have prepared many hands for co-operating
 
 240 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 with manufacturers, of great English capital, 
 who may hereafter fix themselves in that coun- 
 try." 
 
 " An extended view, indeed." 
 
 " It has been said," remarked Miss De Vere, 
 anticipating, perhaps, one of her reports for the 
 next full meeting of the society, ' that the 
 disease of Ireland is too deeply rooted to be cured 
 by any thing short of great measures ; and that 
 industry and tranquillity can only be produced by 
 a great influx of capital. 1 This is probably true 
 as a general observation ; but we would humbly 
 hope that the exhibitions of increased local 
 comfort which our associations present, may 
 induce capitalists to follow up the task of which 
 we have made a beginning ; and that, in a few 
 more years, commercial improvements may thus 
 be spread over the whole country." 
 
 Gerald, while in some manly supercilious- 
 ness he felt inclined to smile at this new 
 scheme, projected by lady-philosophers and 
 philanthropists, to work, "in a few years," 
 the complete regeneration of Ireland, did not 
 hesitate to admit, allowing for the pretty little 
 prattle of the " ultimate view," that conside- 
 rable social and domestic good might follow a
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 241-2 
 
 rational perseverance in any plan that sought to 
 make the Irish people more comfortable. 
 
 " In fact," he argued, " this, along with 
 other efforts, may help to assimilate them 
 to us" Gerald never forgot his favourite 
 theory. 
 
 " Our dear Lady Eleanor Hope enters the 
 room, and will assist us to instruct you," said 
 Miss Flint. " See, Mr. Blount, the pale, the 
 very pale, the very young, and (some say) very 
 interesting creature, now nodding to Lady Kil- 
 bane, with the clumsy red turban, ay, I 
 declare, and leaning on her husband's arm, too 
 think of that match, Mr. Blount! she in 
 her first teens, and he fifty but such a lively, 
 elderly good creature ! so funny ! and so active, 
 for his age ! hops about her, sometimes, at 
 home with his foot in his hand, instead of at- 
 tending to the quadrilles she tries to teach him ; 
 and is such a clever mimic ! with his face, 
 merely, I mean, for he never talks people, only 
 takes their pictures, as he says and it is as 
 sure as that you and I are speaking here toge- 
 ther," (" Then how dubious it must be, what- 
 ever it is," thought Gerald, " when the lady 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 243-4 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 has the whole colloquy to herself 1 ) " that 
 he certainly can change his face eyes, nose, and 
 mouth, and all, into every other body's face he 
 has ever seen once and chatters so much to us, 
 women, from the youngest, up ay, and so well 
 too, (and is such a healthy man, of his years ; 
 they say, tourists always are more hardy, and 
 last longer than your stay-at-homes) that, I de- 
 clare, we all patronize him. But just look at 
 the fright of a red turban ! and poor Lady 
 Eleanor's poor white face under it ! Ah !" as 
 Lady Eleanor and her husband drew near 
 " Ah, dear friend ! how happy to see you ! how 
 beautiful you look ! and your beautiful turban ! 
 Mr. Hope, you make a fool of yourself" as the 
 humoursome gentleman proposed some grimace 
 so close to Miss Flint's face, that no one else could 
 take notice " and 'tis a shame for you, a man 
 of sense, and no boy, like you go, go play 
 your pranks somewhere else, and let your poor 
 little wife, she looks so tired, sit down here with 
 me, there go ; dear Lady El. !" 
 
 Not hesitating to adopt Miss Flint's good 
 advice, Mr. Hope, with another imitative 
 grimace at his exit, quickly went to play
 
 THE ANGLO IRISH. 
 
 his pranks somewhere else ; and that somewhere 
 was, to Gerald's watchful eye, at that side of 
 Miss Roper's chair left unoccupied by Captain 
 Flood. Neither did it escape Gerald that, while 
 showing, or studying to show, in her manner, 
 the utmost innocence of the event, Miss Roper 
 had not remained ignorant of Mr. Hope's pre- 
 sence with his lady in the room. As they nodded 
 to their hostess, and many around her, one glance 
 of the young lady's eye towards the door, which, 
 by the way, she had been glancing at all the 
 evening, brought her the intelligence, and with 
 it brought a superlative crimson her girlish 
 cheeks were always blooming over her face and 
 neck ; the next instant succeeded a hue more 
 subdued than her usual colour; and though she 
 continued to play her cards without embarrass- 
 ment, and laughed at Flood's lispings, and, 
 above all, ventured no second glance around, 
 still, to any one who observed her as Gerald 
 did, Miss Roper's well assumed unconscious- 
 ness, was consciousness of a peculiar kind. 
 
 Lady Eleanor soon became aware of the sub- 
 ject that had been in discussion in her coterie 
 before she came up, and now, with a very sincere 
 vivacity, led the way in resuming it. 
 
 " My only present misgiving," said Gerald,
 
 246 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 after he had listened to additional details of 
 views and theories, from her ladyship and 
 others, " is that you will not find the people of 
 the country instructable or manageable ; and 
 that they want principles of honesty and moral- 
 ity to deal fairly with you, and feelings even to 
 give you credit for good intentions." 
 
 "Pardon us," said Lady Eleanor; "mise- 
 rable, most miserable, as is the condition of the 
 poor Irish, we have found them all you sup- 
 pose they are not. After lives spent in idle- 
 ness that, of itself, could not help itself I speak 
 of the elders or matrons of families we have 
 found it, very generally, most easy to teach 
 them habits of devoted and delighted industry ; 
 after having all their lives been contented in 
 rags and, of course, want of cleanliness, we 
 have found it just as easy to give them the 
 wish and the pride of clothing themselves tidily. 
 In repaying our little loans, honesty, I may 
 say, honour of the most scrupulous kind has 
 marked their conduct ; and, as for feelings 
 of gratitude, nay, of the tenderest affection for 
 our efforts, I do believe no portion of Heaven's 
 creatures can surpass them, there." 
 
 " Your ladyship delights me, by proving me
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 24>7 
 
 so ignorant," said Gerald, really pleased at it 
 must not be said this justification of his parent 
 country but rather at finding proved such 
 facilities for making the Irish English. 
 
 " As Secretary to the London Committee," 
 said Miss De Vere amiably, yet not without a 
 little official importance; " lean verify Lady 
 Eleanor's words. 1 ' 
 
 " And I, v said Miss Flint ; " as Secretary to 
 the principal Association in Ireland." 
 
 " I mean, I can give you documental proof, 
 Sir," continued Miss De Vere. 
 
 " And I," contended Miss Flint. 
 
 " From Clare, our correspondent informs us," 
 pursued Miss De Vere, taking a paper out of 
 her bag, " that when the institution at Clack- 
 ma-cross was opened, ten women could not be 
 found capable of doing the kind of work re- 
 quired ; and in the course of seven months 
 nearly two hundred were capable. Remark, 
 too, that the neatness with which the articles 
 are executed, such as lace, baby-linen, straw- 
 platting, is the more praise-worthy, as it is 
 done by the women in the evenings, after they 
 return from labouring in the fields" 
 
 " In the parish of St. Bridget, in the town of
 
 248 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Kilvogan," read Miss Flint, in emulative flurry, 
 out of her official paper, too, " forty-six poor 
 women gain a livelihood by a loan of from five 
 shillings to ten shillings each ; and the following 
 are their occupations : 
 
 " ' Ten deal in vegetables ; six in fruit ; eight 
 in poultry ; eight in fish ; six in hardware ; two 
 in fuel; and six in offal !' Think of that!" 
 concluded the zealous and precise Secretary, 
 with a little triumphant flourish of her elaborate 
 document. 
 
 " Loans of five shillings to reclaim Ireland !" 
 cogitated Gerald. 
 
 *' A solitary instance occurred, during the 
 whole of last year, in Cork, of a poor man who 
 received a loan absconding after only paying 
 part of it," continued the more considerable 
 officer, still reading ; " and the circumstance was 
 no sooner made known to the poor people resid- 
 ing in his district, than they proposed entering 
 into a subscription of sixpence each to pay the 
 deficit ; so anxious did they feel that the visit- 
 ing lady should not suffer by the dishonesty of 
 any one amongst them." 
 
 " A poor woman," rapidly resumed Miss
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 249 
 
 Flint, " applied to us" (my present corre- 
 spondent writes from Galway) " and received 
 from our re-productive fund a loan, which she 
 expended in the purchase of wool. Before the 
 spinning was finished, a fever broke out in her 
 family, eight of whom were successively attacked 
 by it, and her industry became, of course, inter- 
 rupted, and she had not the means of subsist- 
 ence. While one day bemoaning her distress, 
 the ball of yarn, that hung from the roof of her 
 cabin, caught her eye ; and then she looked on 
 the sufferers around her. The struggle was se- 
 vere, but her better feelings prevailed, and she 
 was heard to exclaim, in her own expressive 
 language, ' No no distress shall make me do 
 that; it is a sacred trust* There!" appealed 
 Miss Flint, touching with ridicule by her 
 mouthy and affectedly pathetic manner of read- 
 ing a really interesting fact the natural impres- 
 sion of this little anecdote. 
 
 " The question of honesty I admit to be set- 
 tled," said Gerald. 
 
 "It might allow of a hundred other proofs," 
 said Lady Eleanor ; " but does not its proof in- 
 clude the proof of industry also ?" 
 M 5
 
 250 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Indeed the following extract," resumed 
 Miss De Vere, " does away with Mr. Blount's 
 three objections together." 
 
 " ' We are encouraged in our exertions by the 
 good disposition, punctuality, and gratitude of 
 the poor whom we have assisted ; and it is most 
 pleasing to us, that during three years we have 
 been associated, we have not had a single in- 
 stance of dishonesty.' n 
 
 "At Kinsale," paralleled Miss Flint, " twelve 
 pounds are turned five times in the year; and 
 some women, who trade to Cork with salt her- 
 rings, have turned five shillings seven times in 
 the year, and supported their families think 
 of that !" 
 
 " Last spring," resumed Lady Eleanor, 
 " when my children lay ill of typhus fever, the 
 peasantry I had now and then tried to assist, 
 continually surrounded my door, in defiance of 
 infection, with expressions of the tenderest sym- 
 pathy, bringing little offerings of whatever 
 might be acceptable, which the poor creatures 
 had gone a circuit of ten miles to procure, and 
 for which nothing could induce them to take 
 payment/' 
 
 *' That is a proof of good feeling, honourable
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 251 
 
 to the most civilized country," said Gerald, 
 touched to the quick, and perhaps, less than 
 ever ashamed of Ireland. " But," he conti- 
 nued, after a pause, " why should they not 
 accept payment ? The compliment they wished 
 to confer was of a pecuniary nature, after all ; 
 and their pretension to confer such a one seems 
 absurd, and shows them wholly destitute of any 
 notions of the order and proprieties of social life." 
 
 " You did not require a proof of their know- 
 ledge of the world, you know," observed Lady 
 Eleanor. 
 
 " Your ladyship is right ; I was. indeed hy- 
 percritical; now, however, I have only to ex- 
 press my strong hope that Irish noblemen and 
 gentlemen will fully see the claim upon them 
 of seconding the exertions of your most useful 
 society." 
 
 " And yet," resumed Miss Secretary De 
 Vere, again seeming to anticipate a forth-com- 
 ing " Report," " in reviewing the returns from 
 Ireland, the committee have frequently found 
 reason to regret the diminution and small a- 
 mount of the local subscriptions." 
 
 " The want of resident landlords is, in this 
 case, as in others, severely felt," remarked
 
 252 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Lord Offally, who from a late break in his in- 
 come, had been compelled to live a great deal 
 at home. 
 
 " I know a very clever Scotch gentleman who 
 says it has been found out that non-resident 
 landlords cause no injury in any case to a 
 country," said Gerald. 
 
 " He is right," assented Lady Angelica 
 Hunt, whose husband was son and heir to an 
 old nobleman, who drew thirty thousand a year 
 from Ireland, and spent his life (I do not add 
 his money, for his lordship had a twitch of the 
 " old-gentlemanly vice,") in Hanover Square, 
 or in different seats through England ; as to 
 the honourable Everard Hunt, he never went to 
 Ireland, and, on all possible occasions, public 
 and private, called himself an Englishman ; 
 " he is right ; for it is not required that a noble- 
 man or gentleman shall live out of the extreme 
 range of fashion, and of intellectual display, of 
 every kind, in order to subscribe, liberally, to 
 the wants of this or any other charitable so- 
 ciety." 
 
 " So we think," said Miss Flint, spitefully ; 
 " and if they only would remember the truth 
 of your ladyship's remark, our Irish contribu-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 53 
 
 tion to the general fund would be more credit- 
 able to us a//, and we might not be ashamed of 
 our homely Irish fashions, and displays of in- 
 tellect either think of that, now !" 
 
 " What is your last Report from Mayo, Miss 
 De Vere?" asked Mr. Priestly, knowing well 
 what it was, as one of his own friends had 
 helped to supply it. 
 
 " While I regret to say," answered the fair 
 secretary, " that it is not of a pleasing descrip- 
 tion, I am anxious to add that it is the only one 
 of its kind sent in from any part of Ireland." 
 
 " Such as it is, allow us, if you please, to 
 hear it." 
 
 " In answer to the query," again read Miss 
 De Vere " ' what are the local circumstances 
 which retard the progress of the association?' 
 this grievous list has been returned. * Dis- 
 honesty, long-confirmed habits of idleness, 
 anxiety for gifts, disrelish to return loans of 
 any description, and mendicant habits, and su- 
 perstition.' " 
 
 " Ay," resumed Mr. Priestly, " supersti- 
 tion ; say superstition, in one word, and you 
 have said all." 
 
 " All," echoed Lord Harmer.
 
 254 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " All," reiterated each in his peculiar brogue 
 Mr. Loupe, and Mr. Cornelius CTHanlon, 
 who had just joined the circle. 
 
 And " all," agreed Lady Kilbane, with a 
 hot fatigued sigh, and a heaving of a portion of 
 her vast though fine figure, as, snatching a 
 moment from her card-tables, she also came up. 
 
 And, " all, indeed," still assented Lady Cox, 
 sighing profoundly too, in zealous yearnings, 
 exactly as Gerald's eye happened to be fixed 
 on her fine features. 
 
 " Let my sincerity and my duty be an 
 excuse for my repetitions,"" continued Mr. 
 Priestly, " when I do repeat that until this 
 society, as well as every other society establish- 
 ed for the benefit of the Irish, boldly and open- 
 ly fights with us against the superstitions of 
 the country, no good can be done ; no good 
 ought to be done. 1 ' 
 
 *' The poor cratures of my poor country 
 are hungry and thirsty for the word, and crying 
 out for the word, and hunting out the word, 
 through holes and corners," declaimed Mr. 
 O'Hanlon " give the poor cratures of my 
 poor country the word, and they will ask you 
 for nothing else but the word."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 25J 
 
 " You amazingly valuable creature !" lisped 
 Flood, loud enough to be heard by all, though 
 he particularly spoke for the amusement of 
 Miss Roper, who, observing the juncture of 
 O'Hanlon and Loupe with the circle, had, with 
 suppressed titters, and signs of anticipating de- 
 light, induced the dandy and her other at- 
 tendant, Mr. Hope, to approach its outskirts. 
 And at the same time that honest Mr. Cornelius 
 made his speech, the latter mentioned gentle- 
 man also ministered to her enjoyments ; for, 
 after studiously confronting the Kerry orator, 
 he then stood at his back, and gave an imitation 
 of his face, almost of his features, so convincing, 
 though so exaggerated, that happy Miss Roper 
 had nearly committed the sin of laughing out- 
 right. 
 
 " I will go arnonsht dem, and I will preash 
 amonsht dem, and I vill thereby shee conver- 
 sions amonsht dem, and the vorld vill shee con- 
 versions," promised Mr. Loupe, taking up Mr. 
 O'Hanlon, " and de vord shall be theirs, and 
 dwell amonsht dem : I vill tell dem of my 
 sojourning in de holiest chitty, and round about 
 by de vaters of de Dead Shea, and round about 
 de holy mountain, and on de top of de same,
 
 256 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 and in de holy valleys and holy places, and of 
 de hopes dat vere born of my preashing and 
 teashing, in every place, to de poor followers of 
 de superstition of Rome ; and den, dey also shall 
 believe ; for de people of Ireland are people 
 ve have reashon to hope veil of, and many com- 
 ing out from dem, over de vaters, to dis land, 
 are good in de sight of good men." 
 
 " You flatter," said Flood, now selecting Mr. 
 Loupe for the scrutiny of his quizzing-glass ; 
 and again Mr. Hope produced an imitation. 
 
 " Gunning has made a hit," was Gerald's 
 thought, as he watched the faces of Loupe and 
 Lady Kilbane, during the last sentence of the 
 little sermon. 
 
 " How sad Lady Cox looks," he said the next 
 moment, turning aside to Miss Flint, tired of 
 the scene which still went on. 
 
 " Ah, don't you know why ?" the question, 
 or something very like it, which Gerald had ex- 
 pected to provoke. 
 
 " No ; I am only struck with her Ladyship's 
 abstracted and unusual manner." 
 
 " Think of that ! Not know what all the 
 world knows ? Why, they 're in pieces !"
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 257 
 
 " Who ? how ? what does your expression 
 mean ?" 
 
 " Broke done up she has cut him !" 
 
 " Indeed ! so soon ?" 
 
 " And in high time, I assure you ; people 
 begin to think the poor little soul never cared for 
 him ; only, when her mamma gave one roar and 
 one stamp of her foot, (she wears Wellingtons, 
 heel-shod with copper, all the morning, and 
 something else to match, folks will have it the 
 Archdeacon is such a gentle good little soul of a 
 dear man hi, hi ! think of that !) and my poor 
 child, Louisa, not knowing her own mind how 
 could she at her years ? but these childish mar- 
 riages do lead to such sad doings why shouldn't 
 they ? she just did as she was bid, and had 
 him, and then " 
 
 " Well, Miss Flint, and then ?" asked Ge- 
 rald, smiling at the energy of the narrator. 
 
 " Why, then she found him out, a little too 
 late ; she found that the horses in his stables were 
 attended to more than she was ; that a day's 
 hunting, thirty miles away from her, was much 
 dearer to him than the sweetest delights of 
 home ; and a night's carousing with his field-
 
 258 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 companions more prized than she couldn't get 
 her sleep for them !" continued Miss Flint, in- 
 dignantly checking herself; " their tantivies 
 and their chorusings used to invade the dear 
 creature's chamber, eight rooms off! And at 
 first she never repined; but sought " (with 
 pathos) " sought, in religious consolation, a 
 balm for her bleeding heart. Do you know 
 what ?" again becoming familiar ; " it was not 
 till the other day when, set mad by a mere word 
 of expostulation from her, he raised his whip " 
 " Vulgar scoundrel P muttered Gerald, as his 
 eye glanced towards the object of his sympathy, 
 and found in her soft and fascinating form, and 
 youthful beauty, as well as in the youthful 
 wretchedness (half a display as it was) of her 
 airs, nothing but what wooed the gentlest ca- 
 resses of a husband or a man. 
 
 " Actually raised it," continued Miss Flint ; 
 " it was not till then the dear sufferer thought 
 of protecting herself; not, indeed, by the in- 
 terference of friends, or by legal proceedings; 
 but, no longer finding safety under his roof, 
 and, though they have been married a year 
 or more, not being attached to his house by the 
 tender maternal tie think of that ! she watch-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 259 
 
 ed her opportunity to escape from the country 
 to Dublin ; and her mamma, whom she hoped 
 to meet there, having come over here why 
 here she is now, by her side only three days 
 arrived, and the most miserable of women, as 
 you see think of that i" 
 
 In a few minutes after he received this little 
 history, Gerald was standing, unseen by her, 
 over Lady Cox. She sighed dolorously. An 
 answering sigh escaped him. She indolently 
 raised her head and caught his eye, and they 
 gazed too long at each other. 
 
 " May I crave the honour of leading you to 
 supper ?" he asked, taking a place by her side. 
 
 " We don't stay for supper," she answered, in 
 accents still sad, but perilously soft ; " mamma 
 won't have me stay ; and indeed I would not 
 have myself stay." 
 
 " You are so tired of us," said Gerald. 
 
 " Not of all of you" and this, with a sudden 
 look up, was spoken in an echo of her former 
 brilliant tones. 
 
 " Shawls, Louisa," said her abrupt mother. 
 
 Both started. 
 
 " I can at least order your carriage," prayed 
 Gerald.
 
 260 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " Mamma, Mr. Blount orders the carriage," 
 replied Lady Cox. 
 
 After Gerald had conducted both down stairs, 
 Mrs. Sparrow returned to speak a word to Lady 
 Kilbane, and he and Lady Cox awaited her at 
 the door of a room of the hall. 
 
 " Shall you be at home to-morrow ?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " To-morrow, at two o'clock," she answered, 
 laying some emphasis on the last words, " I 
 accompany Lord and Lady Offally to a sermon 
 at the - chapel." 
 
 " I will go too," said Gerald. 
 
 " Then I will ask a seat in their carriage for 
 you." 
 
 " Thanks" they paused ; a foot came down 
 stairs " 'tis Mrs. Sparrow," he resumed 
 " Good night !" he extended his arm, while his 
 eyes rested on hers. 
 
 " Good night !" she slowly gave her hand. 
 He held it a second longer than it was necessary, 
 and that second increased the danger of both. 
 There was a pressure at least on Gerald's part 
 and both again sighed. Gerald had an im- 
 pulse to raise the beautiful hand to his lips. 
 A stir in the room, at their backs, made him
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 261 
 
 turn round his head, and at the remote end 
 of the apartment he caught a glimpse, unno- 
 ticed by them, of Mr. Hope and Miss Roper, 
 enacting something very like the scene he was 
 beginning with Lady Cox. He remembered 
 that, like himself too, Mr. Hope had, a few mo- 
 ments before he led down Mrs. Sparrow and her 
 enchanting daughter, assisted Colonel Roper in 
 conveying Miss Roper to her carriage ; and in- 
 deed, the carriage was visible through the open 
 door of the hall, the old gentleman waiting in 
 it, while the young lady just tripped back with 
 Mr. Hope to look for a light shawl. Error is 
 never so well warned and startled as when sud- 
 denly presented with an image of itself. Gerald 
 could not press his lips to Lady Cox's wedded 
 hand, while the lips of a wedded man were 
 pressed to the hand of Miss Roper, so near him 
 in the next room. He only repeated, " Good 
 night !" and released it ; and at the end of the 
 two little seconds during which all this hap- 
 pened, Mrs. Sparrow joined them, and Lady 
 Cox disappeared with her.
 
 262 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THIS was not the first time that Gerald's 
 heart had been touched, or that he thought so : 
 indeed, many fair readers will suppose as much. 
 And if I have not sooner detailed any of his 
 love-scenes (for the plural number is required) 
 I am prepared to state my reasons for the 
 omission. 
 
 Whether from nature or his studious habits, 
 Gerald's ability for carrying on an affair of the 
 heart had not, during his growth from sixteen 
 to one-and-twenty, kept pace with the develope- 
 ment, almost to maturity, of his other talents. 
 He was now very nearly fit to cope, in any 
 exertion of intellect, with men of double or 
 treble his age; yet not as fit to lay siege to the 
 heart of an accomplished girl of seventeen. He 
 would have felt self-possession at a cabinet 
 council ; but not by the side of " awful beauty, 11
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 263 
 
 in a tete--tte. And owing to this want, or, 
 let me be allowed to assert, (for he is my 
 hero,) want of practice rather, Gerald, although 
 full of susceptibilities of the most ardent as 
 well as of the purest kind ; although, in the 
 haunts of town fashion, as he walked or rode 
 or drove along the very streets, a certain de- 
 scription of eye could not beam from under a 
 bonnet, or a certain description of lips the 
 rest of the features hidden peep forth, when 
 the bonnet was held down; or a certain de- 
 scription of ankle glance beneath a flounce, 
 without making him sigh, either to know more 
 of the amiable person to whom they belonged, 
 or else at the thought that he was never to 
 see her again ; nay, although, when in the ab- 
 stractions of Cambridge, 
 
 " upon a silent, sullen day, 
 
 With a sirocco, for example, blowing-, 
 
 ***** * 
 
 And sulkily the river's ripple flowing, 
 
 And the sky showed that very ancient grey, 
 
 The sober, sad antithesis of glowing, 
 
 'Twas pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant, 
 
 To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant " 
 
 although these exculpating facts be taken
 
 264 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 into consideration, Gerald never yet had had 
 courage or tact enough to commence and 
 carry on a love affair ; or else such love af- 
 fairs as he did commence he never carried on ; 
 or, worst of all, they were of that ridiculous 
 kind, as regarded the suitableness of the ob- 
 ject, which leaves me little inclination to reveal 
 them to the criticism of, especially, my gentler 
 readers. 
 
 And in selecting, for my history, his new 
 fascination with Lady Cox, very sincerely do I 
 wish that the occasional practices of our fashion- 
 able circles left questionable the taste with 
 which, reasoning from the last sentence, I ap- 
 pear logically to infer her ladyship's suitable- 
 ness as Gerald's new object ; yet, believing 
 that he will lose less of character by being 
 shown in love with a married woman, his equal 
 in society, than if he were boyishly to waste 
 his raptures upon (it was, however, twice the 
 case,) some fresh and blouzy rustic maiden, 
 the piano-thrumming and Lady of the Lake 
 reading daughter of some sturdy farmer, I pro- 
 ceed in my task, no matter with what regret 
 at the very probability of being attended to. 
 
 First then, upon going to rest, the night of
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 265 
 
 Lady Kilbane's rout, Gerald resolved not to 
 avail himself of Lady Cox's promise to bespeak 
 him a seat for the sermon in Lord Offally's 
 carriage. The next morning, at his toilet, he 
 renewed, after some lapses, this good and valiant 
 determination. He kept it up during break- 
 fast ; nay, after breakfast called for pen and ink 
 to write a line of apology, when, in answer 
 to his ring, a servant appeared, bearing upon 
 an embossed silver waiter a little three-cornered 
 note. After examining the delicate running- 
 hand of the superscription, and the sober de 
 vice of the seal, Gerald read as follows : 
 
 " Lady Cox presents her compliments to the 
 Honourable Gerald Blount, and has the pleasure 
 to say that Lady Offally will be happy to make 
 the Honourable Gerald Blount one of her party 
 
 to the sermon at chapel, at two o'clock 
 
 to-day. Lady Cox would add that, from the 
 known talent and zeal of the preacher, much 
 desirable advantage to religious feeling may 
 on this occasion be expected." 
 
 " Staying away, after the trouble her Lady- 
 ship has been at, would be unseemly," said 
 Gerald. 
 
 It was the first time he had heard a sermon 
 >VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 in a dissenting chapel ; and while this one seem- 
 ed not so proper or tasteful in language as 
 those to which he had been accustomed, its 
 energy and exciting power surprised him. He 
 could observe, as he sat, Lady Cox's face, and 
 upon her it had an extraordinary effect. At 
 passages of different kinds she grew pale, or 
 flushed, or, with unrestrained sighs, and some- 
 times murmurs, wept profusely. 
 
 The preacher was young, indeed very young 
 for a preacher ; not more than nineteen or twen- 
 ty ; and, Gerald had been given to understand, 
 was one of those destined to preach the Gospel, 
 at the next departure of Missionaries, to the 
 savages of our remote colonies. Many of his 
 allusions were to his proposed work, and, mixed 
 up with a zealous egotism that was excusable, 
 formed the most touching part of his discourse. 
 He was, too, handsome as well as young ; and 
 few ladies could hear him advert to the pathless 
 jungles, only inhabited by tigers and boa-con- 
 strictors, and to hundreds of miles of swamps, 
 and to impassable rivers, as broad as some of 
 our seas, and to the scorching terrors of the 
 desert sun, without feeling for him, as well as 
 for the subject he explained. In fact, the
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 267 
 
 preacher proved as interesting as the sermon ; 
 and Gerald was jealous of him when, after he 
 had left the pulpit, he heard Lady Cox ask her 
 friend Lady Offally, if any one knew any thing 
 of him. 
 
 He accepted a friendly invitation to meet 
 Lady Cox that day at Lady Offally's. They 
 sat together during dinner. Gerald, a little 
 bored with incessant preaching, strove to divert 
 Lady Cox into subjects he knew she had pre- 
 viously liked to prattle on. With the exertion of 
 a little ingenuity he succeeded ; and once more 
 her charming eyes glowed or moistened at 
 poetical allusions, or her voice murmured, or 
 tears started, though not so profusely as at the 
 sermon. 
 
 " She is an exquisite compound of sensibi- 
 lity," said Gerald ; " such a heart, and such 
 talented apprehensions, too, might, if conge- 
 nially and properly directed assisted, I mean 
 have formed a character as superior as fascinat- 
 ing. All this childish exaggeration might have 
 become steady principle, or active intellect ; 
 but now, while still almost a child, at the mercy 
 of a bad husband and a maudlin sect what a 
 pity ! 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 After dinner, he accompanied her, and Lord 
 and Lady Offally, and other grave guests to 
 evening devotions in the chapel they had that 
 day visited. The scanty, pious light of the 
 place, the primitive service, the simple yet 
 fervid union of the whole congregation, male 
 and female, in singing the psalm, pleased Gerald 
 as much as the sermon had surprised him. At 
 the same time he felt that in no other situation 
 can man and woman be more likely to imbibe 
 those sentiments of admiration for each other, 
 which, sons and daughters of Adam and Eve 
 as we are, lead, no matter how commenced, to 
 but one predicament of heart mere heart. For 
 when can lovely eyes look more lovely than in 
 the meek up-turning of (let it be) the purest 
 devotion ? or vermilion lips more delightful 
 than in the gentle out-breathing of the psalm ? 
 or an exquisite hand more exquisite than, in a 
 sisterly assistance to piety, turning over, for a 
 brother, the leaves of the psalm-book ? 
 
 While Gerald watched Lady Cox's eyes and 
 lips in the occupations and expressions alluded 
 to, I shall not even hint what unsaintly conclu- 
 sions were wrought within him ; but when her
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 hand, her fingers, sweetly and unconsciously 
 touching his fingers, busied themselves, as has 
 already been predicated, I admit that, first 
 throwing a watchful glance around, he breathed 
 a little sigh upon it ; and, so privileged are the 
 attentions of the chapel, or so unconscious the 
 holy calm it communicates, I also admit that 
 his innocent incense was not rejected. 
 
 Sir Archy instructively advises his son that, 
 after trying all other places, he found Mrs. 
 Mac in the Tabernacle. It was in her favourite 
 chapel that, after the lapse of about a month, 
 Gerald first felt sure, or very nearly sure, of 
 Lady Cox's love for him. The evening service 
 was over ; the congregation, having been very 
 numerous, took some time to go out, and Lady 
 Cox's party, sitting far from the door, remained 
 in their pew until the passage should be clear. 
 Lady Offally, who guarded Lady Cox's right 
 hand, bent over a row of ladies before her, and 
 began speaking with them. Gerald sat close 
 at Lady Cox's left hand. Some of the lights 
 had been extinguished, and what with the 
 gliding of feet, and the rustling of those in mo- 
 tion, and the decent and demure gossiping of
 
 270 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 those who could not stir, any two persons dis- 
 posed for a tete-a-tete of a few minutes might, 
 to a certain degree, enjoy it. 
 
 " What a delicious quiet of soul," said Lady 
 Cox, as usual rich in her language, " succeeds, 
 even with the miserable, to the performance of 
 religious duties." 
 
 " That you can say so is pleasure to me," 
 said Gerald. 
 
 " Yes," with a tremulous sigh of praise ; " I 
 know, at last, the value of my immortal spirit ; 
 and that ought to recompense me for the loss 
 of every earthly hope and joy." 
 
 ** Do you think the Giver of virtuous im- 
 pulse to earthly happiness, and of facilities for 
 its attainment, meant that it ought ?" asked 
 Gerald. 
 
 " No ; oh, no ! with my rebellious heart con- 
 vincing me of the contrary, I do not think so ; 
 but for the wretch whom it has been His will 
 first to form for earthly joy, and then to doom 
 to earthly woe, religion produces consolation 
 here, and rewarding raptures hereafter." 
 
 " Your melancholy forebodings of a life of 
 sorrow may not be well founded, and permit
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 271 
 
 a devoted friend to add ought not to be in- 
 dulged." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " The changes of youth cannot be foreseen. 
 The miserable to-day may be the happy to- 
 morrow ; and, alas ! the happy of to-day the 
 miserable of to-morrow !" Gerald interrupted 
 his syllogism with a selfish digression. 
 
 " I admit it generally." 
 
 " Even those," continued Gerald, less sel- 
 fishly, " who, to-day, do not possess the qualifi- 
 cations for making others happy others, whose 
 happiness depends on their making may, by 
 some natural alteration of character, possess 
 such qualifications to-morrow." 
 
 " But can those who, along with the want of 
 qualifications, want the wish also, do what you 
 say? Can will be controlled? what's its master?" 
 
 " It has, indeed, no master," answered Ge- 
 rald ; " and, I grant, cannot be controlled by 
 its own possessor." He was again an egotist : 
 " For will controlled ceases to be will, and the 
 term passes to the controlling force, passion, 
 impulse, or whatever it is to be called." 
 
 " Then, Mr. Blount, for me life is hope-
 
 272 THE ANGLO-IRISH 
 
 less indeed. The being who now wants the qua- 
 lifications to make me happy, also wants the 
 will ; and " she stopped and started as a stifled 
 short laugh, or rather a kind of hysteric " ha !" 
 sounded in a pew at their back. Both turned 
 round ; but among the row of demure people, 
 male and female, some whispering, and others 
 silent, there to be seen, no face or eye fixed 
 their notice. 
 
 " Go on, go on,"" said Gerald. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Blount, why need I ; why should I 
 go on ? and why should you ask me ? We have 
 never before spoken openly on the subject ; but 
 surely you cannot be ignorant that you address 
 yourself to a wretched woman, whose trusting 
 heart (trusting, at least, if truth permits no 
 other term)" the parenthesis was emphatically 
 marked "has been deceived, wronged, outrag- 
 ed ; whose domestic attentions^ if not her feel- 
 ings" another emphasis " have been flung 
 back upon her, and whose lot in life is cast 
 either for still experiencing this misery, or for 
 solitary and wretched regrets, away from its 
 actual presence." 
 
 " Enchanting wretchedness !" faltered Ge- 
 rald, taking the languid hand that rested on
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 273 
 
 the seat by his side ; and forgetful of the roof 
 that covered him, Gerald felt one of those head- 
 long impulses of strong affection that, for the 
 sake of sharing the lot of a beloved object, would 
 give up friends, fame, and country, and, if pos- 
 sible, hurry her off to any remote solitude which 
 the earth seems to reserve for such peculiar 
 temptations. 
 
 " Oh i had it been my doom to have met, be- 
 fore I met HIM, a different person !" continued 
 Lady Cox, not withdrawing her hand. 
 
 " You might have loved and still, not 
 worthiness" said Gerald. 
 
 " Impossible ?" murmured Lady Cox. 
 
 " How, impossible ?" 
 
 She was silent. He kindly and earnestly re- 
 peated his question. She was silent still ; but, 
 unhappy young lady ! she wept. The tears 
 fell on their joined hands. 
 
 " How ?" he asked a third time. 
 
 " I will can only say impossible !" she at 
 last answered ; and Gerald did feel a delicate 
 return of the delicate pressure with which he 
 had unconsciously eked out his last " how ?" 
 
 " Heavens!" starting up, as another strange 
 though scarce audible " ha I" 1 reached her ear ; 
 N 5
 
 274 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 " we are lost," she continued, dropping in her 
 seat. " We I oh ! what have I said now ! and 
 the moment before what have I said !" she 
 hid her face in her hands. 
 
 " Has any thing particular disturbed you?" 
 he asked, not again selfish enough even to 
 notice expressions that overpowered him with 
 happiness. 
 
 " Disturbed me .' particular !" repeated Lady 
 Cox : " rise, and look, if you dare, at the last 
 persons now in motion towards the door." 
 
 " I see them," said Gerald calmly. 
 
 "Observe one of them, then; the tall man, 
 in Quaker-brown, with the broad-brimmed hat 
 his face you cannot now see his back is turned 
 is it not ?" 
 
 It iswhat of him ?" 
 
 * c He sat the whole evening behind us ; his 
 head down, until that instant, when I sprang 
 up." 
 
 Well ?" 
 
 " But then / saw his face and that man 
 is my husband !" 
 
 She was able to deliver the last words in a 
 whisper ; but no sooner had they been spoken, 
 than they were followed by a shrill scream that
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 275 
 
 terrified all in the chapel, and she lay senseless 
 in Gerald's arms. 
 
 Scarcely restored by Lady Offally's salts, 
 she was conveyed home by her alarmed pro- 
 tectress. Gerald gave no explanation: Lady 
 Cox continued, during their ride, too ill to be 
 questioned, or, if questioned, to answer. She 
 had the power, however, to whisper Gerald, 
 as he assisted her down the step of the car- 
 riage at her mother's door " Not a word ! 
 and do not go yet." 
 
 When, after Lady Cox had been led to her 
 chamber, and Lady Offally had taken her leave, 
 Gerald remained alone with Mrs. Sparrow, he 
 could not comprehend what the last injunction 
 meant. He took advantage, however, of his 
 situation, to learn, by indirect allusions, how, 
 at or about the present moment, Sir Richard 
 was, according to his mother-in-law's belief, 
 occupying himself: and indeed, the motherly 
 indignation of that lady, on the head of the 
 treatment of her daughter, joined to her cha- 
 racteristic abruptness, left Gerald no necessity, 
 for all his purposes, to do any thing but allude. 
 Besides, independent of his having been very 
 friendly upon a former occasion in the family, his
 
 276 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 polite attentions, during the last month, seem- 
 ed to entitle him to some confidence. 
 
 Mrs. Sparrow, then, was sure that, at the 
 very instant she was speaking (it was about 
 eleven o'clock at night) Sir Richard Cox was 
 either getting brutally intoxicated, at the head 
 of a set of roaring fox-hunters, at his country- 
 house in Ireland, or else engaged in other 
 society, more degrading to him, and more 
 dishonourable to her and her daughter. Since 
 the arrival of his wife in England, he had, 
 indeed, twice written to her and to Mrs. 
 Sparrow, to command her home again ; but 
 when the answers returned would agree to a 
 re-union only upon an acknowledgment of 
 heavy crimes and offences on his part, accom- 
 panied by the most solemn written promises of 
 good conduct in future, Sir Richard became 
 silent ; had never since made an application ; 
 and, Mrs. Sparrow added, seemed to have come 
 to a resolution to trouble himself no farther in 
 the business. 
 
 A modest double-knock at the hall-door 
 disturbed the conversation, and a servant came 
 up to say that Mr. Newbury, having heard of 
 the illness of Lady Cox at chapel, had called,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 277 
 
 late as it was, and offering excuses for his 
 call, and a protest against intruding up-stairs, 
 to inquire after her Ladyship's health. 
 
 Now this Mr. Newbury was the unordained 
 preacher whose eloquence had first attracted 
 Lady Cox to the chapel ; and, it will be re- 
 membered, Gerald had felt jealous of him on 
 that very occasion, in consequence of Lady 
 Cox's question to Lady Offally, " Does any 
 body know any thing about him ?" Since 
 then he had repeatedly met him in her com- 
 pany at Lady Offally's, and, though Mrs. 
 Sparrow ought to have acted more orthodoxi- 
 cally, also ; in the house in which he at present 
 sat, and whether over-sensitive jealousy, playing 
 its proverbial fooleries, turned little nothings 
 into expressive somethings, or that Mr. New- 
 bury's manner really warranted his conclusions, 
 Gerald continued to lay up in his breast ad- 
 ditional suspicions of the handsome young 
 preacher at least, if not of Lady Cox herself. 
 More than once he had found them alone ; 
 always, indeed, with the sacred book in their 
 hands; but once, when Gerald entered, rather 
 suddenly, Mrs. Sparrow's drawing-room, they 
 sat, he would venture to say, unnecessarily
 
 278 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 close, for a mere lecture ; and the pocket-bible 
 having been hastily laid aside at his appear- 
 ance, and also, being newly obtained from a 
 distributing repository, the place they had been 
 studying did not at once shut close, so that 
 Gerald, as hastily taking it up, and opening it 
 wide, at the same place, found this lecture to 
 have turned upon the Song of Solomon. The 
 present untimed and officious call of the mis- 
 sionary-elect, gave him, therefore, no pleasure. 
 
 But he recollected Lady Cox's delightful, 
 though confused, and, he firmly believed, in- 
 voluntary admissions to himself, an hour before, 
 in the chapel, and doubt of her, at the least, 
 vanished from his mind. He could then dwell on 
 Mrs. Sparrow's assurances of the absence of Sir 
 Richard Cox from England, supported as they 
 were by his apparent indifference, during many 
 weeks, to negotiate for a re-union with his wife; 
 and Gerald doubted if, in the person of the 
 gravely-dressed, saintly-looking, and elderly- 
 looking person, whose back, indeed, he had only 
 observed, Lady Cox had really seen her youth- 
 ful husband. 
 
 But the question which at present most ab- 
 sorbed him was, with what view had Lady
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 279 
 
 Cox commanded him not immediately to retire 
 from the house ? Did the words originate from 
 any settled wish, or were they only the result 
 of her agitated and incoherent state of mind ? 
 or, supposing them to mean any thing, for how 
 long a time were they to insure his attendance ? 
 It was growing very late, and, without a seem- 
 ing reason, how could Mrs. Sparrow explain his 
 pertinacious tete-a-tete with herself? Besides, 
 Mrs. Sparrow evidently took it for granted that 
 her daughter had retired for the night. 
 
 While both now sat silent " Hush !"" cried 
 Mrs. Sparrow, " can it be possible ? What can 
 she mean? or is the poor sufferer's head affected?" 
 a slow foot came down-stairs; and, an instant 
 after, Lady Cox appeared at the drawing-room 
 door, a chamber-light in her hand, and her face 
 very pale, yet very composed, except that her 
 black eyes glittered anxiously and wildly. Hav- 
 ing looked forward, she stopped, her disengaged 
 hand resting on the door-handle. 
 
 " My child! Louisa! what means this?" asked 
 Mis. Sparrow, somewhat frightened. 
 
 " Not yet alone, Mamma ?" said Lady Cox, 
 in seeming surprise at Gerald's presence, which 
 her hesitation at the door might also have ex-
 
 280 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 pressed; " I only came down, being quite re- 
 covered, to speak a word with you" 
 
 " My appearance here certainly requires an 
 apology," said Gerald, in a marked tone, as he 
 arose to go away; now much embarrassed, whe- 
 ther he considered the matter as a whim of Lady 
 Cox, or inclined to account for her sudden en- 
 trance as her mother had done. 
 
 " No, do not be disturbed, 1 ' resumed Lady 
 Cox, advancing with an uneven step into the 
 room, and holding a hand to her forehead, " not 
 just this moment, at least; I thought I was 
 quite well, yet now " she sank in a chair 
 " Mamma, excuse me but some Eau de Co- 
 logne would soon revive me ; pray do not wait 
 to ring." 
 
 Mrs. Sparrow left the room. 
 
 " And now," resumed Lady Cox, rising firmly, 
 and with a sudden assumption of that perfect self- 
 possession which women of every description of 
 character, no matter how weak on former occa- 
 sions, can, in her situation, or in similar ones, 
 so surprisingly command : " Now, do not be- 
 lieve my pretence ; I am perfectly recovered; I 
 want no such aid as my Mamma goes for; I did 
 not want it. Mark if circumstances do not make
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 281 
 
 a quick scholar in the art of dissembling ; of 
 insincerity ; of petty artifice. I wished you to 
 remain here till I could say to you I came 
 down here to say to you I equivocated and 
 sent my mamma away to say to you THIS. I 
 have long understood you ; oh, that it had 
 been but a little sooner ! My husband, to- 
 night, has heard me confess I never loved him, 
 and, at the least, could have loved you. No- 
 thing but one course lies open to me ; therefore, 
 and, as a first step upon it, we meet to-morrow 
 morning, at six o'clock, to speak fully, in Ken- 
 sington Gardens farewell!" She extended 
 her hand ; as Gerald pressed it to his lips and 
 bosom, the tears of a thousand contending 
 emotions streamed upon it ; her cheeks were 
 dry, and her eyes rounded and glowing. 
 "Farewell; my mamma returns; meet her at 
 the door, and there say good night ; I would 
 not have you once more witness my wretched 
 dissimulation.'"
 
 282 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GERALD went home to pass the first sleep- 
 less night he had ever experienced ; the first 
 wretched one, it may be added. For hours the 
 new, the happy, and yet the terrible excitement 
 of his situation deprived him of the power of 
 thought. He still trembled, as when, meeting, 
 according to Lady Cox's instructions, Mrs. 
 Sparrow at the drawing-room door, he had 
 hurriedly bid her farewell. Passionate tears 
 relieved him, and they were followed by softer 
 tears of tenderest pity for the youthful wretch- 
 edness of the being he so fervently loved. 
 
 Her sudden change of character, from lan- 
 guor and childishness to the full force of woman- 
 ly energy, then occurred to him ; and, glancing 
 over the future fate it seemed to propose, nay, to 
 command for her and for him, Gerald's feelings 
 were those of consternation. Like many others, 
 he had, up to this moment, absurdly, as well as
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 283 
 
 wickedly, gone on towards but one conclusion ; 
 yet, because that conclusion now appeared in 
 view, he shrank from it. Nay, he tried to form 
 excuses for himself, that pretended, though they 
 dared not avow the pretence, to deny that he 
 had ever so gone on at all. 
 
 " I loved her, indeed, wildly loved her, 
 from the first ; but if I recollect my own mind, 
 never sought more than to share her society, 
 and, by all allowable means, assuage the grief 
 that weighed her down : then her religious 
 zeal was my farther security, though now she 
 avows that she has long understood me. Could 
 I think that, through a month of pious obser- 
 vances, and, morning and evening, of the most 
 glowing sentiments of devotion she was engross- 
 ed by other feelings? Is it the nature of 
 poor, weak, but dear, dear woman, to feed, in- 
 differently, with virtuous aspirations, or with 
 throbbings of a different kind, one life-long 
 tendency of the heart ? oh, I am taken by 
 surprise, and the surprise is tremendous !" 
 
 The sober, mental habits of his education, 
 were, indeed, presented, in the latest conduct of 
 Lady Cox, with, to them, a kind of scenic, 
 overpowering energy, previously unsupposable.
 
 284 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 And here, for a second, was intruded an egotis- 
 tical and, it may appear, unfeeling silliness ; yet 
 those who are aware of the pervading power of 
 a favourite theory, applied, since an early age, 
 in some way or other, to almost every new ac- 
 cident in life, will perhaps account for his ab- 
 surdity, if they cannot excuse it. " It is not 
 English,"" said Gerald ; " though claiming to 
 be half English, Lady Cox is Irish ; in bring- 
 ing-up, in mind and heart, Irish ; there was 
 my mistake." 
 
 But, above all he could devise to exculpate 
 himself, even by criticising her, Gerald loved, 
 adored : and the full influence of the sentiment 
 soon returned, to sweep away every previous 
 thought. And now, life spent with Lady Cox, 
 a whole life, in solitude, became his only vision. 
 She loved him ; she had " but one course" to 
 take in consequence of loving him, and would 
 he not take it with her ? would he not, rather, 
 permit her to take it, since she could only do 
 so hand in hand with him ? What was fame, 
 what were court friends, what was accumulated 
 fortune, compared with happiness ? His pre- 
 sent fortune was limited, yet sufficient for in- 
 dependence ; he would be hers eternally.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 285 
 
 A posthumous letter, written to him by his 
 mother, with instructions to his father and 
 friends not to deliver it to Gerald till he should 
 gain the age of sixteen, lay before him ; he had 
 that day, been perusing it for the hundredth 
 time. The late Lady Clangore was a woman 
 of strong mind and observation, and the advice 
 to her favourite son, contained in this epistle, 
 while applying to every prominent error into 
 which a youth may be supposed likely to fall, was 
 penned in an impressive style. Amongst other 
 hypothetic cases, that in which Gerald now 
 stood, had naturally engaged the anxiety of the 
 mother. He read and trembled once more. 
 The voice of a parent speaking to him, as it 
 were, from the grave, in the dead silence of 
 night, and speaking, too, of all that forms the 
 character of man honour, religion, feeling, 
 social rank, this could not fail to produce al- 
 most a petrifying effect. In fact, when, with- 
 out having slept an hour, and after renewed 
 struggles that compelled renewed and bitter 
 tears, Gerald went out to keep his appointment, 
 he had formed a manly and a noble resolution. 
 
 He walked across Hyde Park, intending to 
 enter the Gardens at the small door that nearly
 
 286 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 faces Knightsbridge barracks. Ere he passed 
 quite in, a carriage and four drove furiously 
 towards him, along the open road. Gerald 
 glanced at it. A female attendant sat on the 
 dickey, seemingly dressed for travelling. He 
 looked more accurately and recognized Lady 
 Cox's maid. The rapid associations produced 
 by the discovery, startled frightened him; 
 and he walked hastily into the Gardens, and 
 proceeded, by the little mound, along the pri- 
 vate path that leads into the more solitary 
 regions of the fine pleasaunce. His first im- 
 pulse was absolutely one of terrified avoidance. 
 Even yet, he doubted himself; and from her 
 presence, still arrayed in the charms that had 
 captivated him, and made formidable by her 
 new accession of character, his resolved heart 
 turned away in fear. Then he recollected that 
 this charming, wretched, and beloved object, 
 came to tell him, to prove to him, how devoted- 
 ly he was loved by her ; and Gerald's heart was 
 no longer resolved, but yearned to turn to hers. 
 I cannot, indeed, aver in what frame of mind 
 he at last stood still at the outskirts of one of 
 many clumps, or rather masses of trees, that
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 287 
 
 nearly enclosed the most private spot in the 
 Gardens. 
 
 After the lapse of a few moments, a single 
 figure appeared at a distance, moving along the 
 path he had taken. In the firm step and self- 
 possessed air it displayed, Gerald saw little of 
 the former step and air of Lady Cox. As his 
 eye remained fixed he ascertained, at a nearer 
 view, that it was, however, no other than that 
 ill-fated young lady : like her maid, she was 
 clad for a journey. 
 
 They met in silence. Their clasped hands 
 only made a greeting. But in a few seconds 
 Lady Cox spoke. " Your actions, and your 
 words too, have, as I said before, long assured 
 me you loved me ; but your more positive ex- 
 pressions last night in the chapel left me no 
 doubt." 
 
 " Enchanting Louisa I have loved beyond 
 words or utterance ay, since the very hour 
 we met, though I dared not then admit it to 
 my own heart." 
 
 " Well ; and I have said enough to inti- 
 mate my feelings; but I will now add that, 
 from the very same hour, I loved, too. Do not
 
 288 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 interrupt me I have much to say ; I ought to 
 say much. But let me try to condense my words. 
 The impression you made, at our first meeting, 
 upon my very young and girlish heart, was 
 not made because that heart was naturally light 
 and fickle, or disposed to transfer its preference. 
 Before it felt one for you, I became a wife at 
 my mother's command, as I would have done 
 any other thing she commanded, which was not, 
 or did not seem decidedly odious : and Sir 
 Richard Cox was not old, nor deformed, and I 
 knew nothing of him but what he looked. 
 Another object called up the hitherto sleeping 
 feelings he had failed to awaken ; and this, as I 
 did not will or wish it, and as, up to that in- 
 stant, a thought never strayed from my hus- 
 band (he did not become or appear what he is 
 till we returned to Ireland) this, I say, was 
 not my fault. 
 
 " But though the involuntary sentiment could 
 not make me guilty in its mere occurrence, I soon 
 decided that its indulgence would : and, from 
 the day that I entered my husband's house, my 
 constant efforts were to forget you and esteem 
 him. I must have been successful if he had 
 assisted me. But he changed into a careless,
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 289 
 
 dissipated, bad, unfaithful husband ; coarse in 
 his manners ; unintellectual in his thoughts ; 
 gross in his errors ; and, at my least word of 
 expostulation (and believe me, my words 
 were not many nor loud) tyrannical, cruel, 
 barbarous. I tried to make him love me again 
 by the little attentions that he used to call en- 
 dearments ; but my power was gone, my spell 
 dissolved, my wand broken. I read to him, 
 and he yawned and cried out 'nonsense' on 
 the book and me ; I sang and played to him, 
 and he laughed and scoffed : and when, hiding 
 my perhaps childish tears, I have stood up, and 
 in poor smiles approached him, and put my 
 wife's arms round his neck, and with my wife's 
 lips offered to kiss his, he would not gently 
 untwine my arms, avoid my kiss, and put me 
 from his side. 
 
 " I had been alone with him ; now, I was 
 worse than completely alone ; and in this soli- 
 tude, considering my years, my natural vivacity, 
 my imperfect education, is it surprising, is it a 
 proof of levity, that the thought once overcome 
 should return upon me ? that I should remem- 
 ber I had seen one, a little while too late, from 
 whose conversation, talents, and turn of mind, 
 
 VOL. i. o
 
 290 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 manner, sensibilities, and character, I might 
 have hoped happiness ? in whose presence my 
 song and my music, my book and my smile, 
 would not pass as idle or tiresome ? and even 
 if, in word or thought, pursuit or conduct, I 
 had proved deficient, who must have been as 
 anxious as he was highly qualified to woo me 
 into improvement, rather than to scoff or spurn 
 me into despair ? Do not speak yet, you think 
 my words sound flatteringly, and call for pro- 
 fessions : but pass that, and hear me still. 
 
 " In the midst of my sufferings, an old lady, 
 a relative of my mother, came to live in our 
 neighbourhood, and from the first, I clung to 
 her fellowship and sympathy. She was of a 
 very pious cast, and, in her repeated conver- 
 sations, could only propose to me the conso- 
 lation of religion. Her language possessed a 
 power and zeal which speedily moved me, and, 
 in full sincerity of heart, I became her disciple. 
 She introduced me to persons of her own ardent 
 sect ; and, influenced, perhaps, as much by the 
 novelty as by the truth of my feelings, I ima- 
 gined that I had indeed found a partial cure 
 for misery. 'Tis true, I never smiled in my 
 new paradise ; and quite as true that two ob-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 201 
 
 jects, one celestial, and one earthly, almost 
 divided my devotions. I cannot explain the 
 seeming contradiction ; but it is certain that I 
 never poured out my soul in sincere prayer and 
 zeal, without loving you the more. 
 
 " An extreme outrage drove me to London, 
 and we met again. 'Tis useless to say how 
 much your now perfected manner and education 
 exalted you above even what I had recollected 
 of you in my Irish solitude. But I will so- 
 lemnly declare, that, until last night, notwith- 
 standing our increased acquaintance, and my 
 conviction that you loved me well, a thought of 
 sharing life or fortune with you never occurred 
 to my mind. I was only blessed in worshipping 
 and praying by your side ; and in the reflec- 
 tion, that even when deprived of that blessed- 
 ness, I could remember it had been, and also 
 remember that I was dear to you. 
 
 " An instant of treacherous weakness betray- 
 ed me into half of what I had resolved to die 
 without saying ; and the appearance of my cruel 
 husband involuntarily extorted a conclusive 
 
 expression. It did more. It " 
 
 " Adored Louisa !" at last interrupted Gerald ; 
 " might you not have been mistaken as to that
 
 292 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 person ? All probability is against his appear- 
 ance in such a place, at the present time. Your 
 mother thinks so." 
 
 " What ! have you mentioned it to her !" 
 cried Lady Cox, in a sudden frenzy that startled 
 Gerald, and gave him the first indication of 
 the vehemence that lay only smothered in her 
 bosom. 
 
 " No," he answered, " not a word, not a 
 breath for worlds I could not have done so ; 
 but, by other means, I induced her opinions of 
 the great improbability of Sir Richard being 
 now in London and, indeed, his character and 
 his silence, for many weeks, seem quite against 
 the supposition," 
 
 " You do not know all his character. In the 
 midst of dissipation, and of seeming carelessness 
 of every thing on earth but his vulgar pleasures, 
 he possesses a power of starting to his feet, 
 sternly, if not calmly, and then of vigorously, 
 if not properly, pursuing any plan of self-asser- 
 tion he may, with or without cause, take into 
 his head. From one or two unexpected ex- 
 amples of what I say, I dread, as much as I 
 abhor, my bad and tyrannous husband. Since 
 I came to London, at least since his silence, after
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 293 
 
 my mother's letter and mine, I have not been 
 able to divest myself of the terrible notion that 
 wherever I moved he was in my track, and his 
 unseen eye always watching me. As to the 
 possibility of my mistaking another face for his 
 last night, that is out of the question. Oh ! the 
 sufferer cannot so soon forget the features of 
 the persecutor ! One glance at the brow of his 
 former gaoler is enough for the escaped and 
 trembling prisoner ! And though I hope he 
 did not notice my recognition of him, for it 
 was but a glance I had, and of his profile, too, 
 and only half of that, as he bent his head to his 
 breast, yet ah ! heaven of heavens !" 
 
 Lady Cox screamed till the little solitudes 
 around rang to the piercing sounds, as, clasping 
 her hands together, she looked up a vista of 
 trees. 
 
 " What ? what 's the matter ? " inquired 
 Gerald. 
 
 " Look ! look where I point, or he is gone !" 
 Gerald, indeed, saw a man running fast, and just 
 turning the edge of a thick clump, at about 
 thirty yards distance. " "Pis he again ! " she 
 continued, " and he has, until this moment, 
 been near enough to hear every thing we said ! 
 o 3
 
 294 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 Perhaps but hiding behind this very tree we 
 lean against ! But he does not make me swoon 
 now ! For now, indeed, my path is marked out; 
 the path that bears me from him, from destruc- 
 tion, death at his hand ! Oh ! he would no more 
 pause to shed my blood, than he would hesitate 
 to shed that of the poor bird his cruel pastime 
 dooms to slaughter ! This morning, this instant, 
 I leave London !" she advanced towards the 
 entrance by which she had come into the Gar- 
 dens, and continued to walk rapidly, Gerald 
 following: "London, England, Ireland, for- 
 mer friends ! Him and the world !" 
 
 " Compose yourself, for mercy's sake !" cried 
 Gerald, taking her hand, as they walked along, 
 " be more collected what do you mean ?" 
 
 " And you ask me that ? " she exclaimed, 
 dropping his hand : " you who have brought me 
 to say it ! why are you here ? why are we here 
 together ? If you could have interpreted, in a 
 second sense, my parting words last night, the 
 words that proposed this meeting, why did you 
 listen to them ? why act on them ?" 
 
 " Beloved Louisa, hear me : I did, indeed, 
 give those dear words but one sense a sense 
 that intoxicated me with happiness, that made
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 295 
 
 me at the moment, and afterwards in the soli- 
 tude of my sleepless chamber, resolve to devote 
 every hour, every day of my life, to your most 
 honouring love and confidence ; yet, reflection " 
 
 " Reflection ! you can reflect at such a mo- 
 ment ! in such a situation ! you love, and you 
 can i*eflect ! Let go my hand ! I spurn your 
 calculating and cold conceit, as I loathe and fear 
 him ! Restrain me not !" Gerald struggled to 
 restrain her. " I can dare my fate alone !" 
 
 " Louisa !" he flung himself on his knees, 
 while mingled tears of pity and of contending 
 passion burst forth " let me speak on ! You 
 ask me why I am here ! I answer, to say that 
 which may restore which have mercy and 
 hear me !" 
 
 His voice failed, and his head sunk on his 
 clasped hands. As sudden a change occurred 
 in her emotions. After looking at him a mo- 
 ment, she, too, wept, and also kneeling, al- 
 lowed her arms to fall on his shoulders as she 
 said, " Not to me, Gerald ! not this low atti- 
 tude to me ! not this bending to her whose 
 almost idol you are ! That you love me as it 
 is my pride and my joy to be loved, I now see ; 
 and I could curse the tongue that has given
 
 296 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 you one angry word ! Oh, Gerald, anger is 
 new to me, as well as other things ! this is the 
 first time in my life I have forgotten I was a 
 lady, and that I should forget it to you, makes 
 the thought sharp as a piercing sword. But I 
 know not how it is," she continued, allowing 
 him to raise her " you have changed me, Ge- 
 rald, into something I have no recollection I 
 ever was ; and, be the change for good or ill, I 
 am not the Louisa I have been. You have 
 given me, along with strength ay, daring of 
 mind a wish to think and to excel, which, I 
 believe, was not born with me. Beloved Ge- 
 rald, do not forsake me in the undetermined, 
 undirected force of a new consciousness and 
 character ! send the freshly-burst stream upon 
 an even course, lest it rush foaming over the 
 precipice ! In my present utter misery, horror, 
 and fear, do not cast me off ! This is not wo- 
 man's usual language, but must not the loving, 
 desolate, and terrified heart speak or break !"" 
 She again suddenly knelt. " Make of me what 
 you will ! oh ! I will be endowed with a mind 
 and a power to prove worthy of you ! And, 
 were we away from imminent peril time, a lit-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 297 
 
 tie time, and the natural course of events, may 
 allow us to remain together in ADMITTED vir- 
 tue r 
 
 " Rise, if you would not make me mad, 
 Louisa !" After many efforts, during which she 
 almost laid her head at his feet, he once more 
 raised her. " If I do not love, worship you, 
 with heart, and soul, and if I would not che- 
 rish you, with heart, and soul, and hand, against 
 the world, let the power I invoke to decide, 
 destroy me ere another word escapes ! But " 
 
 " That ends it !" she cried, relapsing into her 
 wilder mood " that one little breath ! fare- 
 well !" she moved from him more quickly than 
 before. He still followed, but vainly sought to 
 stay her " I will take my revenge !" she added. 
 
 Dreadful misgivings occurred to him. 
 
 " Louisa ! adored ! what mean you ?" 
 
 " You think I mean self-murder, but you 
 err." 
 
 " Oh, Louisa ! promise me that, faithfully 
 and solemnly, if indeed you will not stay to 
 give me a hearing." 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, Sir !" she answered, in 
 a bitter and scoffing tone; "perhaps, after all,
 
 298 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 your superb disdain may not prove enough to 
 kill a poor rejected lady ; yet, expect to own 
 me revenged, still." 
 
 " Jeer me as you will, Louisa, but promise 
 that your hasty thought suggests no violence of 
 any kind to yourself or others !" 
 
 " Others !" she laughed out : " why, you 
 fear for yourself, now. But, farewell, I say, 
 you need not." 
 
 She had approached within view of the door. 
 All his virtuous resolutions tottered to their 
 downfal. 
 
 " Oh leave not London thus !" he cried 
 " alone, unprotected, helpless." 
 
 " I mean it not, Sir ;" the distance increased 
 between them ; he sprang after her " or, take 
 me with you !" he continued : " no matter what 
 ties are broken, what principles violated, what 
 results dared, let me share your precipitancy 
 and your lot !" 
 
 In unmixed pride she answered, " No, Sir ! 
 you shall violate no principles for me, you shall 
 gain no opportunity to reproach me with the 
 precipitancy which, even in this moment of 
 relapsing ardour, you can so coolly calculate. 
 Release me, Sir, and do not presume to follow."
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 299 
 
 She swept from him to the door and disap- 
 peared through it. After a moment of stupor 
 he ran on. The carriage was already out of 
 hearing of the cries of " stop ! stop !" which he 
 addressed to the coachman. Unconscious of 
 the amazed and perhaps sneering observation of 
 the garden-keeper who sat at the door, he fol- 
 lowed in its track. But the horses went on at 
 a gallop, and all his efforts even to keep the 
 distance he first held from it were unavailing. 
 He only had the consolation of observing that, 
 after having gained the Hyde-park-corner en- 
 trance, it turned to the left, up " the Ring," 
 and whirled townwards through Grosvenor- 
 gate. 
 
 Arriving at home, exhausted with emotion, 
 exertion, and want of sleep, he hurried to his 
 chamber, and flung himself down. Nature 
 asserted her right, and he slept profoundly. 
 
 At about one o^clock in the afternoon a 
 servant awoke him by tapping at his door. He 
 started up from dreamless slumber to a broken 
 recollection of the morning, that more resem- 
 bled, however, a hideous dream, or the calling 
 back of one, than it did the realities of his ex- 
 istence. The servant said that a gentleman,
 
 300 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 who had not the honour of being known to him. 
 requested an interview on pressing business. 
 
 He hastened, with ominous though vague 
 expectations, to the parlour, and found in it a 
 fashionable-looking young man, whom he cer- 
 tainly had not before seen. The stranger bowed 
 distantly, though politely ; and, when both were 
 seated, began, by saying that he called on the 
 part of his friend Captain Stanhope, of whom, 
 perhaps, Mr. Blount had heard. 
 
 " Yes," Gerald said ; " a distant relation, he 
 believed, of of Lady Cox;" (gulphing down 
 half the words,) " and her Ladyship had slight- 
 ly spoken of young Captain Stanhope to him." 
 
 " And now, Sir," resumed the stranger, 
 " Captain Stanhope would, through me, speak 
 to you of her Ladyship." Gerald was much 
 honoured, and all attention. 
 
 " As the business is sudden, Mr. Blount, I 
 fear I must be abrupt. The elopement of 
 Lady Cox has just transpired." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven, Sir !" gasped Gerald. 
 
 " And," continued Captain Stanhope's friend, 
 smiling, as if incredulously, at his ejaculation ; 
 " as it is well known that you met her Ladyship
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 301 
 
 alone, very early, this morning, in Kensington- 
 gardens, Captain Stanhope requires an instan- 
 taneous account of her place of retreat at your 
 hands." 
 
 Gerald protested his incompetency to supply 
 any such account. He was amazed, distressed, 
 thunder-struck ; but he knew no more of Lady 
 Cox's elopement, until now communicated, than 
 of what was passing in Nova-Zembla. 
 
 " You met the lady this morning, Sir, clan- 
 destinely." 
 
 " He had certainly happened to see Lady 
 Cox that morning, but " 
 
 " Enough, Sir ! it is now my duty to hand 
 you this." 
 
 Gerald tore open a note and read " Sir, 
 supply the information required by my friend, 
 or immediately arrange with my friend place 
 and time, to satisfy me for your refusing to do 
 so, or submit to be termed a dishonourable and 
 dishonoured man. R. Stanhope." 
 
 Gerald was in a state of excitement ready to 
 explode in any shape. Within three hours, 
 accompanied by his old schoolfellow, Flood, he 
 gave Captain Stanhope the required meeting. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 302 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 They fired together ; both fell. Their surgeons 
 reported that Gerald's wound was slight, Captain 
 Stanhope's mortal. 
 
 " Peace has been proclaimed at a monstrously 
 convenient time for you, worthy Blount," said 
 Flood, " inasmuch as this little affair gives 
 you an opportunity to see la belle France ; 
 and I am preposterously inclined to accompany 
 you." 
 
 In a stupor of emotions, Gerald, after his 
 wound had been dressed, allowed Flood to help 
 him into his carriage, and they were whirled, 
 in a few minutes, towards the coast. 
 
 He had just recovered, in Paris, from a short 
 and not very violent fever, produced more by 
 his astonishment and anxiety on account of Lady 
 Cox's mysterious conduct, than by his wound, 
 when the following explanation flung him back 
 into an illness that brought him to the verge of 
 the grave. It is condensed from Lord Clan- 
 gore's letter, and other information. 
 
 After Sir Richard Cox hurried out of Ken- 
 sington-gardens, where, indeed, he had heard 
 all that his wretched young wife had feared he 
 had, he called upon his intimate friend young 
 Stanhope, told him, for the first time, the his-
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 303 
 
 tory of his own dishonour, and enjoining him 
 to watch Gerald, proceeded to follow, with his 
 own eye, the conduct of Lady Cox. From that 
 time Stanhope lost sight of him; but when 
 Louisa's elopement became known among her 
 friends, Stanhope, though at a loss to account 
 for the husband's disappearance also, resolved 
 himself to call Gerald to account. 
 
 But Sir Richard was fully occupied. He 
 had ascertained, before his visit to Stanhope, 
 that his wife and Gerald did not leave the Gar- 
 dens together. He had tracked her carriage to 
 the door of a rather obscure house near the 
 
 chapel ; had seen her dismount, and 
 
 go in ; left one of his spies to keep watch ; 
 and not till then sought his military friend. 
 Returning to his spy, he learned that a young 
 gentleman, dressed in black, had, seemingly in 
 much agitation, issued from the house with 
 Lady Cox, handed her into her carriage, step- 
 ped after her, and that they instantly drove off, 
 in a direction which a second spy, dispatched 
 for the purpose, would soon ascertain. One re- 
 trospect is here necessary. Gerald had been 
 correct in suspecting the attentions of the young 
 unordained preacher ; he had only not gone far
 
 304 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 enough. Taking advantage of Lady Cox's un- 
 formed state of mind and feeling, of her devo- 
 tional zeal, and of her deference to his talents, 
 and, perhaps, though it did not amount to love, 
 of her obvious personal interest in him, Mr. 
 Newbury, indulging the impulses of a violent 
 attachment, with which at a glance she had in- 
 spired him, found opportunity to insinuate, in 
 his mixed love of God and of his neighbour's 
 wife, that, situated as she was, in the power of 
 the bad and wicked man her husband, she could 
 do nothing better calculated to promote the gene- 
 ral good, her own earthly and future happiness, 
 and, withal, the happiness of a loving brother, 
 than to forsake the tyrant and tempter, who at 
 once treated her cruelly, and might, at a future 
 re-union, peril, by bad example, her immortal 
 soul. But, rejecting at the time his eloquent 
 and specious doctrine, Lady Cox afterwards en- 
 tertained little partiality for the handsome young 
 apostle, until, in a moment of frenzied fear of 
 her husband, and of womanly indignation against 
 Gerald, he occurred to her as her only present 
 means of personal protection, and of the revenge 
 she had promised Gerald to take, and which, 
 by thus rushing from his arms to the arms of
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 305 
 
 another, she believed must be fully acknowledg- 
 ed in the bitterness of his mortification. 
 
 Sir Richard, though petrified at her sudden 
 changing of lovers, lost not an instant in pur- 
 suing her. It was enough for him that his 
 wife had dishonoured him ; with whom, or why 
 with this strange gallant instead of Gerald, 
 though a question of great interest, he did not, 
 in his present mood, care or condescend to de- 
 bate. 
 
 It formed no part of his terrible plan to over- 
 take them on the road. As they halted, there- 
 fore, he halted ; until, about four o'clock of a 
 sunny day in May, he saw them put up at a 
 hotel in Rye. Half an hour after, he dogged 
 them to a ready-furnished solitary house in the 
 suburbs of the town, upon which was the pla- 
 card " To Let." He saw them go in, and 
 Newbury returned alone to the hotel, but 
 soon came back, superintending some luggage. 
 
 Sir Richard, cursing the slow approach of 
 night, still kept his eye fixed on the solitary 
 house. At last the evening fell, and the win- 
 dows of their sitting-room glowed with candle- 
 light ; the linen blinds only had been drawn 
 down. The shadows of their figures, passing
 
 306 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 backward and forward in the apartment, closely 
 united, were caught on the blind. Sir Richard 
 walked rapidly, but cautiously, to the kitchen, 
 or back-door. 
 
 He feared to have found it locked, so that he 
 must have tapped, or made some noise, which 
 it was not his object to do. But, gently raising 
 a latch, he crossed the threshold and presented 
 himself before the only attendant yet established 
 in the house, Lady Cox's own maid. 
 
 " Not a word, or you die !" he said in a 
 fierce whisper, drawing a pistol. She fell sense- 
 less without screaming. He observed if the 
 windows of a small back-kitchen were barred, 
 and ascertaining that they were, he lifted her 
 into the place ; locked the door ; sat down to a 
 table ; took out a paper that afterwards was 
 found to contain an account of his proceedings, 
 continued from day to day since he arrived in 
 London ; added to it, in pencil, a statement of 
 the last circumstances here described, together 
 with an avowal of what he yet resolved to do : 
 folded it and put it in his bosom ; drew forth a 
 second pistol, and snatching the servant's can- 
 dle, stept softly up-stairs.
 
 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 307 
 
 He found the door of the sitting-room bolted 
 against him ; perhaps they had heard his creep- 
 ing footsteps, and secured it in terror. The 
 crash of bursting it open recalled the girl below 
 to her senses. She listened. Piercing screams 
 succeeded. Then a shot ; a pause ; and then 
 another shot. 
 
 She could tell no more. But those who re- 
 leased her in the morning from her fearful im- 
 prisonment, learned, upon proceeding to search 
 the house, the sequel of the story. Upon the 
 middle of the floor lay Sir Richard Cox, dead 
 and cold. At one side, near a sofa, were 
 stretched Newbury and Lady Cox, bound to- 
 gether with her own sash and shawl, At first 
 the people thought that they, too, were both 
 dead. But, to their horror, Lady Cox moved 
 her head sideways, when she heard their ap- 
 proach, and fixing her large dark eyes on them, 
 smiled. Her companion was, indeed, lifeless 
 and stiff; she was only mad : her husband had 
 offered her no personal injury ; but, having 
 shot her paramour through the heart, he bound 
 her to the body, placed its arms round her neck, 
 and demoniacally refining his revenge, preferred
 
 808 THE ANGLO-IRISH. 
 
 to let her live, that she might see him die too, 
 and then pass the night in the situation in 
 which the people found her, and afterwards 
 remember it if she could. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, 
 
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