Harry became so sore and irritable upon this subject, that he was now every day in danger of entangling himself in some quarrel in defence of his guardian. Several times the master of the house prevented this, and brought him to reason, by representing that the persons who talked of Sir Ulick were quite ignorant of his connexion with him, and spoke only according to general opinion, and to the best of their belief, of a public character, who was fair game. It was, at that time, much the fashion among a certain set in Dublin, to try their wit upon each other in political and poetical squibs—the more severe and bitter these were, the more they were applauded: the talent for invective was in the highest demand at this period in Ireland; it was considered as the unequivocal proof of intellectual superiority. The display of it was the more admired, as it could not be enjoyed without a double portion of that personal promptitude to give the satisfaction of a gentleman, on which the Irish pride themselves: the taste of the nation, both for oratory and manners, has become of late years so much more refined, that when any of the lampoons of that day are now recollected, people are surprised at the licence of abuse which was then tolerated, and even approved of in fashionable society. Sir Ulick O’Shane, as a well-known public character, had been the subject of a variety of puns, bon-mots, songs, and epigrams, which had become so numerous as to be collected under the title of Ulysseana. Upon the late separation of Sir Ulick and his lady, a new edition, with a caricature frontispiece, had been published; unfortunately for Ormond, this had just worked its way from Dublin to this part of the country.
It happened one day, at a gentleman’s house where this Ulysseana had not yet been seen, that a lady, a visitor and a stranger, full of some of the lines which she had learned by heart, began to repeat them for the amusement of the tea-table. Ladies do not always consider how much mischief they may do by such imprudence; nor how they may hazard valuable lives, for the sake of producing a sensation, by the repetition of a severe thing. Ormond came into the room after dinner, and with some other gentlemen gathered round the tea-table, while the lady was repeating some extracts from the new edition of the Ulysseana. The master and mistress of the house made reiterated attempts to stop the lady; but, too intent upon herself and her second-hand wit to comprehend or take these hints, she went on reciting the following lines:—
To serve in parliament the nation,
Sir Ulick read his recantation:
At first he joined the patriot throng,
But soon perceiving he was wrong,
He ratted to the courtier tribe,
Bought by a title and a bribe;
But how that new found friend to bind,
With any oath—of any kind,
Disturb’d the premier’s wary mind.
“Upon his faith.—Upon his word,”
Oh! that, my friend, is too absurd.
“Upon his honour.”—Quite a jest.
“Upon his conscience.”—No such test.
“By all he has on earth.”—‘Tis gone.
“By all his hopes of Heaven.”—They’re none.
“How then secure him in our pay—
He can’t be trusted for a day?"
How?—When you want the fellow’s throat—
Pay by the job—you have his vote.
Sir Ulick himself, had he been present, would have laughed off the epigram with the best grace imaginable, and so, in good policy, ought Ormond to have taken it. But he felt it too much, and was not in the habit of laughing when he was vexed. Most of the company, who knew any thing of his connexion with Sir Ulick, or who understood the agonizing looks of the master and mistress of the house, politely refrained from smiles or applause; but a cousin of the lady who repeated the lines, a young man who was one of the hateful tribe of quizzers, on purpose to try Ormond, praised the verses to the skies, and appealed to him for his opinion.
“I can’t admire them, sir,” replied Ormond.
“What fault can you find with them?” said the young man, winking at the bystanders.
“I think them incorrect, in the first place, sir,” said Ormond, “and altogether indifferent.”
“Well, at any rate, they can’t be called moderate,” said the gentleman; “and as to incorrect, the substance, I fancy, is correctly true.”
“Fancy, sir!—It would be hard if character were to be at the mercy of fancy,” cried Ormond, hastily; but checking himself, he, in a mild tone, added, “before we go any farther, sir, I should inform you that I am a ward of Sir Ulick O Shane’s.”
“Oh! mercy,” exclaimed the lady, who had repeated the verses; “I am sure I did not know that, or I would not have said a word—I declare I beg your pardon, sir.”