Lord Glandarah, imitating the profitable example of the wise Ulysses, who
----"Multorum providus urbes Et mores, hominum inspexit,"
had visited foreign countries and courts, where he had resided during a very long period, even from his early youth. It was whispered, and it was also believed, that he was at heart un bon Catholiqué. However, whether the assertion was true or false, certain it is that his Lordship took his seat in the Irish House of Peers; so that his case was completely in foro conscientiæ, and with which nobody had any right to intermeddle, it being a matter between him and a higher power than any court upon earth, temporal or spiritual.
His Lordship was an accomplished and polished nobleman; he had seen, and with no unobserving eye, the different nations and courts of Europe; had examined their laws, their governments, and establishments; he had been so long resident upon the continent, (even from his earliest years,) that from his foreign intonation of voice, and speaking, as he did, broken English, he might readily have passed for a German or a Frenchman. Lord Glandarah was personally known by the Duke of Tyrconnel, who, upon this interview, heartily shook hands; and the former warmly congratulated the latter upon his promotion to the viceroyship of Ireland: "Gad save my soul, mon trés-excellent Duke, I am absolumént delighted; je suis ravis entirement á vous revoir. I am tout delighted! Jamais, jamais si bien heureux! Un verre de vin: á votre tres bonne santè, et aussi la de votre tres amiable et accompliè Madame la Duchesse. Nous aurons une petit Cour de Versailes á la Chateau de Dublin. Sans doute et comme certainement nous verrons! Tres joli, tres joli! Sir Jacques Colville, j'ai l'honneur de saluër votre santè."
Lord Glandarah was attired in a court dress of green Genoa velvet, richly embroidered with gold; and the old aristocratic peer was so orthodox that even his hunting wig, when he rode on horseback, had une petite bourse attached to it, and the peruke was surmounted by a small cocked hat, trimmed with broad gold lace, with an appendant feather; and these he considered as indispensable appanages of un gentilhomme comme il faut! or, as Horace has expressed it, "Homo factus ad unguem"—a finished gentleman, even to the paring of his nail! Compared with Doctor Dismal Drew, he was "Hyperion to a satyr." Doctor Drew was in stature six feet by two, without diminution or subtraction, but awfully
"Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and height."
The Doctor's head was of a portentous size, which induced his cotemporaries, while a student in college, to bestow on him the epithet or sobriquet of "the bull-headed (βοῦς κέφαλος) student;" and most certain it is, that the exterior exceeded in dimensions every other head within the precincts of that learned corporation. He was extremely near-sighted, and always wore either goggles or spectacles made of green glass, which, as our readers may fairly suspect, did not by any means add to his personal appearance or attraction, whatever they might have abducted. He was however, be the truth spoken, an excellent scholar, philosopher, and moreover this same "learned Theban" was a mathematician to boot. His manners were unpolished—nay, repulsive. His gait in the street or drawing-room was so strange and inhuman-like, that it was only ideally to be compared to the floundering motion of a wounded walrus standing on its hind legs, then dragging its heavy weight along. At table the movement of his arms was so exceedingly annoying to his neighbours that it invariably caused them to keep a most circumspect and respectful distance. His voice, when he spoke, which was only when he wanted to be helped to some piquant viand, was harsh and stentorian, and might not unaptly be compared to the discordant cadence of a cracked bassoon. He was learned—he abounded in anecdote; and if he chose to be at the trouble, he could be witty. But no; during dinner, and even when the cloth was removed, solemn as the grave he sat doggedly pinioned to his chair, silently sipping drop by drop his Burgundy. He seemed to be apprehensive that the time he would occupy in conversation would interfere with the time allotted for the act of deglutition; therefore he sat taciturn, as if the use of his tongue was inevitably and irretrievably to destroy the powers of his palate!