The postillion went in, and returned.
'She won't at all—I knew she would not.'
'Well, I am obliged to her for the night's lodging she did give me; I have no right to expect more.'
'What is it?—Sure she bid me tell you—"and welcome to the lodging; for," said she, "he is a kind-hearted gentleman;" but here's the money; it's that I was telling you she would not have at all.'
'Thank you. Now, my good friend Larry, drive me to Clonbrony, and do not say another word, for I'm not in a talking humour.'
Larry nodded, mounted, and drove to Clonbrony. Clonbrony was now a melancholy scene. The houses, which had been built in a better style of architecture than usual, were in a ruinous condition; the dashing was off the walls, no glass in the windows, and many of the roofs without slates. For the stillness of the place Lord Colambre in some measure accounted by considering that it was Sunday; therefore, of course, all the shops were shut up, and all the people at prayers. He alighted at the inn, which completely answered Larry's representation of it. Nobody to be seen but a drunken waiter, who, as well as he could articulate, informed Lord Colambre that 'his mistress was in her bed since Thursday-was-a-week; the hostler at the WASH-WOMAN'S, and the cook at second prayers.'
Lord Colambre walked to the church, but the church gate was locked and broken—a calf, two pigs, and an ass, in the churchyard; and several boys (with more of skin apparent than clothes) were playing at hustlecap upon a tombstone, which, upon nearer observation, he saw was the monument of his own family. One of the boys came to the gate, and told Lord Colambre 'there was no use in going into the church, becaase there was no church there; nor had not been this twelvemonth; becaase there was no curate; and the parson was away always, since the lord was at home—that is, was not at home—he nor the family.'
Lord Colambre returned to the inn, where, after waiting a considerable time, he gave up the point—he could not get any dinner—and in the evening he walked out again into the town. He found several ale-houses, however, open, which were full of people; all of them as busy and as noisy as possible. He observed that the interest was created by an advertisement of several farms on the Clonbrony estate, to be set by Nicholas Garraghty, Esq. He could not help smiling at his being witness incognito to various schemes for outwitting the agents and defrauding the landlord; but, on a sudden, the scene was changed; a boy ran in, crying out, that 'St. Dennis was riding down the hill into the town; and, if you would not have the license,' said the boy, 'take care of yourself.'
'IF YOU WOULDN'T HAVE THE LICENCE,' Lord Colambre perceived, by what followed, meant, 'IF YOU HAVE NOT A LICENCE.' Brannagan immediately snatched an untasted glass of whisky from a customer's lips (who cried, Murder!) gave it and the bottle he held in his hand to his wife, who swallowed the spirits, and ran away with the bottle and glass into some back hole; whilst the bystanders laughed, saying, 'Well thought of, Peggy!'
'Clear out all of you at the back door, for the love of heaven, if you wouldn't be the ruin of me,' said the man of the house, setting a ladder to a corner of the shop. 'Phil, hoist me up the keg to the loft,' added he, running up the ladder; 'and one of YEES step up street, and give Rose M'Givney notice, for she's selling too.'
The keg was hoisted up; the ladder removed; the shop cleared of all the customers; the shutters shut; the door barred; the counter cleaned. 'Lift your stones, sir, if you plase,' said the wife, as she rubbed the counter, 'and say nothing of what you SEEN at all; but that you're a stranger and a traveller seeking a lodging, if you're questioned, or waiting to see Mr. Dennis. There's no smell of whisky in it now, is there, sir?'
Lord Colambre could not flatter her so far as to say this—he could only hope no one would perceive it.
'Oh, and if he would, the smell of whisky was nothing,' as the wife affirmed, 'for it was everywhere in nature, and no proof again' any one, good or bad.'
'Now St. Dennis may come when he will, or old Nick himself!' So she tied up a blue handkerchief over her head, and had the toothache, 'very bad.'
Lord Colambre turned to look for the man of the house.
'He's safe in bed,' said the wife.
'In bed! When?'
'Whilst you turned your head, while I was tying the handkerchief over my face. Within the room, look, he is snug.'
And there he was in bed certainly, and his clothes on the chest.
A knock, a loud knock at the door.
'St. Dennis himself!—Stay, till I unbar the door,' said the woman; and, making a great difficulty, she let him in, groaning, and saying—
'We was all done up for the night, PLASE your honour, and myself with the toothache, very bad—And the lodger, that's going to take an egg only, before he'd go into his bed. My man's in it, and asleep long ago.'
With a magisterial air, though with a look of blank disappointment, Mr. Dennis Garraghty walked on, looked into THE ROOM, saw the good man of the house asleep, heard him snore, and then, returning, asked Lord Colambre 'who he was, and what brought him there?'
Our hero said he was from England, and a traveller; and now, bolder grown as a geologist, he talked of his specimens, and his hopes of finding a mine in the neighbouring mountains; then adopting, as well as he could, the servile tone and abject manner in which he found Mr. Dennis was to be addressed, 'he hoped he might get encouragement from the gentleman at the head of the estate.'
'To bore, is it?—Well, don't BORE me about it. I can't give you any answer now, my good friend; I'm engaged.'
Out he strutted. 'Stick to him up the town, if you have a mind to get your answer,' whispered the woman. Lord Colambre followed, for he wished to see the end of this scene.
'Well, sir, what are you following and sticking to me, like my shadow, for?' said Mr. Dennis, turning suddenly upon Lord Colambre.
His lordship bowed low. 'Waiting for my answer, sir, when you are at leisure.
Or, may I call upon you tomorrow?'
'You seem to be a civil kind of fellow; but, as to boring, I don't know—if you undertake it at your own expense. I dare say there may be minerals in the ground. Well, you may call at the castle to-morrow, and when my brother has done with the tenantry, I'll speak to him FOR you, and we'll consult together, and see what we think. It's too late to-night. In Ireland, nobody speaks to a gentleman about business after dinner—your servant, sir; anybody can show you the way to the castle in the morning.' And, pushing by his lordship, he called to a man on the other side of the street, who had obviously been waiting for him; he went under a gateway with this man, and gave him a bag of guineas. He then called for his horse, which was brought to him by a man whom Colambre had heard declaring that he would bid for the land that was advertised; whilst another, who had the same intentions, most respectfully held St. Dennis's stirrup, whilst he mounted without thanking either of these men. St. Dennis clapped spurs to his steed, and rode away. No thanks, indeed, were deserved; for the moment he was out of hearing, both cursed him after the manner of their country.
'Bad luck go with you, then!—And may you break your neck before you get home, if it was not for the LASE I'm to get, and that's paid for.'
Lord Colambre followed the crowd into a public-house, where a new scene presented itself to his view.
The man to whom St. Dennis gave the bag of gold was now selling this very gold to the tenants, who were to pay their rent next day at the castle.
The agent would take nothing but gold. The same guineas were bought and sold several times over, to the great profit of the agent and loss of the poor tenants; for, as the rents were paid, the guineas were resold to another set, and the remittances made through bankers to the landlord; who, as the poor man who explained the transaction to Lord Colambre expressed it, 'gained nothing by the business, bad or good, but the ill-will of the tenantry.'
The higgling for the price of the gold; the time lost in disputing about the goodness of the notes, among some poor tenants, who could not read or write, and who were at the mercy of the man with the
bag in his hand; the vexation, the useless harassing of all who were obliged to submit ultimately—Lord Colambre saw; and all this time he endured the smell of tobacco and whisky, and of the sound of various brogues, the din of men wrangling, brawling, threatening, whining, drawling, cajoling, cursing, and every variety of wretchedness.
'And is this my father's town of Clonbrony?' thought Lord Colambre. 'Is this Ireland?—No, it is not Ireland. Let me not, like most of those who forsake their native country, traduce it. Let me not, even to my own mind, commit the injustice of taking a speck for the whole. What I have just seen is the picture only of that to which an Irish estate and Irish tenantry may be degraded in the absence of those whose duty and interest it is to reside in Ireland to uphold justice by example and authority; but who, neglecting this duty, commit power to bad hands and bad hearts—abandon their tenantry to oppression, and their property to ruin.'
It was now fine moonlight, and Lord Colambre met with a boy, who said he could show him a short way across the fields to the widow O'Neill's cottage.
Chapter XII
*
All were asleep at the cottage, when Lord Colambre arrived, except the widow, who was sitting up, waiting for him; and who had brought her dog into the house, that he might not fly at him, or bark at his return. She had a roast chicken ready for her guest, and it was—but this she never told him the only chicken she had left; all the others had been sent with the DUTY-FOWL as a present to the under-agent's lady. While he was eating his supper, which he ate with the better appetite, as he had had no dinner, the good woman took down from the shelf a pocket-book, which she gave him: 'Is not that your book?' said she. 'My boy Brian found it after you in the potato furrow, where you dropped it.'
'Thank you,' said Lord Colambre; 'there are bank notes in it, which I could not afford to lose.'
'Are there?' said she; 'he never opened it—nor I.'
Then, in answer to his inquiries about Grace and the young man, the widow answered, 'They are all in heart now, I thank ye kindly, sir, for asking; they'll sleep easy to-night anyway, and I'm in great spirits for them and myself—for all's smooth now. After we parted you, Brian saw Mr. Dennis himself about the LASE and memorandum, which he never denied, but knew nothing about. "But, be that as it may," says he, "you're improving tenants, and I'm confident my brother will consider ye; so what you'll do is, you'll give up the possession to-morrow to myself, that will call for it by cock-crow, just for form's sake; and then go up to the castle with the new LASE ready drawn, in your hand, and if all's paid off clear of the rent, and all that's due, you'll get the new LASE signed; I'll promise you that upon the word and honour of a gentleman." And there's no going beyond that, you know, sir. So my boy came home as light as a feather, and as gay as a lark, to bring us the good news; only he was afraid we might not make up the rent, guineas and all; and because he could not get paid for the work he done, on account of the mistake in the overseer's tally, I sold the cow to a neighbour—dog-cheap; but needs must, as they say, when old Nick DRIVES,' said the widow, smiling. 'Well, still it was but paper we got for the cow; then that must be gold before the agent would take or touch it so I was laying out to sell the dresser, and had taken the plates and cups, and little things off it, and my boy was lifting it out with Andy the carpenter, that was agreeing for it, when in comes Grace, all rosy, and out of breath—it's a wonder I minded her run out, and not missed her. "Mother," says she, "here's the gold for you! don't be stirring your dresser."—"And where's your gown and cloak, Grace?" says I. But I beg your pardon, sir; maybe I'm tiring you?'
Lord Colambre encouraged her to go on.
'"Where's your gown and cloak, Grace!" says I.—"Gone," says she. "The cloak was too warm and heavy, and I don't doubt, mother, but it was that helped to make me faint this morning. And as to the gown, sure I've a very nice one here, that you spun for me yourself, mother; and that I prize above all the gowns ever came out of a loom; and that Brian said become me to his fancy above any gown ever he see me wear; and what could I wish for more?" Now I'd a mind to scold her for going to sell the gown unknown'st to me, but I don't know how it was, I couldn't scold her just then, so kissed her, and Brian the same, and that was what no man ever did before. And she had a mind to be angry with him, but could not, nor ought not, says I; "for he's as good as your husband now, Grace; and no man can part yees now," says I, putting their hands together. Well, I never saw her look so pretty; nor there was not a happier boy that minute on God's earth than my son, nor a happier mother than myself; and I thanked God that had given them to me; and down they both fell on their knees for my blessing, little worth as it was; and my heart's blessing they had, and I laid my hands upon them. "It's the priest you must get to do this for you to-morrow," says I. And Brian just held up the ring, to show me all was ready on his part, but could not speak. "Then there's no America any more!" said Grace low to me, and her heart was on her lips; but the colour came and went, and I was a FEARED she'd have swooned again, but not for sorrow so I carried her off Well, if she was not my own—but she is not my own born so I may say it—there never was a better girl, nor a more kind-hearted, nor generous; never thinking anything she could do, or give, too much for them she loved, and anything at all would do for herself; the sweetest natured and tempered both, and always was, from this high; the bond that held all together, and joy of the house.'
'Just like her namesake,' cried Lord Colambre.
'Plase your honour?'
'Is not it late?' said Lord Colambre, stretching himself and gaping; 'I've walked a great way to-day.'
The old woman lighted his rushlight, showed him to his red check bed, and wished him a very good night; not without some slight sentiment of displeasure at his gaping thus at the panegyric on her darling Grace. Before she left the room, however, her short-lived resentment vanished, upon his saying that he hoped, with her permission, to be present at the wedding of the young couple.
Early in the morning Brian went to the priest, to ask his reverence when it would be convenient to marry him; and, whilst he was gone, Mr. Dennis Garraghty came to the cottage, to receive the rent and possession. The rent was ready, in gold, and counted into his hand.
'No occasion for a receipt; for a new LASE is a receipt in full for everything.'
'Very well, sir, said the widow; 'I know nothing of law. You know best—whatever you direct—for you are acting as a friend to us now. My son got the attorney to draw the pair of new LASES yesterday, and here they are ready, all to signing.'
Mr. Dennis said his brother must settle that part of the business, and that they must carry them up to the castle; 'but first give me the possession.'
Then, as he instructed her, she gave up the key of the door to him, and a bit of the thatch of the house; and he raked out the fire, and said every living creature must go out. 'It's only form of law,' said he.
'And must my lodger get up and turn out, sir?' said she. 'He must turn out, to be sure—not a living soul must be left in it, or it's no legal possession properly. Who is your lodger?'
On Lord Colambre's appearing, Mr. Dennis showed some surprise, and said, 'I thought you were lodging at Brannagan's; are not you the man who spoke to me at his house about the gold mines?'
'No, sir, he never lodged at Brannagan's,' said the widow.
'Yes, sir, I am the person who spoke to you about the gold mines at Brannagan's; but I did not like to lodge—'
'Well, no matter where you liked to lodge; you must walk out of this lodging now, if you please, my good friend.'
So Mr. Dennis pushed his lordship out by the shoulders, repeating, as the widow turned back and looked with some surprise and alarm, 'Only for form sake, only for form sake!' then locking the door, took the key, and put it into his pocket. The widow held out her hand for it: 'The form's gone through now, sir, is not it? Be plased to let us in again.'
'When the new lease is signed, I'll give you possession again; but not till then—for that's the law. So make away with you
to the castle; and mind,' added he, winking slily, 'mind you take sealing-money with you, and something to buy gloves.'
'Oh, where will I find all that?' said the widow.
'I have it, mother; don't fret,' said Grace. 'I have it—the price of—what I can want. (What I can do without.) So let us go off to the castle without delay. Brian will meet us on the road, you know.'
They set off for Clonbrony Castle, Lord Colambre accompanying them. Brian met them on the road. 'Father Tom is ready, dear mother; bring her in, and he'll marry us. I'm not my own man till she's mine. Who knows what may happen?'
'Who knows? that's true,' said the widow.
'Better go to the castle first,' said Grace.
'And keep the priest waiting! You can't use his reverence so.' said Brian.
So she let him lead her into the priest's house, and she did not make any of the awkward draggings back, or ridiculous scenes of grimace sometimes exhibited on these occasions; but blushing rosy red, yet with more self-possession than could have been expected from her timid nature, she gave her hand to the man she loved, and listened with attentive devotion to the holy ceremony.
'Ah!' thought Lord Colambre, whilst he congratulated the bride, 'shall I ever be as happy as these poor people are at this moment?' He longed to make them some little present, but all he could venture at this moment was to pay the priest's DUES.
The priest positively refused to take anything. 'They are the best couple in my parish,' said he; 'and I'll take nothing, sir, from you, a stranger and my guest.'
'Now, come what will, I'm a match for it. No trouble can touch me,' said Brian.
'Oh, don't be bragging,' said the widow.
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