We have been led, almost unconsciously, into this somewhat lengthened digression, for which, even did it not bear upon the circumstances of our story, we would not seek to apologize to our reader. Such we believe to have been, in great part, the wrongs of Ireland—the fertile source of those thousand evils under which the land was suffering. From this one theme have arisen, most, if not all, the calamities of the country. Happy were it, if we could say that such existed no longer—that such a state of things was a matter for historical inquiry, or an old man's memory—and that in our own day these instances were not to be found among us.
When Hemsworth perceived that the project of his life was in peril, he bethought him of every means by which the danger could be averted. Deep and well-founded as was his confidence in the cleverness of his deputy, his station was an insurmountable barrier to his utility at the present conjuncture. Sam Wylie, for so this worthy was called, was admirable as a spy, but never could be employed as minister plenipotentiary: it needed one, now, who should possess more influence over Sir Marmaduke himself. For this purpose, Frederick Travers alone seemed the fitting person; to him, therefore, Hemsworth wrote a letter marked “strictly confidential,” detailing, with pains-taking accuracy, the inevitable misfortunes Sir Marmaduke's visit would entail upon a people, whose demands no benevolence could satisfy, whose expectations no concessions could content.
He narrated the fearful instances of their vengeance, whenever disappointment had checked the strong current of their hopes; and told, with all the semblance of truth, of scenes of bloodshed and murder, no cause for which could be traced, save in the dark suspicions of a people long accustomed to regard the Saxon as their tyrant.
The night attack upon “the Lodge” furnished also its theme of terror; and so artfully did he blend his fact and fiction, his true statement, and his false inference, that the young man read the epistle with an anxious and beating heart, and longed for the hour, when he should recall those he held dearest, from such a land of anarchy and misfortune.
Not satisfied with the immediate object in view, Hemsworth ingeniously contrived to instil into Frederick's mind misgivings as to the value of an estate thus circumstanced, representing, not without some truth on his side, that the only chance of bettering the condition of a peasantry so sunk and degraded, was by an actual residence in the midst of them, a penalty, which to the youth, seemed too dear for any requital whatever.
On a separate slip of paper, marked “to be burned when read,” Frederick deciphered the following lines:—
“Above all things, I would caution you regarding a family
who, though merely of the rank of farmer, affect a gentility
which had its origin some dozen centuries back, and has had
ample opportunity to leak out in the meantime; these are
the 'O'Donoghues,' a dangerous set, haughty, ill-
conditioned, and scheming. They will endeavour, if they can,
to obtain influence with your father, and I cannot too
strongly represent the hazard of such an event. Do not, I
entreat you, suffer his compassion, or mistaken benevolence,
to be exercised in their behalf. Were they merely unworthy,
I should say nothing on the subject; but they are highly and
eminently dangerous, in a land, where their claims are
regarded as only in abeyance—deferred, but not obliterated,
by confiscation.
“E. H.”
It would in no wise forward the views of our story, were we to detail to our readers the affecting scenes which preluded Frederick's departure from London, the explanations he was called on to repeat, as he went from house to house, for a journey at once so sudden and extraordinary; for even so late as fifty years ago, a visit to Ireland was a matter of more moment, and accompanied by more solemn preparation, than many now bestow on an overland journey to India. The Lady Marys and Bettys of the fashionable world regarded him pretty much as the damsels of old did some doughty knight, when setting forth on his way to Palestine. That filial affection could exact such an instance of devotion, called up their astonishment, even more than their admiration; and many were the cautions, many the friendly counsels, given to the youth for his preservation in a land so rife with danger.
Frederick was a soldier, and a brave one; but still, he was not entirely divested of those apprehensions which the ignorance of the day propagated; and although only accompanied by a single servant, they were both armed to the teeth, and prepared to do valiant battle, if need be, against the Irish “rogues and rapparrees.”
Here, then, for the present, we shall leave him, having made his last “adieux” to his friends, and set out on his journey to Ireland.