“Gentlemen,” said Carson, not directly replying to the Colonel, “there is a base conspiracy got up against me; and I can perceive, moreover, that there is evidently some unaccountable intention on the part of Colonel B. to insult my feelings and injure my character. When paltry circumstances that have occurred above ten years ago, are raked up in my teeth, I have little to say, but that it proves how very badly off the Colonel must have been for an imputation against my conduct and discretion as his agent, since he finds himself compelled to hunt so far back for a charge.”
“That is by no means the heaviest charge I have to bring against you,” replied the Colonel. “There is no lack of them; nor shall you be able to complain that they are not recent, as well as of longer standing. Your conduct in the case of poor honest M'Evoy here is black and iniquitous. He must be restored to his farm, but by other hands than yours, and that ruffian instantly expelled from it. From this moment, sir, you cease to be my agent. You have betrayed the confidence I reposed in you; you have misled me as to the character of my tenants; you have been a deceitful, cunning, cringing, selfish and rapacious tyrant. My people you have ground to dust; my property you have lessened in value nearly one-half, and for your motives in doing this, I refer you to certain transactions and legal documents which passed between us. There is nothing cruel or mercenary which you did not practice, in order to enrich yourself. The whole tenor of your conduct is before me. Your profligacy is not only discovered, but already proved; and you played those villainous pranks, I suppose, because I have been mostly an absentee. Do not think, however, that you shall enjoy the fruits of your extortion? I will place the circumstances, and the proofs of the respective charges against you, in the hands of my solicitor, and, by the sacred heaven above me! you shall disgorge the fruits of your rapacity. My good people, I shall remain among you for another fortnight, during which time I intend to go through my estate, and set everything to rights as well as I can, until I may appoint a humane and feeling gentleman as my agent—such a one as will have, at least, a character to lose. I also take this opportunity of informing you, that in future I shall visit you often, will redress your grievances, should you have any to complain of, and will give such assistance to the honest and industrious among you—but to them only—as I trust may make us better pleased with each other than we have been.—Do not you go, M'Evoy, until I speak to you.”
During these observations Carson sat with a smile, or rather a sneer upon his lips. It was the sneer of a purse-proud villain confident that his wealth, no matter how ill-gotten, was still wealth, and worth its value.
“Colonel,” said he, “I have heard all you said, but you see me 'so strong in honesty,' that I am not moved. In the course of a few weeks I shall have purchased an estate of my own, which I shall manage differently, for my fortune is made, sir. I intend also to give up my other agencies: I am rather old and must retire to enjoy a little of the otium cum dignitate. I wish you all goo'd-morning!”
The Colonel turned away in abhorrence, but disdained any reply.
“A say, Sam,” said the Presbyterian, “bring your son-in-laa wuth you.”
“An' I say that, too,” exclaimed the drunken ruffian—“A say that; A do. A'm married to his daughter; an' A say stull, that d———my blood, bit A'll stick to my father-in-laa! That's the point!”—and again he nodded his head, and looked round him with a drunken swagger:—“A'll stick to my father-in-laa! A'll do that; feth, A wull!”*
* This dialect is local.
It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader, that the Colonel's address to Carson soon got among the assembled tenantry, and a vehement volley of groans and hisses followed the discarded agent up the street.
“Ha! bad luck to you for an ould villain. You were made to hear on the deaf side o' your head at last! You may take the black wool out o' your ears now, you rip! The cries an' curses o' the widows an' orphans that you made and oppressed, has ris up agin you at the long run! Ha! you beggarly nager! maybe you'll make us neglect our own work to do yours agin! Go an' gather the dhry cow-cakes, you misert, an' bring them home in your pocket, to throw on the dunghill!”