The Hogans, who seldom missed a Wake, Dance, Cockfight or any other
place of amusement or tumult, were not present, we need scarcely assure
our readers, at the wake-house of Mrs. M'Mahon. On that night they and
Teddy Phats were all sitting in their usual domicile, the kiln, already
mentioned, expecting Hycy, when the following brief dialogue took place,
previous to his appearance:
“What keeps this lad, Hycy?” said Bat; “an' a complate lad is in his
coat, when he has it on him. Troth I have my doubts whether this same
gentleman is to be depended on.”
“Gentleman, indeed,” exclaimed Philip, “nothing short of that will sarve
him, shure. To be depinded on, Bat! Why, thin, its more than I'd like to
say. Howanever, he's as far in, an' farther than we are.”
“There's no use in our quarrelin' wid him,” said Phats, in his natural
manner. “If he's in our power, we're in his; an' you know he could
soon make the counthry too hot to hold us. Along wid all, too, he's as
revengeful as the dioule himself, if not a thrifle more so.”
“If he an' Kathleen gets bothered together,” said Philip, “'twould be a
good look up for us, at any rate.”
Kate Hogan was the only female present, the truth being that Philip and
Ned were both widowers, owing, it was generally believed, to the brutal
treatment which their unfortunate wives received at their hands.
“Don't quarrel wid him,” said she, “if you can, at any rate, till we get
him more in our power, an' that he'll be soon, maybe. If we fall out
wid him, we'd have to lave the place, an' maybe to go farther than we
intend, too. Wherever we went over the province, this you know was our
headquarters. Here's where all belongin' to us--I mane that ever died a
natural death, or drew their last breath in the counthry--rests, an' I'd
not like to go far from it.”
“Let what will happen,” said Philip, with an oath, “I'd lose my right
arm before Bryan M'Mahon puts a ring on Kathleen.”
“I can tell you that Hycy has no notion of marry in' her, thin,” said
Kate.
“How do you know that?” asked her husband.
“I've a little bird that tells me,” she replied.
“Gerald Cavanagh an' his wife doesn't think so,” said Philip. “They and
Jemmy Burke has the match nearly made.”
“They may make the match,” said Kate, “but it's more than they'll be
able to do to make the marriage. Hycy's at greater game, I tell you; but
whether he is or not, I tell you again that Bryan M'Mahon will have her
in spite of all opposition.”
“May be not,” said Phats; “Hycy will take care o' that; he has him set;
he'll work him a charm; he'll take care that Bryan won't be long in a
fit way to offer himself as a match for her.”
“More power to him in that,” said Philip; “if he makes a beggarman of
him he may depend on us to the back-bone.”
“Have no hand in injurin' Bryan M'Mahon,” said Kate. “Keep him from
marryin' Kathleen if you like, or if you can; but, if you're wise, don't
injure the boy.”
“Why so?” asked Philip.
“That's nothing to you,” she replied; “for a raison I have; and mark me,
I warn you not to do so or it'll be worse for you.”
“Why, who are we afraid of, barrin Hycy himself?”
“It's no matther; there's them livin' could make you afeard, an' maybe
will, too, if you injure that boy.”
“I'd just knock him on the head,” replied the ferocious ruffian, “as
soon as I would a mad dog.”
“Whisht,” said Phats, “here's Hycy; don't you hear his foot?”
Hycy entered in a few moments afterwards, and, after the usual
greetings, sat down by the fire.
“De night's could,” said Phats, resuming his brogue; “but here,” he
added, pulling out a bottle of whiskey, “is something to warm de blood
in us. Will you thry it, Meeisther Hycy?”
“By-and-by--not now; but help yourselves.”
“When did you see Miss Kathleen, Masther Hycy,” asked Kate.
“You mean Miss Kathleen the Proud?” he replied--“my Lady Dignity--I have
a crow to pluck with her.”
“What crow have you to pluck wid her?” asked Kate, fiercely. “You'll
pluck no crow wid her, or, if you do, I'll find a bag to hould the
fedhers--mind that.”
“No, no,” said Philip; “whatever's to be done, she must come to no
harm.”
“Why, the crow I have to pluck with her, Mrs. Hogan, is--let me
see--why--to--to marry her--to bind her in the bands of holy wedlock;
and you know, when I do, I'm to give you all a house and place free
gratis for nothing during your lives--that's what I pledge myself to do,
and not a rope to hang yourselves, worthy gentlemen, as Finigan would
say. I pass over the fact,” he proceeded, laughing, “of the peculiar
intimacy which, on a certain occasion, was established between Jemmy,
the gentleman's old oak drawers, and your wrenching-irons; however, that
is not the matter at present, and I am somewhat in a hurry.”
“You heard,” said Bat, “that Bryan M'Mahon has lost his mother?”
“I did,” said the other; “poor orphan lad, I pity him.”
“We know you do,” said Bat, with a vindictive but approving sneer.
“I assure you,” continued Hycy, “I wish the young man well.”
“Durin' der lives,” repeated Phats, who had evidently been pondering
over Hycy's promised gift to the Hogans;--“throth,” he observed with
a grin, “dere may be something under dat too. Ay! an' she wishes Bryan
M'Mahon well,” he exclaimed, raising his red eyebrows.
“Shiss,” replied Hycy, mimicking him, “her does.”
“But you must have de still-house nowhere but in Ahadarra for alls dat.”
“For alls dats” replied the other. “Dat will do den,” said Phats,
composedly. “Enough of this,” said Hycy. “Now, Phats, have you examined
and pitched upon the place?”
“Well, then,” replied Phats, speaking in his natural manner, “I have;
an' a betther spot isn't in Europe than there is undher the hip of
Cullamore. But do you know how Roger Cooke sarved Adam Blakely of
Glencuil?”
“Perfectly well,” replied Hycy, “he ruined him.”
“But we don't know it,” said Ned; “how was it, Teddy?”
“Why, he set up a still on his property--an' you know Adam owns the
whole townland, jist as Bryan M'Mahon does Ahadarra--an' afther three
or four runnin she gets a bloody scoundrel to inform upon Adam, as if it
was him an' not himself that had the still. Clinton the gauger--may the
devil break his neck at any rate!--an' the redcoats--came and found all
right, Still, Head, and Worm.”
“Well,” said Bat, “an' how did that ruin him?”
“Why, by the present law,” returned Phats, “it's the townland that must
pay the fine. Poor Adam wasn't to say very rich; he had to pay the fine,
however, and now he's a beggar--root an' branch, chick an' child out of
it. Do you undherstand that, Misther Hycy?”
“No,” replied Hycy, “you're mistaken; I have recourse to the still,
because I want cash. Honest Jemmy the gentleman has taken the _sthad_
an' won't fork out any longer, so that I must either run a cast or two
every now an' then, or turn clodhopper like himself. So much I say for
your information, Mr. Phats. In the meantime let us see what's to be
done. Here, Ned, is a five-pound note to buy barley; keep a strict
account of this; for I do assure you that I am not a person to be played
on. There's another thirty-shilling note--or stay, I'll make it two
pounds--to enable you to box up the still-house and remove the vessels
and things from Glendearg. Have you all ready, Philip?” he said,
addressing himself to Hogan.
“All,” replied Philip; “sich a Still, Head, and Worm, you'd not find in
Europe--ready to be set to work at a minute's notice.”
“When,” said Hycy, rising, “will it be necessary that I should see you
again?”
“We'll let you know,” replied Phats, “when we want you. Kate here can
drop in, as if by accident, an' give the hand word.”
“Well, then, good-night--stay, give me a glass of whiskey before I go;
and, before I do go, listen. You know the confidence I place in every
one of you on this occasion?”
“We do,” replied Philip; “no doubt of it.”
“Listen, I say. I swear by all that a man can swear by, that if a soul
of you ever breathes--I hope, by the way, that these young savages are
all asleep--”
“As sound as a top,” said Bat, “everyone o' them.”
“Well, if a single one of you ever breathes my name or mentions me to
a human being as in any way connected, directly or indirectly, with the
business in which we are engaged, I'll make the country too hot to hold
you--and you need no ghost to tell you how easily I could dispose of you
if it went to that.”
Kate, when he had repeated these words, gave him a peculiar glance,
which was accompanied by a short abrupt laugh that seemed to have
something derisive in it.
“Is there anything to be laughed at in what I am saying, most amiable
Mrs. Hogan?” he asked.
Kate gave either a feigned or a real start as he spoke.
“Laughed at!” she exclaimed, as if surprised; “throth I wasn't thinkin
of you at all, Mr. Hycy. What wor you sayin'?”
“That if my name ever happens to be mentioned in connection with
this business, I'll send the whole kit of you--hammers, budgets,
and sothering-irons--to hell or Connaught; so think of this now, and
goodnight.”
“There goes as d----d vagabond,” said Ned, “as ever stretched hemp; and
only that it's our own business to make the most use we can out of him,
I didn't care the devil had him, for I don't like a bone in his skin.”
“Why,” said Philip, “I see what he's at now. Sure enough he'll put the
copin'-stone on Bryan. M'Mahon at any rate--that, an' if we can get the
house and place out of him--an' what need we care?”
“Send us to hell or Connaught,” said Kate; “well, that's not bad--ha!
ha! ha!”
“What are you neigherin' at?” said her husband; “and what set you
a-caoklin' to his face a while ago?”
She shook her head carelessly. “No matther,” she replied, “for a raison
I had.”
“Would you let me know your raison, if you plaise?”
“If I plaise--ay, you did well to put that in, for I don't plaise to let
you know any more about it. I laughed bekaise I liked to laugh; an' I
hope one may do that 'ithout being brought over the coals about it. Go
to bed, an' give me another glass o' whiskey, Ted--it always makes me
sleep.”
Ted had been for some minutes evidently ruminating.
“He is a good boy,” said he; “but at any rate our hands is in the lion's
mouth, an' its not our policy to vex him.”
Hycy, on his way home, felt himself in better spirits than he had.
been in for some time. The arrangement with young Clinton gave him
considerable satisfaction, and he now resolved to lose as little time as
possible in executing his own part of the contract. Clinton himself,
who was a thoughtless young fellow, fond of pleasure, and with no great
relish for business, was guided almost in everything by his knowing old
uncle the gauger, on whom he and his sister depended, and who looked
upon him as unfit for any kind of employment unless the management of a
cheap farm, such as would necessarily draw his attention from habits of
idleness and expense to those of application and industry. Being aware,
from common report, that M'Mahon's extensive and improvable holding in
Ahadarra was out of lease, he immediately set his heart upon it, but
knew not exactly in what manner to accomplish his designs, in securing
it if he could, without exposing himself to suspicion and a good deal of
obloquy besides. Old Clinton was one of those sheer and hardened sinners
who, without either scruple or remorse, yet think it worth while to keep
as good terms with the world as they can, whilst at the same time
they laugh and despise in their hearts all that is worthy of honor and
respect in it. His nephew, however, had some positive good, and not a
little of that light and reckless profligacy which is often mistaken for
heart and spirit. Hycy and he, though not very long acquainted, were, at
the present period of our narrative, on very intimate terms. They had,
it is true, a good many propensities in common, and these were what
constituted the bond between them. They were companions but not friends;
and Clinton saw many things in Hycy which disgusted him exceedingly, and
scarcely anything more than the contemptuous manner in which he spoke of
and treated his parents. He liked his society, because he was lively
and without any of that high and honorable moral feeling which is often
troublesome to a companion who, like Clinton, was not possessed of much
scruple while engaged in the pursuit of pleasures. On this account,
therefore, we say that he relished his society, but could neither
respect nor esteem him.
On the following morning at breakfast, his uncle asked him where he had
dined the day before.
“With Hycy Burke, sir,” replied the nephew.
“Yes; that is honest Jemmy's son--a very great man in his own conceit,
Harry. You seem to like him very much.”
Harry felt a good deal puzzled as to the nature of his reply. He knew
very well that his uncle did not relish Hycy, and he felt that he could
not exactly state his opinion of him without bringing in question
his own penetration and good taste in keeping his society. Then, with
respect to his sister, although he had no earthly intention of seeing
her the wife of such a person, still he resolved to be able to say to
Hycy that he had not broken his word, a consideration which would not
have bound Hycy one moment under the same circumstances.
“He's a very pleasant young fellow, sir,” replied the other, “and has
been exceedingly civil and attentive to me.”
“Ay!--do you like him--do you esteem him, I mean?”
“I dare say I will, sir, when I come to know him better.”
“Which is as much as to say that at present you do not. So I thought.
You have a portion of good sense about you, but in a thousand things
you're a jackass, Harry.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied his nephew, laughing heartily; “thank you for
the compliment. I am your nephew, you know.”
“You have a parcel of d----d scruples, I say, that are ridiculous. What
the devil need a man care about in this world but appearances? Mind your
own interests, keep up appearances, and you have done your duty.”
“But I should like to do a little more than keep up appearances,”
replied his nephew.
“I know you would,” said his uncle, “and it is for that especial reason
that I say you're carrying the ears. I'm now a long time in the world,
Masther Harry--sixty-two years--although I don't look it, nor anything
like it, and in the course of that time--or, at all events, ever
since I was able to form my own opinions, I never met a man that
wasn't a rogue in something, with the exception of--let me
see--one--two--three--four--five--I'm not able to make out the
half-dozen.”
“And who were the five honorable exceptions?” asked his niece, smiling.
“They were the five fools of the parish, Maria--and yet I am wrong,
still--for Bob M'Cann was as thievish as the very devil whenever he had
an opportunity. And now, do you know the conclusion I come to from all
this?”
“I suppose,” said his niece, “that no man's honest but a fool.”
“Thank you, Maria, Well done--you've hit it. By the way, it's seems
M'Mahon's wife, of Carriglass, is dead.”
“Is she?” said Harry; “that is a respectable family, father, by all
accounts.”
“Why, they neither rob nor steal, I believe,” replied his uncle. “They
are like most people, I suppose, honest in the eye of the law--honest
because the laws keep them so.”
“I did not think your opinion of the world was so bad, uncle,” said
Maria; “I hope it is not so bad as you say it is.”
“All I can say, then,” replied the old Cynic, “that if you wait till you
find an honest man for your husband, you'll die an old maid.”
“Well, but excuse me, uncle, is that safe doctrine to lay down before
your nephew, or myself?”
“Pooh, as to you, you silly girl, what have you to do with it? We're
taikin' about men, now--about the world, I say, and life in general.”
“And don't you wish Harry to be honest?”
“Yes, where it is his interest; and ditto to roguery, where it can be
done safely.”
“I know you don't feel what you say, uncle,” she observed, “nor believe
it either.”
“Not he, Maria,” said her brother, awakening out of a reverie; “but,
uncle, as to Hycy Burke--I don't--hem.”
“You don't what?” asked the other, rising and staring at him.
His nephew looked at his sister, and was silent.
“You don't mean what, man?--always speak out. Here, help me on with
this coat. Fethertonge and I are taking a ride up tomorrow as far as
Ahadarra.”
“That's a man I don't like,” said the nephew. “He's too soft and too
sweet, and speaks too low to be honest.”
“Honest, you blockhead! Who says he's honest?” replied his uncle. “He's
as good a thing, however, an excellent man of the world that looks to
the main point, and--keeps up appearances. Take care of yourselves;”
and with these words, accompanied with a shrewd, knavish nod that was
peculiar to him, in giving which with expression he was a perfect adept,
he left them.
When he was gone, the brother and his sister looked at each, other, and
the latter said, “Can it be possible, Harry, that my uncle is serious in
all he says on this subject?”
Her brother, who paid more regard to the principles of his sister
than her uncle did, felt great reluctance in answering her in the
affirmative, so much so, indeed, that he resolved to stretch a little
for the sake of common decency.
“Not at all, Maria; no man relishes honesty more than he does. He only
speaks in this fashion because he thinks that honest men are scarce, and
so they are. But, by-the-way, talking about Hycy Burke, Maria, how do
you like him?”
“I can't say I admire him,” she replied, “but you know I have had very
slight opportunities of forming any opinion.”
“From what you have seen of him, what do you think?”
“Let me see,” she replied, pausing; “why, that he'll meet very few who
will think so highly of him as he does of himself.”
“He thinks very highly of you, then.”
“How do you know that?” she asked somewhat quickly.
“Faith, Maria, from the best authority--because he himself told me so.”
“So, then, I have had the honor of furnishing you with a topic of
conversation?”
“Unquestionably, and you may prepare yourself for a surprise. He's
attached to you.”
“I think not,” she replied calmly.
“Why so?” he asked.
“Because, if you wish to know the truth, I do not think him capable of
attachment to any one but himself.”
“Faith, a very good reason, Maria; but, seriously, if he should
introduce the subject, I trust, at all events, that you will treat him
with respect.”
“I shall certainly respect myself, Harry. He need not fear that I shall
read him one of my uncle's lectures upon life and honesty.”
“I have promised not to be his enemy in the matter, and I shall keep my
word.”
“So you may, Harry, with perfect safety. I am much obliged to him for
his good opinion; but”--she paused.
“What do you stop at, Maria?”
“I was only about to add,” she replied, “that I wish it was mutual.”
“You wish it,” he exclaimed. “What do you mean by that, Maria?”
She laughed. “Don't you know it is only a form of speech? a polite way
of saying that he does not rank high in my esteem?”
“Well, well,” he replied, “settle that matter between you; perhaps the
devil is not so black as he's painted.”
“A very unhappy illustration,” said his sister, “whatever has put it
into your head.'
“Faith, and I don't know what put it there. However, all I can say in
the matter I have already said. I am not, nor shall I be, his enemy.
I'll trouble you, as you're near it, to touch the bell till George gets
the horse. I am going up to his father's, now. Shall I tell him that
John Wallace is discarded; that he will be received with smiles, and
that--”
“How can you be so foolish, Harry?”
“Well, good-bye, at any rate. You are perfectly capable of deciding for
yourself, Maria.”
“I trust so,” she replied. “There's George with your horse now.”
“It's a blue look-up, Master Hycy,” said Clinton to himself as he took
his way to Burke's. “I think you have but little chance in that quarter,
oh, most accomplished Hycy, and indeed I am not a whit sorry; but should
be very much so were it otherwise.”
It is singular enough that whilst Clinton was introducing the subject
of Hycy's attachment to his sister, that worthy young gentleman was
sustaining a much more serious and vehement onset upon a similar subject
at home. Gerald Cavanagh and his wife having once got the notion of a
marriage between Kathleen and Hycy into their heads, were determined not
to rest until that desirable consummation should be brought about. In
accordance with this resolution, we must assure our readers that Gerald
never omitted any opportunity of introducing the matter to Jemmy Burke,
who, as he liked the Cavanaghs, and especially Kathleen herself, who,
indeed, was a general favorite, began to think that, although in point
of circumstances she was by no means a match for him, Hycy might do
still worse. It is true, his wife was outrageous at the bare mention of
it; but Jemmy, along with a good deal of blunt sarcasm, had a resolution
of his own, and not unfrequently took a kind of good-natured and
shrewd delight in opposing her wishes whenever he found them to be
unreasonable. For several months past he could not put his foot out of
the door that he was not haunted by honest Gerald Cavanagh, who had only
one idea constantly before him, that of raising his daughter to the rank
and state in which he knew, or at least calculated that Hycy Burke would
keep her. Go where he might, honest Jemmy was attended by honest Gerald,
like his fetch. At mass, at market, in every fair throughout the country
was Cavanagh sure to bring up the subject of the marriage; and what
was the best of it, he and his neighbor drank each other's healths so
repeatedly on the head of it, that they often separated in a state that
might be termed anything but sober. Nay, what is more, it was a fact
that they had more than once or twice absolutely arranged the whole
matter, and even appointed the day for the wedding, without either of
them being able to recollect the circumstances on the following morning.
Whilst at breakfast on the morning in question, Burke, after finishing
his first cup of tea, addressed his worthy son as follows:--
“Hycy, do you intend to live always this way?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Burke. I expect to dine on something more
substantial than tea.”
“You're very stupid, Hycy, not to understand me; but, indeed, you never
were overstocked wid brains, unfortunately, as I know to my cost--but
what I mane is, have you any intention of changing your condition in
life? Do you intend to marry, or to go on spendin' money upon me at this
rate!”
“The old lecture, Mrs. Burke,” said Hycy, addressing his mother.
“Father, you are sadly deficient in originality. Of late you are
perpetually repeating yourself. Why, I suppose to-morrow or next day,
you will become geometrical on our hands, or treat us to a grammatical
praxis. Don't you think it very likely, Mrs. Burke!”
“And if he does,” replied his mother, “it's not the first time he has
been guilty of both; but of late, all the little shame he had, he has
lost it.”
“Faith, and if I hadn't got a large stock, I'd a been run out of it this
many a day, in regard of what I had to lose in that way for you, Hycy.
However I'll thank you to listen to me. Have you any intention of
marryin' a wife?”
“Unquestionably, Mr. Burke. Not a doubt of it.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it. The sooner you're married, the sooner
you'll settle down. You'll know, then, my lad, what life is.”
Honest Jemmy's sarcasm was likely to carry him too far from his purpose,
which was certainly not to give a malicious account of matrimony, but,
on the contrary, to recommend it to his worthy son.
“Well, Mr. Burke,” said Hycy, winking at his mother, “proceed.”
“The truth is, Hycy,” he added, “I have a wife in my eye for you.”
“I thought as much,” replied the other. “I did imagine it was there you
had her; name--Mr. Burke--name?”
“Troth, I'm ashamed, Hycy, to name her and yourself on the same day.”
“Well, can't you name her to-day, and postpone me until to-morrow?”
“It would be almost a pity to have her thrown away upon you. A good and
virtuous wife, however, may do a great deal to reclaim a bad husband,
and, indeed, you wouldn't be the first profligate that was reformed in
the same way.”
“Many thanks, Mr. Burke; you are quite geological this morning; isn't
he, ma'am?”
“When was he ever anything else? God pardon him! However, I know what
he's exterminatin' for; he wants you to marry Kathleen Cavanagh.”
“Ay do I, Rosha; and she might make him a respectable man yet,--that is,
if any woman could.”
“Geological again, mother; well, really now, Katsey Cavanagh is a
splendid girl, a fine animal, no doubt of it; all her points are good,
but, at the same time, Mr. Burke, a trifle too plebeian for Hycy the
accomplished.”
“I tell you she's a devilish sight too good for you; and if you don't
marry her, you'll never get such a wife.”
“Troth,” answered Mrs. Burke, “I think myself there's something over
you, or you wouldn't spake as you do--a wife for Hycy--one of Gerald
Cavanagh's daughters make a wife for him!--not while I'm alive at any
rate, plaise God.”
“While you're alive; well, may be not:--but sure if it plases God to
bring it about, on your own plan, I must endaivor to be contented,
Rosha; ay, an' how do you know but I'd dance at their weddin' too!
ha! ha! ha!”
“Oh, then, it's you that's the bitther pill, Jemmy Burke! but, thank
God, I disregard you at all events. It's little respect you pay to my
feelings, or ever did.”
“I trust, my most amiable mother, that you won't suffer the equability
of your temper to be disturbed by anything proceeding from such an
antiphlogistic source. Allow me to say, Mr. Burke, that I have higher
game in view, and that for the present I must beg respectfully to
decline the proposal which you so kindly made, fully sensible as I am
of the honor you intended for me. If you will only exercise a little
patience, however, perhaps I shall have the pleasure ere long of
presenting to you a lady of high accomplishments, amiable manners, and
very considerable beauty.”
“Not a 'Crazy Jane' bargain, I hope?”
“Really, Mr. Burke, you are pleased to be sarcastic; but as for honest
Katsey, have the goodness to take her out of your eye as soon as
possible, for she only blinds you to your own interest and to mine.”
“You wouldn't marry Kathleen, then?”
“For the present I say most assuredly not,” replied the son, in the same
ironical and polite tone.
“Because,” continued his father, with a very grave smile, in which there
was, to say truth, a good deal of the grin visible, “as poor Gerald was
a good deal anxious about the matther, I said I'd try and make you marry
her--_to oblige him_.”
Hycy almost, if not altogether, lost his equanimity by the contemptuous
sarcasm implied in these words. “Father,” said he, to save trouble, and
to prevent you and me both from thrashing the wind in this manner, I
think it right to tell you that I have no notion of marrying such a girl
as Cavanagh's daughter.”
“No,” continued his mother, “nor if you had, I wouldn't suffer it.”
“Very well,” said the father; “is that your mind?”
“That's my mind, sir.”
“Well, now, listen to mine, and maybe, Hycy, I'll taiche you better
manners and more respect for your father; suppose I bring your brother
home from school,--suppose I breed him up an honest farmer,--and suppose
I give him all my property, and lave Mr. Gentleman Hycy to lead a
gentleman's life on his own means, the best way he can. There now is
something for you to suppose, and so I must go to my men.”
He took up his hat as he spoke and went out to the fields, leaving both
mother and son in no slight degree startled by an intimation so utterly
unexpected, but which they knew enough of him to believe was one not at
all unlikely to be acted on by a man who so frequently followed up his
own determinations with a spirit amounting almost to obstinacy.
“I think, mother,” observed the latter, “we must take in sail a little;
'the gentleman' won't bear the ironical to such an extent, although he
is master of it in his own way; in other words, Mr. Burke won't bear to
be laughed at.”
“Not he,” said his mother, in the tone of one who was half angry at him
on that very account, “he'll bear nothing.”
“D--n it, to tell that vulgar bumpkin, Cavanagh, I suppose in a state
of maudlin drunkenness, that he would make me marry his daughter--to
oblige, him!--contempt could go no further; it was making a complete
cipher of me.”
“Ay, but I'm disturbed about what he said going out, Hycy. I don't
half like the face he had on him when he said it; and when he comes to
discover other things, too, money matthers--there will be no keepin the
house wid him.”
“I fear as much,” said Hycy; “however, we must only play our cards as
well as we can; he is an impracticable man, no doubt of it, and it is a
sad thing that a young fellow of spirit should be depending on such a--
“'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can you bloom so fresh and fair,
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care, &c., &c.
“Well, well--I do not relish that last hint certainly, and if other
projects should fail, why, as touching the fair Katsey, it might not
be impossible that--however, time will develop. She is a fine girl, a
magnificent creature, no doubt of it, still, most maternal relative, as
I said, time will develop--by the way, Mrs. M'Mahon, the clodhopper's
mother, is to be interred to-morrow, and I suppose you and 'the
gentleman' will attend the funeral.”
“Sartinly, we must.”
“So shall 'the accomplished.' Clinton and I shall honor that lugubrious
ceremony with our presence; but as respecting the clodhopper himself,
meaning thereby Bryan of Ahadarra, he is provided for. What an unlucky
thought to enter into the old fellow's noddle! However, _non constat_,
as Finigan would say, time will develop.”
“You're not gainin' ground with him at all events,” said his mother;
“ever since that Crazy Jane affair he's changed for the worse towards
both of us, or ever since the robbery I ought to say, for he's dark and
has something on his mind ever since.”
“I'm in the dark there myself, most amiable of mothers; however, as I
said just now, I say time will develop.”
He then began to prepare himself for the business of the day, which
consisted principally in riding about seeking out new adventures, or, as
they term it, hunting in couples, with Harry Clinton.