Dear Mr. Kennyfeck,—Many thanks for the information of your
note, which has served to allay all my anxiety for a valued
friend. As to Linton, you will have the goodness to satisfy
him in every particular, and make all and every legal title
he desires to the cottage and grounds of Tubberbeg. Although
he is now at my side while I write, I have not alluded to
the subject, feeling the awkwardness of touching on a theme
so delicate. Say, however, for me, that Corrigan is not to
be disturbed, nor any pledge I have made towards him—no
matter how liberally construed by him—to be, in any
respect, infringed.—Yours, in great haste,
“Why you are quite a man of business to-day, Cashel, with your correspondence and letter-writing; and I 'm sorry for it, for I wanted to have a bit of serious talk with you,—that is, if it do not bore you.”
“Not in the least. I was, I own it, nervous and uneasy this morning; now, however, my mind is at ease, and I am quite ready for anything.”
“Well, then, without preamble, are you still of the same mind about Parliament, because the time is hastening on when you ought to come to some decision on the matter?”
“I have never bestowed a thought on the matter since,” said Cashel. “The truth is, when I hear people talk politics in society, I am only astonished at their seeming bigotry and one-sidedness; and when I read newspapers of opposite opinions, I am equally confounded at the excellent arguments they display for diametrically contradictory lines of action, so that my political education makes but little progress.”
“What you say is perfectly just,” said Linton, appearing to reflect profoundly. “A man of real independence—not the mere independence of fortune, but the far higher independence of personal character—has much to endure in our tangled and complex system of legislation. As for yourself, for instance, who can afford to despise patronage, who have neither sons to advance in the Navy, nor nephews in the Foreign Office, who neither want the Bath nor a baronetcy, who would be as sick of the flatteries as you would be disgusted with the servility of party—why you should submit to the dust and heat, the turmoil and fatigue of a session, I can't think. And how you would be bored,—bored by the ceaseless reiterations night after night, the same arguments growing gradually weaker as the echo grew fainter; bored by the bits of 'Horace' got off by heart to wind up with; bored by the bad jests of witty members; bored by Peel's candor, and Palmerston's petulance; by Cobden's unblushing effrontery, and Hume's tiresome placidity. You 'd never know a happy day nor a joyous hour till you accepted the Chiltern Hundreds, and cut them all. No; the better course for you would be, choose a nominee for your borough; select a man in whom you have confidence. Think of some one over whom your influence would be complete, who would have no other aim than in following out your suggestions; some one, in fact, who unites sufficient ability with personal friendship. What d' ye think of Kennyfeck?”
“Poor Kennyfeck,” said Cashel, laughing, “he'd never think of such a thing.”
“I don't know,” said Linton, musing; “it might not suit him, but his wife would like it prodigiously.”
“Shall I propose it, then?” said Cashel.
“Better not, perhaps,” said Linton, appearing to reflect; “his income, which is a right good one, is professional. This, of course, he 'd forfeit by accepting a seat in the House. Besides, really, the poor man would make no way. No, we must think of some one else. Do you like White?”