These words were a joyful sound to our travellers, as with delighted steps they once more trod on terra firma, on their way to the door of the Canal Inn, where stood a slatternly dressed woman, shading a miserable candle with her hand (in default of a lantern.) It was pitch dark, more from the cloudiness of the night than the lateness of the hour: and a considerable time elapsed before the vociferous demand for lights was answered. In the mean time a universal uproar arose between the passengers, the people belonging to the boat and the inn, and those assembled to be listeners, for they could not be called spectators in the total darkness. Portmanteaux, trunks, bags, bundles, and bandboxes, were missent and scuffled for without end. At last "Order, Heaven's first law," and the prime cheerer Light, "of all material beings first and best," made their appearance together, and the Webberly party entered this cold comfortless inn. It had been built by an English speculator, who ruined himself in the project, and remains very nearly as he left it, the walls unpapered, the floors uncarpeted; the only change it has undergone since he was its proprietor being the breaking of the bell-wires and the spoiling of the locks. Two or three women serve in the double capacity of chambermaids and waiters. Each room shows that it once had a bell; but you are soon fatally convinced, that, to procure any thing you want, you must trust to vocal exertions alone. To the never-ceasing cry of "Waiter! Chambermaid!" the answer is something similar to the following, which assailed our travellers' ears soon after their entrance:—"Arrah an't I go—ing? sure I'm going! Sweet Jasus presarve me! I can't answer all the quality at oncest. Molly here, and Molly there, and Molly every where; my brain's moidered, so it is. Och! Mollying on ye, an't I going?" Mrs. Sullivan's servant, provoked at this harangue, thundered out, "You're always go—in;—I don't want you to go; can't you come for once and be damned to you?"
At last, after considerable delay, Molly procured our chilled party a turf fire and tea; but the water it was made with was so smoked, they could hardly taste it, and their patience underwent a second trial, waiting for a fresh supply. As Molly left the room, after bringing them this second edition, she muttered to herself, "A pretty lady that, with the brown peepers, and soft spoken too; if it wasn't for her, the devil a foot I'd go near one of them to-night. By the holy sticks, my mistress must get another maid. I can't be at every one's becks and commands; and then it's the worst word in their cheek after all."
Our weary party retired to their rooms as soon as they could accomplish having their apartments prepared, and had just fallen into a sound sleep when they were roused by a violent ringing of an immense bell. "Oh Lord have mercy on me!" shuddered out Mrs. Sullivan: "I thought we should have foundered in that 'ere melancholic bog, but now we're a going to perish by fire." A general rencontre in night-caps and dressing-gowns took place in the lobby. Again Molly's shrill voice was heard screaming out, "What a botheration you all keep! be aff to your beds wid ye. Might'n ye be after knowing it was only the up country boat coming in?" Molly's advice was immediately followed; but it was long before the house was quieted from the disturbance occasioned by the fresh arrival. Two hours after another boat came in with equal commotion, and the inn was but a short time silent from this new disturbance, when the warning bell rung for the packet to proceed, in which the Webberly family had come from Dublin. Many a female started up on hearing Boots enter her room by mistake, for that of some male passenger he had promised to call; and he as quickly retreated over the frail barricade of boxes and chairs she had placed against the door, to supply the place of key or bolt. To sleep was now impossible, therefore all our party got up: though Mrs. Sullivan the evening before had declared, she wouldn't go in a canal boat again not for St. Peter nor St. Paul. The Irish are perhaps the most noisy people in the world; the din of tongues on such occasions as the present, can better be fancied than described—every man committing his own business to the charge of some other person, and turning his particular attention to directing that of his neighbour.
The gentlemen, on looking out of the windows, saw many a comical figure issue from the house, some in Welsh wigs, some in red night-caps. Mrs. Sullivan's friend, of the blue satin hat and yellow poplin pelisse, now showed her jolly face, decked with numerous papillotes from beneath a fur cap, and her expansive shoulders wrapped in a scarlet cloak, her finery in her hand, as she had but a few miles to go ere she reached home.
Molly returned to her general good humour this morning, having few guests to attend to besides Mrs. Sullivan's family; and, to make up for her ill temper the night before, was particularly attentive, providing them with unsmoked water for their tea, and with bread, butter, eggs, and cream, of the best quality. They did not fail to profit by her care; and having made an excellent repast, prepared to recommence their journey. Mrs. O'Sullivan, as she now called herself, offered Colonel Desmond and Mr. Donolan seats in her carriages, which had arrived that morning from Dublin, from whence they had been sent two days before. These two gentleman accepting this accommodation, Caroline was consigned to the care of the maids, to make room for the dilettante in the barouche, Colonel Desmond taking the place of the servant on the driving seat.
Mrs. O'Sullivan vainly attempted to practise towards the lower Irish the "genteel economy" she had so successfully carried into effect in Wales. The dexterous Hibernians, either by flattering or wounding her pride, contrived to draw forth, bon gré mal gré, the money out of her pockets. As she was walking out of the Canal Inn, Molly ran after her, saying, "May I make bould to spake a word to your Ladyship?" At the word Ladyship, Mrs. Sullivan turned round. "You've made a small mistake, madam; it was tree tirteens (three shillings) you intended to bestow me, and its tree testers (three sixpences) I've got." "No mistake at all, my good girl." "Och! put your hand in your purse, and you'll see I'm right. Grand quality like you always gives me tree tirteens: my Lady Glenora always bestows it me every time she comes forenenst me." "Are you sure that's true?" "Arrah where did you ever hear that Molly Cavanagh tould a lie? May the breakfast I'm after eating be my poison, and the devil blow me, if it isn't as right as my leg." Mrs. Sullivan, that she might exceed Lady Glenora, gave her three and sixpence. Molly now tapped Adelaide on the shoulder, and presented her with a beautiful nosegay she had pulled from the inn gardens; but when she saw her proceeding to open her purse, laying her hand on her arm, she stopped her, saying with a half reproachful look of sorrow, "Is it you that's going to affront poor Molly? You're under no compliment to me at all. You gave me entirely too much before. I'll warrant me you're a grand lady when you're at home. You're as beautiful and as sweet as the posy yourself; and may your pretty brown eyes never look but on a friend, I pray God!" Adelaide, with one of her most charming smiles, and in the sweetest tone of her dulcet voice, thanked Molly for her good will; and as she stepped into the carriage thought to herself, "How my heart would ache, to see the kindness of these warm-hearted people treated with the scorn I fear is too often the only return it meets!" Colonel Desmond, directing the drivers to take that road which would most quickly lead them out of the bog of Allen, in a short time they got into a rich and beautiful country, and their ears were gratified by hearing the carriage wheels rattle against good hard stones. They had not long proceeded on this road, when their progress was impeded by a barricade of cars drawn across it, and a number of men immediately surrounded the carriages. Mrs. Sullivan, terrified to death, said in a very low voice, "They're going to rob and murder us;—what horrid looking creturs they be!" "They can have no such intention in broad day-light, my dear madam," whispered Adelaide. "Do look at them again; I assure you they seem perfectly good natured." One of the men, hat in hand, now stepped before the rest, saying, "Mending roads is dry work, your honours, this hot day; be pleased to give the poor boys something to drink." Shillings and sixpences were thrown to them in profusion. "Success to your cattle and carriage! Long life and a happy death to your honours!" resounded from all sides; and when the cars were removed, the hurraing setting the horses off in a full gallop, it was some time before the drivers could restrain them to a proper pace. About half an hour after this adventure, a stout but strange looking man, without stockings or shoes, though otherwise well clad, darted out of a house at the side of the road, and, without uttering a single syllable, ran beside the carriage for some miles. Mrs. Sullivan was again alarmed, supposing him to be the scout of robbers she expected to see start up from behind every stone or turf fence. Her fears were quieted by being told he was what in Ireland called "an innocent;" that is, a knave too idle to labour, who lives—not by his wits—but by pretending he has none. The profession of idiotism is one that always secures its followers a good maintenance in this country, and is considered by no means disreputable. Some one of this brotherhood frequents almost every high road, keeping up in this manner with the mail coaches and other carriages, till his strength, which appears miraculous, is exhausted, or till his extended hat has received money sufficient to satisfy him.
All the rest of the day the cavalcade proceeded most prosperously, through a rich and populous country, seeing ugly or pretty towns, and stopping at good or bad inns. At one of their earliest stages, Mrs. Sullivan was much provoked to recognize in the landlady her packet-boat friend, who asked her, with a self-conceited simper, if she had said a word too much for her house. In the course of the evening they entered Connaught, when the scenery gradually became more wild and romantic, with bold masses of rock, and beautiful sheets of water, called in the country loughs.
Mr. Donolan did not fail to profit by the opportunity, which being shut up in the carriage with Cecilia Webberly afforded him, of making the most sentimental love to her that was possible; though he was far from sure he should find it expedient to proceed further than fine speeches, for he felt nothing bordering on attachment to her. Perhaps his heart was enveloped in too many silken folds of vanity and self-love, for the charms of any woman to touch it with real affection; but a confused idea floated in his mind, that, by marrying her, he might be enabled to reside in England sooner than he otherwise could accomplish. Of her large fortune he was perfectly assured; he thought her very handsome, supposed her equally fashionable, and therefore determined, in the first instance, to endeavour to gain her affections, leaving his own decisions to futurity. She, on her part, thinking a lover might prove a very agreeable resource against the ennui she anticipated at Ballinamoyle, encouraged his attentions pro tempore, resolving, should they ever meet in England, to "cut him:—he knew nobody in London, therefore could be a man of no fashion." Thus this heartless pair mutually imposed on each other, whilst they plumed themselves on being the sole deceiver. Miss Webberly, on the contrary, began seriously to think "he would make a charming husband—so scientific! so agreeable!" Cecilia, suspecting her incipient partiality, for the sake of what she called fun, flirted incessantly with the dilettante, and retailed to Amelia all his florid compliments, which conduct made her sister still more envious of her beauty than ordinary.
Mr. Webberly and his companion in the barouche seat had but little conversation, though their thoughts were principally occupied by the same object. The taciturnity of the former, however, was enlivened by the idea of his fellow-traveller being thus effectually separated from Adelaide, during the greater part of their remaining journey. At the end of every stage there was a race between them, to hand Miss Wildenheim out of the carriage, where she generally sat bodkin between Mrs. Sullivan and Amelia, in order to avoid receiving that sign manual of Mr. Webberly's attention he had so graciously bestowed in Wales, and which was as little approved by his mother as coveted by herself. Colonel Desmond, being much more active and adroit than his youthful but unwieldy competitor, almost always gained the fair hand they contended for, at the same time giving his lovely mistress many an arch look and gesture of affected pity for his rival's disappointment. Sometimes they pulled open both the carriage doors at the same instant; in that case Mrs. O'Sullivan or her daughter pushed herself forward, so as to prevent her exit at the side on which their precious relative stood; and Adelaide's countenance then involuntarily betrayed how much she was amused at the unnecessary trouble they put themselves to.