Kitabı oku: «Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II)», sayfa 13

“The expression is not parliamentary, my Lord,” said Linton, with a slight flushing of the cheek, “and so I must call you to order.”

“Is Turcoman to run?” asked Lord Charles, negligently.

“No. I have persuaded Cashel to buy him, and he has taken him out of training.”

“Well, you really go very straightforward in your work, Linton. I must say you are as plucky a rogue as I ‘ve ever heard of. Pray, now, how do you manage to keep up your influence over that youth? He always appears to me to be a rash-headed, wilful kind of fellow there would be no guiding.”

“Simply, by always keeping him in occupation. There are people like spavined horses, and one must always get them warm in their work, and they never show the blemish. Now, I have been eternally alongside of Cashel. One day buying horses, – another, pictures, – another time it was furniture, carriages, saddlery, – till we have filled that great old house of the ex-Chancellor’s with an assemblage of objects, living and inanimate, it would take a month to chronicle.”

“Some kind friend may open his eye to all this one of these days, Master Linton; and then – ”

“By that time,” said Linton, “his clairvoyance will be too late. Like many a man I ‘ve known, he ‘ll be a capital judge of claret when his cellar has been emptied.”

“You were a large winner last night, Linton?”

“Twelve hundred and fifty. It might have been double the amount, but I ‘ve taken a hint from Splasher’s Physiology. He says nothing encourages a plethora like small bleedings. And you, Charley; what did you do?”

“Sixty pounds!” replied he, shortly. “I never venture out of my depth.”

“And you mean to infer that I do, my Lord,” said Linton, trying to smile, while evidently piqued by the remark. “Well, I plead guilty to the charge. I have a notion in my head that seven feet of water drowns a man just as effectually as seven hundred fathoms in the blue Atlantic. Now you know, as well as I, that neither of us could afford to lose sixty pounds thrice running; so let us not talk of venturing out of our depth, which, I take it, would be to paddle in very shallow water indeed.”

For an instant it seemed as if Lord Charles would have given an angry reply to this sally; but, as hastily checking the emotion, he walked to the window, and appeared to be lost in thought, while Linton continued his breakfast with all the zest of a hungry man.

“I’ll give up play altogether,” said Frobisher. “That I’ve resolved upon. This will go abroad, rely upon it Some of the papers will get hold of it, and we shall see some startling paragraphs about ‘Recent Discoveries in the Vice-regal Household,’ – ‘Nefarious System of High Play at the Castle,’ and so on. Now it ‘s all very well for you, who neither care who ‘s in or out, or hold any appointment here; but remember, there are others – myself for instance – who have no fancy for this kind of publicity.”

“In the first place,” interrupted Linton, “there is no danger; and in the second, if there were, it’s right well remunerated. Your appointment here, with all its contingent advantages, of which, not to excite your blushes, we shall say nothing, is some three or four hundred a year. Now, a lucky evening and courage to back the luck – a quality, by the way, I never yet found in one Englishman in a hundred – is worth this twice or thrice told. Besides, remember, that this wild bull of the prairies has come of himself into our hunting-grounds. If we don’t harpoon him, somebody else will. A beast of such fat on the haunches is not going to escape scot free; and lastly, by falling into good hands, he shall have the advantage of being cut up artistically, and not mauled and mangled by the rude fingers of the ignorant Faith, as for myself, I think I richly merit all the spoils I shall obtain!”

“As how, pray?” asked Lord Charles, languidly.

“In the first place, to speak of the present, I have ridden out with him, sat beside him on the box of his drag; he is seen with me in public, and has been heard to call me ‘Linton’ on the ride at Dycer’s. My tradespeople have become his tradespeople. The tailor who reserved his master stroke of genius for me now shares his favors with him. In fact, Charley, we are one. Secondly, as regards the future, see from what perils I shall rescue him. He shall not marry Livy Kennyfeck; he shall not go into Parliament for the Liberal interest, nor for any interest, if I can help it; he shall not muddle away a fine fortune in fattening Durham bulls and Berkshire boars; neither shall he excel in rearing mangel-wurzel or beet-root. I ‘ll teach him to have a soul above subsoiling, and a spirit above green crops. He shall not fall into the hands of Downie Meek, and barter his birthright for a Whig baronetcy; neither shall he be the victim of right honorable artifices, and marry a Lady Juliana or Cecilia. In fine, I ‘ll secure him from public meetings and agricultural societies, twaddling dinners, horticultural breakfasts, the Irish Academy, and Mrs. White.”

“These are great deservings indeed,” said Lord Charles, affectedly.

“So they are,” said the other; “nor do I believe there is another man about town could pilot the channel but myself. It is only reasonable, then, if I save the craft, that I should claim the salvage. Now, the next point is, will you be one of the crew? I’ll take you with pleasure, but there’s no impressment All I ask is secrecy, whether you say yea or nay.”

“Let me hear what the service is to be like.”

“Well, we shall first of all cruise; confound metaphors, – let us talk plainly. Cashel has given me a carte blanche to fill his house with guests and good things. The company and the cuisine are both to be among my attributions, and I intend that we should do the thing right royally. Selection and exclusiveness are, of course, out of the question. There are so many cock-tails to run, – there can be no disqualification. Our savage friend, in fact, insists on asking everybody he sees, and we are lucky if we escape the infantry and the junior bar. Here’s the list, – a goodly catalogue truly, and such a macédoine of incongruities has been rarely assembled, even at old Kennyfeck’s dinner-table.”

“Why, I see few others than the people we met there t’ other day.”

“Not many; but please to remember that even a country house has limits, and that some of the guests, at least, must have separate rooms. To be serious, Charley, I have misused the King’s press damnably; we have such a party as few have ever witnessed. There are the Kilgoffs, the Whites, the Hamiltons, along with the Clan Kennyfeck, the Ridleys, and Mathew Hannigan, Esquire, of Bally-Hanni-gan, the new Member of Parliament for Dunrone, and the last convert to the soothing doctrines of Downie Meek.”

“Is Downie coming?” lisped the aide-de-camp.

“Ay, and his daughter, too. He wrote one of his velvety epistles, setting forth the prayer of his petition in favor of ‘a little girl yet only in the nursery.’”

“Yes, yes; I know all that. Well, I ‘m not sorry. I like Jemmy. She is a confounded deal better than her father, and is a capital weight to put on a young horse, and a very neat hand too. Who next? Not the Dean, I hope.”

“No; we divided on the Dean, and carried his exclusion by a large majority. Mrs. Kennyfeck was, I believe, alone in the lobby.”

“Glad of that! No one can expect an Irish visit in the country without rain, and he ‘s an awful fellow to be caged with, when out-o’-door work is impracticable.”

“Then there are the Latrobes and the Heatherbys; in fact, the whole set, with a Polish fellow, of course a Count, – Deuroominski; a literary tourist, brought by Mrs. White, called Howie; and a small little dark man one used to see two seasons ago, that sings the melodies and tells Irish legends, – I forget the name.”

“Promiscuous and varied, certainly; and what is the order of the course? Are there to be games, rural sports, fireworks, soaped pigs, and other like intellectualities?”

“Precisely; a kind of coming-of-age thing on a grand scale. I have engaged Somerton’s chef; he has just left his place. Gunter sends over one of his people; and Dubos, of the Cadran Bleu, is to forward two hampers per week from Paris. Hicksley is also to provide all requisites for private theatricals. In fact, nearly everything has been attended to, save the horse department; I wish you ‘d take that under your protectorate; we shall want any number of screws for saddle and harness, with drags, breaks, and machines of all kinds, to drive about in. Do, pray, be master of the horse.”

“Thanks; but I hate and detest trouble of all kinds. So far as selling you two of my own, – a wall-eye and a bone-spavin included, – I consent.”

“Agreed. Everything in your stable carries a sidesaddle; that I know, so name your figure.”

“A hundred; they ‘d bring close on fifty at Dycer’s any day; so I am not exorbitant, as these are election times.”

“There ‘s the ticket, then,” said Linton, taking out a check-book and filling up a leaf for the sum, which he tore out and presented to Lord Charles.

“What! has he really so far installed you as to – ” “As to give blank checks,” said the other, holding up the book in evidence, where “Roland Cashel” was written on a vast number of pages. “I never knew the glorious sense of generosity before, Charley. I have heard a great deal about liberal sentiments, and all that kind o’ thing; but now, for the first time, do I feel the real enjoyment of indulgence. To understand this liberty aright, however, a man must have a squeeze, – such a squeeze as I have experienced myself once or twice in life; and then, my boy, as the song says,” – here, with a bold rattling air, he sang to a popular melody, —

 
“When of luck you ‘ve no card up,
And feel yourself ‘hard up,’
And cannot imagine a method to win;
When ‘friends’ take to shy you,
And Jews to deny you,
How pleasant to dip in another man’s tin!
 
 
“Not seeking or craving
Some pettyful saving,
You draw as you like upon Drummond or Gwynne,
And, while pleasure pursuing
You know there ‘s no ruing
The cost that comes out of another man’s tin.
 

“Eh, Charley! that’s the toast we ‘Chevaliers Modernes’ should drink before the health of the royal family.”

“The royal family!” sneered Frobisher; “I never observed that loyalty was a very remarkable trait in your character.”

“The greater injustice yours, then,” said Linton. “I conceived a very early attachment to monarchy, on learning the importance of the king at écarte.”

“I should have thought the knave had more of your sympathy,” said the other.

“Inasmuch as he follows the queen, I suppose,” said Linton, good-humoredly, laughing. “But come, don’t look so grave, old fellow; had I been a political intrigant, and devoted these goodly talents of mine to small state rogueries in committees and adjourned debates, I’d have been somebody in these dull times of aspiring mediocrity; but as my ambitions have never soared beyond the possession of what may carry on the war of life, irrespective of its graver honors, you moralists – Heaven bless the mark! – rather regard me distrustfully. Now, let me tell you a secret, and it’s one worth the knowing. There’s nothing so fatal to a man’s success in life as ‘a little character;’ a really great one may dispense with every kind of ability and acquirement. Get your name once up in our English public, and you may talk, preach, and write the most rank nonsense with a very long impunity; but a little character, like a small swimming bladder, only buoys you up long enough to reach deep water and be drowned. To journey the road of life with this is to ‘carry weight’ Take my advice, – I give it in all sincerity; you are as poor a man as myself; there are thousands of luxuries you can afford yourself, but this is too costly an indulgence for a small fortune. Your ‘little character’ is a kind of cankering conscience, not strong enough to keep you out of wickedness, but sufficiently active to make you miserable afterwards. An everlasting suggester of small scruples, it leaves a man no time for anything but petty expedients and devices, and you hang suspended all your life between desire and denial, without the comfort of the one or the credit of the other.”

“Is the sermon over?” said Lord Charles, rather affectedly than really feeling tired of the “tirade,” “or are you only rehearsing the homily before you preach it to Roland Cashel?”

“Quite wrong there, my Lord,” said Linton, with the same imperturbable temper. “Cashel is rich enough to afford himself any caprice, even a good name, if he like it You and I take ours as we do railway tickets, any number that’s given us!” And with this speech, delivered in an air of perfect quietude, but still emphatically slow, he settled his hat on before the glass, arranged his whiskers, and walked away.

Lord Charles, for a second, seemed disposed to make an angry reply, but, correcting the impulse, he walked to the window in silence. “I have half a mind to spoil your game, my worthy friend,” muttered he, as the other passed across the court-yard; “one word to Cashel would do it To be sure it is exploding the mine with one’s own hand to the fusee; that’s to be thought of.” And, so saying, he lay down on the sofa to ruminate.

CHAPTER XV. AT THE GAMING TABLE

 
“Not half so skilled in means and ways,
The ‘hungry Greek’ of classic days
His cards with far less cunning plays
Than eke our modern sharper!”
 

When Linton had determined within himself to make Cashel “his own,” his first care was to withdraw him from the daily society of the Kennyfecks, by whose familiar intercourse a great share of influence was already enjoyed over their young guest. This was not so easy a task as he had at first imagined. Cashel had tasted of the pleasant fascination of easy intimacy with two young and pretty girls, eagerly bent on being agreeable to him. He was in all the full enjoyment of that rare union, the pleasure of being at home and yet an honored guest; and it was only when Linton suggested that late hours and irregular habits were but little in accordance with the decorous propriety of a family, that Cashel yielded, and consented to remove his residence to a great furnished house in “Stephen’s Green,” where some bygone Chancellor once held his state.

Linton well knew that if “Necessity” be the mother of invention, “Propinquity” is the father of love; that there is nothing so suggestive of the tender passion as that lackadaisical state to which lounging at home contributes, and the chance meetings with a pretty girl. The little intercourse on the stairs going down to breakfast, the dalliance in the conservatory, the chit-chat before dinner, are far more formidable than all the formal meetings under the blaze of wax-lights, and amid the crush of white satin.

“If I leave him much longer among them,” said he to himself, “he ‘ll marry one of these girls; and then adieu to all influence over him! No more écarté, – no more indiscriminate purchases of everything I propose, – no more giving ‘the odds against the field.’ A wife and a wife’s family are heavy recognizances against a bachelor friend’s counsels.”

Cashel was really sorry to leave the house where his time had passed so pleasantly. The very alternation of his interest regarding the two sisters had kept his mind in a state of pleasant incertitude, now seeing something to prefer in this, now in that, while at the same time suggesting on their part greater efforts to please and amuse him. If Mr. Kennyfeck deemed Cashel’s removal a very natural step, and one which his position in some sort demanded, not so his wife. She inveighed powerfully against the dangerous intimacy of Linton, and the ruinous consequences such an ascendancy would lead to. “You should tell Mr. Cashel who this man is,” said she, imperiously.

“But that is exactly what nobody knows,” meekly responded Mr. Kennyfeck.

“Pshaw! every one knows all about him. You can tell him how he ruined young Rushbrook, and in less than two years left him without a shilling.”

Mr. Kennyfeck shook his head, as though to say that the evidence was by no means conclusive on that count.

“Yes, you may affect not to believe it,” said she, angrily, “but did n’t George Lawson see the check for eight thousand paid to Linton at La touche’s bank, and that was one evening’s work.”

“There was a great deal of high play, I ‘ve heard, among them.”

“Oh, indeed! you’ve heard that much,” said she, scornfully; “probably, too, you’ve heard how Linton paid seventy thousand pounds for part of the Dangwood estate, – he that had not sixpence three months previous. I tell you, Mr. Kennyfeck, that you have labored to very little purpose to establish this young man’s claim if you are to stand by and see his property portioned among sharpers. There! don’t start and look so frightened; there ‘s nobody listening, and if there were, too, I don’t care. I tell you, Mr. Kennyfeck, that if it weren’t for your foolish insufficiency Cashel would propose for Olivia. Yes! the thing is plain as possible. He fell in love with her the very night he arrived; every one saw it. Jane Lyons told me how it was remarked the day the company dined here. Leonard told all over Dublin how she chose the diamonds, and that Cashel distinctly referred to her before buying them. Then they were seen together driving through the streets. What more would you have? And now you suffer all this to be undone for the selfish objects of Mr. Linton; but I tell you, Mr. Kennyfeck, if you ‘re a fool, I am not!”

“But really I don’t see – ”

“You don’t see! I’m sure you do not. You’d see, however, if it were a case for an action in the courts, – a vulgar appeal to twelve greasy jurors, – you ‘d see then. There is quite enough for a shabby verdict! But I regard the affair very differently, and I tell you frankly, if I see Cashel draw off in his attentions, I ‘ll send for my cousin O’Gorman. I believe you can assure your young client that he ‘ll find there’s no joking with him.”

Now this was the “most unkindest cut of all;” for if report spoke truly, Mr. Kennyfeck had himself experienced from that gentleman a species of moral force impulsion which left the most unpleasant reminiscences behind.

“I beseech you to remember, Mrs. Kennyfeck, that this agency is one of the best in Ireland.”

“So much the more reason to have the principal your son-in-law.”

“I ‘d have you to reflect how little success coercion is like to have with a person of Mr. Cashel’s temper.”

“Peter is the best shot in Ballinasloe,” rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, sententiously.

Mr. Kennyfeck nodded a full assent, but seemed to hazard a doubt as to the efficiency of such skill.

“I repeat, sir, I’ll send for him. Peter knows pretty well what ought to be done in such matters, and it’s a comfort to think there is some spirit on one side of the family, at least.” Whether to afford a practical illustration, albeit negatively, or that he dreaded a continuance of the controversy, Mr. Kennyfeck feigned a business appointment, and retired, leaving his spouse to ponder over her threat, and resolve with herself as to the advantage of Peter’s alliance.

While this conjugal discussion engaged papa and mamma, Cashel was endeavoring to explain to the fair daughters the reasons for his departure, affecting to see that the multiplicity of his engagements and duties required a step which he owned was far from agreeable to his feelings.

“I suspected how soon you would weary of us,” said Olivia, in a half whisper.

“We ought to have remembered, Livy,” said the elder sister, “how little would our claims upon Mr. Cashel appear when confronted with those of a higher station in the world.”

“I assure you, you wrong both yourselves and me. I never – ”

“Oh, I ‘m certain you never imagined this step. I can well believe that if it were not for advice – not very disinterested, perhaps – you would have still condescended to regard this as your home.”

“If I suspected that this removal would in the least affect the sentiments I entertain for my kind friends here, or in any way alter those I trust they feel for me, I ‘d never have adopted, or, having adopted, never execute it.”

“We are really very much to blame, Mr. Cashel,” said Olivia bashfully, “in suffering our feelings to sway you on a matter like this. It was only too kind of you to come here at first; and perhaps even yet you will come occasionally to see us.”

“Yes, Mr. Cashel, Livy is right; we are very selfish in our wishes, and very inconsiderate besides. Your position in the world requires a certain mode of living, a certain class of acquaintances, which are not ours. It is far better, then, that we should resign ourselves to an interruption, than wait for an actual broach of intimacy.”

Cashel was totally at a loss to see how his mere change of residence could possibly imply a whole train of altered feelings and relations, and was about to express his astonishment on that score when Linton’s phaeton drove up to the door, according to an appointment they had made the day before, to breakfast with the officers of a regiment quartered a short distance from town.

“There is your friend, Mr. Cashel,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with a marked emphasis on the word. Cashel muttered something about a rendezvous, and took up his hat, when a servant entered to request he would favor Mr. Kennyfeck with a brief interview before going out.

“Are we to see you at dinner to-day?” said Olivia, languidly.

“I hope so. Mrs. Kennyfeck has been kind enough to ask me, and I hope to have the pleasure.”

“Will Mr. Linton give leave?” said Miss Kennyfeck, laughing; and then, seeing a cloud on Cashel’s brow, added, “I meant, if you had made no appointment with him.”

“I ‘m self-willed enough to follow my own bent generally,” said he, abruptly, and left the room.

“You owe that gentleman a heavy grudge, Livy,” said Miss Kennyfeck, as she approached the window and looked out.

“Who do you mean, dear?”

“Mr. Linton. Were it not for him, I half think you might have succeeded.”

“I really cannot comprehend you,” said the younger, with well-assumed astonishment.

“Of course not, my dear. Still, it was a difficult game, even if left all to yourself. He was always likely to smash the tackle at the moment when almost caught. There, don’t look so puzzled, dear; I was only following out a little reverie, – that’s all.”

Meanwhile Cashel hastily descended the stairs, not over good-humoredly commenting on Mr. Kennyfeck’s ill-chosen moment for a business conversation. “I can only stay a few minutes, or rather seconds,” cried he, as he opened the door of the study; and then checked himself as he perceived a short, stout elderly man, of venerable appearance, who rose respectfully from his chair as he came in.

“Doctor Tiernay, Mr. Cashel,” said Kennyfeck, presenting the stranger. “I have taken the liberty to delay you, sir, since it would be a great convenience if you could accord this gentleman a brief hearing at present; he has come above a hundred miles to crave it, and must leave Dublin by the afternoon mail.”

“Without it be Mr. Cashel’s pleasure to detain me,” said the doctor, submissively.

“He is a tenant of your Tubbermore estate, sir,” resumed Kennyfeck, “a very near neighbor.”

“I regret that I am pressed for time at this moment, sir,” said Cashel, drawing on his gloves impatiently; “but I believe it is the less consequence, inasmuch as I really know nothing – absolutely nothing – and you, Mr. Kennyfeck, know everything about that property, and are by far the best person to hear and decide upon this gentleman’s proposition, whatever it be.”

“It is a case that must be decided by yourself, sir,” said the doctor. “It is neither a matter of law nor right, but a simple question of whether you will do an act of great kindness to the oldest tenant on your property, – a man who, now overtaken by years and sickness, may not perhaps be alive at my return to hear of your benevolence.”

“It is about this renewal, sir,” interposed Kennyfeck, who saw Cashel’s increasing impatience to be away. “Mr. Corrigan’s lease expires on the 25th.”

“He is now struck by paralysis,” interrupted the doctor; “and his only prayer is to be suffered to die beneath the roof where he has lived for fifty years.”

“A tenant at will,” interposed Kennyfeck.

“Gracious Heaven! how could he suppose I should dream of dispossessing him?” cried Cashel. “Of course, sir, the house is his own so long as he pleases to hold it. Tell him so. Mr. Kennyfeck will tell him from me that he need not give the matter another thought. I am sincerely grieved that it should have already caused him so much anxiety.”

“Ah, sir,” cried the doctor, while two very dubious drops twinkled in his eyes, “you are indeed worthy of the good fortune that has befallen you. My poor old friend will bless you, with a prouder heart in his belief in human nature than even his gratitude could suggest. Farewell, sir, and may you long live to be as happy as you know how to make others.”

With an impulse of irrepressible warmth the old man seized Cashel’s hand in both his own, and pressed it cordially, when the door suddenly opened, and Linton, dressed in a riding costume, appeared.

“What, Roland, at business so early. Do you know you ‘re an hour behind time?”

“I do; but I couldn’t help it In fact, this was unexpected – ”

“It was an act of benevolence, sir, detained Mr. Cashel,” interrupted the doctor. “I believe no appointment can be broken with a safer apology.”

“Ho! ho!” said Linton, throwing up his eyebrows, as if he suspected a snare to his friend’s simplicity. “Which of the missions to convert the blacks, or what family of continuous twins are you patronizing?”

“Good-bye, sir,” said the doctor, turning towards Cashel. “I’d ask your pardon for the liberty I have already taken with you, if I were not about to transgress again.” Here he looked Linton fully in the face. “Mr. Cashel has done a kind and worthy action this morning, sir; but if he does many more such, and keep your company, he is not only a good man, but the strongest principled one I ever met with.”

As the last word was uttered, the door closed after him, and he was gone.

“So then, I ‘m the Mephistopheles to your Faust,” said Linton, laughing heartily; “but what piece of credulous benevolence has cost you this panegyric and me this censure?”

“Oh, a mere trifle,” said Cashel, preparing to leave, – “a simple grant of renewal to an old tenant on my estate.”

“Only that,” said Linton, affecting the coolest indifference, while by a keen glance at Kennyfeck he revealed a profound consciousness of his friend’s simplicity.

“Nothing more, upon my honor; that little cottage of Tubber-beg.”

“Not that fishing lodge beside the river, in an angle of your own demesne?” asked Linton, eagerly.

“The same. Why, what of it?”

“Nothing, save that your magnanimity is but one-sided, since only so late as Thursday last, when we looked over the map together, you gave me that cottage until such time as you should include the farm within the demesne.”

“By Jupiter, and so I did!” exclaimed Cashel, while a flush of shame covered his face and forehead; “what a confounded memory I have! What is to be done?”

“Oh, never fret about it,” said Linton, taking his arm, and leading him away; “the thing is easily settled. What do I want with the cottage? The old gentleman is, doubtless, a far more rural personage than I should prove. Let us not forget Aubrey’s breakfast, which, if we wait much longer, will be a luncheon. The ladies well, Mr. Kennyfeck?” This was the first time he had noticed that gentleman.

“Quite well, Mr. Linton,” said he, bowing politely.

“Pray present my respects. By the way, you don’t want a side-saddle horse, do you?”

“I thank you, we are supplied.”

“Whata pity! I ‘ve got such a gray, with that swinging low cantering action Miss Kennyfeck likes; she rides so well! I wish she ‘d try him.”

A shake of the head and a bland smile intimated a mild refusal.

“Inexorable father! Come, Cashel, you shall make the amende for having given away my cottage; you must buy Reginald and make him a present to the lady.”

“Agreed,” said Cashel; “send him over to-day; he’s mine, or rather Miss Kennyfeck’s. Nay, sir, really I will not be opposed. Mr. Kennyfeck, I insist.”

The worthy attorney yielded, but not without reluctance, and saw them depart, with grave misgivings that the old doctor’s sentiment was truly spoken, and that Linton’s companionship was a most unhappy accident.

“I must get into Parliament,” said Linton, as he seated himself beside Cashel in the phaeton, “if it were only to quote you as one of that much-belied class, the Irish landlord. The man who grants renewals of his best land on terms contracted three hundred years ago is very much wanted just now. What a sensation it would create in the House when they cry, ‘Name, name,’ and I reply that I am under a positive personal injunction not to name, and then Sharman Crawford, or one of that set, rises and avers that he believed the honorable and learned gentleman’s statement to be perfectly unfounded. Amid a deluge of ‘Ohs!’ I stand up and boldly declare that further reserve is no longer possible, and that the gentleman whom I am so proud to call my friend is Roland Cashel, Esq., of Tubbennore. There ‘s immortality for you, for that evening at any rate. You ‘ll be toasted at Bellamy’s at supper, and by the white-headed old gentlemen who sit in the window at the Carlton.”

“You’ll not hint that I had already made a present of the lands when I displayed so much munificence,” said Cashel, smiling.

“Not a syllable; but I’ll tell the secret to the Opposition, if you ever grow restive,” said Linton, with a laugh, in which, had Roland studied Lavater, he might have read a valuable lesson.

“A propos of Parliament, Kennyfeck persists in boring me about it, and that Mr. Downie Meek seems to have it at heart that I am to represent something or somebody, well knowing, the while, that I cannot possibly be supposed to understand anything of the interests whereon I should be called to vote and legislate.”