In some short time after, selon des règles, the sightless bard, old Cormac, was led in, bearing his harp beneath his arm. He courteously expostulated with those who would fain save him the trouble, by observing, "that he had long borne that instrument his companion in joy or in sorrow, his last and almost only solace upon earth; and that when he was unable to bear his harp, his wish was then to be borne to the grave!" Upon the entrance of the aged minstrel into the saloon, the Duke ordered that a goblet of mead, foaming and sparkling to the brim, should be given to old Cormac; which was accordingly done; and then the toast of that high festival was to be drank, which he repeated: "The health of the noble young Lady Adelaide," said the sightless bard; and to which he was facetiously pleased to annex a friendly addition of his own, which was, "and long may the Lady Adelaide reign!" This is a favourite expression of fervent zeal and affection used by the warm-hearted Irish to their superiors. Now in crowds advanced the young folks, who in various circles thronged around old Cormac, making various inquiries, and asking numerous questions: "Was the old man always blind?"
"Nae, nae, that I was not. I once could see, and well; and truly the light was sweet, and a pleasant thing it was to behold the light of the sun! But now all is dim and dark. Yet I trust that I shall hereafter be permitted to behold the light of heaven! That fervent hope and my harp are my consolations during my pilgrimage of darkness!"
It was next inquired of him how long he had been blind? He replied, "I was of the same age that our dear and ever honoured young Lady (heaven bless her here and hereafter!) has entered into this holy day.—I was in my seventeenth year."
The Duke interdicted all further interruptions: "Cormac, my honest fellow, I fear that my young friends are somewhat disposed to trespass too much upon your time and patience; so quaff your flagon and strike your harp. But remember, Cormac, nothing dismal upon this happy day; no dirge—not even an overture, will be endured!"
Cormac made due obeisance; and seizing his harp, struck its accompanying notes, while he sung the following:—
SONG.
Who would not toast that lovely maid, And drink the health of Adelaide, And fill a bumper round?
Who, in wandering o'er the glade, Could meet a nymph like Adelaide? Then fill a bumper round!
The beauties of a court would fade When they're compared with Adelaide— Let all fill bumpers round!
Of sweetest flowers a crown we'll braid, To deck the brow of Adelaide, While bumpers flow around!
Alas! old Cormac he is blind, Or soon the flow'rets he could find Should braid the brow and gem the breast Of Adelaide the loveliest, While bumpers foam'd around!
Much applause rang forth a chorus to the minstrel's impromptu Anacreontic, and flowing bumpers were quaffed to "the health of Lady Adelaide!" A glass of Burgundy was handed to old Cormac, which he respectfully declined, but with the request that a glass of pure Innishowen (whiskey) might be substituted in place of it; and with this sturdy appendage to his request, "that it might be unadulterated!" These demands being all strictly complied with, he most devoutly gave his young lady's health, tossed down at the instant the pure Innishowen, and in due approval cordially smacked his lips as the beverage disappeared.
The ladies soon retired, Adelaide deeply blushing at all the honours and attentions bestowed this day; and felt most grateful to the sightless old bard, who had in so feeling a manner manifested such attachment to his young mistress.
The ceremonies of the tea-table being duly concluded, the graver portion of the company sat down to their cards: various games were played, loo, cribbage, gresco, ombre, and lansquenet. The Duke sat down to primero, "which," observed his Grace, "is my favourite game, as it had been with Lord Strafford, when he held the high station in which I am at present placed."