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Lane, Darling, and Co, Leadenhall-Stieet, 








jlinHOR OF 



^' The Jrish are a ■'*-arm, benevolent, hospitable race— the latter proverbially— 
steadfast in their affections, teneious ir. their friendships, and grateful for every act 
of iciodness. But they are tenacieus of their rights ; passionate, when insulted, and 
proud to a fault. The master,. who treats them with generosity, will be served with 
ja'thfalness. The arrot;ant ?uperior, wl.o lords it over them, will feel tlieir reseut- 
rrer.t. Indifference is ret their characteristic ; they are enthusiastic in the extreme> 
n.d titner Icve with fervour or hste with violence." 

VOL. I. 






i®®W«*"— -> 


** No natural exhalation in the sky, 
No shape of nature, no distemper'd day. 
No common wind, no customed event. 
But they will pluclc away its natural cause. 
And call them meteors, prodigies and signs;. 
Abortives and presages, tongues of Heaven, 
Plainly denouncing vengeance." 


I'D gv 

ve twenty guineas to know who 

i It was first spread the report," cried Sir 

5* 'Thomas O'Callaghan, in no very dulcet 

5 tone of voice, to his old butler, Connolly, 

VOL. I, ]} as 



as lie one morning arranged the downy 
supporters of the Baronet's gouty legs. 

** Faith, and its vur Honour's own silf 
that might," replied the veteran domes- 
tic, . ''and as miny thousands to the back 
of 'em, afore yu'd be after finding the 
right body; bekays, dye- see, Sir Tho- 
raas, the story's as owldas mysilf, or may 
be my fadther width me together. Och, 
I rimimber, when I was a small little bit 
ofagarsoon, hearing all the neighbours 
a talking about the owld chapel in the 
wood, and the beautiful Span" — 

** Damn the neighbours," hastily ex- 
claimed the master, *' and their cursed 
will- o'th'- wisp, jack-o'th'-laiitliorn non- 
sense. How has it happened th,at / never 
heard any thing of it till the other day, 
notwithstanding the chapel is on my 
estate, and th-e story so immediately con^ 
Tiected with my predecessors? It^s all a 
bam, Connolly^ to scare j/(?«, and such 
like foolish gentry, out of what little wits 
you have got." 

/' Why, 


'* Why, yur Honour/' cried the 
man, with an energetic motion o^ his 
head and hand, while the tone of his 
voice as strenuously assisted his ac- 
tions, ** I see them with my own two 
eyes ; and seeing's believing, Sir Tho- 
mas : and moreover nor that, Father 
Dunlavie, the parkh priest, was after 
biryin *eni the day afore, and saying 
three masses over the grave/* 

** And what the devil did you see, 
Connolly V* asked the Baronet \yith 
quickness. **Eh! What did you see? 
Or what was it the priest said his hocus 
pocus over ?" 

** The bones, yur Honour,'* replied 
th^ Servian t. *' The poor ristless bones, 
that, as oftin as they are put down in the 
ground, is always to be seen above it** 

*' Then some person Stakes them up, I 
presume," said Sir Thomas, ** to amuse 
themselves at the expence of the holy 
father and his credulous parishioners : but 
did he take care to trench them deep 
B % enough, 


enough, I warrant they would not rise 
in haste.*' 

'^ Why, Sir/'exclaimed Connolly, with 

a look of dismay, '* there is not a living 

'sowl wouhl go near the place, harn it be 

Miss Ellen and her little dog, and she, 

tbrsartin, is not afeard of nothing/' 

** So much the better," cri^d the mas- 
ter, in a more complaisant tone, *' so 
much the better. I don't admire your 
fine ladies that are terrified at their own 
shadow, with their nerves, and their feel- 
ings, and their Psha ! All affecta- 
tion 1 If I thought my daughter was to 
be frightened at every old woman's story, 
confound me if I would not make her 
sleep in this said chapel, just to cure her 
of her terrors. I've a good mind to give 
you a bed there, Connolly, for a night 
or two, to try how you would rest in the 

*' The Lord forbid I" ejaculated the 
trembling servant; " for if the ghosts did 
not run away width me, to a mortaUdLXimty 



IRe good people would ; for we all know 
thej/ are about the place iviry night ; and 
Molly, one of the kitchen maids, has 
seed the little lady in white as oftin as 
she has fingers and toes. To be sure, 
thank God, I nivrr seed none of thim,. 
barn oncet, and thin I tuck good care to 
shut my eyes not to luck at them. I rimim- 
bir the nio;ht will inouoh — it^s more nor 
twinty years back, about three o'clock 
of a fine frosty mornings that I was a 
driving my dear Lady that's did and 
gone, Lord rist her pricious sowl ! for 
you know. Sir Thomas, she had me . to 
drive the chay whinivir she used to be 
out late, bekays she said L was a safer 
whip nor iny of the tother min. So she 
was a cuming home from the assimbly, I 
think tliey called it, or sum place like 
that, and Larry was riding afore us on- 
the grey mare Vixen, the horse that woa 
the sweepstakes for yur Honour on the 
Curragh. I ricollict little Thady Carroll 
was the jockey, and he looked so nate iri: 
B 3 his^ 


his red scharlet striped sjlk jacket. Hf 
was a pritty boy, Sir Thomas, and so was 
{lis sister, Piggy Carroll ; she was mar- 
fied to Paddy Thacker, the Squire's 
'whipper-in ; och, faith, and its mysilf 
was in love width her ; but no matter for 
that, yur Honour. So, just as we crossed 
the iomvionSf over tother side beyant the 
bridge there, all of a suddent Larry faces 
about — * Stop,* says he, in a low voice 
that v/e cudn't hear him. I pi»lls up, 
flunking as hew I was a going wrong, 
tho' I knowd every inch of the way Ijlind- 
foulded ; and well I might, for my fad ther 
and modthtr v/as born and brid not a 
stone's throw from the place. * Arrah ! 
what's the matter, Larry ?* says I — ' The 
good peoplcy' says he, * all making mirry 
in the middle of the road, and we must 
not disturb therru" — * What's the matter, 
Connolly V says my Lady, putting her 
hid thorough the window — och ! but the 
devil be from me if Connolly could spake 
a word at all at all ; * only,' say$ I; ' thq 



good people, my Lady;' and with that I 
shuts both my eyes, and said ovir my 
pater noster, and ave maria— * Turn about, 
Connolly/ cried she; * don't go a stip 
forwards for yur life. Blessed Saint 
Bridget protect and save us T I supposes- 
to be sure yui* Honour knows all about 
Saint Bridget, and that whin Saint Pa* 
trick was hereabouts, she just axed hini 
to give hqr as much ground as she could- 
kiver width her mantle, so the Suint pro- 
mised her he woud ; and width that she* 
sprids out her cloaky and it stritched all 
over the Cuiragh, and would have kiver* 
ed all Ireland, they say,, only Saint Pa- 
trick got into a passion, and^— och ! but 
that's not my story. So, as I was a say- 
ing— let me see, where was I^ — aye! so- 
width that, Sir Thomas, I just vintured 
to open the corner of one of my eyes, 
and, as sure as you live, there was no- 
thing at all to be seen, but a clear road 
afore us to go on, for the good people had 
vanished clivir and clane away, bekays 
BL.4i ' they 


they found us so civil to them; and I 
nivir cracked cry, yur Honour, till we 
*ivas safe landid at Princely Hall." 

The Baronet was rather of an irritable 
disposition, and the disorder under which 
he at present laboured did not serve to 
soften the natural impetuosity of his tem- 
per. He had listened to this long ha^ 
rangue of the butler's with no great symp- 
toms of patience, as he alternately fidget- 
ted his elbows from the arms of his great 
chair, to the table which stood before 
him ; rubbed his hand over the flannels 
that enveloped his legs, or threw up his 
night-cap to scratch his head ; yet, from 
Lady O'Callaghan being mentioned in 
the detail, he suffered his garrulous old 
servant to continue in it uninterrupted, 
while his countenance expressed pity for 
the narrator's absurd credulity (with 
which he was well acquainted), and im- 
patience to learn the allusion of a story, 
v»'herein he could connect neither sense 

or meaning. 

/' By 


'* By the Lord Harry 1" exclaimed he,. 
\vith an affected stare of astonishment, 
*' tlie fellow is crazed,, to a. certainty! 
Why, what the devil have you been talk- 
ing about this half hour? What rigma- 
role tale is this of your Lady and Larry, 
twenty years ago? What people are yoii 
speaking of?" 

Connolly looked round cautiously. He 
approached Sir Thomas's chair, and, lean- 
ing over it, in a kind of half whisper, 
replied — ** The good little people^ yur 
Honour, the fairies.'' 

Sir Thomas had a custom of giving a' 
long whistle, when any thing particularly 
struck him, and he now drew. up his lips 
Avith an immoderate lengthened whew 1 
— *' Damn you and the fairies together !" 
he exclaimed with vehenTence. ** I wish 
they had fast hold of you. Am I always 
to be tormented, with your cursed non- 
sense? Get me my breakfast, and go to 
th,e devil — but first desire. Miss O'Calla- 
ghan to come to me, if she is returned 
B, 5 . from 


from her morning^s \valk. You old cre- 
dulous dotard, I wonder I have patience 
to keep you about nie. Get out of my 
sight ! And, harkye, never let my door 

be opened to that canting son of a , 

Father Dunlavie. It is he who has set 
your wits wool-gathering ; but if ever I 
catch him inside this house again — no 
matter ; go and do as I ordered you, and 
don't let me see j/owr face these twenty- 
four hours." 

Connolly walked away repeating his 
*^ pater noster," and praying for the re- 
formation of his incredulous master ; but 
not with the mtention of fulfilling any 
of his commands, save those relating to 
Miss O'Callaghan and the breakfast ; for 
he had lived too long with the worthy 
Baronet to be ignorant of his ways. He 
was well avare that his starts of anger 
were but momentary, and no sooner utter- 
ed than forgotten. No passion-held root 
in his heart, except universal philanthro- 
py, and an ardent affection for his 

daughter \ 


daughter ; and, however convinced of 
the errors of luiman nature, he was not 
to be prejudiced against any individual 
by evil reports, nor biassed by the judg- 
ment of others to the disadvantage of his 
fellow- creatures. He must be convinced 
by positive facts, ere he gave any credit 
to such information, no matter what sta- 
tion in life the accused held, or what the 
nature of the accusation ; and even then 
he rather pitied than condemned the frail- 
ties so incident to all created beings. . 

Miss O'Callaghan tript into ther par- 
lour with a lightness of foot. that, would 
have scarce bowed beneath it: the delicate 
lily of the vale, which decked, her bosom* 
Her straw bonnet, carelessly tied under 
her chin, and thrown at the back of her 
head, was ornamented with a wreath of 
wild field fiOwers, which, as she disen- 
cumbered herself of, her beautiful dark 
shining hair flowed negligently over her 
fair neck, and sported in fanciful ringlets 
as the. morning breeze had dispersed it^ . 
B G and 


and heightened on her dimpled cheek the 
glo^y of health, innocence, and happi- 
ness. The heart of the Baronet expand- 
ed into rapture when his Ellen appeared ; 
Connolly was aware it would, and fol- 
lowed her in with the tea equipage, lie 
had no occasion to examine the counte- 
nance of Sir Thomas, to penetrate what 
temper he was now in ; there was a smile 
of joy diffused over it, and the mandate 
to the old butler was no longer remem- 

'' See, papa,'' cried Miss O'Callaglian, 
taking the wreath from her bonnet, 
" what a beautiful chaplet I have woven 
for 3^our hair — your night-cap, 1 mean. 
Come, let me decorate it, and I siiall 
imagine you one of the pastoral swains 
1 have somewhere reatl of, gaily decked 
out in your native symbols, tolead a joy- 
ous village groupe.*' 

** Thou little flatterer 1" exclaimed the 
delighted parent ; '* rather old father 
Pan, or one of his satyrs !'* 

'' I have 


'* I have been to the old chapel, papa, 
in search of adventures," resumed Eiien, 
as she commenced her repast, with the 
appetite, not of a fine lady, labouring 
under the distinguishing traits of vapour 
and sf^en, a martyr to the fashionable 
overthrow of rational hours, but witli a 
degree. of hunger perfectly rotarier with 
the zest of a vulgar healthy country lass^ 
who could boast of seeing the sunshine 
every day it was visible, and even — O 
, disgraceful reflection on a young lady of 
quality ! even behold its majestic appear- 
ance in the east, and watch its western 
decline from her bed-room windows, as 
^she prayed to tts great Author, and re- 
tired to her peaceful pillow without once 
dreammg of illuminated halls, nightly 
diimers, thronged assemblies, or moniing 
suppers f— the daughter of a wealthy Ba- 
ronet, in her sixteenth year, not yet 
initiated in any one fashionable folly !«— ^ 
cry ye mercy — I ask pardon — fashionable 
extravagance—worse and worse — but no- 



matter, let it go — the votaries of its circle 
will give the appropriate appellation. 

** In search of adventures, my Ellen !** 
cried the Baronet. 

f ** Why, no, not exactly those," re- 
plied the smiling girl; *' but to j^plore 
the mysteries which report says are con- 
nected witli the venerable pile." 

Connolly leaned over her chair — *^ And. 
did you see the bones, Miss Ellen?'' 

*VSee the devil 1** exclaimed Sir Tho- 
mas, in a half peevish tone. 

** Nay, but my dear papa,'" hastily^ 
interrupted Miss OX'allaghsm, *' don't 
be angry at Connolly's question ; it's a 
very natunil one, I think, for all the 
neighbourhood talks of the story ; and if 
it has excited the curiosity of youth, why 
npt awaken that of age? Yes, my good i 
Connolly, I did indeed see them. And. 
they are of such a size too ! Mercy on 
me, I could have supposed them the re- 
mains of some of the Irish giants ! When 
you are able to walk out, papa, won't, 



you come and look at them also? — Is it 
not very strange," she went on, *' that 
the people say tliese bones will not rest 
under ground ; and do you know the rea- 
son, papa ?'* 

The Baronet shook his head in the ne- 

'' Why then, it is said," continued she, 
'^ that they never will rest in peace till 
the lawful heirs of those deceased persons 
are discovered." 

Sir Thomas gave one of his long whistles. 

'' Aye, Miss Ellen/' cried the faithful 
adherent of the marvellous, *' that's the 
story, sure enough — they are the bones 
of Lord Duncarty, and the beautiful Spa- 
nish lady, his wife. He wint to the wars, 
some sixty or sivinty years ago, where he 
was kilt and murthered, poor dear gentle- 
man, and cumd home to die amung his 
own people. He was a good man, they 
say, and so was his wife too — she was a 
Roman Catholic. So whin my Lord cums 
home, what did he find but his Lady did 
3 and 


and birid, and their little son gone, no 
body at all cud tell where; only, to 
be sure, people guisst will inough what was 
cum'd o{ him,'' , 

' *'And what did they guess ?'* v/as the 
Baronet's quick interrogation. 

** Why, yur Honour," answered Con- 
nolly, *' that he was carried off for a 
sartinty by the good people/' 

Another immoderate long *' whew !'* 
from Sir Thomas, gave testimony of his 
invincible incredulity. 

*' The good people,'' repeated Ellen-— 
and, after "a minute's pause — **Qyes! I 
know; the fairies, you mean, Connolly." 
** Yts, Miss/* he replied, with a signi- 
ficant shake of his head. *^ And as, to 
be sure, yur Honour knows there is just 
such anither story — aye, and as true a 
one too, concarning of the owld castle 
on the hill beyant, over therefurnenst us. 
We can't see it from this, Miss Ellen, be- 
kays its at the tother side of the liouse. , 
But a gintlemaii, and. his whole intire- 


family, ^v^s taken off body and bones, 
holus poluSy as one may say, in the night 
by 'em, and lift all alone by thimsilves in 
the middle of a great wide hathe, so that 
they did not know noth" — 

** I wish," hastily ejcclaimed Sir Tho- 
mas, and relapsing into his irritable tone, 
** I wish these good people had been kind 
enough to take the bones in the old cha- 
pel along with the heir of the family, and 
your old bones into the bargain, Con- 
nolly, and then /should be at rest 5 for, 
confound me if you're not a greater tor- 
ment than the gout. That is kind 
enough to confine itself to my feet ; but 
you, you torture me all over, both in 
mind and body, with your cursed non- 
sense. But it's all the priest's doings — - 
I know it is. He tells you a parcel of 
trash, to pick the money out of your 
pockets, by pretending to drive away 
evil spirits with his masses, and his holy 
water; and his — Psha ! Why the devil do 
you allow yourselves to be made such 
fools of? And why do I shew myself as 



great a fool, by spending my breath in 
any argument on the subject, when you 
mil be bliiul to ecmmon sense ? — Do you. 
believe in God, Connolly?" 

** As sure as I believe I have a sow] to 
be saved by 9im, yur Honour," replied 
the pld man, devoutly raising his hand& 
and eyes, 

** And how do you think your soul is 
to be saved by Him alone," resumed the 
Baronet, with solemnity, *' when you 
believe there are beings in this world en- 
dowed with a superhuman power, to en- 
thral the souls as well as bodies of His 
creatures ; a power which, if we give credit 
to, must be believed equal to his own? 
Do you think the God of the universe 
limits his omnipotence, by giving to visi- 
onary beings an authority to govern hu- 
nian existence — to counteract His high 
will? — Why, Connolly, you are no better 
than a Heathen, notwithstanding you 
profess yourself a good Chiisiian, for they 
had their gods, and you have yours.'* 

** But width submission, yur Honour, '*^ 
^ , said. 


said Connolly, '* I am no Hathm ; for I 
don't kneel to no grave images, barn it 
be to thim in the mass-house, and the 
bhssid little silver figure that is tastined 
to my badeSy and thim I only say my 
prayers to. But I can't doubt of things 
that iviry body knows is fact and truth, 
although miny people, like yur Honour, 
dusn't believe a word of it. But now, 
only just lit me till you, Sir Thomas, all 
about the prince— I forgits his name, 
that has been did this hundred years or 
more, and is living in that great owld 
castle of Man'* — - 

*' Don't tell me any more of your ridi- 
culous tales — don't, Connolly, or you'll 
put me into a passion," cried the master. 
^•' I never before thought vou such an 
arrant fool — God helj^ ) our poor sapscull, 
that has already seen upwards of three- 
score years over it, and not yet arrived 
to the age of common understanding* 
Poor creature, 1 pity you. Go — go to 
the Reverend Mr. CJa^hcld^ and tell him 

I am 


I am so much better, that I am able to 
sit up and entertain my friends, there- 
fore shall be glad of the pleasure of his com- 
pany to dinner to-morrow.'' 

The butler bowed, and was withdraw- 
ing. Sir Thomas called him back again 
— rubbed his hand two or three times 
between his nightcap and forehead — 
*' Connolly." 

** Yur Honour" — a pause of silence. 

** Ellen, my love." 

** My dear papa" — another pause ; and 
the Baronet went on rubbing till he drop- 
ed the nightcap. Connolly bent to pick 
it up, as did IMiss O'Callaghan. 

** Let Ellen do it, Connolly ; she is 
younger than me or you^ and not quite 
so stiff in the back — I say, Connolly." 

" Yes, yur Honour." 

'^ That parish priest of your's, Father 
Dunlavie, is a very good sort of a man, 
I think, though he has his peculiarities." 

*' Not a bitter living nor dead, Sir 



^* ^Vell, we liave all our oddities, and 
why should not he have his ? He has not 
been here some time ; to be sure, the last 
<lay he called, he mentioned something 
about these ol<l bones, and I believe I was 
a little cross, or the gout was trouble- 
some perhaps. Ask him to dinner also 
to-morrow, Connolly ; I shall be glad of 
his conipany." 

^' O my dear papa, I am so pleased with 
you for that." 

*' Then Mr. Dunlavie is a favourite of 
your's, my Ellen/' 

*' YeS; indeed he is, papa, for I think 
him a very amiable, and a very well-bred 
man, and I am sure must be a good, 
or he would not be so well loved as he is 
by his parishioners. Then, whenever he 
meets Hie, he enquires so kindly after 
you^ and I understand has been constant- 
ly to the Hall for that purpose, though 
he did not leave his name, since that 
day you have mentioned ; and he speaks 
so well the French .language —just hke 




Mr. Sylvester, and I am always pleased 
to see him : but I know you were not 
serious, my dear papa, wlien you said he 
, should not be admitted here again— that 
prohibition had been so unlike yourself." 
** Ah you little insinuating baggage V* 
cried the fond father, as he kissed the 
blooming girl, whose arms encircled his 
neck. ** I have no disHke to the good 
priest, no, my Ellen, God forbid I should ! 
Sometimes, to be sure, I do say a hasty 
\rord ; but then there's a wide difference 
between theory and practice, you know. 
Now old Connolly is knowing enough 
in that respect, for he mhids no more 
what r say in a passion, than, to make 
use of one of his own phrases, * a cat 
does a fiddle.' No more should any 
other person. But you cannot suppose, 
my love, that I make any objection to 
Mr. Dunlavie on account of his religion. 
It is not a man's religion that will send 
hirh to Heaven, or keep him out of it — It 
is his deeds here that will determine his 



fate hereafter ; and a good man, of what- 
ever sect, is acceptable in the sight of 
God, and Heaven forbid J should think 
otherwise; for — 

"*' Can any one of common senss. 
Think a bacon slice gives God offence ? 
Or that there's virtue in a herring, 
' To bring a man to Hell or Heaven ?" 

**Yu're a Christhan, Sir Thomas,'* 
cried the old butler, wiping a tear of warm 
aflfection from his eye, with the corner 
of Ivis long white neckcloth, which was 
given to the virtues of one of the best of 
masters. *' And \^ you don*t go to Hive??, 
thin the Lord have marcy upon half the 
AV'orld ! But God grant you may live to 
the age of owld Parr ; for I'm mortally 
sartin if you died, yur Honour, poor Con- 
nolly would go afofc you with a broken 
hart " 

'* Well, well, my honest fellow," cried 
Sir Thomas, ^ith one of his benevolent 
smiles, ** we'll both live as long as we 

can — 


can — or rather as long as God pleases. 
Oar business is to be always prepared for 
His summons. What do your eyes glisten 
for, my loved Ellen t Talking of Death 
won't hasten his appearance. Come, my 
dear girl, let me kiss oif that tear — you 
love your old father, my FJlen, and he 
does you dearly, and all my wish is, that 
I may live to see you happily married, 
and then — But it's a dull subject for a 
gay girl, so well drop it : the gout is a 
kind of certificate, or, if you please, an. 
insurance of life, so long as it is kept 
doW7i; but if it once mounts up — -whew ! 
there's an end of our story. So we'll con- 
trive to keep the truant in proper subjec- 
tion ; and as to the twinges of it, who 
would not bear pain to add a few years to 
existence ? There now, go with Con- 
nolly to Mr. Dunlavie's, to invite him to 
dinner to-morrow ; it will shew some at- 
tention for his kind enquiries after me. 
But don't fall in love with the good man, 
Ellen ; because you knov/ a Catholic 



clergyman is forbidden to marry, and it 
would be bad speculation for my little 

The Baronet playfully kissed her as he 
concluded, and the eyes of his affection- 
ate daughter resumed their wonted lustre, 
as she fondly returned the parental em- 
brace ; and, again tying on her strawr 
bonnet, hastened after Connolly to exe- 
cute her willing commission. 

VOL. I. 



CHAP. 11. 

illius aram 

Saepe tener nostris ab OYilibus imbuet agnus." 
^ Virgil, 

Sir Thomas OTallaghan, of Princely 
Hall, in the county Kiidare, Ireland, 
was a Baronet descended from a long 
race of ancestors, who, each in turn, did 
credit to their rank in life, and by their 
virtues gave renov/n to the name. The 
hereditary properly of the O'Callaghans 
was sufticient to preserve their conse- 
quence in the stile of respectability, and 
to allow them to exercise that spirit of 



benevolence, which descended as a family 
giu from father to son, it being a net 
property of six thousand a-year. But it 
was only the present Sir Gliomas who had 
it amply in his power to dispense bless- 
ings with a liand as liberal as his heart 
was expanded, bt:!ing, by the possession 
of Princely Hall and its appurtenances, 
master of an additional income of twenty- 
five thousand pounds, clear property. 
Vet, being /an emailed estate, the pos- 
sessor was only tenant for life, and had 
no power lo dispose of any part of it 
from his successor. Sir Thomas O'Calla- 
ghan was a very reuiote branch of th.e 
family of his predecessors, but the next 
heir in default o{' their nirvle issue, which 
having failed, he became the inheritor 
some time after the death of his father ; 
and Lady O'Callaghan dying without 
leaving any son or child except Ellen, 
and Sir Thomas having no 'idea of form- 
ing a second marriage, this property was 
to revert to another distant relation of tlie 
c 2 , late 


late possessor's, who had no affinity to 
the Baronet. 

The name of the Hall was perfectly ap- 
propriate to its establishment, for every 
' thing belonging to it, both within and 
without, was conducted in a stile of 
princely magnificence, while, at the same 
time, ostentation or imperiousness was 
wholly unknown to its owner. He kept 
along train of domestics, , not for parade, 
nor yet entirely for use, but rather because 
many of them were heir looms of the 
former family, and grown grey in its 
service. Ihtse he considtrcd entitled to 
his protection, and they had an establish- 
ment distinct from the necessary attend- 
ants of the household ; nor u ere their ser- 
vices required, unless as their own free 
will directed them. Three separate tables 
were served every day, without including 
their Lord's. The first was for the under 
servants, and such of the \\o»k-peopJf as 
chose to partake of it ; the second for 
the old retainers; and the thhd, which 


was called the housekeeper's, summoned 
to its ample board all the upper ranks of 
the domestics. ** Peace and plenty" was 
the motto of each, for no niggardly stew- 
ard was permitted to limit the bountiful 
overflowings of the cornucopia, nor any 
riotous inmate suffered to disturb the 
tranquillity of another. Drunkenness, 
Sir Thomas abhorred ; but on a festival 
day, every man was allowed to use his 
own discretion ; and at others, each had 
a stipulated portion of home-brewed ale, 
which, without intoxicating, was fully 
sufficient ; and all the first servants, male 
and female, had, in addition, a daily al- 
lowance of a pint of wine. The harvest- 
home was a day of merriment and rejoic- 
ing. There Sir Thomas appeared as the 
happy master of a grateful people, where 
he sat amongst his old tenants and quaffed 
the foaming liquor from their tankard, 
to the anniversary of many such joyous 
meetings, where he partook of the repast 
with the younger ones, and where, in 
c 3 the 


tlie evening, while the merry pipes 
** struck up a lilt so gaily O," aiul the 
sprightly damsel, with the rustic swain, 
beat to its enliveninfr notes the verdant 
turf beneath tlieir feet, did he mingle 
with the nimble group, when permitted 
the free use of liis legs by the absence of 
his chronic monitor, the gout, and alter- 
nately led each fair^maiden in the dance, 
till the shades of night calling the joyous 
assembly to their respective homes, the 
]>aronet, with a kiss, and generally a 
handsome present to each of his distin- 
guished partners, withdrew with his fair 
Ellen, amidst shouts of gratitude from 
his happy tenantry, and the no less happy 
dependants of his bounty. Christmas 
day, thenfestiTal of the new year, and 
other holidays, received, in due proportion, 
the honours of domestic hilarity, when 
the respectable and elder tenants were 
lionoured and ilattered by an invitation 
to the festive table of their landlord ; and 
even the grey- haired cottagers experien- 


ced, in tlie faiiiiliar salutation, or friendly 
sliake of the lianc!, that sentiment that 
gives *' an iiour's importance to the poor 
nran's !:cart." 

Evcry^ Sunday thronghont the year, 
there \\'as an extra table it two o'clock, 
iov such of tlie tenants* children as chose 
to participate' of the welcome repast, and 
where Miss O'Callnghan attended, to see 
that every child was iluly taken care of 
by the servants appointed for that pur- 
pose, and her own fair hands presented to 
eacli a glass of wine to drink the health 
of their benefactor. With all this profu- 
sion, it was one of Sir Thomas's strict 
charges to avoid wasie ; whatever cam^ 
from the respective tables was, with other 
provisions, decently served up to the 
most indio-ent of the villaj^e^-s, for which 
purpose were deputed two of the ancient 
female domestics, whose sole business it 
was, three days in the wee^k, to distribute 
tlie brciken victuals ; nor were these good 
dames kss attentive than their master to 
c 4 the 


the decency of its distribution. Every 
first day of winter, on vhich it was the 
Baronet's custom to envelop himself in 
warmer clothing, this benevolent man wa» 
equally considerate of those whose years, 
infirmities, and situaiiun, stood in need of 
the same indulgence. To the poorer class 
of his tenants, male and female, he there- 
fore gave on that day a comfortable suit 
of woollen, and permission to cut their 
winter firing from his bogs. 

The children of these poor people met 
with equal attention from Miss O'Calla- 
ghan, by receiving from her presents of 
useful clothing; and a school for their 
instruction was maintained at her ex- 
pence, which she regularly visited once 
a- week, to notice their improvement. la 
short, to illustrate the domestic virtues 
of Sir Thomas O'Callaghan, would fill a 
volume, and even then hardly could the 
ininutioB of his benevolence be traced, for 
he was attentive to the wants of every 
creature in every form. He {ed the hun- 


gry, clothed the naked, relieved the in- 
digent, and visited the sick, in whose 
favour he allowed the village doctor an 
ample salary for his attendance. The 
term charity never was better exempli- 
fied — it displayed all the fair phases af its 
import, and included with him every vir- 
tue it is expressive of. He was literally 
adored in the neighbourhood ; nor could 
"his magnificent fortune be envied him, 
while he spent it in his own country, 
amongst his own people, and for the good 

Sir Thomas had nevertheless his faults 
— what human character is without its 
shades ? He was hasty and irritable ; but 
it was not the haughty^petulance of pride, 
nor yet the peevishness of imbecility. It 
partook more of the nature of that sen- 
sation that arises in a mind almost con- 
stantly preoccupied, from the repetition 
of trivial interruptions. It was, in brief, 
*^ Nature's high tax on luxury of soul,'* 
which intellects of a certain pitch, whether 
i) S inteut 


intent on objects of science, active bene- 
volence, or simple contemplation, are 
almost always condemned to pay. In his 
communications with the ignorant and 
'credulous rustics of liis house and vicini- 
ty, the self-command of the Baronet (we 
will not say his patience, for of that in 
many things he had not much to boast) 
was almost daily put to the test. Though 
plain and rural in his manners, he had 
both read and thought, and formed his 
own opinions. His religious sentiments 
were little known ; thev rested within his 
own bosom, seldom strayed into the 
world, and never opened the door to 
those of others; hence with some he pas- 
sed for a concealed papist, others did him 
the honour to say he possessed no religion 
at all ; all of which surmises he did not 
take the trouble even of despising; but 
that he belonged to no ostensible sect, 
wd^ certainly the second of his great 

Sir Thomas had passed • almost the 



whole of his life amongst liis tenantry, 
consequently knew little of mankind. He 
owed somethinjj^ to books, but more to' 
himself, and nothing to men. Still his 
good understanding taught him to regret 
he had not seen more of the M^prld, and, 
though late in life, it was- his intention 
yet, if "health perniitted him, to travel ; 
and in fact,^the advice of his physicians 
concurred with his own inclinations in this 

Sir Thomas had represented his native 
county in several succeeding parliaments. 
With respect to his political conduct, it 
is. enough to say it had been independjint^ 
aixl that he had always consulted his own 
and his constituents' opinion, 

lie never would accept the office of 
high sheriff, nor fill that of a magistrates^ 
for where he could not correct by ad* 
nir)nishing, he was repugnant to {juuish 
by iawiul authority; yet many was th6 
criminal his interference saved,; where 
liumauity found ar> opening for mercy j 
c 6 and 


and many was the debtor liberated by 
his bounty. To sum up the character 
of Sir Thomas, we will add, that the re- 
peated offers of a coronet he had as con- 
stantly declined, alledging that he chose 
rather to continue the first commoner of 
his country, than become the last of its 

To the household of Sir Thomas O'CaU 
]aghan was lately added a gentleman, 
whose right to the appellation was as con- 
spicuous as his connexions were unknown 
and his fortunes humble. His manners 
were modest, yet elegant. His educa- 
tion must have been liberal, as he was 
conversant on every important subject, 
and well acquainted with many foreign 
languages ; was skilled in music, and had 
a taste for painting. His person was 
graceful, his complexion rather dark, with 
somewhat a foreign cast, and, ^vithout 
being critically handsome, his features 
striking and expressive. His age appear- 
ed to be from twenty-eight to thirty, 



though it might not be so mucli ; but the 
seriousness of his deportment took from 
him the light semblance of youth, v/ith- 
out leaving any rigid formahty, or un- 
social reserve in his character. This 
gentleman, whose name was Ferdinand 
Sylvester, became a candidate for the 
Baronet's protection, through the medi- 
um of an old friend of Sir Thomas's, who 
resided a few miles from Princely Hall, 
a Mr. Millbank, whose niece was likewise 
an intimate, and the only one, of Miss 
O'Cahaghan, Mr. Miilbank having been 
abroad for some years on the Continent, 
had there met with Mr. Sylvester, and 
conceived for him a very warm affection. 
This young man, whose father was an 
English officer, but reported to have been 
killed in an engagement in Germany du- 
ring the infancy of his son, found him- 
self, at the age of twenty, an orphan in 
very straitened circumstances, as the 
trifling support of his mother, and some 
little dependence she had of her family 



(wlio lived in a distant country) died 
with her, aijd his spirit not permitting" 
him to be an inactive dependant, he turn- 
ed his talents and ed titration to the pri- 

'vate instruction of a few youths In this, 
capacity Mr. Millbank had seen him,. 
when, from many iater views, having, as 
before said, entertained an affection for 
him, h.e invited him over to Ireland, to 
superintend the education of his nephew,, 
who was then at a public school. His 
oifers were liberal, and many other cir- 
cumstances rendering the removal of Mr. 
Sylvester a desirable event to himself, he 
accepted the friendly invitation, and came 
with the old gentleijian to the land of 
Hibernia. His niece Emily, v/ho, with 

• liis nephew Edward, were the orphan 
children of Mr. Millbank's younger bro- 
ther, he had been left guardian to, and 
trustee of their very handsome foxtune,-. 
which had been principally acquired by 
commerce. During his five years ab' 
sence abroad^ Emily had been at a board? 



ing-school in Diibliu; and his nephew at 
a preparatory seminary. ^liss Millbank,. 
at his departure, was twelve years old, 
and her brother three years junior. On 
his return, therefore, he found, instead of 
thechikl, a line, animated, good humour- 
ed, intelligent and accomplished young 
woman. He took her home to preside as 
mistress of his house, and kitimated to 
Edward, that he was likewise to take up 
his residence at ?vlillbank Place the en- 
suing vacation. But his intention was 
frustrated by a fatal event ; a scarlet 
fever broke out in the school, to whose 
malignity, amongst many others of tlic 
youths, Edward fell a \ ictim. Mr. Mill- 
bank adored his young relatives, and this 
unhappy disaster plunged him into the 
deepest grief: Emily as severely felt its 
poignancy, nor could her lively disposi- 
tion overcome for many months the sin- 
cere sorrow she felt at the death of her 
brother. Yet many a young lady had 
rejoiced at an event which gave them such 



an addition of fortune; for, instead of 
five thousand pounds, which were to be 
her portion the day she married or came 
of age, she saw herself by it the heiress of 
'two thousand a-year in right of succes- 
sion, and the possibility, or rather indeed 
probability, of inheriting the greater part 
of her uncle's property, Mr. Sylvester 
sincerely deplored the melancholy cata- 
strophe which had befallen his generous 
friend, and sought b}^ every exertion to 
soothe the sorrows it had occasioned. 
When the lapse of a few months had 
taken off the edge of its poignancy, the 
natural independence of his mind sug- 
gested to him the necessity of looking^ 
out for some situation to maintain him- 
self, and he still persevered in desiring 
to obtain a private tutorbhip. But, a 
stranger, without connexions, and un- 
known, he could not hope to succeed, un- 
less patronized by Mr. Millbank in the 
undertaking. He therefore waited til^ 
tmie had exerted her benign influence on 
& the 


the sorrows of his friend before he men- 
tioned his wish to him ; this he did in 
such delicate terms, that ttiongh Mr. 
Millbank saw through his motives at 
once, he could not condemn a spirit that 
nobly felt its own independance, and de- 
sired to preserve it. Mr. Millbank told 
him that, having brought him into a 
strange country, he considered himself 
engaged to protect him in it, and, while 
he himself lived, entreated Mr. Sylvester 
would consider Millbank Place as his re- 
sidence, and not to make or think of any 
other arrangement. But however grate- 
ful the young man felt for this kindness, 
and grateful he did feel, he could not re- 
concile himself to passing an inactive life, 
supported by the bounty of a stranger. 
He at length succeeded in obtaining Mr. 
Millbank's concurrence, but not without 
a promise, that on any emergency he 
woidd still consider his house as his weU 
come asvlum, and that he would not be 
in any haste to quit it, till his friend had 



selected such a situation for him as v/ould 
bid fair to prove a happy one. These 
promises obtained, Mr. Millbank was 
not very aqtive in the pursuit of one, 

' for as he. really loved Sylvester, he was 
Ti'ot eager to part with him, and nearly 

. twelve months elapsed befcH'e he thought 
of makinii; any enquiry. In this interval 
the friendship between Sir Thomas O'Cal^ 
Jaghan and Mr. Milll)ank had been re- 
newed. Ellen and Emily became inti- 
mates^ and a perfect harmony of uncfer- 
standing was preserved between the old 
gentlemen and the young ladies. 

Emily had certainly the advantage of 
Miss O'Caliagiian in female accomj)lish- 
mei.ts. She iiad received a rcc>ular edu- 
cation, ami had profited by it Not hke 
some boarding school misses, wlio issue 
from thence tiie paragons of perfect ion ; 
who flay tlie French tono^ue ahve; excel 
on the piano-forte in a lesson of Kicolai, 
or the Battle of Prague ; and embroider 
the wonders of Shakespeare, or the talcs 


of Sterne, 'in a splendid confii^ion of co- 
loured chenilles; or perhaps give us Bri-*, 
tannia, or Hibern'a, seated on a r(H:k, 
wiih Neptune's trident like a pitchfork 
• in her hand, to catch, the ships by trans- 
fixinu; them (a,s fishermen take eels in the 
nuid) wliile they hostilely ad.vance stern 
foremost, and against the wind ; some- 
times tjie map of Europe, in a dazzliiig 
gilt frame, to grace the breakfast-parlour, 
or may be the drawing-room, or any room 
uhere, with the otliers, it may be seen, 
admired, or — any tiling but understood ; 
for it would require tlie sagacity of a 
** j^rlother Goose" to discover Britannia's 
spear in a pitchfork — the gentle Miranda 
bending under a head-dress new from 
Ross's emporium — to divine whether it 
is her dog or her goat that Maria is lead- 
in a string — or to trace Karnschatka on 
the parallel of the West Indies. 

'* ThaTs Miss Anna Maria Juliana 
Charlotta's last work at Madam La Far- 
ley wou's school," exclaims the delighted 



mama, as she enters tlie drawing-room 
(we'll suppcse) from the kitchen, wliere 
she lias been superintending the cookery, 
and wiping her face with her pocket- 
' handkerchief, as s);e sees the con^pany 
croMcled round the beantifal productions 
of her more bee. i-ii'iil daughter's fingers, 
adding a '* how' d ye do,*' or an agreeable 
nod to each guest, as she makes her ob- 
servations.— *' That Jhere piece is some- 
thing out of Mr. Some:)ody's old play— it 
is as natural as life, evtry one says. And 
this here was done by her sister, Sophy 
Matilda AuguGta Elizabeth, now Mrs. 
Sugarcane. It's the picture of the mad 
woman in Mr. What-ye-call-em's journey; 
I does not remember foreign people's 
names ; and my youngest girl, Jane Ca- 
roline Belinda, that's do?2e that there 
other picture of all the places in the 
world, is to be here this evening, as I 
sent to ask the governess to let her come, 
because I was to have two or three friends 
with me. It will do your heart good to 



bear her play * ^logo^y Lawder,' and 
' Jack Latin,' on that grand piano, that 
cost me my good seventy golden guineas 
last ^^'eek at Mr. Broad wood's; and she 
is so much im[)roved in her singing too! 
For my own part, Td jather hear her sing 
the * Top.vuils shivering in the wind/ or 
* Sweet lass of Richmond Hill,' than all 
the Billingtons and Biaharns in the uni- 
verse. And as to that famous Mr. Incle- 
don's * Sally in our alley,' O she beats him 
all to nothing in it." 

'' Beautiful !" cries one — ** Inimitably 
done !" exclaims another — ** Perfectly 
correct 1" says a third e.vquisitt judge — • 
** 1 am all impatience to hear Miss Jane 
Caroline Belinda's performance." ejicu- 
lates some other of the party — ** And I 
• — And I," is echoed round by all. Ma- 
ma looks in raptures, smiles her satisfac- 
tion on the company, and retires to give 
the last finish to her cookery, by ht li>ing 
Margaret, the maid of all work, t(^ <;ihli 
the anxiously-awaited dinner, while, lii the 



interim, the guests are left to digest the 
enumerated perfections of the hostess's 
peerless daughters. 

Well then^ Miss Emily Millbank Avas 
, not one of these " ne plus ultra' sJ" ' She 
pla}^ed tlie harp with taste and e.%ecution 
•—turned a sweet, tliough delicate, voice 
v.itli judgment, and was particularly cap- 
tivating in lively airs. She spoke French 
and Italian correctly, but the latter less 
fluently than the former ; 'and could tell a , 
noun from an adjective in both languages, 
for she wrote both with precision. She 
had no shewy works to produce from her 
hands, but sketches of drawings, which 
Mere neatly done ; yet not being a profi- 
cient in the art, she did not expose any 
of them to general scrutiny. Mr. Syl- 
vester had indeed ^iveri her a few lessons, 
but not being anxious to become an 
adept in the science, she was improved 
by them, without attaining any claim to ' 

When the Baronet saw Miss Millbank, 


TflE OLD IV.i^n BARONET. 47 

Le becanie sensible of the disparity of 
education brtueen iier and his daughter. 
Klien iiiid a o()verness at the Hall during 
two \ea:s, of whom she karned scarcely 
any thing; for though tlie lady niiglit 
ha* e heen perfectly qualined for the task 
of in.tu.Gting iier j)upil in all t'iie elegant 
acconi])lisiunents slie specified, yet ^'le 
scented more anxious to teach the cdd 
Baronet a '* second lesson of lose," th/aii 
give dull lessons of study to a y(»ung girl : 
and, to quality herself for the station in 
embryo at which she aimed, had ah\ady 
assumed no small, auchoriry in tlie house. 
Mrs. Hamilton was a widow, neiiiier old 
or ngly, had a dash of the line ludy about 
her, and attired her pretty person with 
taste. Eiit there is a tiire saying, aijd a 
true one, " No catching old birds with 
chaff." Sir Thomas saw through 
sign, was ^toic enough to appear insensi- 
ble of her good intentions towards herself, 

. gave her a polite dismissal from the fjall, 
with a handsome present by way of repa- 


ration for her unsuccessful plan ; an'd 
swore, for the Baronet we find could swear 
on occasions, that no preceptor in petti- 
coats should ever again become an inmate 
'of it. Now, had Mrs. Hamilton preserved 
a conduct suitable to her station, she had 
possibly commanded in the house in every 
respect, save as Lady OXallaghan, during 
Ellen's minority, and assuredly she had 
always found a friend in Sir Thomas; 
but so abhorrent was he of every species 
of art or cunning, that Mrs. Hamilton 
was probably the only person against 
whom he ever felt himself strongly, pre- 
judiced. Ellen therefore knew very little. 
She was in truth a child of nature, inno- 
cent, artless, and unassuming j beautiful 
without vanity, and rich without pride. 
The queen of Princely Hall and its en- 
virons, she was worshipped as such ; but 
the playful Ellen admitted no self-con- 
sequence from this homage. She would 
taste their potatoes and milk with the 
cottagers, when she visited their humble 



dwellings, run races in the fields with the 
girls, fill the socia-ble with children, and 
drive for iiotirs with them round tlie do- 
main, apd assist at the evening dance on 
tlve turf, or perhaps collect together all 
the village girls she could, and with the 
females of the Hall, foot it merrily away 
to the lively notes of an old blind harper, 
who was one of Sir Thomas's pensioners. 

Yet thou2:h the Barouet never wished 
his daughter to become a pupil of tlie 
** new school," he heartily desired she 
should be more than an uneducated rustic. 
He wanted lier to be formed a woman of 
sense without pedantry — a woman of 
fashion without frivolity, and a woman 
of consequence without self-sufficiency. 
But hov/ were these to be acquired witli- 
out a proper instructor? Tl>€ organist> 
ef Kildare church taaght.her -to play on 
the piano-forte, and he was no contempt- 
ible teacher. The diocesan school-master 
instructed her in writing and English; 
and she said she would learn Latin, of 

VOL, I. D him, 


lum, since he could not improve her in 
Frencli, or" teach Iier Itahan. But for 
the two last languages she had a master 
in -Mier mind's eye, " whom she believed, 
and believed right, to be fully adequate 
to the undertaking — no less a personage 
than Father Dunlavie; but him she had 
riot yet proposed to the Baronet, nor, 
from subsequent matters, iiad she ever 
occasion to 4o so, for, to make use of an 
Irishism, poor Dunlavie lost his place be- 
fore lie had it The Baronet was aware 
of there beino: still a deliciencv in Miss 
O'Callaghan's pr-ecepto-rs. She was now 
verging on her sixteenth year, and no- 
thing better than a simple country girl, 
lie hated the very name of a boarding- 
school, nor could a Queen Vsquare semi- 
nary be a temptation for him to send his 
daughter there. Yet when he became 
acquainted with Miss Millbank, he gave 
every merited justice to that in which 
she had been educated, and allowed it to 
be one of the few where strict regard to 



morality was as much attended to as shin- 
ing accomplishments. Yet still to send 
his Ellen there was out of the question. 
She had passed her days of childhood, 
and it was only under his own immediate 
inspection she could or should receiv^e 
further instructions. What was then to 
be done? He consulted Mr. Millbanlc 
— that gentleman deliberated awhile — 
*' Would Sir Thomas have any objection 
to a tutor, a gentleman of strict pro- 
bity, of highly-finished manners, of briN 
liant talents, and superior accomphsh- 
inents ; in short, a person in every re- 
spect qualified to undertake the office, 
with credit to himself and justice to his 

*' None in the world," was Sir Tho- 
mas's rej)ly. ** It was exactly the pci'- 
son he wished for; and his being of the 
male sex was, next to his qualifications, 
the greatest recommendation." 

Mr. Sylvester, who had already the 

honour of being slightly known to the 

p £ Baronet, 



Baronet, and a growing favourite of his, 
v/as therefore proposed and accepted. A 
salary of three hundred per annum, a suite 
of apartments in the Hall for himself and 
the different studies he engaged in with 
his fair pupil, together with a pair of hoi-ses, 
and a groom, were at his comman^:!. Yet 
though he daily grew more in favour with 
the Baronet, he arrogated no consequence 
from it, save that which arose from the 
friendship of so inestimable a character; 
and under the tuition of Mr. Sylvester, 
Miss O'Callag'han, whose natural genius 
and lively imagination facilitated her in- 
structions, bade fair to "become' every- 
thing die heart of her fond father so ar- 
dently desired. 



CHAP. m. 

♦• If e'er I've moura'd my humble lowly staiej 
If e'er I've bow'd my knee at Fortune's shrine. 
If e'er a wish escap'd me to be great. 
The fervent pray'r, Humanity, was thine." 


If the poison of an intolerant theology, 
instilled early into the mind, could have 
corrupted a generous heart, it would have 
spoiled that of Father Dunlavie — if the 
sentiment of personal oppression, and the 
world's neglect, could have made a mis- 
anthropist, he had become one. But he 
was destined to play a better part. The 
habitua} mediocrity of his situation only 
rendered him more sensible to the wants 
D 3 " of 

64 THE Jlf),Li> imSft BAl^ONET. 

of Others; but the worst revenge lie 
wreaked on tlie foes at anee of his faith 
and himself was^ to pray for their con- 
' version. He had been sent inta the Con- 
tinent in early life, where he had received 
a classical education, and was of course a 
tolerable scholar. His manners were 
those of a gentleman ; but born an Irish- 
man, brought up at St. Omers, and living 
for thirty years among the superstitious 
rustics of a country village, his character 
offered a most original compound of be- 
Bevolence and bigotry, credulity and 
science — but the first was predomi- 
Bant. Though he had a tear for the un> 
fortunate, and Heaven knows he could 
afford them little else, he was joyous and 
convivial to a proverb, that is, when he 
had the opportunity, and he was gay at 
all times. He had learned to be a o'ood 
dancer in France, and he liad not forgot 
it in Ireland, when at a christening or a 
wedding of his parishioners, he has not 
unfrequeutly made one in the rustic dance, 



rather than see a lively girl sit still for 
want of a partner. Next to tiie obliga- 
tions of implicit faith in all that the 
church bids us believe, he held it the first 
of Christian duties never to cry wherv 
you can laugh, or throw away God's bles- 
sings because they are not greater. Willi 
such principles, and such accomplish- 
ments, it is needless to say that Father 
Dunlavie was a welcome guest in every 
cabin where the plan was to make merry, 
and that he took his jovial glass without 
flinching, as far as sobriety went, and 
sometimes a little au de la. 

Such was the good priest. Though 
'* still to his duty prompt at every call/* 
he was always at hand when the bed of 
sickness or death demanded him ; yet, 
alike unacquainted M'ith scepticism or de- 
pravity, his labours there were confined 
to the administration of those technical 
comforts his faith prescribed, and he be- 
lieved alone indispensable. It was in his 
hours of social intercourse^ and in the 
D 4 con*- 


co7ifessmialf that the man of sense and 
goodness shone forth conspicuous; and 
the orderly conduct, and peaceable ele- 
meanour of the villagers of his parish, 
\vill long bear testimony of his virtues. 
To the stray sheep his actions at least be- 
spoke the same charity as to those of the 
flock; nor did he make any practical dis- 
tinction between such as were or v/ere 
not of his benitoire. And if by chance 
an honest soul slipped away through the 
wrong trap, his faith reconciled itself as 
well as it could to his feelings, by hoping 
with a sigh, that a conversion * * in articuio'' 
had made amends. 

One trait threw a strong shade of ridi- 
cule oil his character, his excessive cre- 
dulity in popular superstitions. He not 
only gave credit to all his villagers be- 
lieved, but he maintained it even at the 
table of the Baronet, and in other places, 
with the sturdy energy of a polemist. 
This obstinate perseverance, in the face 
of raillery and sense, had drawn on him 



the disapprobation of Sir Thomas; anel 
his List argument in favour of the old 
chapel's rumours, had banished, or rather 
rusticated him for' some time- from the 
hospitable board at Princely Hall.- 

The humble dwelling of Father Dun- 
lavie stood nearly a mile and a half from 
the superb mansion of Sir Thomas O'Cal- 
laghan* It M^as a small cottage, embosom*- 
ed in a little .v/ood, and only distinguish- - 
ed from the other cabins of the hamlet by 
the air of neatness and order that sur- 
rounded it. The good priest, with an old > 
woman, who did the domestic offices of 
his httle household, were its only inhabi- 
tants, unless we except the live-stock of 
pigs, poultry, one- milk cow, and a horse, 
that, like the Bozinante of Don Quixote, 
was '* high in bone," and ** low in flesh.'' 
These in truth might be termed part of 
the inhabitants, as they usually occupied 
at night a shed, or rather an interioc 
apartment of tlie dwelling. Yet hiimble 
Xig were-his means, no person ever visited 
J) 5 hiiiii 


him but IMolly was ordered to draw a 
mug of ale, and bring out the bread and 
cheese, or perhaps twist the neck off a 
fowl, and put it dov\^n in tlie pot with a 
'piece of bacon and some sprouts, and a 
dish of potatoes ; but it was always ob- 
servable; that the best fare he could give 
was generally set before those who had it 
least in their power to afford such for 
themselves. To be sure, the good priest's 
visitors were not often of the higher class 
of his parishioners, therefore ceremony 
was banished for hospitality ; for however 
his heart might wish to shew it to all 
ranks, he knew that when he was honour- 
ed by a visit from any grand folks, he 
liad nothing to offer them but his blessing, 
and a silent wish that his means were as 
ample as his will was good. Yet he was far 
from being dissatisfied with those means, 
though he had barely sufficient to live 
■^vith comfort; and of that little he 'spared 
Licj poorer neighbours : but being much 
3 esteemed 


esteemed by all, he received many trifling 
presents for his table. Connolly was one 
of his staunch friends, and at times sent 
him a bottle or two of choice wine, or an 
uncut pie, and now and then a bit of 
venison, or a young lamb, when he could 
coax tiie shepherd out of one for the good 
priest; for where there was plenty to 
give, and a bountiful giver, the old but- 
ler did not see why Father Dunlavie 
should not come in. for his share of the 
good things^ . notwithstanding Sir Tho- 
naas had never particularly mentioned the 
parish priest to receive them ; but it was 
the Baronet's delicacy tkit prevented him 
including the worthy man,, for he cer- 
tainly made no distinction in his favours 
of person or sect ; all were, welcome to 
partake of them,, and those who shunned 
his benevolent gifts had only themselves 
to blam.e. 

Ellen bounded lightly after Connolly, 

who had already reached a stile leading 

from the avenue across the fields towards 

V G the 


tlie wood, where lie sat waiting her com- , 
ing up to him. 

** Come, Connolly, take my arm ta 
help you along," she cried, at the same 
'£ime tajdng his hand and placing it ac- 
cording to her expression, and which he ^ 
seemed rather averse to doing. *' Have 
Bot you often carried me when I could 
not walk," added she, *' and shall I not 
assist you, now that I am grown up and 
strong, and you old and infirm ? Besides, 
it is a long m ay for you to go, and 1 am 
impatient to get to the journey's end.'* 

^' Ah, bless you, IMiss Ellen !" exclaim*- 
ed the honest don^.estic, ** yu're a chip of 
the o',vld block, as a body may say, for I 
iiivir know'd one of yur family, that was 
not riddy to give a hilpin hand to the 
distriss'd. You are yung, to be sure, 
IVJiss, and strong and hearty.; God keep 
you so all yur life: iviry one has their 
&^,^\ and 1 had mine, but. for sartain I 
seed the bist of it width his Honour your 
dcaryifiMcr; and if I had it to s])ind 



over agin, it shu'd be in the sarvice of SIf 
Thomas, for he is tile bist of maisters and 
of mill." 

** My good Connolly," cried the de- 
lighted daughter, pressing her soft white 
hand on his aged one, " every one loves 
my dear papa, and it makes me so happy. 
But you iee he won't believe any of the 
old stories you tell us, and I do so like to 
hear them, only papa gets angry, and we 
must not vex him, you know, Connolly." 
''Why now, Miss Ellen," asked the 
butler, with a very grave countenance, 
"don't you believe iviry word concarn- 
inq; of thim ?'' 

** I don't know that I do, Connolly," 
she replied ; ^' because I think papa has 
so much stronger understanding than 
what I have, I should adopt his opi^ 
nion on tlie sul»ject, in preference to my 
owHi And besides, there is Mr. Sylvester 
too, whcm papa says is one of the: niost 
sensible men he ever met with, and he 
thinlcis so contemptibly of these talesj 



that he often will wot oive himself the 
trouble of controvtrting tliem, except by 
a smile or a shrug of his shovilders, which 
plainly tell he is not one of their believers. 
'But I should like to hear about that 
prince you just mentioned this morn- 
\ng — <io teir me of him, Connolly." 

** To be sure and that I will, Miss 
Ellen, in no time at all, till you all con- 
carning of him," answered he, quite 
pleased at being indulged in his fas^ourite 
topic. ** You must know that this 
pxince — the murrain take his name, I 
ain't think for the sowl of me — 
Prince O — something 1 knows it was; .he. 
ownVJ all the lands about the Curragh, 
they say ; and he dun sumthing to offind > 
the good p topic —-l suppose may be like his ^ 
Honour Sir Thomas, he wudn't believe 
nothing at all about 'em ; but howsum- 
dever, be it what it might, they takes 
him off one day clever and clane, as he 
was out a-hunting on his beautiful white 
-horse width silver shoes. So down he 



falls as did as a stone, a'ud whin his peo- 
ple cums up to him, what did they find 
but a log of wood, just for all the woild 
so natral, that they thought it was his 
own silf lying there on the ground, and 
they brought him home and birid him in 
great state. Well, Miss, his castle was 
desarted, for no one at all cud live in it 
after, bekays of the strange noises was 
hard thorough it, and it wint to raek and 
ruin* But the truth cum'd out at last, 
and it was^ known that the prince was 
width the good people, and M^as shut up 
in the desarted apartmints of his ow^ii 
great castle;, and at this time, IMiss 
Ellen, there was only one side of it stand- 
ing, but there was an intrince to thati 
they sid, and a flight of stone stairs that 
lid 10 the shout of rooms where he was, 
aye and where he is to this day, though 
nobody knows nothing at all about him, 
only iviry sivin years, whin he is seen 
riding round the Curragh on his beauti- 
ful white horse." 


** Why then tkey took his horse like* 
^vise ?" hastily exclaimed Ellen. 

** Upon my word tu you, Miss Ellen/ 
I can't till that,'* replied Connolly, ** be-^ 
kays 1 nivir hard nothing of it mysilf, 
but only that he gallops, or as they say, 
almost flies round on this white horse, 
and that the inchantmint is to be broke 
whin the silver shoes is wore out. Sure 
does not all the people about the place 
watch the time he is ixpicted, for they 
know the viry thrid of his horse's feet, 
and run and shut thimsilves up in their 
liousesforyr^iflf of seeing of him, although 
it's will known that if iny^ body had cou- 
rage to throw a firebrand at him while 
he is a-rlding, thath&wudxum tolumsilf 

* < What ! af t e r- be 1 n g • d ead • mo re tli a n 
an hundred years!-' cried the fair auditor - 
with a look of surprise. ** Why, Con- 
nolly, this is the story of the sleeping 
beauty. But if no person lias-ever ven- /^ 
tured to, take a peep at this flying prince, 

either i- 


either on his white horse or in the old 
castle, how can tlu&e reports meet con- 
firmation ? How has his enchantment 
been ascertained ?*' 

** Why tliere it is, Miss Ellen,'* resumed 
the garrulous narrator ; '^ bey n't I be 
just a-going to till you all abrait that part 
of the story? You must know there was 
a yung girl of the village that was fool- 
ish inough not to believe a word of it, 
unless she cud see him hirsilf, so one 
evening what does she do but — O but 
just look afore you, Miss Ellen, betwixt 
thim two big threes a one side beyant 
there; that nate lucking bit of a house, 
that's Father Dunlavie's ; and see the 
smoke a curlino; out of the roof of the 
chimbly. He's going to dinner; we're 
just in pudding-time, and you can git 
something to ate, and I warrant it a ' kate 
mi la fakha' into the bargin. May be 
you dont understand what that is. Miss 
— it's Latin, bog Latin, and manes a 
hearty wilcum ; and to be sure it is not 



mysilf is glad to rist my owld bones. O 
thin here cums liis rivirince bimisilf, smil- 
ing like the flowers in May.- How he'll 
stare whin he sees the vung^ ladv of 
Princely Hall earning her own si If to ax. 
him to dinner \" 

Father Dunlavie approached with a> 
respectful bow, and a polite— ** How do 
y*do, Miss O'Callaghan ?'' but never 
yet having had the honour of her Jcom- 
pany beneath his roof,, he felt rather 
diffident to ask her into his humble 
dwelling. He, however, had not long 
to deliberate on the point, for with ai 
smile returning his salutation, she added- 
— *' I am come by my papa's desire, and. 
my own wish, to pay you a visit, IMr. 

The good priest had no longer any 
s-cruples to soliciting her entrance ; he 
took her hand, and led her into a small 
neat parlour, where a table was laid j^ie- 
paratory to dinner, and apparently for 
two persons. 



: ■** What a sweet little cottage!" she 
exclaimed, as she seated herself near an 
open \vindo\v, that looked into a small 
garden, and through which pushed a 
sweet-briar in blossom, that gave fra- 
grance- to the room. *' And how nicely 
arranged ! I think, Sir, I sliall become a 
jtroublcsome visitor to you.** 

*' Whenever Miss O'Callaghan ho- 
nours me with her company," replied the 
good priest, with a modest bow, '' I 
shall be too vain of it to term it trouble- 

'* I will not have any ceremonious 
compliments, ]\Ir. Dunlavie," she laugh- 
ingly answered. *^ I come here as plain 
Ellen O'Callaghan, not as the Lady of 
Princely liall, but as a htrle, friend of 
yours, who w ill be most happy to culti- 
vate your esteem." 

** You have it already, young Lady,** 
said he with a look thdc bespoke his 
-cerity. ** Miss O'Callaghan s virtues are 
as weU known as her father's, and bad 



must that heart be indeed which cannot 
justly appreciate them." 

Just as Elien had delivered her father's 
finvitatloiv for the following day, and had 
obtained the good priest's promise of 
complying with it, Molly, who was not 
aware of her master's guests, entered 
from the kitchen with a smoaking hot 
dish of fried bacon and eggs, and another 
of— need we say potatoes ? for who ever 
saw or heard of an Irish dinner, gentle 
or simple, from the cabin to the greai 
house^ where there was an omission of the 
country's bread fruit? 

The master looked rather disconcerted, 
and nodded to her to retire, which MoHy, 
with an exclamation of surprise on see- 
ing Miss ,0"Callaghan, was about to do 
much quicker than she had entered, but 
Ellen ran and brought her back. 

*' Set down the dinner, my good dame," "^t 
cried she. ** Til not com.e here again ^ 
if I'm to be a scare-crow. Bacon and. 
eggs — ^delicious i — I'll, have some too. ^ 



Won't you permit me to partake of them, 
Mr. Dunlavie ? I am so liungry, and so 
is Connolly — why, we shall eat up all 
your dinner." 

'* Arrah agrali, but it's yursilf's the 
jewil of yung- lady," cried I\Iolly, obey- 
ing Miss O'Callaghan's orders, and plac- 
ing a couple of chairs near tlie table* 
'' Iviry body says yu've no more pride 
in you nor the poorest crater that walks. 
Och thin I wisht my maister had just lit 
nie dun as I wantid to-day, and bile the 
yung pulit that I kilt last nite. 1 knowd 
will enuif there wud be a stranger here 
to-day, and so I towld him, for I seed it 
on the bars of the gratn, and you cud 
have such a nice taist of the brist of it. 
But I'll roast you a new-laid igg in the 
turf ashes, my jewil, afore you know- 
where you be. Or there's a nate' taist 
of mutton since yistirdaj'-, and I'll brilc 
it as brown as a pancake for you, my 

Ellen tlianked the hospitable house- 


keeper, but declined every thing ex^cepf 
M'hat was at present on the table. Con- 
nolly by instinct was taking his stand 
behind her chair — she turned round to 
him with a smile — *' You are a guest here 
as well as me, Connolly," said she. 
*' Have I not said I am not to be con- 
sidered the fine lady now? and if our 
good host has no objection to your tast- 
inghis fare, then sit down and be at your 
ease, and you certainly have the ad van* 
tage over me in being his older friend. 
Your good housekeeper too, Mr. Dun- 
lavie, does not she always make one at 
your table?' He smiled an affirmative— 
** Nay then take your place, Molly — 
Mrs. Mary I'll call you in future, and we 
shall make a sociable, and, answering for 
one of us as I wish to all, a happy party 
to attack your nice cookery." 

** The Lord be gud to my fadther's 
«owl !'' exclaimed Molly, devoutly cros- 
sing lierself, anti sitting down as she was 
ordered; ** sure he iiivir drimt that his 



'<later Molly wiul ivir be at one table 
V'idth the yung lady of Princely Hall. 
But I sid I'd have sum gud kick to-day, 
for my right eye was so itchy. Will, I'm 
sure if I was to die tomorrow, I wadii't 
forgit it this thousand 3'^ares, sittin down 
to dinner width Miss O'CaUagan r 

While Ellen lunched, or rather ate 
•substantially of the bacon and eggs, she 
said to Father Dunlavie — ** I wish, my 
good Sir, you wauld be kind enough to 
tell me something of this report respect- 
ing the old chapel, and the miraculous 
bones. I was to visit them this morning; 
and Connolly tells me that you have ex- 
orcised them without effect." 

*' Christ save us 1" exclaimed Molly, 
looking aghast, and dropping her knife 
and fork to cross herself once more. 
^* Yoii wint to the owld cbapil, Miss 
O^Callagan ! and alone by yoursilf, width 
00 body at all along width ycKi 1 The 
Lord have marcy upon us and save us, 
amin ! Cross of Christ about us 1 To 



the owld chapil ! Why Jiis rivlrlnce him*' 
silf, God be hetwiLvt him and all harim ! 
cudn't vinture to do no more nor that 
He made the hair o'my hid stand an ind 
' the tother mornin, whin he cumd home 
and towld me. * Molly/ says he to me, 
* I have bin to biry thim bones over there 
bezant in tlie owld chapil, and God rist 
their sowls/sayshe — ' amin,' says I; and 
width that, Miss, 1 falls into such a trim- 
blification, that I thought the viry Ufe 
\vas goin out of ray body ; and ivir since 
that I dreams iviry nite of the great Lord 
and the Spanish Lady, tho' I sprinkles my 
room always with holy water, and says 
nine pater nosters and avi maris whin I 
goes to bid." 

Ellen could not suppress a smile, under 
which she with difficulty restrained a 
stronger propensity to laugh aloud. Con- 
nolly secretly blessed himself (nor are we 
clear that the good priest did not do the 
same), and silently ejaculated a prayer 
cf preservation from all the hobgoblins 

" in 


I in the vic^inity of their terrific abodes, 
uhile Father Dunlavie rephed to Miss 

O'Calfaghan's clemaiKl. ^ 

" Tlie iuformat-ion I have respecting 
these bones owes its origin to the preva- 
lent reports in circulation ; hut that there 
is something wonderfully connected with 
them, I neither can or do doubt. Tlie 
heir of those persons was assuredly car- 
ried away in a most miraculous manner 
when an infimt. The story says he was 
taken from his cradle Init a few minutes 
before his nurse nnssed him, yet all en- 
deavours to discover him were vaiii, 
tliough the whole neighbourhood was 
alarmed J and in seareh of him in as short 
a time. U'e must therefore conclude it 
could be by no natural means, he was 
conveyed away, else had it been impos- 
sible for live thief to have escaped with 
bis precious burthen. Every house and 
cabin about the place was closely inspec- 
ted by virtue of a search warrant, lest 

VOL. I. , E any 


-any person should have connived at the 
base transaction, and concealed the child ^ 
every spot round the vicinity examined 
into — but no traces of him could be dis- 
covcFed, nor did any thing respecting 
him ever transpire. The supposition, 
therefore, then was, and still is, that 
Mdvich you have heard my friend Con- 
nolly here repeat. On the truth of that 
report, however, I am not able to decide, 
but I sincerely believe, tliat in the mys- 
tery of the infant's disappearance, there 
was something more than human means 
employed. That the spirits of the pa- 
rents should still wander restless on €arth, 
is a very natural conjecture, and of which 
ive have the proof in their poor unquiet 
bones, that I myself have three different 
times solemnly returned to the grave, 
yet one are at this moment to be seen 
above ground.- , We know that no mortal 
means IS used to disturb them; for though 
we should even imagine it to be the secret 



Joings of some facetious person to laugh 
at the villagers credulity, yet who is 
hardy enough to approach tlie place at 
an hour most likely to be unobserved? 
Hardly is there any one will go near it 
in tiie open day, much less the dead time 
of night; therefore whatever argument 
may be advance^! against these reports, 
there can be no other opinion formed with 

Connolly gave a sigh, and a shake of his 
head in concurrence. Ellen's mind wa- 
vered between probability and possibility 
• — the arguments of her father and Mr. 
Sylvester— the opinions of the good priest 
and the old butler; yet she seemed rather 
inclined to agree with the two former, 
notwithstanding her propensity to hear 
Connolly's pretty fairy tales; and for the 
sequel of that one be had been repeating 
as they came along, her curiosity was 
strongly excited, which she expected to 
have gratified as they returned home. 
E 2 Eut 


But in this she was disappointed, by th^ir 
pieeting Mr. Sylvester just as they set 
out, and he givinghisarm to Miss O'Cal- 
laghan, her anxiety for the enchanted 
'prince was forgotten, in the more agree- 
able conversation of her instructive cont- 
pan ion. 




«< You who in different sects were shamm'i;. 
And come to see each other darmidy 
The world's mad business now is o'er. 
And I resent these pranks no more." 

The Baronet received Father Dunlavie^ 
with a shake of the hand that bespoke 
die sincerest cordiality, and hearty wel- 
come once more to the Hall. He pre- 
&ented Ivim m ith respect to the rest of his 
guests, to whom the good priest was un- 
known, or known but slightly; and short- 
ly after the company sat down to table. 
It consisted of Sir Thomas and his lovely 
daug^iter; Father Dimlavie; Mr. Sylves- 
E 3 ttr",; 


ter ; the Reverend Doctor Clayfiekl, the 
protestant rector of the parish; and of 
Mr. Millbank and his niece, who, to the 
great surprise and pleasure of the Baro- 
tnet and Miss O'Callaghan, arrived that 
forenoon, with the intent to pass a few 
days V\'it}i theni» . 

The chit-chat of the dinner- tabic was 
attended v.ith its accnftonied hilarity. 
The respected host was cheerfu! and con- 
vivial, for he was free of pain, and for . 
the first time during the last few months, 
was seated at the head of his own board, 
and ill tlie company of his most esteem- 
ed friends. These friends were not less 
pleased to see the worthy Baronet once 
rnore engaged in doing the honours of his 
festive table. Ellen was all animation ; 
'and even the attendants expressed on 
their countenances the joy they felt at 
their good master's recovery. Old Con- 
nolly appeared particularly attentive to 
the motions of Father Dunlavie, which 
he closely watched from his station at the 
sideboard, and was careful that the. 

priest - 


priest should not have to call a second 
time on the servant behind his chair' for 
the same thing. Indeed, tlic old butler 
seemed to think, and without a donbt did 
think, that after Sir Thomas and iMiss 
O'Callaghan, Father Dunlavie v/as, al- 
though the poorest, the greatest person of 
the company. 

The ladies did n6t remain long in tiie 
dining parlour ; the evening was fine, 
and both Ellen and Emily wished to en- 
joy it in the grounds. After they had 
retired, the Rector, who appeared, from 
the suddenness of his question, to have 
wished for the moment of attack, turned 
to tl ' priest, and without any preface, 
asked him, in a tone which might have 
passed for a respectful sneer — *^ whether 
he had buried old Juddy O'Shaughnessy 

The good man, wlio did not much 
approve of the demand on such an occa- 
sion, answered firmly — ** She died in the 
fold, and had received the last ofHces of 
tlic [)astoT/* 

JE 4. *^ And 


** And' yet," resumed the divine, in the 
same sarcastic strain, *' the misguided 
old Vt'retch, only three days before she 
died, expressed to me her conviction of 
fthe eii'icacy of the call she received more 
than twenty years ago, and her assurance 
ei' being * a brand snatched from the 

'* No doubt she was so," said the Fa- 
ther, crossing himself under his napkin,, 
^vhich he had forgot to send away with 
the v/ater-glass. 

'* Something," continued the Rector 
peevishly, '' mysterious — something dark 
in these death-bed conversions of your's.'* 

*' Not more so than in your elections," 
replied the nettled Dunlavie. 

** And yet," said Mr. Sylvester, taking 
up the discourse, '* I thought that an 
efficient call bore along with it the seal 
of its own indelibility. Better not be cal- 
led at all," added he maliciously, '* than 
be subject to find, on your death-bed, 
that vou had been Ustenino' to a wron^^ 
'^ voice 


voice all the while. I understood, Doctor, 
that the elect always knew themselves and. 
each other." 

" If, young man," replied the Doctor, 
vcith a look of tiiue theologal acrimony, 
*\vou understand no more of election 
than books seem to have taught you, you 
had better turn yourself over at once to- 
the Father and his conversions; it will; 
be the shortest way, if not the safest." 

Sylvester felt a benevolent conipla« 
cency, at having turned aside the darts 
of polemic fury from the unfortunate 
priest. He was himself not afraid of them ; : 
but the DoGtor, an opuvent pluralist, as- 
vAuch elated by fortune as by religious" 
pride, might, he apprehended, easily 
overbear the humble cottage minister, 
who, moreover, obviously laboured under 
the dread lest any indiscreet warmth of 
expression should escape, to prejudice him 
in the newly-recovered graces of the Ba- 
ronet, But the Rector would not ex^ 
z 5 ^ change. 


change opponents ; be dealt his blows on 
all sides. 

*^ It is not easy to say," proceedeil he, 
*' whether the blindness of superstition, 
or the levity of sceptieism, do most harm 
to the cause of * evangelical religion/ 
But,'* he added, with a smile of haly ex- 
ultation, *^ though they torment the 
saints, they can neither add to, nor di- 
minish their number. The flock is coun- 
ted from the beginning." 

*' Your confession is more reasonable, 
Father," says Sylvester, addressing him- 
self to Dunlavie. *' If it be rigid in the 
means it offers, it tenders them freely to 

*' I do not know how that may be," 
cries Mr. Miilbank; '* but one thing 
they agree perfectly well in, and that is, 
to unpeople Heaven between them as 
much as they can.. One would be led to 
imagine they considered Paradise, like no- 
bility, to become less valuable in propor- 
3 tion 


tion to the greater number of its partici- 
pants. What," continued he, ** are we 
to suppose composes tlie chief felicity of 
such exclusive beatitude ?'* 

^' Tiie contemplation of the contrast 
between their happiness, and the dread 
lot of those awful monuments of God's 
wrath, will doubtless form a part of it,'* 
replied the Doctor. 

** That is, in honest English,'* inter- 
rupted the indignant Millbank, '* that 
the chief gratification of the saints will 
be in witnessing the miseries of the dam- 
ned ! Can human reason pervert itself 
so far as to believe, or human misanthropy 
to hopC; that such should be the truth? 
For I. fear, that in most popular instances- 
it may be said, ^Thy wish was father, 
Harry, to that thought." 

Mr. Sylvester, without apparently no- 
ticing the presence of Doctor Cla} field, 
replied — ** The attachment of the Cal- 
vinist to his favourite doctrine of pre- 
destination, by which a vast majority of 
E 6 the 


the human race is precondcmned to* 
eternal misery, arises froni the conviction 
or state of mystic certitude in which he 
is, that himself is of the number of the- 
'elect. Take from him the persuasion of 
hrs own individual justification, and he 
would reject the rest of the doctrine with- 
scorn and horror. But as, according to 
this belief, all that are efficiently called^ 
are chosen, it so happens that the cer- 
tainty of his own election is the first fruit 
of his faith. Such is the selfish tendency 
of human affections, that, like wealth, 
honours, or fame, Heaven itself would' 
lose its estimation by becomings too com-- 
mon. And hence pride, spleen, envy, 
"^.vorldly disappointment, • and every -jea- 
lous grovelling passion that can agitate the 
human bosom, concur to make him a 
willing believer in a doctrine so conve- 
nient to himself. It i^ thus that ' Plea- 
ven is built on spite, and>JIeil on pride.'* 
*^ I am rather surprised," interrupted 
the modest Dunlavie, *' that of all the 



objections wbicli human reason, in its 
speculative licentiousness, does or might 
oppose to our faith, that of intolerance 
should always be thrown in the front. In 
the Liturgy of the Church of England, 
implicit assent to the most incompre- 
hensible of the mysteries we likewise be- 
lieve, is enjoined under denunciation of 
*che same ])enalty.'' 

^' True," replies Mr. Sylvester, '' Atlm- 
nasius, Calvin, and Rome, are concentrio 
fneteors. Theh radii are longer or shor- 
t-er, and the r^;T^^ they include are greater 
or less, but they revolve round the com- 
mon center of intolerance. That the 
Catholic, I mean not the priest, but the 
honest well-meaning laic, should disprr^y 
an equal inveteracy against the mild be- 
ii-evolent Luther and his precepts, as 
against the hideous murckraus Calvin, 
and his yet more hideous dogmas, seems 
to us a wonder. Yet how much greater 
wonder does nqt the intolerancy of sect-a- 
rism in the presejit day display ! Even 



in this blesf land, which, as you say at 
Douay, ' has but one sauce, but a thou^ 
sand religions,' most of those religions ex- 
hibit towards each other exactly the same 
spirit. The genius of the age in this re- 
spect does not wear its own character.. 
Yet a few centuries, and the wonder of 
nations will be great, that atheists should 
have existed in 1800, but far greater still 
that there should then have existed theo- 

The Doctor did not appear to take his 
wine with his accustomed relish, but 
seemed to sit uneasy on his chair, as if 
wishing, what we must acknowledge was 
"tiot his usual custom, for an opportunity, 
of breaking up from table. This opportu- 
nity was offered by Miss O'Callaghan^ 
and her fair friend passing the window 
as they returned from their walk, on 
which he started up to join them in the 
drawing-room, and in this movement h€j 
was followed by the rest of the guests. 




*' Not her own guardian angel eyes 
Willi chaster tenderness his care. 
Not purer her own wishes rise, 
Not holier her own sighs in prayer." 


The successor to the estate of Princely 
Hall, if Sir Thomas O'Callaglian bad na 
son, was a gentleman, whom we before 
observed had no rclatrpnsbip to tlie Ba- 
ronet, or if any, it was so distant as hard- 
ly to be traced ;. and however Sir Thomas 
might regret his ovv^n want of a male issue, 
he certainly did not love his Ellen the 
less for having popped into the world of 
the wrong sex. Lady O'Gallaghan, ^as 



eminent for her virtues as her husband, 
died in daughter's infancy of a vio- 
lent epidemic, fever ^vhich /?e. had caught 
in visiting a man confined in jail on a 
charge of felony, a^ti she having received 
the contagion, fell a victim to it. Sir 
Thomas, by the exertions of his indefati- 
gable philanthropy, proved this, man to 
be innocent ; nor did he relax in them till 
he had him liberated and restored to his 
family. The poor man, labouring under 
anxiety of mind for his own fale, and 
tliat of his wife with six helpless child' 
ren, and deprived, by confinement in a. 
dark and loathsome jail; of air and ex-* 
eicise (for the age of the illustrious How- 
ard had not yet darted like a beam from 
on high into the drear recesses of Irish: 
prisons), was attacked by a dangerous - 
indisposition, that communicated itself to • 
his benevolent visitor. Its fatality did 
not- attend either of- them, but spread' 
almost universally through the Baronet's 
Household^ two or tlK-ee of whom fell its 

victims, ^ 


victimS; and with these the amiable part* 
ner of their Lord. Being of a delicate 
constitution, the fever was to her rapid 
in its progress and fatal in its termination^ 
Never was a- wife more beloved while 
living, or more lamented after death. Sir 
Thomas, though in all things meekly re- 
signed to the will of God, could not for- 
bear accusing himself as the author of 
this heavy misfortune, and this impres- 
sion, together with his reverence for her 
memory, prevented him from ever form- 
ing a second alliance ; notwithstanding 
he could ^ have wished for an heir, and, 
independently of his immense fortune, he 
was neither too old or too ugly to despair 
meeting the approbation of any disen- 
gaged young woman whom he might se- 
lect. For his daughter, he was satis- 
fied that, though she was not the heiress 
of Princely Hall, she would succeed to a 
large family property ; and six thousancl 
a-year, he thought, was no contemptible 
fortune for a female. Some ideas on the 


90 * THE OLD lilisn BABOKET, 

subject had however engrassed^ at ime'S 
his private, attemion, and more particu- 
larly of late, in conseqAience of some silent 
observations he made. His successor was 
a Mr. Newburgh, a young gentleman 
whom the Barouet recollected to have 
seen once when a boy, but never since. 
He .was an Irishman, but did not reside 
in his native country, and very s eld am 
visited it. Sir Thomas was aware that he 
^vas a gentleman of m.ost respectable family 
connexions, already in possession of a 
good income — that he had been bred at 
Eton, and was well known in the fashion- 
able world. The Baronet had long a 
wish to see and be acquainted with the 
future owner of Princely Hall, and as, 
when once determined on any point, he 
always persevered in it, he wrote to Mr. 
Newburgh, by a direction he obtained to 
a coffee-house in St. James's-street, Lon- 
don, with a warm invitation to visit the 
Hall when he came to Ireland. This let- 
ter remained unanswered, though many 



iionths Ikui elapsed since its date; Sir 
Tiiomas therefore concluded it bad mis- 
carried tlirougli a viong' address, and not 
having any other, he did not liazard a 
second, lest it shoukl meet the same fate. 
Still, h.owever, he vras anxious for Mr. 
Newburgh's coming, and frequent!}' cn^ 
deavoured to make successful enquiries 
M'-here'to find him ; but no person could 
give him positive information, and lie 
did not conceal his regret at the dis- 
appointment. The Baronet had also for 
some time talked of his intended visit to 
the Continent, and it was hnagined that 
his impatience to see Mr. New burgh arose 
from that circumstance, as he probably 
wished to confer in person with him on some 
particular subjects before he undertook so 
long a journey. In this conjecture there 
was some truth, but the extent of it was 
known only to Sir Thomas himself 

Ellen had been nearly two years the 
pupil of ^Ir. Sylvester. The improve- 
ments of lier mind were rapid and great. 



Connolly's* fairy tales were only listened' 
to now out of respect for the garrulous old 
servant; her matwrer judgment evinced 
a solid understanding, and her superior 
talents were displayed hi the almost spon- 
taneous acquirements of each feminine 
accomplishment. The improvement of 
her lovely features kept pace with that 
of her mind. Though well and deeply 
informed, she was doubly interesting 
through that naivetS of character which 
accompanied her every look and action, 
that modesty of demeanour which arro- 
gated no absurd consequential pride, that 
playful vivacity of disposition, which gave 
elasticity to her deportment, and that 
.sweetness of temper that was at once the 
happiness of herself and all around her. 

This tiaketCy which formed the princi- 
pal trait in the moral portrait of Ellen's 
earliest years, differs at least as much from 
unmeaning simplicity, as from the studied 
affectation of science — it is artless, but 
not igiiojant. We may sometimes- smile 

• at 


at the accidental qua^ntness of a reply 
from the mouth of vague unconscious 
•stupidity, but it is unpretending intellect 
that alone can diarm. 

Contrary to what is usual, the simpli- 
city of conception and character grew 
with her growth, and went hand in hand 
with her improvement. Tiiere is a cer- 
tain something, that accompanies th'e 
naive expression of the sentiments and 
conceptions of a female intellect, which, 
though sound and just, is simple and un- 
cultivated — which pronounces its opi- 
nion on things according to the data it 
possesses, that is irresistible. The interest 
•we take in an instructed, enlightened, 
methodical understanding, versed in the 
sciences, and in the usages of the world, 
is of a different nature ; a mind like this 
is calculated to please for a long time ; 
but in cultivating itself it has most com- 
monly made an exchange, and in respect 
to the first impression of lively heart-felt 
interest, it may fairly be doubted whether 


94 THE OLD IRISH baronut. 

what it has lost is not well wortli all that 
it has acquired. 

Tiie Baronet loved liis daiigliter whh 
enthusiasm ; he beheld iu her the adored 
mistress of every dependant within and 
without the Hall, and saw ho\v^ ardent 
was her attachment to this place of her 
birth. He judged how strongly inter- 
woven v/ith her happiness must be those 
objects, and how uncertain each succeed- 
ing day rendered to her a continuance 
of their enjoyments. His heart sunk de- 
jectedly in reflecting that his death would 
banish his beloved Ellen from those scenes 
of her infantine, which were also lier 
maturer joys- — from a place where she 
reigned as the sovereign queen of a grate- 
ful and happy people. She might shortly 
be compelled to seek new connexions, 
new friends, and to assimilate herself to 
them by the adoption of new ideas, sen- 
timents, and manners. Ellen was avv'are, 
that whenever it pleased Heaven to call 
her father from this world, she should no 



^ono-er have any claim to a residence at 
Piinccly Hall; but her .sanguine mind 
had never admitted a thought of lier loved 
parent's early dissolution, therefore had 
no apprehensions on the latte/ subjects. 
Had she once made a serious reflection 
on the possibiUty of losing him, the com- 
bination of both circumstances would 
liave been to her a source of constant in- 
quietude, for she adored her father with 
as ardent an affection as he did her, and 
her dearest happiness was centered in tlie 
beloved place where she resided. The 
Baronet, iiowever, was neither unmindful 
of casualties, nor so confident of his own 
life, as to believe its duration zvould p<iss 
the customary limit of man's existence. 
He was already past sixty, a martyr to 
the gout more than one half of each year 
<luring the last ten, and always appre- 
hensive lest it should reach his stomacli ; 
yet, as he was in every other respect of a. 
healthy constitution, it was not impro- 
bable but he might live to be some years 



older. Sfill, however, he was mortal, and 
liable to the casxialties that attend Imman 
existence. Could he see his Ellen hap- 
pily married, ht? v/as not so attached to . 
life but that he could then resign it, 
without a sigh' after the enjoyments he' 
left behind ; but while she, young, beau- 
tiful, and wealthy, remained single, his 
heart secretly acknowledged its wish that 
he might be spared to protect, and perhaps 
prevent her from becoming the prey of 
some needy fortune-hunter. The Baronet 
bad no ambition that his Ellen should 
drive a carriage emblazoned with a ducal 
coronet, or any coronet at all ; yet if 
such a thing offered, and that it pleased 
her to accept of it, he would not say no 
— because it was a coronet, and to shew 
his singularity of opinion ; but he had 
much rather she were the wife of a re- 
spectable commoner, than see her figure 
in the world a high titled lady, or what 
was still more repugnant to his feelings, 
a woman of fashion. In shoi% Sir Tho- 


nias could not reconcile himself to any 
eliange that should ultimately remove his 
Ellen from Princely Hall ; and to fix her 
in it its future mistress, was the long-con- 
ccrted plan of his heart and his head. 
For this intent he wished to form a per- 
sonal acquaintance with its future mas- 
ter, not indeed to make an offer to him 
of his Ellen, hut in the hope that his 
Ellen's amiahle qualities and lovely per- 
son might etiect what lie so ardently de- 
sired ; and, setting aside a fond father's 
partiality, that hope was consistent with 
reason, for Ellen O'Callaghan was form- 
ed to create love in any heart not already 
preoccupied hy another ohject. The Ba- 
ronet, without hetraying any appearance 
of particular observation, had made sonie 
respecting Ellen, which gave him a little 
uneasiness, Ijut nothing that could seri- 
lusly alarm him ; for whatever anxiety he 
ielt, or the cause of ^it, it was solely on 
her account, as his most zealous scrutiny 
VOL, I. F could 


could discover nothing farther to aug- 
ment his secret apprehensions. Yet, what- 
ever vv'ere the grounds of this little un- 
easiness, he became more anxious for his 
continental tour tlian formerly, and at 
length fixed the period of his departure 
for the. first week of the ensuing May, 
and it was now the latter end of January. 
Mr. Sylvester, whose knowledge of foreign 
languages and places rendered him a most 
desirable companion in such a journey, 
very readily acquiesced in attending his 
friends on it ; and he, as well as Sir Tho- 
mas, anticipated with pleasure the advan- 
tages Miss O'Callaghan would receive^i^ 
its progress. 

** Connolly,'* said the Baronet, '* have 
you any inclination to see some of the 
iine places of this world, before you take 
your departure to the next ? You may 
chance to return from the former to 
<rive some account of them — and indeed, 
from your own creed, it is not unlike- 


\y but you may pay us a visit from the 

** Can I see a finer place nor Princely 
Hall, yur Honour?" asked the butler. 

^* Pho ! to be sure you can," answered 
Sir Thomas. '* And what's more, you 
may chance to get the Pope's blessing, 
or perhaps kiss his Holiness's toe, by the 
way. You may say your prayers in the 
chapel of Loretto, or make a pilgrimage 
to Jerusalem ; and if you don't go to 
Heaven with a clear conscience after that, 
Connolly, why then you may come back 
and send the priest to Mount Calvary 
with peas in his shoes — but, unless he's a 
fool, he'll not forget to boil them before 
he goes." 

** I'd go width yur Honour all the 
world ovir," replied Connolly, '* though 
I was lo die afore 1 got to the ind of it, 
and width God's blissin so I will too. 
But if I shudn't cum back agin, Sir 
Thomas, why, did or alive, I hope yu'U 
bring me ovir to biry me." 

F 2 ** Never 


^' Never fear that, my good Connolly/* 
answered'^tbe Baronet; *^for though I 
shan't bury you alive, you may depend 
on it I'll not keep you above ground 
\vhen you are ipdo facto dead ; and you 
shall mix with the clay of my forefathers, 
my holiest fellow." 

'* Width yurs, yur Honour," cried he, 
wiping his tearful eye; '* lit me be laid at 
yur feet in the grave, and I shall rist in 

'* So 3^ou shall, so you shall, my worthy 
friend," exclaimed Sir Thomas, pressing 
the old man's hand in his; ** and when 
the general day of account summons us 
all to render up cur's, I can say— Father! 
this has been my faithful servant." 

The butler kissed the hand whicli held 
his, and sobbed aloud over it. The Ba- 
ronet was equally affected ; and both 
master and man experienced the sympa- 
thetic feelings that spring from mutual 
regard, and mutual confidence. 

A iQ\y days after the final appointment 



of the intended jolirney, some letters were 
brought to the Baronet one morning 
while he was at breakfast with the family, 
which he desired Ellen to open and read 
for liim. One bore the Dnblin post- mark, 
and was directed in a hand unknown to 
her. She broke the- seal, and looked first 
at the signature — *' Goodness, papa," 
exclaiq^ed she, *' if this letter is not sign- 
ed Edward Newburgh !" 

** Newburgh !" repeated Sir Thomas^ 
jo}'fully, and putting on his spectacles.^ 
*' Give it to me, Ellen, till I see is it in- 
deed from himself" 

*' Newburgh !" echoed Mr. Sylvester,, 
but said no more. 

The letter contained but few words, 
and the Baronet, with a pleased counter 
Dance, read then?, aloud. ^ 

*' My dear Sir, 

*' Your letter of a long: 
dale back, did not receive till a few weeks 
F 3 ago 


ago at the St. James's. Shall be happy in 
the honour of your acquaintance, and 
^vill be with you (the moment I settle 
some business here) as expeditiously as 
four high-mettled racers can convey me 
down to Princely Hall. — Respects to Miss 
O'C. and am, my dear Sir, 
Your's, &c. 

Edward Newburoh. 
Iloira Hotel, Dublin.'' 

'* Very laconic," remarked Mr. Syl- 

*' It's the fashion, I suppose,*' said 

'' It's to the purpose, however,'* re- 
plied Sir Thomas. 

Ellen did not much relish the visit of 
this fashionable writer, because he was a 
stranger, and because she understood he 
was— a man of fasliion, and might per- 
haps make comparisons between her rus- 


tic manners, and the more finished graces 
of his fashionable female acquaintances. 

Sylvester liked it much less, although 
he Mas not afraid of the man of fash.ion■S' 
l=emarks on himself — in fact, he had no 
fears on the subject ; but he probably 
apprehended an interruption to the studies 
of his fair pupil, which the intended jour- 
ney had of late made him doubly assidu- 
ous to advance. He retired, however, 
without betraying the most remote symp- 
toms of his internal sentiments, and 
shortly after Miss 0'CaHa,ghan rose to 
follow him to the studying room. 

As the was going away, Sir Thomas 
called her back, to say he wished to have 
a private conversation with her when she 
had finished her lessons. The Baronet 
looked more serious than usualy aiui EHeii 
replying she Mould attend his commands, 
quitted the apartment less pleased, of 
rather less at ease within herself, than 
she had ever done before. 

On entering that one where Mr. Syl- 
f 4 vester 


- vester waited for her, she observed him 
seated at the table, resting his bead in 
thoughtful attitude on his hand. He 
'Started up at her approach, and, without 
'either of them speaking, he placed her 
chair, and they both mechanically took 
their seats. Ellen took up a drawing of 
Princely Hall, which she had the day be- 
fore sketched — *' I think it tolerably cor- 
rect, Mr. Sylvester," said she, after ex- 
amining it for some time. ** 1 shall take 
it with me on my travels — perhaps,'* 
added slie, M'ith a heavy sigh, ^ *' I may 
never see the original again when once I 
quit it." 

Sylvester raised his eyes to her for an 
instant: he responded her sigh like a 
faint echo, but spoke not in rep!y. 

*' We are to be absent two years," re- 
sumed she; '' and in that time - — my 
God, Mr Sylvester, what changes may 
not take place f 

It was the hrst time Ellen had ever 
spoke/ or even reflected, on a subject 



which the visit of Mr. Newburgh, tlie 
future heir apparent of the Hall, had cer- 
tainly given birth to in her mind. 

** Should my father die !'* — she drop« 
ped the drawing on the table, and leaned 
her head over it, 

** Heaven forbid," exclaimed Sylves- 
ter, " that the world should soon be de- 
prived of his invaluable existence 1 Yet, 
^ve^e it Heaven's will, Miss O'Callaghan, 
YOU might stilLhope to revisit. Princely 

** How could that be?" said she, rais* 
ing her head with ;quickness, and looking, 
at him with some, surprise, or rather an 
expression of enquiryi *^ You know Mr. 
Newburgh is a young and an unmarried 
man — 1 wish he were otherwise," she 

^* So do I," emphatically pronounced 
Mr. Sylvester. 

'* Aud then," cried Ellen, /' 3/^2/ also 

might chance to be a,2:aiti a resident here; 

for, had he any famih, where could he 

V 5 find 


find so M'orthy a preceptor as Mr. Syl» 
vester ?" 

A slight bow acknowledged her com- 
plhnent, but he gave no other answer to 


'' I do not hkc his coming at all/* con- 
tinued she; ** and I heartily wish we had 
been on our journey before the letter ar- 
rived— do not you also, Mr. Sylvester ?" 

" Why should I, Miss O'Callaghan ?" 
he answered. *' 1 have no wish to 
form — '* 

** Indeed !*' cried she, hastily interrupt- 
ing him. ** Then you must be veri/>ha,p^ 
py, if you liave nothing to wish for." 

** I did not say that, Madam," he re- 
plied ; *'but I certainly have no wish to 
form that can be gratified." 

" Yet still you might have the wish, 
]\Ir. Sylvester," said she, again sighing; 
** and if you were, what would you de- 
sire ?" 

Sylvester's face was crimsoned, but he 
affected to smile off his embarrassment. 



Till: OLD IRISH baronet; 107 

** That is a question, Miss O'Calla- 
gbaii," he replied, *' that I could not 
answer- even to myself; for the mind (5f 
man is so ambitious^ that though I were 
even to point to fortune, there would be 
still something wanted to give happi- 

*' Shall I say what it would be with re- 
spect to you?" she cried. 

^* You have my permission to say what 
you think, Madam,'' he answered. '* But 
pardon me if I doubt of your sagacity 
reaching what it is." 

*^ Emily Millbank," said she. *' Now, 
am I a true disciple of Apollo's or not?" 

*' Were I incbned to pay you. a com- 
|>liment, Miss 0*Callaghan, at the ex- 
pence of your understanding, " he replied, 
*' I should say, that with regard to your 
divine qualities, you assuredly were a ce> 
lestial descendant ;. but with respect ■ to 
\ouY divinatiori, 1 acknowledge Miss Mill- 
bank to be every thing the heart of man 
can look for in vomaii—but Mi.^s Mill- 
F 6 bank. 


bank has many equals, and I have seen 
her superior." ' 

*' You are in part honest in your con- 
fessions at least, Mr. Sylvester," said 
'Ellen, as she pettishly turned over some 
papers and books, *' though you will not 
make a full avowal. But forgive me — I 
have no right to interrogate you, and in- 
deed it was merely from want of thought 
that I proceeded so far. Yet it will be 
no unfriendly wish to say, that I hope 
your superior divinity may hereafter make 
you as happy as you deserve to be." 

^* I thank you for tlie hope, Miss 
O'Callaghan," ^aid Sylvester, endeavour- 
ing to suppress a truant sigli ; ** but on 
that subject I have none for myself— 
shall we commence our lessons r" 

Mr. Sylvester's question wa.s an in- 
direct hint for Ellen to drop the dis- 
course. She took it as it was really 
meant, and began her studies^ but in so 
careless and indifferent a manner, that 
this da}'s instructions might be set dowa 



as a blank in the article of her improve- 
ments.. Even Mr. Sylvester himself 
seemed vv-anting in spirit to prosecute his 
usual avocations ; and when the hour of 
relaxation arrived, and they separated, 
Ellen quitted the apartment without once 
opening her li[)s to farther conversation, 
and left her tutor to pursue without in- 
terruption the silent meditations which 
appeared deeply to engross him-. 



GHAP. vi: 

•• That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants." 

Henry vith, 

Ellen reparred to the study where 
tlie Baronet awaited her. She was un- 
usually low-spirited, nor could slie con- 
ceal a (It'jection so uncoinvnon to her. 
Her father perceived it as she entered, 
and, affectionately taking- her hand, en- 
qidred into the cause. Ellen kissed his, 
and a smile played through the starting 

** One of its causes, my dear papa,- 
was," said she, '* that I thought you ap- 
peared displeased with me tiiis morning 
li'hep I quitted you." 

^•' You 


'' You were indeed mistaken, my 
Ellen/' replied the fiither. ** Why should 
1 ? But what were the others?'* 

Ellen blushed, but was too much tlie 
child of nature to have any, subterfuge in 
her replies. 

** I was disconcerted by Mr. New- 
burgh *s letter, papa," she answered. *• I 
do not much like his coming here." 

*' But that is a strange prejudice, my 
iove," said the Baronet, *' and against a 
person whom you have never seen, nor 
heard any thino- to his disadvantaoe. Mr. 
New burgh I imagine to be a very ele- 
gant man, and it seems to me you should 
be rather pleased at his coming. It sel- 
dom happens that a young unmarried 
woman is averse to the company of an 
agreeable and respectable male visitor, 
unless indeed she has very particular rea- 
sons for objecting to it, and those my 
Ellen cannot have with regard to I\Ir. 
Newbnrgh. However, sit down, my love, 
for I vv'ish to speak to you very seriously 



concerning that gentleman, and likewise 
on some otlier business." 

Ellen took a chair near her father, 

*^ Then you were not angry with mC; 
'dear papa?" said she, 

** Indeed I was not^ my love," he an* 
swered;. *^ nor do 1 ever remember to 
liave been seriously displeased with my 
Ellen in my life, neither can I ever be so 
Avhile she fondly fidfiUs the duties of a 

*' And these 1 hope she ever v/ill do, 
my dear papa," cried Ellen, again pres- 
sing his hand to her lips. '* And now 
tliat I have recovered my spirits, what^ 
are this dearest papa's commands ?" 

** My Ellen," said the Baronet, 'Mis- 
ten to me with attention ; I shall not 
utfend you by adding * and be candid in 
your replies,' for I know you to be truth 
itself, and th^t candour has been your 
undeviating maxim, since your tongue 
first learned to articulate. Now I am 
going to turn ini/ ozin accuser, and avov/ 
3 myself 


myself guilty of secret dissimulation, or 
at least of what amounts to the same 
thing, of having been these many months 
past a secret observer, or, if you think the 
term more applicable, a spy on your most 
trifling actions. Nay, even to your very 
thoughts I have penetrated, and it is 
only at this moment that I reveal it.*' 

Ellen started, her face and neck were 
dyed to crimson ; and here again the Ba- 
ronet dissembled, fof he appeared not to 
notice \\?,\ but too visible confusion. 

** My Ellen," continued he, after a 
pause of some moments, in which he 
affected to use his snuff-box, but in 
reality to give her time to compose herself, 
*^ you cannot doubt that the happiness 
of my life is centered in your's. My wish 
is not only to see it at the present mo- 
ment, but to have a conviction of its per- 
manency, when I am no longer in this 
world to contribute towards it. I do not 
think that happiness is only to be found 




in wealth, in rank, or in both together; 
but 1 am firmly of opinion that it depends 
much on equality. You are a young wo- 
man of highly-respectable connexions, 
the daughter of one of the first Baronets 
in Ireland, and heiress to a fortune that 
entitles you to form a superior alliance. 
Those circumstances considered, my Ellen^ 
hou^ever remote might be my wi^h to biass 
your choice in thfe most essential point of 
your lite, yet still it is incumbent on me 
to point out where it would be highly im.* 
prudent and improper to fix it, as well as 
where it would be most advisable, and to 
me most desirable. 1 have told you,. 
Ellen, that for many months past I have 
made it m^^ study to observe you — yet I 
was delicate in mentioning my surmises, 
lest 1 should be in error,, but this morn- 
ing has determined me." Sir Thomas 
took her hand with peculiar tenderness, 
and held it within his. *' When Mr, 
Newburgh's letter arrived to-day/* he 
^wenton, ** I perceived the eflfect its con- 


tents had on you — I saw the glance your 
eye gave towards Mr. Sylvester, though 
by him it passed unnoticed. Ellen, that 
glance from your intellio'ent eye con- 
firmed my suspicions — the interest you 
feci for Mr. Sylvester makes you indiffe- 
rent as to every other person." 

The colour on Ellen's cheek was now 
changed to a deadly white — -she leaned 
her head on her father's shoulder, and 
burst into tears. He kissed the dear 
agitated girl with affection — ** I am not 
angry with you, my loved Ellen," resum- 
ed he : ^^ I can make allowances for an 
innocent girl's partiality in favour of a 
man of merit ; but however praise-worthy 
]Mr. Sylvester's character in itself and I 
allow him all it deserves, Jie is' not the 
man whom Ellen OCallaghan nuist think 
of for a husband. Was Mr. Sylvester's 
rank in lite on an equality with hers^ 
there is not a man in existence I should 
prefer as son-in-law, for he is in himself 
every thing a gentleman ought to be, 



and infinitely superior to what many 
gentlemen are, nor should his want of 
fortune be any objection. Of him I have 
only this much farther to say — I esteem 
'and respect him. If his heart has ever 
given you a moment's preference, his 
judgment and his reason have pointed 
out to him how fallacious would prove his 
hopes, and his head has checked the im- 
prudence his heart miglit be guilty of. 
Had I ever, by a word, a look, or an ac- 
tion, observed him to deviate from the 
strict rules of prudence towards you, I 
should have driven him from the Hall 
with indignation at his daring presump^ 
tion ; but he knows what is due to you 
and to himself, and he is therefore secure 
in my lasting esteem. Nor shall he ever, 
with my consent, quit my protection, 
nor after my death be left dependant on 
that of any other person. It may per-^ 
haps be thought imprudent of me to have 
brought so amiable a character as a resi« 
dent into my house ; but when I sought 

a pre- 


a preceptor for my daughter, it was not 
a disagreeable pedantic master I wanted, 
"who would deter her from learning by 
his moroseness — it was an amiable pleas- 
ing instructor, whose gentleness and good 
qualities would stimulate her wish to im- 
prove by his lessons. Such a man Vvas 
Mr. Sylvester ; and so great is my faith 
in his probity, that could the two last 
years be recalled, he is of all others the 
man to whom I should again commit the 
care of my daughter's education and 
moral principles. It depends on my 
daughter now not to disgrace herself, but 
let the example of her preceptor be to her 
the guide of her future conduct ; I am 
satisfied that she cannot have a better/' 

Ellen raised her eyes to her father, and 
their expression seemed tacitly to ask him 
— ** Whether her past conduct respecting 
Mr. Sylvester had been such as to merit 
any disgraceful reflection?" The Baro- 
net thought there appeared somewhat of 
reproach in his daughter's looks^ he there- 


fore continued — *' Such as my Ellea 
hitherto has been, sucii would I wish 
were every female character — what my 
Ellen will be, depends on her own mag* 
nanimity, and I doubt not of its raising 
her superior to every little feminine weak- 
ness, and preserving that deference which 
is due to herself as well as to her family. 
On this subject I am hereafter silent, and 
promise that I shall never again be a 
secret observer of your conduct. It is 
sufficient that I have once spoken to you 
on the business, nor would I offend your 
integrity by harbouring any further 
doubts. Be still, and always, the friend 
of Mr. Sylvester ; allow him the brotherly 
and respectful attentions he has hitherto 
paid ; nor shall a suspicion ever again cross 
my mind, that, while you are receiving 
his private instructions, you will be for- 
getful of my admonitions, for my con- 
fidence in my Ellen is unshaken.'* 

'' O my father," cried she, sinking oa 
her knees before him, ** how kind are 



you to your Ellen's weakness ! I own it 
— I cannot, though I should even wish, 
conceal it ; and, Heaven knows my heart, 
I would conceal nothing from you — yet, ** 
•till this hour, I was ignorant of its true 
sentiments : yes, my dear indulgent pa- 
rent, I acknowledge Mr. Sylvester to have 
been but too amiable in my eyes. Un- 
used to any general society, his superi- 
ority to every person I have known, I 
could not but discriminate. If I have 
loved, or love him still, think not it is 
-^vith the romantic passion of a weak girl, 
who, contrary to the sage counsels of ex- 
gerience, perseveres in her folly. No, 
\wy beloved father, such will not be your 
Ellen .; you shall not have to blush for, 
jior reproach her with disobedience — vet 
I cannot, indeed I cannot, banish at 
once from my mind the impression it has 
so gradually made; but it shall not be 
my fault or I will conquer it. New so- 
ciety and new scenes will open to my 



view in our destined journey, and, by en* 
grossing my attention, may, I trust, ob- 
literate it entirely. I know, my dear 
f)apa, what respect is due to you as well 
' as to myself, and depend on your Ellen's 
promise — she never shall disgrace either.'* 

The Baronet raised her in his arms, 
and held her for some time closely folded 
to his bosom. 

** I do depend on it, my Ellen/' he 
cried, ** and glory in my daughter.'^ 
Again he seated her beside him, and, after 
allowing her some lyinutes to recover 
from her agitation, he resumed his con- 
versation. — *' I believe I need not doubt 
your attachment to Princely Hall, my 
love,'' he began, *^ the place wherein you 
drew your first breath, and where you 
have since resided ?*' 

'• Indeed you need not, my beloved 
papa,'' she answered, *' and the place 
M'liere I should wish to draw my last." 

** I thought so, my Ellen/' satd he, 



** and not unlikely but you may— at 
least not improbable but you may con- 
tinue its mistress during your life." 

**Oh!" exclaimed Ellen, raising her 
hands and eyes devoutly, without 
understanding his implication, *' Oh! 
God grant it may be so, for then shall 
the dearest of fathers continue to be its 

The Baronet shook his head and smiled 
— *' Not so, my Ellen," he replied, 
''The course of nature condemns me to 
the grave many years before you ; and 
could I see you once established the mis- 
tress of the Hall, it mattered little whea 
I went thither. My Ellen," he con- 
tinued, " though I abhor the idea of 
what is called maich-makifig, and would 
sooner see my daughter the wife of a 
pauper who sued for her, than offer her 
to a prince, I do not think that wishing to 
see her foitunately allied, and endeavour- 
ing in every honourable manner to pro- 
mote that alliance, can be termed making 

voj., ir ' G a sale 


a sale of her. Now I honestly confess 
t]iat it is, and has been a long cherished 
Avish of mine, to see you established as 
the future mistress of your birth-place. 
Your fortune, not to mention any other 
requisites you possess (and I do not 
scruple to say to herself, that my Ellen 
is not an object to be overlooked by our 
sex), very justly allows you to look up 
to its heir " . . 

Ellen looked with astonishment — '' Mr. 
Newhuro'h !" sh.c exclaimed. 

** Yes, " resumed the Baronet, *' it is 
even so. If r^ir. Newburgh is found de- 
serving of your good o])inion (and I have 
no doubt but he will), he is of all men 
the one I should wish to see you married 
to. It is a delicate subject, I own, to 
sneak of to you, my love," he added; 
" but when you consider that tliere is 
^0 heir of mine to possess this property — 
Y'hen you reflect on the happiness you 
would yourself derive in a continuance 
here — the pleasure /should experience in 



knowing that, tliough not blessed U'itii a 
son, it stiilhad a mistress in m^ daughter, 
added to the innumerable blessings your 
residence here would preserve to all 
around you, it surely should be an object 
of serious consideration to yourself. But 
remember, my Ellen, that, with regard to 
]\Ir. Newburgh, or any other md,vi, I lay 
no force on your inclinations, provided 
tiie object of your choice is, in birth, 
manners, and station, a gentleman. But 
should a mutual prepossession of each 
concur with my hopes, 1 do not liesitate 
to say, it would make me the happiest of 
fathers, and gratify every wish of my 
heart, to behold you united to i\Ir. New- 

I'b.e Baronet once more kissed the pale 
cheek of Ellen, now become of a more 
pallid hue from the latter part of her fa- 
ther's discourse, lie did not urge her 
to make any reply, and he was too gene- 
rous to impose any commands, where af- 
fection and duty so strongly impelled 
G 2 obe- 


obedience to his will, but, kindly consi- 
derate of her feelings, Sir Thomas left his 
daughter to compose them by herself. 
She found it no easy matter to tranquillize 
her agitated spirits; but conscious as she 
was (>f her own weakness respecting Mr. 
Sylvester, and alike sensible how neces- 
sary it was that weakness should be over- 
come, slie did not suffer herself to in- 
dulge long in her mental reflections, but, 
exerting her fortitude with her better 
judgment, resumed her wonrted avoca- 
tions, and without permitting her mind 
to prejudice itself further against Mr. 
Newburgh, she endeavoured to banish 
those she had already admitted, and left 
to chance what might result from her 
acquaintance with him. 

A smart groom, mounted on a very 
handsome grey horse, galloped down 
the avenue of Princely Hall one fore- 
noon, and was followed as close at the 
heels as three similar nags could draw a 
dashing curricle, in which sat the driver 

an i 


and a servant in a wliite and crimson 
livery. Ellen was employed at her daily 
avocations uith Mr. Sylvester, in a room 
that gave a view of the cavalcade, and- 
she hastily started towards the window, 
to look who it was might be^ coming. 

•*'They are all servants, Mr. ^Sylves- 
ter,'* said she, '' and 1 don't know the 
livery. What a curious way to drive the 
liorses two and one ! — but I suppose it is 

** Doubtless it is, my dear iVIiss O'Cal- 
laghan/* he replied, ** for every thing 
that's absurd is so; and the more outr6 
the appearance, the more it denotes the 
consequence of, perhaps, the leader, or, at 
all events, thefollower of the '* cameleon 

** is she so changeable, Mr. Sylvester?'* 
asked Ellen. 

*' Never to be caught," he answered, 

** even by those who make it the study 

of their lives to walk in her footsteps, for 

in the pursuit she evades them. For in- 

G 3 stance, 


stance, now — a leading personage apv 
}:'ea!s to-day in a black scratch (the mo- 
<lern epithet for a ci'op wig), his' cravat 
vip to his under lip, and the collar^of his 
'coat above his ears ; one leg enveloped in 
a boot, the other in a silk stockhig and 
shoe, which, by way of attracting further- 
attention, is ornamented with a coloured 
&\\k handkerchief wrapped below the 
knee, or near the ancle, and a bludgeon, 
or Hercules's staff In his hand, by way 
of a v/alking'Stick, on which he affects 
the limp of Valcan ; v/eil, this personage 
— and if a royal one, so niuch the better, 
is seen, and by the following day every 
satellite of his has their hair docked, and 
wears a black scratch, witii all the rest 
of the etceteras — but this day that per- 
sonage assumes a different appearance; 
he now wears his own hair, shews his chin 
and ears, and is vice versa the reverse of 
what he was the day before; he laughs 
in his sleeve at his copyists, and indulges 
their fancy by treating them with some- 


tiling- iicuvelle at each succeeding day 
durina- his leadln<>: career." 

" Does fashion then go by routine, 
Mr. Sylvester?" said Ellen; *' and is it 
the saii^e with the ladies?" 

'* Assuredly, my dear Miss O'Calla- 
ghan," he answered. '* Look at the 
ne\v'S[)apers — * We hear the Duchess of 

B , and Countess of C , with th.e 

elegant Lady Charlotte D , are to 

take the lead of fashion the approaching- 
winter; and we understand it is the in- 
tention of those ladies to adopt a Paphian 
costumCy and appear as the three graces 
of nature." 

*' What! IMr. Sylvester," exclaimed 
Ellen, with a start of astonishment, ** is 
it to appear" — she blushed and hesitated. 

** Why not? ' replied he, catching at 
her meaning. ** Are not the women of 
haut ton now every thing but drtsscd? 
And what oifference is it whether they 
exhibit themselves in propria persona, as 
G 4 riature^s 


nature's graces, or leave the imagination 
nothing to conceive ?" 

A projecting portico over the hall 
door now concealed from the immediate 
fv'iew of the observers above some of 
the new comers, as tlie voice of one of 
them was heard exclaiming — *' Devilish 
nice ring that there for a trot. 1 say, 
Bobby, bring here that there horse of 
ypur's, till I give him a sweat round it.' 

** Why, Sir," replied another, ** the 
horses be all iu a foam already ; better 
giye them a cooling, I think.*' 

** Poor fellow, poor fellow/' resumed 
the first speaker, as if caressing one of 

the animals. *' Aye, they are d d 

hot, to be sure. Here, Dick, you throw 
on their body-clothes, and walk them 
round it. Is Sir Thomas O'Callaghan 
within?— a devilish fine stud. he has, I 
warrant — are those there his stables ? — is 
lie at home, 1 say ? — if not, shall go and 
take a look at his cattle." 



*' Sir Thomas is not at home, Sir/' an- 
swered one of the domestics of the house; 
** but Miss O'Callaghan, I believe, is 

The enquirer seemed as if following the 
servant up stairs, and immediately after 
the latter threw open the room door — ^' A 
gentleman, Madam ;" and the gentleman 
was heard ascending, as he cracked his 
whip without ceremony, and whistled to 
Ellen's little dog, who barked with ap- 
parent indignation at the stranger's ap- 

*' Whew, Vv'hew! Vixen, Snarler, Lion, 
Gruff — what the deviTs your name? — 
Did you never see a man before, that you 
are so cursed surly? Are you Miss 
O'Callaghan's dog, eh r" which last ques- 
tion he uttered just as he entered the 
apartment, and they beheld the driver of 
the curricle. 

Mr. Sylvester was advancing, rather 

cavalierly, to check what he imagined the 

groom's impertinence, but Miss O'Galla- 

G 5 ghan 


ghan perceiving' his intention, and not 
knowing who the stranger might be, 
liastily ste{3t forward to prevent his speak- 
ing, as slie said herself, with more exalta- 
tion of manner than she usually adopted 
-—''I don.'t knov/ who it is that makes 
mention of me, but request to be inform- 

*' Oh, who /am. Madam," cried he, 
without appealing the least disconcerted. 
^* When on the turf, I'm called Jockey 
Ned — in London, the Dash — in Dublin, 
the Nonesuch — at present Tm plain Ed- 
ward Newburgh ; but should I ever be 
the master of Princely Hall, my reverence 
for its present owner shall get me dubbed 
an O Callaghan, by virtue of letters pa- 
tent from the great seal." 

'' Mr. Newburgh!" exclaimed Ellen, 
who, though wolvery a^^reeahly surprised, 
could not forbear a smile at the singulari- 
ty of dress, and address, of this new visi- 
tor; and Mr. Sylvester, whatever /^/i- sen- 
thneuts might be, did not forget his po- 


liteness, for, taking the chair from the 
servant, who was placing one as he heard 
the name given, with a respectful bow 
handed it himself. 

Mv. Newburgh, for it was him indeed, 
appeared nothing like any thing Ellen had 
ever betcjre seen under the form of a 
gentleman, but he was the prototyj)e in 
dress of an English groom living with 
i\Ir. Millbank. He v.orc a short blue 
frock coat, from beneath the sleeves and 
collar of wliich was seen an inside scarlet 
waistcoat, and the lappels of two or tl^ree 
outside ones above it; leather breeches 
and-boots, his hair cropt close to his 
head, a Belcher silk handkerchief tied 
round his neck and the ends of another 
lianging from out his breast pocket. He 
had thrown off his box- coat with nine- 
teen capes, as he aliglited from the cut-- 
rlc le, but had forget to leave his driving 
vhip behind with it. 

The chair presented by Mr. Sylvester 

was as politely declined as offered, and 

o 6 IMr. 


Mr. Newbursfh walked towards the 
window where Ellen stood. He pulled 
out a glass that was suspended from a 
black ribbon at his breast, and was in the 
,act of applying it to his eye as he ap- 
proached her, but, recollecting himself, 
he desisted from this most impertinent 
and insulting trait of modern manners, 
and affected to twirl it round his fingers. 

*' In Sir Thomas O'Callaghan's ab- 
sence, Sir,'* said Ellen, '* permit his 
daughter to greet your arrival at Princely 
Hall. My papa is only riding out some- 
where about the grounds, and will, 1 dare 
say, soon return ; or, if you please, I 
shall send in quest of him, as I know he 
is impatient to bid you welcome." 

** Happy in the honour of seeing Sir 
Thomas O'Callaghan's daughter," replied 
he, bowing. '' But, pray, don't send 
after the Baronet. Shall mount one of 
my groomis' horses, and go in search of 
him myself. Devilish fine rides here- 
abouts I see for exercising a racer. 1 sup- 


pose, Sir," to Sylvester, *' you often take 
a gallop over them. Do you ever ride, 
Miss O'Callaghan ? Should make you 
clear a five-bar gate with any woman in 
Great Britain — ^just the figure for it — no^ 
carry more weight than little Will, my 
Newmarket jockey. This gentleman 
your brother, 1 pres — (O no, d — n me, 
I forgot — throw out Neddy that" 

Ellen blushed at her remissness in not 
introducing Mr. Sylvester, though in fact 
she had hardly the opportunity of doing 

'' Mr. Sylvester, Sir," said she; *' and 
I ask pardon for my tardiness in etiquette. 
This gentleman is a friend of my papa's, 
and an inmate of Princely.'* 

''Your husband, perhaps. Madam?" 
cried Newburgh. 

Ellen blushed deeper than before, and 
Sylvester, with a side glance, observing 
her confusion, took up the reply. 

*' That distinguished appellation, Sir," 



said lie, '^ I have neither the vanity nor 
presumption of aspiring to ;" and, to pre- 
vent any further remarks on the subject, 
he immediately changed it by adding— 
I*' You found the roads pleasant, I ima- 
gine, Air. Nev.'burgh, for the time of 

'^ Smooth as the turf all along/' he an- 
swered. *' Left Dublin at twelve — now 
a quarter to three — thirteeiT miles an 
hour — take the long odds that I drive 
them there o-ievs of mine, four in hand, 
back again in sixty-five minutes/' 

*' It is thirty miles posting,'' said Syl- 
vester, *' and vou must flv insteatl of 

*' Send an out- rider to clear the way, 
and whirl the wheels like a smoke-jack," 
cried Newburgli ^^ Will 3'ou say done, 
l^lr. Sylvester, and shall take iMissO'Calla- 
o'han in tlie curricle to "'ive vou chance/' 

*^ Excuse me, Sir," said Ellen, *' I am 
ii^ot partial to )iotcricty." 

*^ Notoriety!" exclaimed Mr. New- 


burgli, '^ nothinp^ like it in oicr world — 
3t*s the go — should not be known else.'' 

"■ But I have no ambition to be krwzvn/" 
replied Ellen ; '' and, at all events^ am 
too fond of my cxist^nice to stamp my 
fame at the risk of it.*' 

''' And I/' cried Sylvester, with a smile, 
'' too poor to become a gamester/' 

The entrance of Sir Thomas O'Calla- 
ghan put an end for the present to this 
jockey-like kind of discourse; and it is 
needless to say how truly rejoiced the Ba- 
ronet was at meeting his new visitor, lie, 
unlike his daughter, was prepossessed in 
IMr. Newburgh's favour, therefore made 
no disagreeable comments on the appear- 
ance of this gentleman. His conversa- 
tion, however, did not strike Sir Thomas 
as being exactly what he expected from 
an elegant young man, of the highly- 
finished school of modern accomplish- 
ments; yet he thought him a lively, agree- 
able, good humoured companion; and 
whatever was absurd or outre in his de- 



portment, was set down as being the man- 
ners of the" world he moved in. Yet the 
Baronet's very exalted opinion g1 Mr. 
Newburgh seemed rather at a stand ; but 
this he kept concealed to himself, till a 
longer acquaintance should afford him a. 
better opportunity of judging the real 
qualifications of his visitor. 




*' Je n'ai jamais vu d'homme ayant de la fierte dans I'ame, en 
niontrer dans son m«intien.'* 

Mr. Newburgh had not been many clays 
an inmate of Princely Hall, before, to use 
his own words, he found himself '' com- 
pletely at home." He rode Sir Thomas's 
horses, drove Sir Thomas's carriages, or- 
dered the servants, shot the game, hunted 
the hounds, and lamented he could not 
cut ck)wn the great trees in the park to 
make a race-ground, which he protested 
could be converted into one of the finest 
four-n.ile courses in Great Britain. He 



prided Idniself on being a.^' deep one" oit 
tlie sod^ and ore of the limt judges of a 
horse's j)oints. H'lo okili in driving was 
no less vaunted ; and^ in short, his knovv'- 
' ledge of all daahing basinets very justly 
entitled him to the term of *' a knowing 

Sir Thomas G'Callaghan, though little 
\'ersed in many of the practical essentials 
<)f modern life, was well acquainted with 
the manners that ought truly to cha- 
racterize if; and though his education was 
of the Oid schovly still he knew that a 
gentleman u'a.9 a gentleman in every age, 
let the fashions revolve as they would; 
and that the first man in the realm, if de- 
ficient in the manners of one, was only, 
fitted toassociate v/ith his domestics. Mr. 
Newhurgh, therefore, did not gain much 
ground in tlie estimation of the Baronet; 
still he was ratlier inclined to pity than 
condemn the deficiencies of this young 
man's understanding, and seemed of opi- 
nion that there were many good qualities 



]n embrvo, which mii>ht make liim a re- 
ipectable character;- and could he be 
weaned from his favourite pursuits, there 
was nothing improbable in the idea of his 
])ecoming such. At present, however, Sir 
Tliomas did not aj)prove oilmfa^hlo liable 
propensities, and, strange to say, after 
what is already known on the subject, he 
was not anxious that j^liss O'Cadagnaii 
s'honld be nuicii in his company; for, 
though Mr. New burgh was perfectly 
competent to teach her how to manage 
her horse with dexterity, and square her 
elbows to drive in high stile, yet she 
could . learn little else of hini ; and his 
conversation about dogs, raceivS, and 
jockeys, &c. was not exactly suited to 
the Baronet's refined ideas of what ought 
to be addressed to an elegant female. Sir 
Thomas had indeed been widely mistaken 
in the expectation he had formed of this 
sprig of fashion. But what did Sir Tho- 
mas know of the necessary concomitants 
of a first-rate modern young man of dash ? 

— hONV 


— bow should he, living retired as he 
did at Princely Hail, in good oldfasiiion- 
cd hospitality, and spending thirty -six 
thousand a-vear for the benefit of his 
f feilow-creatures round it? And was the 
iieart of the benevolent Baronet to be 
analysed, there might possibly be dis- 
covered lurking within it, something of 
regret that its future master gave not the 
promise of dispensing his blessings in the 
place from whence he should draw Jiis 
most ample means. Of Ellen's becoming 
its future mistress, that was a subject on 
which Sir Thomas's thoughts did not of 
late much dwell ; yet whenever they did, 
the lurking. attachment he stiil felt to his 
formerly dear cherished hopes, led him to 
believe, that could Mr. Newburgh be- 
come once seriously attached to an ami- 
able and elegant woman, his reformation 
would be more than half effected. But 
though that gentleman niight be sensi- 
ble of Ellen's perfections, and avaw him- 
self her lover, the query was, would, ar 



rather could, the elegant Ellen O'Calla- 
ghan relLiru his affection ? The question 
answered itself— Ellen O'Callaghan had 
already learned discrimination, Mr. New- 
burgh and Mr. Sylvester were two cha- 
racters as opposite as liglvt and shade; 
and while the brilliancy of the one reflec- 
ted its perfections on her imagination, it 
is not to be supposed she would close her 
eyes against the resplendency of his cha- 
racter, to wander in darkness over an 
uncultivated soil. Yet we shall not be 
so unjust to Mr. Newburgh's discern- 
mei^t, as to conceal that Miss O'Calla- 
glian appeared to him one of the finest 
girls, and most accomplished young v/o- 
men, he had ever met with ; nor that 
his heart was so engrossed by certain ob- 
jects; as to have no admittance for any 
other. Ellen's image found a place ther-e, 
and, next to his own or Sir Thomas's 
horses, she had the honour of maintain- 
ing the first station in it. But the cry 
of the hounds sounded sweeter to his 



^ar than the tones of her harp, and the 
graces of her figure passed unheeded, if 
the racing calendar happened to lie in his 
way. Yet, with all his foibles, Mr. New- 
bnrgh possessed a good heart, good na- 
ture, and good humour ; and if he was not 
the man of elegance he should be, his 
misfortune arose from becoming too early 
in life theaiiaster of a very fine fortune, 
which led hini into absurdities, through 
the easiness x)f his temper, and because, 
as he said, '' hotoriety was every thing in 
his \\ oihl. " 

Mx. Newburgh learned from the Ba- 
ronet hiiT intention to go on the Conti- 
nent ; and the hitter asked iiim, as words of 
course, " \\'oul{i he be one of the party?" 

" Would v/ith pleasure. Baronet," he 
replied, '' but must attend the spring 
meetinLT — have tliree horses to run at 
Newmarket — niatch my bay filly, ''High 
Flyer," against the course — nothing like 
her on it — swift as the winds — thorough 
bred, and neat as wax-work — dam to 



Black-and-all-black, out of Lord ban- 
tam's famous Witch of Endor, whose sire 
M'as Ilardicanute, son of Alexander the 
Great, by the Emperor of Morocco^ bro- 
ther to Edward the Bl ick Prinee, from 
the Duke of Squint urn's celebrated Ara- 
bian mare Penelope — shall drive down to 
Ascot^ and rattle my curricle and greys 
to Yorkshire-^ridea match against 131ack- 
ihorn's sfarne fillv for tlirce thousand a- 
side, p. p. — run her out of the course — 
shall be paragraphed, paraplirased^ cari- 
catured, and imitated — followed by the 
crowds and huzzaed by the mob — that's 
life. Baronet ; d n me, that's the go/' 

The Baronet knew notliing of the 
*\go/' ancl Mr. S\ Uester was as little 
acquainted w ith the term, as it was given ; 
therefore the subject re^t(d with the per- 
son wlio apj>earcd so fully to understand 

A new landaulet was brought down 
one day to Sir Thomas from Dublin^ who, 
being of opinion that every monicd man 



should Spend it as much as lie could 
aniongst the tradespeople of his own 
country^ preferred having a carriage built 
for him in Ireland, to buying one in the 
more fashionable metropolis -^ London. 
It was a very elegant one; and as the 
Baronet wished to view as much country 
as he could on his journey, this open car- 
riage had been purposely ordered for that 

Ellen went out with her father and the 
gentlemen to look at it v/hen it was un- 
cased ; and Mr. Newburgh's judgment 
was here again displayed. 

"' Hung too higli by twtlve inches, Ba- 
jonet/' he exclaimed, while he exaiiiined 
it through his glass. 

*' It is considerably lower than the la^t 
carriage we had from Williams/* said Ellen, ' 
" and for that reason not so much to my 
taste, for it gives the opportunity to every 
impertinent coxcomb of peeping to see 
.who*s in it.'- 

'* Piio ! but it's the dash, Aliss O'Calla- 



ghan/' cried Newburgh ; *' low carriages 
high stile — mucl-duCkers/* 

'• Very convenient for the gout/' re- 
marked the Baronet with a smile. 
|K '' Heavy too as a showman's caravan/^ 
Avent on Mr. Newburgh, still inspecting 
the vehicle. '' Td lay five to one it rattles 
like a loadeil dray over the stones — if 
you'd but see one of Hatchet's whiz along 
like ahumn)ing-top." 

" It appears very light," said Ellen. - 

" Shall try it/' cried Newburgh. 
*' Come,- Baronet, yoii aqd Miss O'Calla- 
ghan get in; I'll shew you the long whip 
in first-rate squaring.'* 

Sir Thomas drew back, afraid to venture, 
and Ellen also shrunk from the hazard 
of accompanying so adventurous a Phae- 

'* What i" exclaimed he, *' afraid to 
venture yourselves — shall take the dicky 
then, aii.d drive B()bby within — Bob's my 
coachman — That's knowing — devilish 
fiwQ wliip is Bob— beat him hollow though 

VOL. I. H — turr 


— turn round the edgG of a shilling, for -a 
thousand — never upset but once — mo- 
ther in the sociable — damn me, crack it 
went — mama not killed, only confound- 
edly stunned, by her head coming against 
a post — sink the post, what business had' 
it in the way }" 

" In my opinion/' said Mr. Sylvester^ 
with a smile, " that story of the sociable 
is not calculated to engage cither Sir 
Thomas or Miss O'Callaghan to submit 
themselves to your guidance/' 

" Accidents wiii happen, you know,'* 
replied ^Ir. Newburgh. *' Knocked my 
tandem to shivers once against a curstd 
broad-wlieeied waggon, with a team of 
bells that would have frightened a 
charger. Away flew Thunder, and Hel- 
ter-skelter followed at his heels — could 
not pull up for the life of me — bang went 
the wheels — smash went the carriage — 
topsey-turvey went I, head over heels in- 
to the mud — fell soft though, no bones 

A gene* 


A general laugh prevailed at Mr. New- 
burgh's tumble iu the mud, in which he 
himself good-humouredly joined ; but the 
sociable and the tandem were each of 
sufficient magnitude to deter any of his 
auditors from entrusting themselves to his 
Jehu skill. 

Bobby was called to fill a corner of 
the landaulet, and his master mounted 
the dickv. 

'* You'll not go far," said the 'Baronet, 
^^ as the first dinner bell has rung." 

'* Only round the four-mile heat, Bar- 
ronet" (meaning the park wall), answer- 
ed coachman Neddy — *^ shall be back 
again before you reach the dining-par- 
lour." He cracked his whip and the 
horses flew, notwithstanding the heavi- 
ness of the ** showman's caravan." 

'* He's a rum jockey, as Mr. Mill- 
bank"s groom says," cried old Connolly, 
AV'ho stood near tlie hall door behind Miss 
O'Callaghan ; '^ and I'm sure I shudn't 
nondir to see him drive home width his 
H 2 nick 


nick broke, God save us ! And for sar-= 
tin, Miss Ellen, he put me in mind of an 
owld story I hard wonst, whin he sid he'd 
be back agin afore you got to the parlir. 
There was an owld woman in a village ; 
she was what they call a granny, and she 
was roastin .a showlder of mutton for her 
dinner one day, whin up curns a man a- 
horseback to the door, width a pillion be- 
hind him; so he tills her she must be 
>efter cuming directly to a lady that was 
viry bad, and wantid her assistins. So 
YOU see, tlie owld woman sid she cud n't 
go till she ate her dinner, bekays the mut- 
ton v/ould be spilet if she did ; but he 
towld her not to be afeared of that, for 
she shud be home agin by the time it was 
roasted. Well, ]Miss Ellen, oif the granny 
wint behind upon the pillion, and sure 
enuiF they rode and ftiey gallopuJ, and 
they galloped and they rode, ovir hills 
and thorough bogs, for miles and miles, 
till the poor crater thought she'd nivir 
gk to her jurney's ind ; and as to the 



mutton — oil, faitli, slie thouglit that was 
biini't to a cindir loijg afore thin." 

** Well, but my good Connolly, slior- 
ten your story a^ much as possible," cried 
JEllen, who did not like to hurt his' honest 
old heart by quitting- him abruptly, or 
shewing any inattention to his tale, ** for 
you know I have no time now to delay 

*' Well, Miss, Tm just at the ind of it," 
said he, and appearing quite anxious that 
she should stop to hear it concluded. 
*^ So at lait, after travellin further nor I 
can till you, they cunis to a wood of 
trees, where the man tuck her off of the 
baste, and tyed a kerchif across her eyes^ 
so that she cudn't see a stim at all at all 
^vhere she was a-goin ; and he brought her 
along ovir brake and briar, till at last and at 
lingth they cums to a house, and whin 
the man tuck the bandige from her eyes, 
there she seed hursilf in a spasish fine 
room, all kivired ovir width goold vilvit, 
and a beautiful lady lying in bed, viry 
H 3 bwid 


bad sure enuff, as the man sid. Welt, 
Miss Ellen, the short and the long of it 
was, you see, that the owld granny stid 
there till this strange lady was brought 
to bid of three boys, God bliss em, as 
fine childer as ivir the sun shrned on, the 
story says; and their modther got will 
and hartv asjin, but still the owld woman 
nivir know'd who she was; but you see 
she bethought hirsilf aftir, and iviry body 
sid it too, that it was the queen of the 
fairies — but that was nothing to me, nou 
no body ilse. So the lady ginn her a 
purse of g^oold, and the same man tuck 
the owld woman back agin just as they had 
cum, not forgittin to kivir her eyes as 
afore; and whin she got to her own cabin 
(and I warrant it v/as a nate one as well 
as the granny), as sure as yu're alive, 
Miss Ellen, tliere was the showlder of 
mutton a roastin, just as she lift it, and 
part of it red and raw, that was not quite 

*' And very probably, mj^ good Con- 


nolly/* said Ellen, laughing, '' the allu- 
sion may bold good respecting Mr. New- 
burgh's return, for I have delayed so long 
to hear your story, that he may be back 
again before I reach the dining-parlour, 
as I have to change my dress/' 

Just as tlie second bell had rung, and 
the company v/ere seated at table, our 
knight of the turf arrived safe and sound 
from his four-mile heat, after having met 
v/ith no other accident than driving over 
two lambs in the park, and leaving the 
lash of his whip suspended as a trophy in 
one of the great trees, that had like to 
have hung him, like Absalom, into the 
bargain. The shephejd, unaccustomed 
to h;ive his peaceful reign intruded upon, 
and his sheep destroyed by a strange 
coaclunan, shook his fist at him, and hol- 
loaed out that he'd come to the iJal! in 
the evening, when his tlock were penned, 
to give him a lici.inif, Tliis Mr. New- 
burgh related at table, and signified his 
intention of folljwing up the joke, by re- 
H 4 turning 

152 i^rfi: OLD iRisir bationst. 

turning after (-inner in bis coacbman^.^ 
dress to give the fellow a lesson. He took 
the same o}3port unity to make the com- 
pany acquainted, tliat lie added to his 
'accomplishments that of MerulorMum. and 
ranked one of the vejy first amon/^ the 
Antczans, This turned the conveiPitioa 
upon the fashionable science of pugilism, 
respect'kng whicl), as on most other :ud> 
jects, *' doctors difiered." 

The Baronet obser\Td, that in Irel nd 
at least there was no bccasioL to encou- 
rage a passion that encouraged itself too- 
much already ; it was mischievous at pre- 
sent, and art and skill wopld only make 
it murderous. 

The man of {5cace (our rsa^lers need 
not be told we mean Doctor Clay field), 
who availed himsejf as much as possible 
of the friendly invitations to—- not to say 
good things of—the Baronet's table), ad- 
mitted that- pugilism, as a species of hos- 
tility, was certainly included in the ge- 
neral censure pronounced in the New 



Testament against warfare oF every kind 
-— '* But," added he, " as the obedience 
to every iniunciion is necessarilv hmited 
by the bounds of social possibilit}', and 
we see tiiat warfare unto death is not 
only tolerated, but even conseciated in 
a legitinuue cause, by the blessing of the 
ehnich, so it may be inferred that pu- 
gilism, which is a less fatal practice, ought 
to be tolerated, and even cherished, in a 
state, as a sort of 'apprenticeship to mili- 
tary habits, and a nieans of keeping up 
that martial spirit which fills our fleets 
and armies, the means, under God, to- 
which we owe our" predominancy and uni- 
versal iulluence." 

It was the Doctor's misfortune of late, 
to find himself almost a:lways engaged 
uith the pert dogmatism of Mr. Sylves- 
ter's opinions, whlc'i the latter had the 
elfrontery to advance at all times, al- 
though his situation as a mere dependant 
in the family, ought, in Doctor Clayfield's 
mind; to have taught him belter manners; 
n 5 biit^ 


but that Mr. S\lvester feared not to de- 
liver his sentiments on any subject worthy 
of discussion, was a truth that the parson 
had in many instances received but too 
strong proofs of. 

** A long-established opinion has lately 
been revoked in doubt,'' said Sylvester. 
*' It is boldly asserted, that the practice 
of boxing, or, as it is more scientifically 
termed, pugilism, is not the brutal de- 
grading practice our stupid forefathers 
considered it, and our degenerate neigh- 
bours persist in believing; that it ought, 
on the contrary, to he cherished and ea- 
couraged by the example of the great, 
and by public favour, as it both furnishes^ 
a distinguislring and peculiar proof of na- 
tional courage and its exercise tends, 
above every other means, to foster that 
spirit of intrepidity in the minds of the 
populace, on which our future existence 
as a. nation is to depend. It will scarcely 
be seriously denied, that the practice of 
this noble science is fraught with every 



€vil that can debase society — that the 
term pugilist, and rogue, are nearly sy- 
nonimous, and that its heroes and pro- 
fessors figure successively at the Old 
Bailey, and make their exit uniformly on 
board the hulks, or on the cfyop. It is 
equally true, that all those of the lower 
class who are inspired with a passion for 
these exhibitions, become, in the same 
proportion, addicted to drunkenness, 
gambliiio;, idleness, and in sliort, degene- 
rate into the scum and scourge ot society ;. 
while their illustrious superiors, the gen- 
tlemen amateurs, are characters distin^ 
guished more by their frivolity, profli- 
gacy, and brutal habits, than by the rank 
they dishonour; or if there be a few men 
of sense whom fashion has drawn into the 
vortex of sueh amusements, they take 
them by stealth, and *' blush to find k 
fame." The evil, then, if necessary, is 
surely still an evil ; } et, perhaps, in this, 
as in many circumstances of public admi- 
ni.nration and private life, it may be that 
\i 6 \vt 


we have only a choice of difficulties, or 
that, to use the popular phrase, all the 
alternative left us is, '* of two evils, to 
choose the least." And here I am ob- 
liged to advance an opinion, which will 
be found botli new and strange, and, to 
many, highly unpopular, but which 1 am 
persuaded will, on a strict examination, be 
found to be the truth. The practice of 
boxing is nothing, so little as a proof of 
national courage; it offers, on the con- 
trary, as far as it goes, a most plausible 
argument in favour of national cowardice. 
Let us enquire a moment who are the 
characters that adopt most willingly this 
means of retaliation and offence. It is 
not, in any class of society, the man of 
high spirited and generous feelings, who 
mixes urbanity with dignity in his man- 
ners, and respects the independance of his 
neighbour as he cherisl^^s his own ; he 
studiously avoids a cause of quarrel, as 
well from ' sentiment as py^i^/ence, hecnuse ' 
he judges, from the intensity of his own 



feelings in certain cases, the |)iobable 
consequences of the resentment of an- 
other. It is the cowardly grov^elling cliar 
racter — it is tlie ** brolher hlackgiwrd,'*' 
M'ho, availing himself of his muscular 
force or agility, tliinks he possesses the 
means of insulting, at a small expence, 
the man of decency and respectability. 
lie knows well that persons wlio hay-e to 
make their daily appearance in decent 
5Kiciety, (h'ead .the carrying about them 
the marks of a vulgar aftray. But wliat 
jisk does the low boxer run, or what in- 
conveniences hias he to sustain ? Life and 
limb are to him out of the question. A 
trifling fracture is a casualty that very 
rarely occurs from these rencounters ; a 
swelled tace, or a black eye, this fellow 
knov/s well are the extent of his j)erils ; 
and, far from being a disgraceful stigma, 
the exhibition of a bruised face among 
his brethren at the pot-house, or in the 
^v'ork-shop, is considered a distinction of 
honour, and almost envied as a token of 




triinr.pb. Heaven forbid tliat sueh dTs-- 
positions as these should compose the ele- 
ments of British courage. It is constant* 
ly remarked in al! countries, that the 
' oldest soldiers are the most indisposed ti> 
personal quarrels. The veteran warrior, 
accustomed to real and serious danger, 
dreads and detests these pusillaniinous 
rencounters ; and, to the disgrace of the 
advocates of this practice^ aiiiong whom 
it is painful to observe the names of one 
or two men of sense, who outrage hu- 
manity so far as tQ palliate, or rather 
justify, the disgraceful scenes of animal 
"warfare, tli€ toleration of which is a stig.- 
nia on English police, be it observed, that 
the Highland soklier, or the French gre- 
nadieo-, men who mount coolly up the 
breach, and go to battle as they go to their 
breakfast, would turn pale and faint at 
the sight of the buil-dog, cut limb by 
limb away from his hold, and become 
cowards at the cock-pit or the bear- bait*. 
* By'their fruits we shall know them, ' as we 



are told ; whatever practice or opinion, 
when urged to its tull force, becomes ab- 
surd, inn)olitic, and unjust, and whose 
natural and invariable tendency is to- 
wards such extremes, is essentially wrong, 
and ought not in any degree to be made 
use of. Far be it fVoni me to make the 
apology of duelling, but if we are to to- 
lerate evil for tlie sake of good, let us at 
least adopt that one wiiich is adequate to 
the better end we have in view.'* 

^Ir. Sylvester was silent. ]\Jr. New- 
burgh seemed considering whether there 
was any thing pointed at him in that 
gentleman's discourse, which could war- 
rant his taking it as an insult ; but fortu- 
nately Mr. Newbuio;h did not perfectly 
comprehend the whole of it ; therefore the 
result of his meditations was, that it was 
a general inference, not a personal offence, 
and he should lick the shepherd. Doctor 
Clayfield leaned in his chair nonclialantly 
picking his teeth, while he satirically re- 
marked, *' tiiat those who favoured duel- 


ling were generally expert at hitting a 
mark/' Mr. Sylvester's face rlisplayed a 
transient flush, but he made no re])ly ; 
but the Baronet, perceiving his colour 
, heightened, and fearing any warmth of 
expression, knowing as he did that liis 
vouna' friend was no favouiitc of tlie di- 
vine's, very prudently took up the sub- 
ject,' by saying, *' i should like to hear 
your opinion more fully in rc'spect to 
duelling, IMr. Sylvester, for if you are 
inclined to defend it, 1 am confident it 
must be from no trilling reason.'' Syl- 
vester bowed to this compliment paid to 
his judgment by Sir Thomas in l:;e face 
of his opponent; but it was not as the 
tacit acknowledgement of conscious su- 
periority, but as a judicious discernment 
of the Baronel'smotive, and ids profound 
respect to all his patron "s wishes. 

*' Yet," continued Sir Thomas, '* it is 
not at tliis moment that I call on Mr. 
Sylvester to deliver his sentiuicnts on the 
subject, for, it I mi'stake not, he and Mr. 



Newbui'o'h arc eno-ao-cd to ride with Ellen 
this cveninii: over to JMilibank Place, and 
it would he a poor apology to make two 
fair ladies, to say they were forgotten m 
a hostile discussion over the bottle." 

Mr. Sylvester had not forgot it, and it 
]\ad only escaped M\\ Newburgh'a mind 
Mhile he pursued his ideal victory in the 
boxing-match with the shepherd, which, 
as 'a scientific ** bruiser," he had no d4)ub£ 
of obtaining. The two gentlemen with- 
drew to attend Miss O C^allaghan, and 
the Baronet and Doctor Lla\lield were 
left to discuss matters by themselves. 




** Thou friend to him that knous no friend beside , 
Ti;at falls, like saddest moonlight on the hill 
And distant grove, when the wide world is still." 

BoWLESr -^ 

The Baronet, we need not say, was, after 
a very few interviews, become acquainted 
v/ith the real character of Mr. -Newburgh, 
and did not hesitate to avow his disap- 
pointment to Ellen, acknowledging, that 
much as he had at heart to assure to her 
the abode of her ancestors, and seats of 
lier youth, it was only und^r a hope that 
the man with whom alone she might have- 
shared the possession of them, would 
prove to be what rumour (ever favourable 



to the high born and affluent)" had pro-, 
noiinccd him, the man of sense as well 
as fashion, and a g-entlemau in manners 
as in descent. Convinced as he was of 
the fallacy of these hopes, Sir Thomas 
gave up without a pang the wishes he had 
but yesterday so fondly cherished, and 
saw, without reluctance, the disposition 
the latter manifested of taking his depar- 
ture after a visit of a few weeks. Even 
had Mr. Newburgh been all the Baronet's 
sanguine expectations had pictured him, 
he evinced no inclination to avail himself 
of the golden opportunity paternal ambi- 
tion, or rather paternal affection, threw 
in his way. No glances of incipient pre- 
possession, none of those assiduities in 
which the heart takes the lead, that, 
warmed by return, might have ripened 
into love, ever escaped hi in. liis de- 
portment towards Ellen was merely such 
as a professed man of fashion shews to a 
pretty girl he is under the necessity to 
respect. In short, in accepting the in- 


vitation of Sir Thonias O'Callaghan, l^^Ir. 
Newburgh intcncled simply to kiii liiDe, 
and va: ~ .lis lounge. Or. if a gleam of 
7'atio?7aiit'y xluctmed bis )adiict, it waij 
in tbe gratification of a 'iositv natural 
enoiigb; to s'lrvey tbe ■ .: ails of a pro- 
perty in wbiclibebad so ^ -it an interest, 
and of wbicb be migbt, 1. - tbe anticipa- 
tion of a few vea^s, cons'd r bimself al*- 
ready tbe ov/ner. Tbis c^inosity once- 
satisfied, tbe spring meeting again occu- 
pied all bis waking and sleeping drean.s, 
atid be testified bis impatience to depart. 
Tbe B ironet did not carry bis politeness 
so far .IS to repeat^ tor fornVs sake, his in- 
vitation to accompany tlicm;. for be 
dreaded lest- that fickle versatility in 
wbicb -tbe men of fashion pride them- 
selves, should by chance influence Mr. 
^ Newbui^b to accept of it. Tbe latter, 
, indeed, unsolicited, assured tbe Baronet, 
that when tbe racing circuit was over, 
he would probably pay bis respects to^ 
bim at Paris, for be had long intended. 



to pass tlie carnival (which, by his ac 
count, was in August*) at Venice ; this he 
could do, and be back in time forthe open- 
ing of the sliooting seasen. He was very 
inquisitive to know from Mr. Sylvester, 
who he understood had travelled, whether 
the roads in France were good for driving 
four in band — how much the Swiss moun- 
tains were higher than Barham Downs— 
and which, with other questions of tiie 
«ame nature, bespoke a kind of vague 
meditation of a journey, and to all of 
which Mr. Sylvester answered obligingly, 
and without a smile. 

Sir Thomas was now become doubly 
anxious to set out himself, and determin- 
ed to hasten rather than c\ei\^v the period 
of his departure. The sliades of Princely 
Hall, he was aware, vrere a retreat no 
longer favourable to the repose of his be- 
loved daughter. The uninterrupted in- 
tercourse of Ellen with her tutor, could 
only tend to fan and nourish a passion, 
that it was evident had already taken 
, • deeper 

* Begins Twelfth Day, and ends Shrove Tuesday. 


deeper root in her bosorit than she was 
herself conscious of; and the example 
of Mr Newburgh had sufficiently shown 
how little probability there was, that any 
'stranger should be attired towards those 
groves, who would make a different im- 
jpression on her heart, or serve any other 
purpose than to heighten by contrast the 
amiable qualities of the only man pro- 
priety forbade her thinking of as a hus- 
band. In the wide world .of the Conti- 
nent, surrounded by novelty, seeing and 
being seen, she might on the contrary at- 
tract the attention of many whose alli- 
ance would be unexceptionably ^eligible ; 
at the same time that she would, in the 
society of her father and her instructor, 
be gradually weaned from her ardent at- 
tachment to the scenes of her youth, 
which a few years must, in the course of 
nature, divide her from for ever, when, 
to tear herself away abruptly from the 
mansion of her ancestors, bereft by death 
of her beloved father, and denied the so- 


ciety and counsels of Mr. Sylvester, 
which from that moment propriety and 
'decorum would f()r!)id her to enjoy, the 
health and spirits of Ellen would hardly 
be able to sustain her against so many 
severe trials. Indeed her peace, and the 
company of j\Ir. Sylvester, required the 
alternative. Sir Thomas was aware, that 
the sequestered residence of her tutor, 
along with those circumstances, was in- 
compatible with his daughter's future re- 
pose ; and to dismiss from hia\ a man, 
his esteem for whom was ripened into tlje 
warmest attachment, whose society was 
become indispensable to his comforts, and 
whose welfare, after his iidored 
daughter, the (object of all others, the 
Baronet had most at heart, was alike im- 
possible ; he therefore set immediately 
about making the necessary arrangements 
for his departure. Those, as Sir Tho- 
mas's concerns were muhifarious, and his 
bounty of unknown extent and ramiiica- 
tion, were objects of some labour ; and 



Mr. Sylvester endeared himself yet more 
to the Baronet, by the manner in which 
he aided him in the execution of them. 
Among other benevolent dispositions, 
( Sir Thomas ordered that an addition of 
fifty pounds a-year should be made du- 
Tino* his absence to tli^'income of Father 
Dunlavie. This the good priest was, of 
necessity, made acquainted with. But 
he reniained ignorant, that by an exten- 
sion of kindness, the Baronet had • pro- 
vided; ill form of codicil to his will, that 
the same largess should be concerted into 
an annuity for life, in case his patron did 
not live to return from his journey. It 
need not be doubted that he made a com- 
petent provision for the future indepen- 
dence of Mr. Sylvester, by bequeathing 
in his favour an estate of near four hun- 
dred a-year, puicliascd from the econon^iy 
•of his annual income, which the Baronet 
always 'contrived should, notwithstand- 
ing the hospitality of his establishment, 
and his active and boundless benevolence, 


by much exceed his expenditure. ^ By 
this means he was enabled to provide for 
the peiinanency of his charitable Insti- 
tutions, a.nd to reward the tried fidelity 
and attachment of his humbler friends, 
without trenching on the splendid terri* 
torial patrimony of his F.llen. 

So far as regarded Mv Sylvester, this 
bequest was a mere precautionary mea- 
sure. His views for that gentleman's ad- 
vantage, if life and health permitted him 
to talise them, were of a much more ex- 
tensive nature. Sir Thomas had recom- 
mended to, him the church ; and if Mr. 
•Sylvester could have reconciled himself 
to orders, there is no doubt the Baronet, 
through his immediate patronage, and 
t-liat under his influence, would Imve 
opened him an easy way to ecclesiastical 
opulence and honours. ]>nt 'motives of 
delicacy, some of. wlvich, though not all, 
our readers will have already divined, 
raised in -the way an insurmouiHable 
barrier. This delicacy gained for once 

VOL. I. 1 the 


the good opinion, or at least the good 
^vonl, of Doctor Cla} field, whom no dis- 
qualifying motivesprevented from accept- 
ing the future, as he had the past, presen- 
tations -in tlie gift of the Baronet ; and he 
condescended to say, that this reluctance 
was laLidabl^, and if it liad not savoured 
more of sceptic pride than of religious 
inodcsty, would have done the young 
man credit. 

SirThomashad his political views forMr, 
S}1 vest cr likewise. "But the union, which 
had recently taken place, had w-eakened, or 
at least dislocated his parliamentary inte- 
rest. And while, on the one hand, Sylvester 
had requested his separation from the 
Baronet might not be even suggested du- 
ring their residence on the Continent, 
tl;e latter wished, before he set the seal 
on his conclusions respecting his prO" 
teg^'s establishment, to endeavour to see 
some light through the clouds that hung 
over Mr. Sylvester's birth and connex- 
ions, whkh that gentleman never seemed 



desirous of bringing to view, but which 
the Baronet hdd reason to think their 
journey would enable him to effect 

A few days before Mr. NewburglTs 
exj)ccted departure from the Hall, he one 
morning rfl)ruptly entered an apartment 
Aviiere sat tiie Baronet M'ith his dauo-hter 


and i\Jtr. Sylvester. Neddy looked rather 
disconcerted, though not actually v^exed. 

" What the devil long-winded, intri- 
cate sort of a story, is this old Grey-beard 
has be.en canting me with !" exclaimed 
lie on entering. *' Curse me if 1 can 
make head or tail of it ; only that it looks 
confoiitfdedly as if somebody wanted to 
tiirow Ned out of the sweepstakes." 

" 1 did not understand. you had any 
horses on the Curragh this meeting, Mr. 
Newburgh,"said Sir'lhomas. 

'' Rot the Curragh," he replred, 
** know notliing about it, but that it's 
devilish nice running ground. Galloped 
your horse, Antelope, round the course 
the day before yesterday, in five minutes 
I 2 sixteen 


sixteen seconds. No, no, that's not tire 
Ijusiness, nothing of the turf, or slioulcl 
be a match for the blacklegs; but con- 
found me if I think 1 could have any 
chance in a race with a ghost.'* 

*' A ghost]" repeated Ellen, laughing. 
'^ I dare say, papa, Connolly has been 
relating one of his old stories to Mr, 

*'You have nicked it, Miss O'Calla- 

ghan," cried he. *' A d d out of the 

-^vay, curious kind of olio he made of it 
toQ ; and nailed me so fast with his argu- 
ment, that I could not cut and run far 
tlie soul of me, though I wished him and 
his story at the devil a thousand times^ 
from the bottom of my heart." 

..^* i should be seriously displeased with 
Connolly," said Sir Thomas, gravely, 
Vxlid he say any thing to offend you, 
Mr. Newburgh ; and, if you please, Til 
ring for him to enquire into it." 

'^ My dear papa," cried Ellen, laying 
her hand on the Baronet's Mm to prevent 



ftis Intention, *' pray don't interrogate 
the poor fellow, for I am certain he meant 
110 offence, and Mr. Newbiirgh may have 
mistaken the good old man, as it is not; 
every stranger can rightly comprehend 
bis orthoepy, which we all know is notr 
very correct." 

*' T am inclined to- think with Miss 
O'Callaghan," said Mr. Sylvester; ''for 
though Connolly may not be very fortu* 
nate in making himself clearly understood 
by persons imacqiiainted with his man- 
ner, yet I believe he won Id not delibe- 
rately give offence to his equals, let> alone 
his superiors.'* 

*' You are all green-horns/' exclaimed- 
Newburgh, laughing aloud at themi 
*' It's a devilish comical kind of a story 
he has been relatin-g ; not bujt if it were 
to be realized, should be damnably dis*- 
tanced — thrown out to all intents and 

'' Pray do inform us what ic was, -Mr. 

Newburgh," said Ellen, ** for you ha\T5 

J S- raised 


raised my curiosity, notwithstanding I 
susj3ect a little what it may be." 

'* No doubt you do,'' answered be, 
with more wit than gallantry, '* for all 
'the fiatives hereabouts have it as pat iu 
their mouths as potatoes. By the bye, 
ought to remember that name myself toe- 
Had to come down with twelve hundred 
to Lord Neverout last October meeting, 
by Colonel Deeply 's . PotSo's distanc- 
ing my Fizgig — a hollow thing, to pay 
two thousand for the loan of the needful. 
Should otd Gravity's story have any truth 
in it, zounds and the devil, what a taking 
some of the sons of Israel would be m i— 
hot and cold fits — worse, than an inter- 
mitting fever." 

*' Well, but the story, IMr. New- 
burgh," said Ellen, who could tind no 
.entertainment in technical terms, which 
vere beyond her learning. 

** O aye, the storj'," resumed he. 
'* Why, 1 met this genius of yours, old 
Doleful, awhile ago, just near a tottering 



fiibric in the wood, that appeared to ine 
as tlie reposing place of the O'Calhghans 
since the days of Adam, where he shewed 
niea parcel of dried bones, and gave such 
di pedigree of tiieir owners and their heirs, 
that, upon my soul, I wished his quietly 
feid by their side, for fear of any conju- 
ring business to cut nie off the entail ; 
and, between ourselves, curse me if I 
don't think the felloAV looks like a con- 

** I thought what it was/' said Ellens 
who couW not refrain from laughing out, 
and in which the Baronet joined her; nor 
tould Mr. Sylvester restrain a smile. 

** Aye, "exclaimed Sir Thomas, ** Con-, 
tiolly has been giving you< the J^istory of 
Lord Duncarty and the beautiful Spanish 
iady ; that's a favourite hobby of his^ 
and the poor fellow has allowed it to take 
such hold of his imagination, that he 
actually believes there is more fiian old 
womens prattle in the story. But never 
niind it, Mr. Newburgh," continued he,, 
I 4 " it 


** it must be something more substanHa! 
than a ghost or 3.J}iiri/ tale, to cut you 
out from the inheritance of Princely Hall. 
Nor, I assure you, is there but one ob^ 
j'ect near my heart, that would make me 
wish to defer your possession of it.** 

*' All in good time, Baronet,'' replied 
Newburgh. ** Shall only give the Jews 
a sweating by delay.'* 

*' I don't understand," said Sylvester, 
drily, '* how any of the tribe can have a 
demand on Princely Hall." 

*' You're what we call a flat, Svlves^ 
ter," cried Newburgh, gaily, *' and know 
notliiiig of the matter Haven't I said 
I raided the needful? Where should I 
get it but from some of those accommo- 
dating and useful gents?- As many of 
Ned Newburgh's bonds in tiieir hands, 
redeemable at double original value wheii 
lie comtcs into possession of the gotdai 
mines lu^rey as would make paper kites 
for the charity-schoolboys. Not a shil- 
ling, has Neddy but what the Israelites 



eon^ clown with — out at the elbows con- 
foiincleclly — the Newhnrgli property gone 
long ago — but that.'s life, that's the dash 
in our world." 

" ^Vhat !" exclaimed the Baronet, '* is 
it tiie custom- \n uotu' world for a man of 
fasiiion to beggaj' iiimself> in order to exr 
t£Lnd his consequence?" 
,,/' Just so," answered Nevvburglr. 
*■' Never, dashes in high stile , till he owes 
more than he's able to paj^ Then can 
run on without danger of running outi" 

*' And what becomes of his poor crc^ 
ditors ?" asked Sir Thomas*. toiiiojii 

*' Oh^ that's obsolete, Bayonet," re- 
j]^lied the man of dash. *' Never en- 
(jiiire into those kind of things.. When 
we see a new clKiiiot, a set of -hoFseS; or 
any thing brought out by our friends, we 
ask, who's the suffej'cr ? Sliould a trades- 
man be importunate, why, order. the- ser- 
vant to bid him call to-inonoAv^, and he 
sliu-ll be told when to come again," 

15, *' But^: 


" But there are resources for h\tf\,'' re- 
marked Sir Thomas. 

" Yes, Baronet, but onCe out of twenty 
times when they are, or can be resorted 
to," answered Newburgh. *' An estate 
in reversion, suppose like Princely Hall, 
110 danger of duns tlien, while creditors 
reckon on the double. A peer, or air 
M. P. perhaps, safe's the worrl there t^o 
*— shall get into paHiantent, and catcli 
me who can then." 

The Baronet screwed up his mouth, pre- 
paratory to one of his long whistles, but 
recollecting it might be construed inio 
an insult, he onFy shook his head, 

*' I am sorry to undei-stand there are 
such precedents in- high life," said he; 
** and, I confess, doubly concerned to 
hear them tolerated and practrised by the 
heir apparent of Princely Hall." 

*' Yes, but so it is amongst us,'' re- 
plied Newburgh, without being in any 
manner abashed ; '- and better be out of 



tfie world, you know, than out of the 
fashion. "Now, my creditors, to be sure, 
are at present cap in hand to me — thanks 
to Princely Mall for that. Will bleed me 
like leeches, though, by and bye lor it — 
turn a bout's fair play — one or two years- 
rev^enue will make all smooth to beo-in 
afresh — tlie.old woods will settle that 
business in the stroke of a hammer. 
Those there beieeh trees in the park — shall 
want their room — my best whip is hang- 
ing in one of them* l!iie fates forbid the 
Duncarty hoax ahouUL get: wind at the 
other side of the herrino- broe^k." 

*' I believe, whatever the Ivgend may 
^ be,*' said Sir Thomas, *' the certainty of 
your right, Mr. Newburgh, is indisput- 
able ; tlierefore, on that head you may 
make yourself perfectly easy. Only my 
advice to you would be,, that whenever 
you do become the j)Ossessor of Prmcely 
lldll, \ou would conciliate, as far as pos- 
sible, the esteem of your dependants 
there. Th.e Irish are a warm, benevolent, 
I 6 hos- 


hospitable, race — the latter pro ^'--erbia.Uy—T 
steadfast in their affections, o-encrouSiia 
their friendships, and grateful for every act 
of kindness. But they are tenacious of 
, their rights ; passionate, when insulted^ 
and proud to a fault. The master, wlio 
treats tlieu:! with generosity, will be served 
with faithfulness. The arrogant superior, 
who lords it over them, will feel their re- 
sentment. Indifference is not their cha- 
racteristic; tliey are enthusiastic in. the 
extreme, and either love with fervour or 
hate with violence. You, as I may say, 
a stranger amongst them, being an Eng- 
lislmian, should be paiticularly desirous 
To cultivate their esteem.; and whether 
your inclination leads you to follow in 
tlie footsteps of your predecessors here, 
or your more gay pursnits.keep you three- 
fuiirths of your life an. absentee, still let 
it appear that you wish the welfare pf its 
tenantry, and fear not that your interest^ 
will be attended, to.'' 

'* I shall live a month or two of each 



y^ap ill it, by all means,*' said Newburgljy 
'* chiriiig the racing or shooting season* 
]\£ight as well be bnriccl ahve in one of 
the (1- d Irish bogs, as think of exist- 
ing out of England. But for the 72a tivcs 
here; — Oh, wiih all my. heart, let thein 
enjoVj the-ipselves ; provided. I have|)lenty 
of the needful, cane not what they do. 
Fron) old Grey-beard: the; conjurer, to the 
sti^ble-boy, shall keep possession, if they 
pl|.',ase it,. Baronet ;..,b.tft .would not be 
cpnipelLed to.'t'^^e/^/^qaji^aiigst. them, not 
for all the old oaks on the premises. Not 
]the thing, Sir Thomas — nonum of fashion 
spends his aiioney in Ireland who can 
avo!<l it. A ftw old conscientious quizzes, 
that have scraped their thousands here, 
may peihaps think it laudable so to do; 
but then they are past , the age of enjoy- 
ing life, and liave no relish for its dash- 
ing ogrcmens. Yet, if now and then a 
'man of fashion is seen awhile in this 
country, it is because interest leads him 
in opposition to inclination, while he 



Mislies-the island of Saints swallowed up 
in its own Litfey !" 

'* The remark is but too true," said 
the Baronet, '' and disgraceful' to the 
absentees of Ireland is the reflection. 
No wonder if the country be poor, when 
those who ought to support shamefully 
desert it, and, instead of encouraging its 
prosperity, lavish, in foreign countries 
and pleasures, the gold they have no ob- 
jection tx> draw from iheir own. Had I 
the misfortune to be an autocrate, my 
first edict should go to punis^h the volun- 
tary aliens of Ireland, by a triple tax oa 
their fortunes-. Those persons of higher 
rank, wbo made no scruple to draw from 
thence their, resources, while they think 
the country unworthy of their personal 
residence, such, be their rank what it 
might, should be taught a lesson of. at?- 
tachment to home, and if not grateful 
from inclination^ should become })atriotic 
from interest. If the country wiience a 
man derives his honours, and his fortunes, 



be not SriiiTiciently attractive to attain his 
continual residence, he is doLibly culpable 
M'ho wilfully inipoverislies it, by forming 
a constant and sjdendid establishment oa 
a foreign strand, and from stile, affecta- 
tion, or misanthropic perversity of tasle> 
studiously cOiitrrves that not one shilling 
of his bounty or expenditure shall ever 
find its way back to tlie source whence 
iiis means are poured. If this, as a heavy 
national calamity, should inflame the 
mind's of the people, is it to be wondered 
at ? It is said of the Irish, they are poor 
aiul proud. Poor, they may well be, while 
iheir labours are principally devoted to 
enrich \x?i^ noble aliens — I shall not say 
its countryiiiefi, they are undeserving the 
name. Proud its patriotic subjects should 
be, for thicy can boast of excellencies of 
h^d and heart, which few nations can 

Mr. Newburgh's cast was not ai^'umen- 
tive, therefore he did not feel himself dis- 
please^ to be saved a reply, by a servant's 
3 an- 


amiounGing visitors, and the interruption 
was, of course, a period to all particular 

In a few days, from tills, tile man of 
dash took his leave of Princely Ilall, and 
sc^T.ed no. way dissatisfied at quitting its 
formalities; though we may very readily 
believe he'd, have endured many of these. 
disagremblts without repugnance, to be 
secured in immediate possession; but as 
,that could not he while its prt^sent owner 
lived, we shall only suppose he wished, 
in his heart, the good Baronet a S})eedy 
passage to the land of lus forefathers, 
^wliile he departed in high spirits to pur- 
"sue his fortunes on the turf, until that 
welcome, moment should. arrive, to realize 
his golden- prospects, beyond, the po^sibl- 
lirv of chance to destrov* 




*' And yet he soat'd beyond the spells that bind 
The s|pw perception of the. vulgar mind." 

Mrs. RoBiNSOK. 

'* And so, Sir Thomas," said Doctor 
Clayfield to the Baronet, *^ you are gO" 
ing to traverse a part of Europe. You 
will have an opportunity to contrast the 
manners, laws, and religion, of the re- 
gions you will pass through with those you 
leave behind; and I do not, doubt, Sir,- 
your piety, loyalty, and patriotism, will 
return home fortified by t!)ecoiiij>arisc>n. 
The only advantage I conceive ^a]^, En- 
glishman can reap from visiting foreign 
parts, is to learu to cherish, on his return, 



with redoubled ardour, those institutions 
that are dear to him, and to strengthen 
the consciousness he ought to set out 
with, of the infinite inferiority, in every 
possible respect, of every other land to 
Britain, the mother of arts, of religion, 
morals, patriotism, science, virtue, kide- 
pendance, disinterestedness, benevolence, 
philanthropy, urbanity, a«d every religi- 
ous, social, and private virtue/' 

*' I am sensible," replietl the Baronet, 
** that an honest mind's first leaning will 
always be towards the country that gave 
hipj. birth. Unless it be soured, and its 

social feelings distorted by some personal' 
suffering, some deep mortification, that 
associates with the chagrins of the heart, 
the country in which they arose, a man 
will be disj)osed, from inclination as well 
as duty, to find fresh reasons for a pre- 
ference qf his native land. But if his 
wishes run before his judgment, and he 
sets out with a predisposition to censure 
and despise, he had better remain where 



he is. As long as he stays at home, he 
may entrench himself within the bulwark 
of patriotic idolatry, and need not live in 
dread, lest any stubborn matter of fact, 
or ocular demonstration, should obtrude 
itself, to shake the robust solidity of his 
faith. Characters like these are apt to 
identify their own intellectual respecta- 
bilitv, with the truth of their notions, so 
intimately, that you cannot call their 
opinions in question without insulting 
their understanding. There are two 
classes of men," continued the Baronet, 
** who ought never to leave their own 
firesides, they that have not the wish, 
and they who have not the sense, to be 
candid. For myself, I shall leave every 
thing personal behind me ; to speak more 
correct Iv, I have little ,of*that nature to 
Jcavc. 'J'he union which has recently 
been brought about, in depriving me of 
a seat in parliament 1 had hlled for forty 
years, and my ancestors for three centu- 
ries before, leaves me at leisure to visit 




other races of men, and observe the in- 
fluence of other modes of government on 
national character. I esteem and ap- 
prove the constitution of my own coun- 
try, as far as I understand it that is ; but, 
methinks, if it were less complicated, it 
woijd stand a chance of being more ad- 
mired, by being better understood." 

** That is much to be doubted," inter- 
rupted the Doctor. ** The spirit of pry- 
ing analysis that now stalks abroad, 
searching to spy into all things, nay, 
even into the hidden things of God," is, 
I fear, equally pernicious in politics as iu 
religion. If men were wise, they would 
content themselves, as the illustrious 
Burke advises, *' to understand it accord^ 
ing to th'eir measure, and to venerate 
where they are not able to understand*." 

*' That is," said the blunt but benevo- 
lent Millbank, *' according to their in- 
terest. The imagination is very fertile in. 


* Burke's Appeal, &o. p. '2&Sr 


perceiving beauties where it feds advan- 

The Doctor, without seeming to no- 
tice this renuirk, continued — '* The high 
and venerable antiquity of a constitution,, 
which has preserved itself pure through a 
long succession of ages, is surely a sutn- 
cient title to tlie cKhniration of a people, 
better able to enjoj- and feel its blessings, 
than to sound the depth and wisdom of 
its institutions. Since the reign of 
John, wdience it may be said to bear 
date, have we not seen it resist the lapse 
of years and the attacks of innovation — 
preserve for centmies the rights of those 
it governed, amidst the shock of contend- 
ing dynasties — stand immoveabl-e as a 
rock in the storms of religious revolution, 
and, finally, interweaving its two branches 
of church and state, form the happy shade 
under whicii we repose, '* hx latebrse 

** I understan<l vou, Doctor — these 
charming glebes," said Sylvester with a 
smile. JUe feared the Doctor's frowns as 



Httle as be respected his candour ; and 
taking, rather than asking, the ** parole,'^ 
he continued — '* It is often unfortunate 
for a good cause, that its defence is taken 
up at the MTong end. When we hear a 
string of pleas inade use of, . which, 
though plausible, bear their own fallacy 
on the front of them, we take for granted 
tliere are no better in reserve, and be- 
come indisposed to listen to the more va- 
lid ones that are injudiciously kept be- 
hind. The perpetual struggles that have 
been maintained between the sovereign 
and the people, from the earliest ages till 
the glorious epoch of the Revolution, 
convince me, that the people of England, 
before the last period, never had a consti- 
tution properly so called. The rights 
and privileges they, however, imperfectly 
now enjoy, are no other than the succes- 
sive spoils of despotism, thd fruits of a 
warfare continually maintained against 
the tyranny of their rulers, in which they 
were disputed and won by the nation step 
by step. It b true, the gradual progress 



of municipal emancipation spread with 
the (lawn of letters, at an early age, from 
Italy to France, thence to Germany, and, 
lastly, to Enoland* ; but the boasted 
charter obtained by force from John, re- 
garded in nowise the mass of the people ; 
it was a mere compact between the crowii 
and the nobles, f whose power and inde- 
pendance were strengthened at the ex-^ 
pence of ihe royal autiiority, and, in that 
sense, it was rather injurious than favour- 
able to the cause of civil liberty. Magna 
"C'harta left the mass of the people in the 
same abject servitude in which it found 
them. It -did not even profess to ame- 
>lJorate their lot. Magna ' Gharta was 
signed in 1216, and under Edward 
III. one hundred and sixty one years 
after, vilianage still subsisted in the 
royal, episcopal, an dv baronial manors. 


* Corporation charters were first granted by Henry H, and 
emancipation from bondage was otiained by a residence ol a 
year and a day in a chartered borough, by a law passed under 

t 5^ Aragoa Chaita, Art* ljm>^ 


Civilization had not yet, In the fifteenth 
century, nuide such progress as entirely 
to abolish slavery. But within a feu- 
years after tlie accession of the Tudors, 
shives were heard of no more. We find 
statutes to prevent an}- person who had 
not twenty shillings (equal to ten pounds 
•modern money) per year of real property, 
from breeding up Ids children to any other 
occupation than that of husbandry. . And 
no one who had been employed in such 
work till after the age of twelve years, 
was permitted to turn to any other voca* 
lion. The condition of the slave in Eng- 
land was as wretched as the despot who 
owned him thought proper to make it. 
His «oods were his master's, and v/hat- 
ever injuries he might sustain, he had no 
pouer to sue that master in any court of 
justice. Even so lately as the year lo^6\ 
a bill for the total abolition of servitude 
we find was rejected by the House of 
Lprds*. The grotesque pomp of civic 


• Sec Public Acts , Rymer's Fjedcra j "P/ynne. *c. 


honours, now no more than the sliado\v' 
of a shade, which has long ceased to com- 
mand tlie reverence, even of the vulgar, 
is yet deserving of more attention than t!ie 
smile with which they are contemplated, 
They merit the same veneration as the 
curfew, the manorial suit and service, and 
other relics of feudal tyranny,, for they 
form a standing libel against our vain- 
glorious boast of aboriginal freedom. The 
name of liveryman was once that of free- 
man, and countryman, or alien, v/as 
synonimous to slave. Borough privileges 
were only advantages taken of the avarice^ 
or needy rapacity of the monarch, who, 
to satisfy his immediate wants, sold to the 
vassal inhabitants of certain places, char- 
ters and immunities that cost him no- 
thing, and thus lifted them up, like so- 
litary islands rising out of the black weaves 
of general slavery. At a period like the 
present, when to respire the air of Bri- 
tain is to participate in the liberty of 
Britons, it will perhaps be thought these 
VOL. I. K muni- 


municipal distinctions ought to be sup* 
pressed. They were selfish in their first 
institution, and at this day they are at 
least useless. The Commons of England, 
that is, the knights, delegates of tlie free- 
holders, or minor nobility, and the repre- 
sentatives of free burghs and cities, form- 
ed a house of parliament under Henry 
III, but till a late era they only pretend- 
ed to the right of petition. Previous to 
the reign of Henry VI, they did not dare 
to arrogate any other authority than that 
of interposing their advice*. In 1404? 
they had not the right of deciding on the 
merit of their own elections. We find 
that year the House of Commons was ob- 
liged to petition the Crown to direct the 
Lords to examine into a false return for 
Rutland, and punish the offenders. The 
elections during the Lancastrian dynasty 
in 1459, had scarcely the semblance of 
decency. The members were pointed out 


* Blackstone, 


by riie king, in letters under the privy 
seal^ and these the sheriffs returned. For 
this outrao-eous insult on the constitution^ 
an act of indemnity was obtained. 

'' Do we trace^ at a more recent period^ 
a respect for the sacred prerogatives of 
parliament, and the chartered rig!Us of 
the subject, in the, speeches and procla- 
mations of the infamous Stuarts, or in 
their conduct towards tlie members of the 
two legislative bodies of the realm? Mem- 
bers of parliament were committed to the 
common jails of the kingdom, and distin- 
guished citizens pressed for sohliers, for 
refusing to com[)ly with the arbitrary and 
unsanctioned demands for money of those 
monarclis. The power, of imprisonment, 
witliout cause or trial, was formally in- 
sisted upon in 1DC8> as indispensable to 
ihiC sovereignty. The next ^ear nine 
members were taken into custod}^^ for 
liaving prejpared a remonstrance against 
the king's conduct in ordering the seiz- 
j.ire of goods for refusing to pay the il- 
7; 9. legal 


legal duties of tonnage and poundage. 
Four of these were- committed to the 
Tower, for refusing to be answerable 
for what they did or said in parha- 
ment, and prosecuted (as well as the five 
others) in the Star Chamber. They were 
refused the benefit of habeas corpus; and 
Sir John Elliot, with others, perished in 
their dungeons. While the highest au- 
thority of the r^alm, the coui^ of parlia- 
ment, met with so little deference from 
the tyrant of the day, it is not to be sup- 
posed that the juries who decided on the 
fates of their fellow-citizens, were more 
independant. To state the innumerable 
violations of faith, justice, and public 
rio-ht, the abroo-ation of everv charter and 
institution on which the nation could 
found its claims to freedom, during these 
ignominious reigns, would be to repeat 
the whole pages of British annals. '* His- 
tory,'* says an eminent writer, whose name 
escapes me, ** is philosophy teaching by 
examples.'* He might have said, with 



equal propriety, ^' history is philosopliy 
talking the hospitals, or studying in a 

*' In reading our history, up to tlie 
period of the Revohition at least, and the 
biography of the personages wiio succes- 
sively, during the same period, exhibited 
to the woild their talents and their me?n- 
ness, their courage and their ^crimes, one 
is led to ask, where is that boasted con- 
stitution, always invoked, and always set 
aside, the moment it stood in the way of 
the despot's will, or that of the favourite 
of-theday? and what is become of that 
integrity, sincerity and humanity, we are 
so often told is the distinguishing glory 
of this nation, amidst such a tissue of ca- 
Umitv and crime, such a series of treach- 
ery and despotism, where to be disgraced 
was to perish, where the courtier so often 
read in the mornino; smile of the tvrant 
at whose feet he fawned, the sentence of 
his evening condemnation? 

'* Tiie elements that compose the pre- 
K 3 sent 


sent edifice of British freedom, are excel- 
lent. The form under Avhich they are 
Gombined, is, as far as theory goes, ad- 
mirable ; and public spirit, with which 
the principles they are founded on are 
maintained inviolate^ is the surest guarant 
of their permanency. But let us not 
evoke the bugbear of antiquity to oppose 
their practical amelioration — I say ameli* 
oration, for reform is not the word. The 
present degree of perfection to which the 
structure of public weal has attained, is 
the result of successive improvements,, 
and the farther we trace back our steps 
(and reform has no other meaning), the 
nearer we come to those times when bar- 
barism and servitude went hand in hand." 
Men's impatience under uneasiness, 
displays itself in a variety of ways. Doc- 
tor Clayfield^ unaccustomed to be replied 
to^ much less foiled in an argunient, 
quitted the bench v,here the party were 
seated, and, assuming a smile he meant 
di]cfCit(l be mistaken for contempt, but 



which was in fact tlie sardonic expression 
of overweening s^H, stalked liis lank 
figure in silence down one of the alleys, 
his flapped hat oversliadowing his greea 
spectacles, and affected to examine the 
flowers as he passctl along- 

k4 chap. 



♦* Cohlsience, that of all physic -works the last." 

The arrangements preparatory to Sir 
Thomas O'Callaghan's long absence from 
Princely Hall being now completed, and 
t]>e appointed time for bis de[jarture near- 
ly arrived, he became every hour more 
impatient for the day. Ellen, with an 
anxiety equal to that her father had 
evinced in the settlement of his own im- 
mediate concerns, attended to those of 
the liitle dependants of her bounty, Siie 
visited all the cottages round, looked into 
their wants^ administered to their com- 


forts, and, with tearful eyes, bade adieu 
to their inhabitants — '* Alas !" thought 
she, as she slowly retraced her steps to 
the Hall through the wood, '* shall I 
ever i^visit these dear abodes — shall I be 
permitted to behold once more these 
grateful people, to contribute to their 
happiness along with my own, and to see 
my loved father extend his blessings to 
the joyous objects of his benevolence i^ 
Ah ! dear, dear shades of my childhood i" 
exclaimed she aloud, '* I carry the re- 
membrance of you in my heart; and 
though it should be Heaven's will I re- 
turn to you no more, yet shall your loved 
recollection remain for ever there. Days 
of past happiness, it is now I look back 
on you with regret.** 

Ellen had thrown herself on a rustic 
bench at tlie foot of a venerable oak, her 
head resting on her arms, and her tears 
bedewing the seat on v/hich she reclined ; 
while wrapt in the labyrinth of melan- 
choly, into which her busy anxious 
K 5 thjoughts 


thoughts had roamed, she heard not the* 
approach of footsteps, till some person 
tenderly laying one hand on- her shoulder, 
and with the other raising her head — 
*' Ellen, dearest Ell— Miss O'Callaghan,'* 
and her glistening eyes encountered the 
confused looks of Mr. Sylvester. 

*^Good Heaven! Miss O'Callaghan," 
said he, assisting her to rise, ** why these 
sif^ns of sorrow? Can vour heart be so 
early acqnainte^l with aftlictions r" 

'' Ah,, Mr. Sylvester," replied she^ 
sighing, '^ have not you penetration siif- 
lident to discover the cause? I have 
been to visit my poor fi iends in'*the ham^ 
lets, and perhaps,'' added she, while her 
tears ilov/cd afresh, *' perhaps for tlie 
last ilme. Is it, then, wonderful I should 
i)e deeply, poignantly affected, at receiv- 
ing their adieus ? From my first dawn 
of reason to this moment, these good 
creatures have testified for vac the strong- 
est affect ion. Their attachment has been 
the happiness of my life; and can L qurt 




them, probably for ever, without feeling, 
every sentiment of affection and sensibi-? 
lily awakened by the separation ?'* 

*^ Were you to be unconcerned at such 
a parting, Miss O'Gallaghan," said Syl- 
vester, ** I confess your character wouUl 
appear to me in a new light. Yet, par^ 
don me if I say, that too much sensibility- 
degenerates into weakness of mind, and 
seems to express a want of reliance on a 
liigher Power. We should not anticipate 
ills that may perhaps never reach us, or, 
if we do, it should only be to prepare our^ 
selves for supporting them. You antici- 
pate yoi\js> father's dissolution, Miss OiCai- 
laghan ; whenever it takes place, I ami 
well assured it will be a severe trial to 
your mind; yet, even that, irreparable 
misfortune, it will be your duty to bear 
with pious resignation. The indulgence 
of immoderate grief, implies a repining 
at Heaven's high behest, that must be 
displeasing to it. How much more 
bUuiicable, tlierefore, is the anticipatioji 
K. 6 o£ 


of affliction, which evinces a distrust of 
its benevolence. Your father, my dear 
Miss O'Callaghan, is not immortal; soon- 
er or later he must change thrs transitory 
(life, for that better one to wliich his 
virtues are the passport. Yet is his life 
far from precarious ; neither his age, his 
constitution, or his health, bespeak the 
appearance of its speedy termination ; and 
however your filial apprehensions may in- 
cline you to foresee danger, believe me, 
there are not the smallest grounds for 
your fears. Nay, my dear young friend," 
continued he, in a more sprightly tone, 
to turn her thoughts from their present 
channel, ^' so far from thi^nking Sir 
Thomas O'Callaghan's life in any man- 
ner '})recarious, it is not improbable he 
may survive the youthful heir apparent 
of Princely Hall, even though that heir 
should have the good fortune to meet a 
2iatural death, v;hich, to td\ the truth, I 
fear is not much to be expected, as I 
should not wonder to hear if one or other 



of bis exploits terminated with some fatal 

'* You don't know how happy you 
make me, Mr. Sylvester/' said Ellen, 
>viping her eyes, and assuming her na- 
tural placidity, '' by your sanguine opi- 
nion of my dear father's life; for 1 am 
convinced, that did you think otherwise, 
you Avould not speak with so nuich con- 
fi^Jence, though delicacy might oblige 
you to soften the idea of approaching 
danger, and I will no mare indulge this 
weakness. Yet, though it were even the 
will of Heaven to take my dear loved pa- 
rent, and my return to these esteemed 
objects round me was to be purchased by 
giving my hand to Mr. Newburgh, I 
should far sooner bid them an eternal 
farewell than become his wife/' 

'* I believe, " answered S}lvester, '* liad 
Mr. Newburgh been found to answer the 
Baronet's expectations, it would have 
been an event highly grateful to him; 
and had Mr. Newburglfs character and 


zOiy THE OLD ir;i>:i baronet. 

manners been such as to entitle him to 
Miss O'Callaghan's good opinion, / like- 
wise think it had been a most happy cir- 
cumstance for all parties." 
' *Mndeed!" cried Ellen. '• Do you 
really think so, Mr. Sylvester?'' and she 
looked at him with more penetration than 
she was herself aware of *' And would 
i/ou also have approved of my marriage 
with Air. Newburgh ?" 

*' Me, Miss 0CLdla2;han !" be replied^ 
'Mt had been very presumptuous, indeed, 
in me, to have given my opinion on such 
a sul)ject, where your father was so much 
better able, and so much better qualiiied, 
to direct you in so important a concern." 

*^ I drd not want to know ho v.- far it 
had been presuming, '^ said Ellen, pettish- 
ly; '* I merely askell you a (|uestion of 
myself, which had no reference to wdiat 
my fatlier might tliink." 

'* Then/' answered Sylvester, ** had 
]\Ir. Newburgh's education and manners 
been such as his, rank. and property gave 

a right. 


aTiglit to expect, 1 certainl^^ think — that 
is, I most indubitably slioulcl approve,, 
and rejoice in" any event that contributed 
to the hap[)iness of Sir Thomas O'Calla- 
g'han and his daughter." 

'' I make no doubt of that, Mr. Syl- 
vester," said Ellen, with a heavy sigh, 
Avhich she could not suppress; '^ but had 
Mr. Newburgh been tli€ most finished 
gentleman in existence, though he migiit 
have had more of my respect, he never 
should have possessed more of my lavour 
than he does at this Rioment. " 

'* Were I inclined to cross-examine 
you, Miss O-Cailaghan," ansvvered Syl*- 
Tester, with an affecte<l smile, '* your 
words offer a fair opportunity ; for it sel- 
dom happens that an- elegant man, who 
endeavours to please, passes- unnoticed by 
a- female of tlie same description." 

** But suppose," said Ellen, who, guid- 
ed by a sentiment indescribable to her- 
seU", found j)leasure in pursuing a subject 
so iuterV)Oven with her own innocent at- 


tachment, ^^ suppose slie were already 
prepossessed in favour of another?'* 

**Then/' he replied, *^ all other meri 
must be indifferent to her.'* 
I ** I shall never marry any one," said 

'* Make no rash resolutions, " cried Mr. 
Sylvester, adopting still a gayer tone, 
** for such are often er broke than kept. 
It is only for desponding old maids to 
protest against matrimony, vv'hen they 
find no one disposed to commiserate 

** And what -is to be said of old 
bachelors, Mr. Sylvester ?'* asked Ellen. 

V* O," replied he, *' they are undeserv- 
ing any comment, for the fault of their 
being so rests entirely with themselves." 

** Perhaps, Mr. Sylvester," resumed 
Ellen, ** I may chance to get a peep at 
your divinity wiiile on our travels, as I 
should presume she is not of this coun- 
try. Will you promise to let me see her, 
should we come in the way of U?'* 

'' It 


** It is very seldom," cried Sylvester, 
playfully, shaking bis bead, *' that one 
handsome woman acknowledges beauty 
in another, and as I have a high opinion 
of my own discernment in this respect, 
I shoultl not like to have it called in 
question ; therefore. Miss O'Callaghan, 
ril not promise to point her out to you." 

** Then she is super laiiveli/ lovely, I 
suppose?" said Ellen, and rather sarcasti- 
cally too. 

*' She is, indeed !'* answered Sylvester, 
with more gravity, but peculiar energy. 
** And what's more, Miss O'Callaghan, 
{.he is superlatively amiable.'* 

The tears trembled in Ellen's blight 
eyes, though she endeavoured to assume 
an air of unconcern ; yet so anxious was 
she on the subject, that she had not re- 
solution to discODlinue,it. 

*' I wonder," she resumed, stooping to 
pluck a flower, which [)ossil)ly shflr did not 
at the moment recognize from a cabbage 
stalk, ^' 1 wonder, Mr. Sylvester, you 



can have eiulured so lon^ a separation 
from this charming woman ; you have 
been two years a resident at the Hall." 

** I once g^ve you to understand, IVUss 
'O'CaUaghan," replied Sylvester, very se- 
riously, •* that I had no hop^s respecting 
that person, the which I now repeat — I 
never had, nor ever can. Yet, were I 
master of the world, I would lay it at her 
feet; but I am not so lost to reason or 
sense, as to subject myself to her con- 
tempt by an open avowal of these senti- 
ments. Her happiness is dearer to me 
than my own ; her fame and respectabi- 
lity the first wish of a heart eternally de- 
voted to her. Her friendship is all 1 dare 
aspire to, for she is placed in a situation 
too exalted for me to look up to.'* 

*' And how do you know," said Ellen, 
" that she does not feel as \varmly inte- 
rested for you as you do for her ?'* 

'' Good God !" ejaculated Sylvester,. 
*' have you so contemptible an opinioa 
of me, IVIiss O'CuUaghan, as to conceive 

I should 


I should even adniit such an idea for a 
moment? No, did I imagine myself fa- 
voured with a single thought beyond 
what friendsliip inspires, I should fl}^ to 
the verge of the earth, rather than come 
in her presence. Happy, supremely hap- 
py, as such a conviction would make me 
under other circumstances, those which 
exist compel me to look on it as the great- 
est misfortune that could befal me; and 
if it were possible she regarded me in a 
more favourable light, never, never may 
I be acquainted with it, for then, indeed, 
I should be miserable." 

" You are the first lover, I believe," 
said Ellen, '' that was ever so conscienti- 
ous. But were she a princess (and I can 
suppose her of no higher rank), I don't 
see ho A' she would disgrace herself by a 
virtuous affection for a deserving object. 
But I perceive the subject is painful to 
you, Mr. Sylvester; yet, ere we drop it, 
T would say one thing first — if fortune 
•ilone is the obstacle to your happiness, be 



candid, and tell me; yousliail notrepent 
of your confidence." 

*^ Were I to say it was not an obstacle, 
my kind, considerate Miss O'Caliaghan,'^ 
replied he, ^' I should offend against tl}e 
truth ; hut there are others of equal mag- 
nitude, over which a mystery hangs, that 
may never be developed. You'll say, 
neither are my words very comprehen- 
sible, but I allude to myself in them." 

** To those," said Ellen, ^' who con- 
sider fortune and rank as the sole appen- 
dages to human felicity, they are certain- 
ly necessary considerations, and as it may 
be the case in this instance, I have only 
to regret that it is not in my power to 
give i/ou both. Yet, if one can com- 
pensate for the other, I tliink I may 
venture to say, my fatlier would not, 
for the sake of a few thousamls, see you 
miserable for life — and when I am mis- 
tress of my fortune, which will be when 
I am twenty-one, I promise to divide it 
with you^ if it can tend to ensure your 



happiness ; for as I certainly never will 
change my condition, 1 must be very ex- 
travagant indeevl, if three thousand a year 
cannot afford me all the elegancies of life 
that I shall wish for." 

*' Dear, generous, noble Ellen," ex- 
claimed Sylvester, rapturously kissing her 
hand, *' why is it that you so pre-emi- 
nently shine superior to your sex, and 
with an understanding beyond most wo- 
men of your years, display that sweet 
simplicity of nature, which renders you 

*' Spare your compliments to me, IMr. 
Sylvester,'* said Ellen, ** they can only 
belong to 07}t woman, and Ellen O'Calla- 
ghan cannot be that one. But consider 
of my proposal ; if it meets your appro- 
bation, have no reluctance to inform me ; 
ni) word is my bond." 

Ellen, with apparent cheerfulness, kiss- 
ed her hand to Mr. Sylvester, as she turn- 
ed up a different alley leading to the 
house, and immediately proceeded to her 



own apartment. Poor Ellen— alas I she 
knew not all the secret winding of her 
own innocent heart. She fancied she had 
been interrogating Mr. Sylvester through 
, a motive totally independant of self , while, 
in fact, it was only self t\mt predominated 
throughout; and, now convinced that he 
was fondly and faithfully attached to 
some unknown lady, she was even un- 
knowingly selfish in her offers to him of 
fortune, as she experienced the sole hap- 
piness she could derive from his com- 
munication, by thinking,, that should he 
accept her proposal, it would ensure his 
future felicity, and to her he would con- 
sider himself indebted for it. Ellen wept, 
without knowing well to what particular 
subject to attribate her tears. Her father 
and Princely Hall certain 1}^ engrossed 
part of them, but Mr. Sylvester, and the 
unknown divinifT/, were not without their 
share. Poor Ellen, again ! Poor Ellen> 
indeed! Her heart was irrevocably de- 
voted to its first attachment ; and not all 



the philosophy of argument, in favour iof 
right and wrong, could weaken the more 
.powerful system which had taken root 
within. At dinner she complained of a 
slight head-ache — she meant heart-ache, 
we imagine, and attributed it to having 
walked too long in the heat — it was ra- 
ther a coohday, in the month of April ; 
but the Baronet, more penetrating, 
though not absolutely right in his con- 
jecture, set it doM-n to her visit through 
the hamlet, and tenderly sought to divert 
her mind from dwelling too much upon 
its recollection. When the servants had 
withdrawn, all but old Connolly, who 
stopped to arrange something of the side- 
board, there being noperson at table but 
the immediate family, namely. Sir Tho- 
mas, Ellen, and Air. Sylvester, the Ba- 
ronet said — '' I had a visit to-day from 
Father Dunlavie, while you were abroad, 
Ellen, my love, and it was productive of 
some very extraordinary intelligence." 
Connolly made a rattle \\'ith some of 



the plate behind Sir Thomas, who turned 
round his head— " Oh ! Connolly, I say.'^ 
** Yur Honour," replied the butler, ad- 
' ** The Duncarty legend is come to 
light at last," continued Sir Thomas. 
** The murder is out." 

** Then the child was murthered in 
downrite arnast. Sir," exclaimed the old 

"Pshal you nincompoop," cried the 
Baronet; *^ no one was murdered that I» 
know of; but tlie story of the bones is 
found out. Has the servants' bell rang 
fordinneryet? because, if it has, you may 
go. Ill tell you about it some other 
time, as I know it will be a quietus to 
your poor mind." 

** Now, yur Honour, if you plase,'* 
answered the anxious servant ; ** I'd ra- 
ther be after hearing all about the story, 
nor ate the finest dinner that ivir was 
seed at Princely Hall." 

*'Well, so you sjiall, Connolly," re- 

THE OlyD iRlSIt BARONIitc 21'^ 

plied the considerate master ; ^' but ni'': ' 
and keep it to yourself.'* 

Sir Thomas leaned over the table, and 
addressed himself to his daughter and 
Sylvester, while Connolly, all attention, . 
leaned on the back of the Baronet's 

*' I told you,'* proceeded he, *' ! had 
a visit this morning from Father Dun- 
lavie, vv^ho requested a private audience 
with me, and we went togetlier into my 
study, where I shall give you the good 
priest's communication in his own v/ords. 
* Some days ago, Sir Thomas,' he began, 
' i was sent for to administer the rites 
of our church to a poor man vdio was 
dying, and desired to see me immediately. 
I dare say you knew him, Baronet, one 
Maurice Kennedy; v/ho lived on your 
estate here. I made no delay,' continued 
Father Dunlavie, * but set out instantly, 
and found the poor creature very near 
bis last moments indeed." 

** I knosv^'d Maurice Kinnidy viry will, 

yur Honour," cried Connolly, interrupt- 

VOL. I. L ing 


lug: Sir Thomas. ^' He lived at the in4 
of the stone v/all that runs thorough the 
middle corner of the round pasture field, 
ovir forninst the little owld bridge; you 
may rimimber yur Honour had it ihrowii' 
clown twice afore it was built up, bekays 
you found the workmin had gone a taste 
too fsr on one of yur tinant's land ; and 
jou may ricillict, Sir Thomas, how the 
man big'd and prayed of yur Honour not 
to do it, but you sid" — 

** I don't want to hear a dissertation 
on the old wall, " cried the Baronet, '* nar 
^A^hat I said or did, only beg, that if you 
wish to hear the story, you"ll listen to it 
in silence. ^ 1 found,* continued Father 
Dunlavie, ' that, though the poor man 
-svas rapidly advancing to his last mo- 
ments, he was able to speak and be un- 
derstood, and as it was necessary I should 
hear his confession, and for which he 
seemed very anxious, I dismissed every 
person from the room ; but, without 
breaking the subject, by describing how 
much he was affected during its recital, I 



siiall pursue the principal points of this 
man's communications, Baronet, in his 
own words. — ' I cannot quit this world in 
peace, ' saitl Maurice, ' or rest in my gra\'e, 
till I have disclosed to your Reverence a 
p^icce of guilt that weighs heavy on my 
soul. It is many years back, my good 
Father, since I first heard something of 
the deaths of Lord and Lady Duncarty, 
together with the wonderful disaj>pear-' 
aiice of their young son ; and that it was 
supposed her Ladyship, in consequence 
of this ciiild^s strange loss, and from some 
disturbances that were about that time ia 
Ireland, together with tii€ absence of her 
Lord, who was in the wars abroad, had 
been, for awhile previous to her decease, 
unsettled in her reason, though uot 
absolutely mad ; and fearing some evil 
design on the Hall, with the cunning 
so natural to a deranged mind, had secre- 
ted some of the family jewels, but never 
made any dicrcovery of them, and died 
])efore her Lord's return ; for it was only 
"vhen he did come home, and missed many 
L Js: valua- 

^2<^ TttE OLD IRISrt ^AlRONET, 

valuables, besides papers of consequi^ncc 
to himself, that there was any suspicion 
of what her Ladyship had don'tf; but 
though every place about the house was 
'strictly searched, both by my Lord's 
orderS; and the gentleman who succeed- 
ed him before Sir Thomas 0"Callaghan 
came into possession, nothing of them 
could ever be found. Long after my 
Lord's death, there were first some whis- 
pers spread of him and his Lady's spirits 
being seen about the place, but particu- 
larly the old chapel, where they Vrere 
buried, and where my Lady, in her me- 
lancholy fits of madness^ used constantly 
to go; and it was then conjectured that 
the family jewels were hid somewhere in 
the vaults of it, but no person had cou- 
rage to make the search, and the story 
gradually died away." 

" Width submission, yur Honour," 
cried the incorrigible butler, again inter- 
rupting the Baronet, '* there is just such 
another story, consarning of Dononore 
Hole, in the county of Wexford, where 



there is ^trezure hmd down in the water,, 
like a grate pan of goold, that's guarded 
by a tirrible big cat, and a greyhound. 
And sure they're seen, as plain as any 
thing in the world, down in the bo-ttonv 
of the spring well, of a fine cleer sun- 
sliiny day. Til just till yur Honour alU 
about it.*' 

'* Damn you and Dononore Hole to- 
gether," exclaimed the Baronet. *' Can't' 
you keep your foolish tongue quiet for once^ 
m your life? Always^ always intrudhig 
that cursed nonsense of your's. I v/onder 
you're not tired of hearing yourself re- 
peat such trash;** 

"I'm dun, yur Honour," cried Con* 
noliy ; ** only that it's as true as i am a~ 
living sinner — God pardon inC; and we're 
all sinners, to be sure. But yoa see, Sir 
ThomaS; the lord o'the manor — I don't 
know his name, had the' water draned 
out oft in and oftin, to cum to tlie crock 
o'goold, but the cat and the dog tore like 
lions, and they was all afeard to tuch it; 
so there it's to stay till the troe and law- 
.. . l3 . fuL 


fill heir cums to take it away \nflth him, 
y.\st for all thewoilcl; as one may say, lilce 
P incely Hall ; for I'm sartin that Mr. 
Newburg is no more the heir of this place 
'nor I am, for he's like nothing at all at 
all that ivir belonged to it." 

** He said you were a conjurer, sure 
enough," replied Sir Thomas ; *' and 
should any thing of tlie kind occur here- 
after, I think he'll have good reason for 
dubbing you one. But, pray, keep si- 
lence, if you can, Mr. Connolly, and give 
me leave to conclude my story, now that 
I presuHieyour's is ended.'* 

This serious rebuke had at once the de- 
sired effect, and old Connolly resumed 
his station at tlie cliair, without offering 
another word. The Baronet resumed his 
subject as before. 

.* My father did not die,' continued 
Slaurice, * till I was myself advanced in 
3'ears, and was married, and had a grow- 
ing family. He left me all he could, but 
I found it very little to support us all, 
notwithstanding I worked hard at my 
' labour. 


Babour. Well, your Reverence; soTneliow 
er other, it at last came into my head! 
about the treasure I bad heard of, that 
was supposed to be buried in the vault of 
Lord and Lady Duncarty ; and I thought, 
if I could pluck up courage to search for 
ft, may be I might be successful, and my 
fortune was made ; for, did I find it, I 
would go away from this part of the 
world, and set myself up as a grazier iiic 
some distant part, where I would' not be 
known at all. So, after a great while 
thinking about the business, I at last ven* 
tured to the old' chapel one night by my- 
self, and brought a dark lanthorn, with a 
spade aud pick-ax, to turn up the clay, 
and to work 1 went. Some of the old 
brick-work was very much decayed, so 
that I had little trouble in removing that; 
but just as I got to a parcel of broken 
Goffins, and had thrown out some old 
bones, 1 was so terribly frightened by the 
braying of an ass, that T did not well* 
know at the moment what it was, till, ia 
tny terror to get away, I came full plump 
L 4 against 

224 ruE OLD raiSH baronet* 

against the 'beast, and had nearly broke 
my head by a fall I got over him, and I 
V as so terrified, that I did not go near 
the place again for a great while. How- 
'ever, when my fright had pretty well worn 
off, I made another attempt, and got 
further and further into the vault, for it 
^ "was SQ choaked up with stones and rub- 
bish, that I could not advance mucb at 
a time, and I did not dare go often to 
work, for fear of being discovered, so 
that it was only about two or three years 
ago I could finish my task. It was just 
then that the report of the bones rising 
became so prevalent about the place, whea 
your Rct.erence used so often to bury 
them, and by that means gave me double 
trouble, for I had always to undo what 
you had done ; but at last you gave up 
all further attempts to keep them down^ 
and heartily glad I was of it; and as the 
people were now become so much alarm- 
ed, I had no fears of being interrupted. 
To work, therefore, I went once more, 
and^ just at the foot of the ,vault, came 



to a large broad ^ flag-stone^ which I be- 
lieve was id former times the entrance of 
the vault, but <vas now covered over with 
clay and broken bricks^ that I had great 
difficulty in clearing away^ but when I. 
did, I removed the flag without any 
trouble, for a child could have turned it^ 
and there^ your Reverence, in a. co-rner 
behind it, and covered with earth and 
stones, I found this box.' He pulled a. 
small square box from under the bolster/ 
proceeded Father Dunlavie, / and gave it . 
into my hands; 'take it/ continued Mau- 
rice, "^ I have never enjoyed a moment's 
rest since it has-been in my possession^ 
nor never had courage, after all my trou- 
ble, to examine into it ; for I found that 
it very strongly* secured, and my con^ 
science would not let me break it open^; 
All I have to request is, that your Reve- 
rence will give it to Sir Thomas O'Calla- 
ghan, for he, 1 suppose, has tlie best and^ 
only right to it, and to tell his hionour 
that I a-m heartily sorry for having been 
so wicked as to disturb the ashes of ilie- 
L 5 dead. 


dead (though may be soirjC good iria}*- 
come to him from it), and also for be- 
ing the cause of so much alarm to the 
poor people about the place; but! hope 
,God wilt forgive me^ and that your Re- 
verence will pray for my poor soul.* The 
man died yesterday/ went on Father 
Dunlavie^ ' and\, agreeable to his desire, 
I give into your hands^ Sir Thomas, his 
sacrilegious theft." 

*' Aye/' cried Connolly^ v/ith a sigh, 
and shaking his grey locks, " poor crater, 
he dide yesterday, sure enough ; the Lord 
have marcy on him, and rist his poor 
sowl> am in. Sum of yur Honour's sar« 
vants intind going to his wake ta-night, 
bekays as he was a neighbour, to keen 
ovir him/* 

*' Not with my consent, should they 
go for that purpose/' replied the Baronet, 
'* as the practice of howling over the 
dead, from the moment the breath is out 
till they are put in the clay, meets, not my 
-: probation. I think it a shameful cus- 
, ' enever I've chanced to hear 


it, I imagined myself near a kennel of 
yelling hounds, instead of a decent and 
solemn assembly of mourners." 

'•' Why, but sure yur Honour knows it is 
only dacent and rite to cry ovir our poor 
fellow-craters," answered Connolly, ''^whia 
there's the Banshee itsilf, that follows all 
grate families to keen their diths. I ri- 
mimber whin my Lady dide, God rist her 
sowl, that it was hard all about the place 
for three uites afore; and if any thing 
was to happin yur Honour, the Lord pra- 
sarve you, or ]\liss Ellen there, why, 
the Banshee wud cry just tlie same way 
for you. And you see. Sir Thomas^ that 
makes it plain hov/ we shud do the same 

'' Very possible," replied the Baronet. 
*"■ But as I am rather dull at comprehend- 
ing incojnpreheiislble matters, I shall de- 
cline any further exposition of your pre- 
sent argument. And," continued he, 
addressing his other auditors, '^ as I have 
finished Father Dunlavie's communica- 


tion^ I shall now produce the box^ to be 
examined by the present company." 

>So saying he <withdrev7 for a few mi- 
nutes to his study^ and returned with the 
(box in his hand^ which, placing on the 
table, every person drew round with avi- 
dity to examine it, except Connolly, who 
kept rather in the background. It was 
an ebony casket, of about a foot and a. 
half square, and seemingly of Indian 
workmanship, but quite faded and despoil- 
ed of its original beauty; yet the hinges 
and clasps being of gold, the solidity was 
perfectly preserved. Sir Thomas, with- 
out any ceremony, was going to break it^ 
open, but Ellen requested the lock, which 
was also gold, mjght be tried iii'st with 
some'of her small keys, and run to fetch 
them. ' After a few trials, one was found 
to turn in it^ and the box flew open with 
a spring. A heap of rumpled papers lay. 
en the top, v/hich appeared as if hastily 
and carelessly thrown in, and which were 
pereeived to be very closely written on;, 
3 but 


but the cliaracters much faded and 
effaced. Beneath was a leaden top, 
tightly fitted, and close pressed down, 
\vhich, being removed, some scaled parch- 
ments were discovered, and under those 
a number of little boxes, ail filled with 
the niost valuable jewels and costly orna- 

" A treasure, indeed I" exclaimed the 
Baronet, as he examined into them. "But 
the question is, to w hom these wonderfully 
discovered effects belong?" 

" Not to yur Honour, I hope," cried 
Connolly; '' for I'm mortally sartin ther's 
nothing good bilongin to thim, and I 
wudn't tuch im for the whole world. 
The Lord prisarve us all I They beyn't 
good. Sir Thomas, I know they beyn't." 

*' And why not ?*' asked the Baronet ; 
" or what are your fears of them, Con- 
nolly ?" 

/' Fears, yur Honour," repeated the 
butler, " why they was only lain there 
to timpt the poor man that stole im ; 
and I shudn't woadir at all at all, if he 



was no more did nor niysilf, God be 
twixt me and harim f but carried oiF, 
body and bones, by the good people, just 
like the yiing heir/' 

'' Whew ! at it again. Con nolty," cried' 
Sir Thomas. '' But I see its in vain at- 
tempting to correct habitual folly— there 
is no tcaching_old dogs new tricks." 

"^ But, papa," said Ellen, '' I am of 
Connolly's opinion, that those things do- 
not by right belong to you. You. see 
this parchment, as well as I can decypher 
the letters, bears the name of " Lord 
Duncarty"' on it." 

'' Then do you keep the jewels in right 
of him, Ellen," said the Baronet, faceti- 
ously, '' for I don't think there i& any per- 
son will dispute your claim. For, as I 
imagine, that by right of succession they 
belong to me, I give them to you ; there- 
fore is there nothing further to be dis- 
puted about them." 

'' And the papers, papa,'* said she, 
^' what's to be done with those?" 

y Let Sylvester and you make them oufe 



together/' he answered, " and try what 
new discoveries they'll produce; and," 
added he, smiling, " Connolly may assist 
you with liis commentaries, when there is 
any hiatus in the text of them." - 

" Axing yur pardon, Sir Thomas," cried 
he, " I wudn't be after reed in a wurd in 
im, or laying my hand upon im, for all 
yur Hi)nour's whole istatc, for I'm sure 
the ghosts of Lord and Lady Duncarty 
will be about the liouse now iviry nitc. 
And, thank God, we are all a-going out 
of it, and that's more nor ivir 1 sid in my 
life afore, to wish mysilf away iVom 
Princely Hall." 

'* Well, and tliough they sliould ])ay it 
a visit," said Sir Thomas, laugiiing, *' why 
should you Iiave any apprehensions of 
yourselt, Connolly? It is not your cur- 
tains they'll shake, but mine, so you may 
sleep peaceably in that respect. (Jo now 
and get your dinner, but n)ind and don't 
blab, or I shall be seriously angry." 

Connolly withdrew* and we'll suppose 



not without repeating an av6 or two for 
his preservation. 

*' Here are two miniatures^ papa/* cried 
Ellen, " one of a beautiful woman. I 
w^onder was it Lady Duncarty ? Th^ 
other, a gentleman in uniform — bless 
me, I think there is a strong resem- 
blance'' — Ellen stopt and blushed. 

"Why/* cried the Baronet, \yith a 
smile, " do you think you ever saw the 
original, Ellen, that you have so sooa 
found out the likeness?" 

** How could I^ papa?" she answered, 
** for, as I presume it to be the picture 
of Lord Duncarty, he was dead, you 
know, before I was born." 

** Aye, or your mother either," said * 
Sir Thomas,, taking the miniature from 
her, the other being in the hands of Mr^ 
Sylvester, who very attentively regarded 

** You seem to view that picture with 
peculiar attention, Mr. Sj'lvester," said 
Ellen. ** Pray has it any resemblance 



to'* — again she paused, and again Ellen 
blushed deeper than before. 

** A strikino; one," he answered, with a 
lieavysigh— " a striking resemblance to a 
person I have now in my mind's eye.'* 

The Baronet paid no Jess attention to 
that one which he held of the gentle- 

** Very strange this !** he cried. ^* Let 
me look at that picture you hold, Sylves- 
ter, if yon please." 

Sylvester presented it to him, and Sir 
Thomas viewed both together. The fe^ 
male was dressed in a Spanish costume, 
^vhicli evidently expressed her to be the 
beautiful Spanish lady ; aud transccndent- 
ly beautiful the picture was, for, being so 
closely confined from the air, and of ex- 
quisite performance, both paintings re- 
tained a gr^at deal of their original co- 

^* This is most extraordinary V went 
c^n the Baronet. '* Most wonderful, in- 
' '' What, papa?" ask^d Ellen. 

•' No- 


^* Nothing at present, my love," he 
replied, replacing the miniatures in their 
repository; ** but sometime, when you 
have leisure on our journey, do you and 
'Mr. Sylvester look over this parchment 
and papers— the former is very carefully 
sealed up, I perceive, but the latter ap- 
pears to have been very negligently 
thrown in, and I believe will not be found 
easy to decypher. The characters don't 
appear to me either French or Italian, and 
I'm confident they're not English ,*^ y^t, 
as we have no time for making dis- 
coveries, let us keep what may come from 
this packet to entertain us hereafter." 

The casket was, therefore, replaced as 
before, and Ellen, being now its posses* 
sor, was careful to deposit it in a place 
where it would be conveniently at hand 
during her journey. A few days from 
this its long wished-for commencement 
took place; and Ellen, for the first time, 
took a long farewell of Princely Hall, we 
shall not say in what complexion of 
mind, as it may be better judged than 



ifexpressecl, Ijut certainly much more se* 
rene, since the encouraging hopes re- 
specting lier father, tlian she had here- 
tofoie been. She had ah'eady takeli a 
very affectionate leave of her friend 
Emily iMillbank, with whom slie^promis- 
ed to liold a correspondence, and detail 
to her every thing worthy af note on her 
travels. The Baronet, who never s utter- 
ed an opportunity to escape where he 
could render i^ervice, gave into the hands 
of Father Dunlavie the lease of a snu^ 
farm, with an acqui-ttal of rent during the 
state<l period of his absence, and a sum of 
money, to be employed in immediate 
necessities, for the widow and family of 
MauriGe Kennedy; and Ellen left her 
orders that the children should be ad- 
mitted into her school for their educa- 

Sir Tliomas, aware that the day of his 
departure being known, would collect all 
the inhabitants of the neighbourhood at 
the gates, set otf the evening before with 
Ellen aud Mr, Sylvester, in the new lan^ 



daulet, as if taking a drive out, for he 
could not bear to encounter the grateful 
ndieus of his people, and thought it the 
better way to avoid them entirely. Ait 
' additional pair of horses for the carriage, 
and two servants, had preceded them a 
couple of miles, and at an early hour 
they arrived in safety in Dublin, where 
the following day they were joined by old 
Connolly, the Baronet's valet, Mr. Syl- 
vester's servant, and Miss O'Callaghan's 
woman, which, with those that had ac* 
companied them to town, were all the 
retinue Sir Thomas took with him. After 
stopping a f^w days, to shew Ellen what- 
ever was deserving her attention in the 
metropolis of Ireland, they embarked for 
Holyhead, meaning from thence to con- 
tinue their route by easy stages to Lon- 

J-.Ni) OF VOL. I, 

JLane, Darling, and Co. tendcnhall-Stre^l, 



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