“That’s true, my lord,” said Lady Clonbrony; “and there is a great deal of reason in all you say—so I second that motion, as Colambre, I see, subscribes to it.”
They stayed some time in Derbyshire, and every day Lord Clonbrony proposed some pleasant excursion, and contrived that the young people should be left to themselves, as Mrs. Broadhurst used so strenuously to advise; the recollection of whose authoritative maxims fortunately still operated upon Lady Clonbrony, to the great ease and advantage of the lovers.
Happy as a lover, a friend, a son; happy in the consciousness of having restored a father to respectability, and persuaded a mother to quit the feverish joys of fashion for the pleasures of domestic life; happy in the hope of winning the whole heart of the woman he loved, and whose esteem, he knew, he possessed and deserved; happy in developing every day, every hour, fresh charms in his destined bride—we leave our hero, returning to his native country.
And we leave him with the reasonable expectation that he will support through life the promise of his early character; that his patriotic views will extend with his power to carry wishes into action; that his attachment to his warm-hearted countrymen will still increase upon further acquaintance; and that he will long diffuse happiness through the wide circle, which is peculiarly subject to the influence and example of a great resident Irish proprietor.
LETTER FROM LARRY TO HIS BROTHER, PAT BRADY, AT MR. MORDICAI’S,
COACH MAKER, LONDON.
“MY DEAR BROTHER,
“Yours of the 16th, enclosing the five pound note for my father,
came safe to hand Monday last; and with his thanks and blessing
to you, he commends it to you herewith enclosed back again, on
account of his being in no immediate necessity, nor likelihood to
want in future, as you shall hear forthwith; but wants you over
with all speed, and the note will answer for travelling charges;
for we can’t enjoy the luck it has pleased God to give us, without
yees; put the rest in your pocket, and read it when you’ve time.
“Old Nick’s gone, and St. Dennis along with him, to the place he
come from—praise be to God! The ould lord has found him out in
his tricks; and I helped him to that, through the young lord that
I driv, as I informed you in my last, when he was a Welshman,
which was the best turn ever I did, though I did not know it no
more than Adam that time. So Ould Nick’s turned out of the
agency clean and clear; and the day after it was known, there was
surprising great joy through the whole country; not surprising,
either, but just what you might, knowing him, rasonably expect.
He (that is, Old Nick and St. Dennis) would have been burnt that
night—I mane, in effigy, through the town of Clonbrony, but
that the new man, Mr. Burke, came down that day too soon to stop
it, and said, ‘it was not becoming to trample on the fallen,’ or
something that way, that put an end to it; and though it was a
great disappointment to many, and to me in particular, I could not
but like the jantleman the better for it any how. They say he is
a very good jantleman, and as unlike Old Nick or the saint as can
be; and takes no duty fowl, nor glove, nor sealing money; nor asks
duty work nor duty turf. Well, when I was disappointed of the
effigy, I comforted myself by making a bonfire of Old Nick’s big
rick of duty turf, which, by great luck, was out in the road, away
from all dwelling-house, or thatch, or yards, to take fire: so no
danger in life, or objection. And such another blaze! I wished
you’d seed it—and all the men, women, and children, in the town
and country, far and near, gathered round it, shouting and dancing
like mad!—and it was light as day quite across the bog, as far as
Hartley Finnigan’s house. And I heard after, they seen it from all
parts of the three counties, and they thought it was St. John’s
Eve in a mistake—or couldn’t make out what it was; but all took
it in good part, for a good sign, and were in great joy. As for
St. Dennis and Ould Nick, an attorney had his foot upon ‘em with
an habere, a latitat, and three executions hanging over ‘em: and
there’s the end of rogues! and a great example in the country.
And—no more about it; for I can’t be wasting more ink upon them
that don’t deserve it at my hands, when I want it for them that
do, as you shall see. So some weeks past, and there was great
cleaning at Clonbrony Castle, and in the town of Clonbrony; and
the new agent’s smart and clever: and he had the glaziers, and
the painters, and the slaters, up and down in the town wherever
wanted; and you wouldn’t know it again. Thinks I, this is no bad
sign! Now, cock up your ears, Pat! for the great news is coming,
and the good. The master’s come home, long life to him! and family
come home yesterday, all entirely! The ould lord and the young
lord, (ay, there’s the man, Paddy!) and my lady, and Miss Nugent.
And I driv Miss Nugent’s maid and another; so I had the luck to be
in it along wid ‘em, and see all, from first to last. And first,
I must tell you, my young Lord Colambre remembered and noticed me
the minute he lit at our inn, and condescended to beckon me out of
the yard to him, and axed me—’ Friend Larry,’ says he, ‘did you
keep your promise?’—‘My oath again the whiskey, is it?’ says
I. ‘My lord, I surely did,’ said I; which was true, as all the
country knows I never tasted a drop since. ‘And I’m proud to see
your honour, my lord, as good as your word, too, and back again
among us.’ So then there was a call for the horses; and no more at
that time passed betwix’ my young lord and me, but that he pointed
me out to the ould one, as I went off. I noticed and thanked him
for it in my heart, though I did not know all the good was to come
of it. Well, no more of myself, for the present.
“Ogh, it’s I driv ‘em well; and we all got to the great gate of
the park before sunset, and as fine an evening as ever you see;
with the sun shining on the tops of the trees, as the ladies
noticed; the leaves changed, but not dropped, though so late in
the season. I believe the leaves knew what they were about, and
kept on, on purpose to welcome them; and the birds were singing,
and I stopped whistling, that they might hear them; but sorrow
bit could they hear when they got to the park gate, for there was
such a crowd, and such a shout, as you never see—and they had
the horses off every carriage entirely, and drew ‘em home, with
blessings, through the park. And, God bless ‘em! when they got
out, they didn’t go shut themselves up in the great drawing-room,
but went straight out to the tirrass, to satisfy the eyes and
hearts that followed them. My lady laning on my young lord, and
Miss Grace Nugent that was, the beautifullest angel that ever you
set eyes on, with the finest complexion, and sweetest of smiles,
laning upon the ould lord’s arm, who had his hat off, bowing
to all, and noticing the old tenants as he passed by name. Oh,
there was great gladness and tears in the midst; for joy I could
scarce keep from myself.
“After a turn or two upon the tirrass, my Lord Colambre quit his mother’s arm for a minute, and he come to the edge of the
slope, and looked down and through all the crowd for some one.
“‘Is it the Widow O’Neil, my lord?’ says I; ‘she’s yonder, with
the white kerchief, betwixt her son and daughter, as usual.’
“Then my lord beckoned, and they did not know which of the tree would stir; and then he gave tree beckons with his own finger,
and they all tree came fast enough to the bottom of the slope
forenent my lord: and he went down and helped the widow up, (oh,
he’s the true jantleman!) and brought ‘em all tree up on the
tirrass, to my lady and Miss Nugent; and I was up close after,
that I might hear, which wasn’t manners, but I couldn’t help
it. So what he said I don’t well know, for I could not get near
enough, after all. But I saw my lady smile very kind, and take the
Widow O’Neil by the hand, and then my Lord Colambre ‘troduced Grace to Miss Nugent, and there was the word namesake, and
something about a check curtain; but, whatever it was, they was
all greatly pleased: then my Lord Colambre turned and looked for
Brian, who had fell back, and took him, with some commendation, to
my lord his father. And my lord the master said, which I didn’t
know till after, that they should have their house and farm at the
ould rent; and at the surprise, the widow dropped down dead; and
there was a cry as for ten berrings. ‘Be qui’te,’ says I, ‘she’s
only kilt for joy;’ and I went and lift her up, for her son had
no more strength that minute than the child new born; and Grace
trembled like a leaf, as white as the sheet, but not long, for the
mother came to, and was as well as ever when I brought some water,
which Miss Nugent handed to her with her own hand.
“‘That was always pretty and good,’ said the widow, laying her
hand upon Miss Nugent, ‘and kind and good to me and mine.’
“That minute there was music from below. The blind harper, O’Neil,
with his harp, that struck up ‘Gracey Nugent.’
“And that finished, and my Lord Colambre smiling, with the tears
standing in his eyes too, and the ould lord quite wiping his, I
ran to the tirrass brink to bid O’Neil play it again; but as I
run, I thought I heard a voice call ‘Larry!’
“‘Who calls Larry?’ says I.
“‘My Lord Colambre calls you, Larry,’ says all at once; and four
takes me by the shoulders and spins me round. ‘There’s my young
lord calling you, Larry—run for your life.’
“So I run back for my life, and walked respectful, with my hat in
my hand, when I got near.
“‘Put on your hat, my father desires it,’ says my Lord Colambre.
The ould lord made a sign to that purpose, but was too full
to speak. ‘Where’s your father?’ continues my young lord. ‘He’s
very ould, my lord,’ says I.—’ I didn’t ax you how ould he
was,’ says he; ‘but where is he?’—‘He’s behind the crowd below,
on account of his infirmities; he couldn’t walk so fast as the
rest, my lord,’ says I; ‘but his heart is with you, if not his
body.’—‘I must have his body too: so bring him bodily before
us; and this shall be your warrant for so doing,’ said my lord,
joking: for he knows the natur of us, Paddy, and how we love a
joke in our hearts, as well as if he had lived all his life in
Ireland; and by the same token will, for that rason, do what he
pleases with us, and more may be than a man twice as good, that
never would smile on us.
“But I’m telling you of my father. ‘I’ve a warrant for you,
father,’ says I; ‘and must have you bodily before the justice, and
my lord chief justice.’ So he changed colour a bit at first; but
he saw me smile. ‘And I’ve done no sin,’ said he; ‘and, Larry, you
may lead me now, as you led me all my life.’
“And up the slope he went with me as light as fifteen; and when we
got up, my Lord Clonbrony said, ‘I am sorry an old tenant, and a
good old tenant, as I hear you were, should have been turned out
of your farm.’
“‘Don’t fret, it’s no great matter, my lord,’ said my father. ‘I
shall be soon out of the way; but if you would be so kind to speak
a word for my boy here, and that I could afford, while the life is
in me, to bring my other boy back out of banishment.’
“‘Then,’ says my Lord Clonbrony, ‘I’ll give you and your sons
three lives, or thirty-one years, from this day, of your former
farm. Return to it when you please. And,’ added my Lord Clonbrony,
‘the flaggers, I hope, will be soon banished.’ Oh, how could
I thank him—not a word could I proffer—but I know I clasped
my two hands, and prayed for him inwardly. And my father was
dropping down on his knees, but the master would not let him; and
obsarved that posture should only be for his God. And, sure
enough, in that posture, when he was out of sight, we did pray for
him that night, and will all our days.
“But, before we quit his presence, he called me back, and bid me
write to my brother, and bring you back, if you’ve no objections,
to your own country.
“So come, my dear Pat, and make no delay, for joy’s not joy
complate till you’re in it—my father sends his blessing, and
Peggy her love. The family entirely is to settle for good in
Ireland, and there was in the castle yard last night a bonfire
made by my lord’s orders of the ould yellow damask furniture, to
plase my lady, my lord says. And the drawing-room, the butler was
telling me, is new hung; and the chairs with velvet as white as
snow, and shaded over with natural flowers by Miss Nugent. Oh! how
I hope what I guess will come true, and I’ve rason to believe it
will, for I dreamt in my bed last night it did. But keep yourself
to yourself—that Miss Nugent (who is no more Miss Nugent, they
say, but Miss Reynolds, and has a new-found grandfather, and is a
big heiress, which she did not want in my eyes, nor in my young
lord’s), I’ve a notion, will be sometime, and may be sooner
than is expected, my Lady Viscountess Colambre—so haste to the
wedding. And there’s another thing: they say the rich ould grandfather’s coming over;—and another thing, Pat, you would not
be out of the fashion—and you see it’s growing the fashion not to
be an Absentee.
“Your loving brother,
“LARRY BRADY.”