--The Former Propones for Miss Clinton--A love Scene
Hycy, after his conversation with Bryan M'Mahon, felt satisfied that he
had removed all possible suspicion from himself, but at the same time he
ransacked his mind in order to try who it was that had betrayed him to
Bryan. The Hogans he had no reason to suspect, because from experience
he knew them to be possessed of a desperate and unscrupulous fidelity,
in excellent keeping with their savage character; and to suspect Teddy
Phats, was to suppose that an inveterate and incurable smuggler would
inform upon him. After a good deal of cogitation, he at length came
to the conclusion that the school-master, Finigan, must have been
the traitor, and with this impression he resolved to give that worthy
personage a call upon his way home. He found him as usual at full work,
and as usual, also, in that state which is commonly termed half drunk, a
state, by the way, in which the learned pedagogue generally contrived
to keep himself night and day. Hycy did not enter his establishment, but
after having called him once or twice to no purpose--for such was the
din of the school that his voice could not penetrate it--he at length
knocked against the half open door, which caused him to be both seen
and heard more distinctly. On seeing him, the school-master got to his
limbs, and was about to address him, when Hycy said--
“Finigan, I wish to speak a few words to you.”
“O'Finigan, sir--O'Finigan, Mr. Burke. It is enough, sir, to be deprived
of our hereditary territories, without being clipped of our names; they
should lave us those at all events unmutilated. O'Finigan, therefore,
Mr. Burke, whenever you address me, if you plaise.”
“Well, Mr. O'Finigan,” continued Hycy, “if not inconvenient, I should
wish to speak a few words with you.”
“No inconvenience in the world, Mr. Burke; I am always disposed to
oblige my friends whenever I can do so wid propriety. My advice, sir,
my friendship, and my purse, are always at their service. My advice to
guide them--my friendship to sustain--and my purse--hem!--ha, ha, ha--I
think. I may clap a payriod or full stop there,” he added, laughing,
“inasmuch as the last approaches very near to what philosophers term a
vacuum or nonentity. Gintlemen,” he proceeded, addressing the scholars,
“I am going over to Lanty Hanratty's for a while to enjoy a social cup
wid Mr. Burke here, and as that fact will cause the existence of a short
interegnum, I now publicly appoint Gusty Carney as my _locum tenens_
until I resume the reins of government on my return. Gusty, put the
names of all offenders down on a slate, and when I return 'condign'
is the word; an' see, Gusty--mairk me well--no bribery--no bread
nor buttons, nor any other materials of corruption from the
culprits--otherwise you shall become their substitute in the
castigation, and I shall teach you to look one way and feel another, my
worthy con-disciple.”
“Now, Finigan--I beg your pardon--O'Finigan,” said Hycy, when they were
seated in the little back tap-room of the public-house with refreshments
before them, “I think I have reason to be seriously displeased with
you.”
“Displeased with me!” exclaimed his companion; “and may I take the
liberty to interrogate wherefore, Mr. Hycy?”
“You misrepresented me to Bryan M'Mahon,” said Hycy.
“Upon what grounds and authority do you spake, sir?” asked Finigan,
whose dignity was beginning to take offence.
“I have good grounds and excellent authority for what I say,” replied
Hycy. “You have acted a very dishonorable part, Mr. Finigan, and the
consequence is that I have ceased to be your friend.”
“I act a dishonorable part. Why, sir, I scorn the imputation; but how
have I acted a dishonorable part? that's the point.”
“You put Bryan M'Mahon upon his guard against me, and consequently left
an impression on his mind that I was his enemy.”
“Well,” said the other, with a good deal of irony, “that is good! Have
I, indeed? And pray, Mr. Burke, who says so?”
“I have already stated that my authority for it is good.”
“But you must name you authority, sir, no lurking assassin shall be
permitted wid impunity to stab my fair reputation wid the foul dagger of
calumny and scandal. Name your authority, sir?”
“I could do so.”
“Well, sir, why don't you? Let me hear the name of the illiterate
miscreant, whoever he is, that has dared to tamper with my unblemished
fame.”
“All I ask you,” continued Hycy, “is to candidly admit the fact, and
state why you acted as you did.”
“Name your authority, sir, and then I shall speak. Perhaps I did, and
perhaps I did not; but when you name your authority I shall then
give you a more satisfactory reply. That's the language--the elevated
language--of a gentleman, Mr. Burke.”
“My authority then is no other than Bryan M'Mahon himself,” replied
Hycy, “who told me that he was cautioned against me; so that I hope
you're now satisfied.”
“Mr. Burke,” replied Finigan, assuming a lofty and impressive manner,
“I have known the M'Mahons for better than forty years; so, in fact, has
the country around them; and until the present moment I never heard that
a deliberate falsehood, or any breach of truth whatsoever, was imputed
to any one of them. Tom M'Mahon's simple word was never doubted, and
would pass aquil to many a man's oath; and it is the same thing wid the
whole family, man and women. They are proverbial, sir, for truth
and integrity, and a most spontaneous effusion of candor under all
circumstances. You will pardon me then, Mr. Hycy, if I avow a trifle of
heresy in this matter. You are yourself, wid great respect be it spoken,
sometimes said to sport your imagination occasionally, and to try your
hand wid considerable success at a _lapsus veritatis_. Pardon me, then,
if I think it somewhat more probable that you have just now stated what
an ould instructor of mine used to call a moral thumper; excuse me, I
say; and at all events I have the pleasure of drinking your health; and
if my conjecture be appropriate, here's also a somewhat closer adhesion
to the _veritas_ aforesaid to you!”
“Do you mean to insinuate that I'm stating what is not true?” said
Burke, assuming an offended look, which, however, he did not feel.
“No, sir,” replied Finigan, retorting his look with one of indignant
scorn, “far be it from me to insinuate any such thing. I broadly, and
in all the latitudinarianism of honest indignation, assert that it is a
d--d lie, begging your pardon, and drinking to your moral improvement a
second time; and ere you respond to what I've said, it would be as well,
in order to have the matter copiously discussed, if you ordhered in
a fresh supply of liquor, and help yourself, for, if the proverb be
true--_in vino veritas_--there it is again, but truth will be out, you
see--who knows but we may come to a thrifle of it from you yet? Ha! ha!
ha! Excuse the jest, Mr. Hycy. You remember little Horace,--
“'Quid vetat ridentem dicere verum?'”
“Do you mean to say, sirra,” said Hycy, “that I have stated a lie?”
“I mean to say that whoever asserts that I misrepresented you in any way
to Bryan M'Mahon, or ever cautioned him against you, states a lie of the
first magnitude--a moral thumper, of gigantic dimensions.”
“Well, will you tell me what you did say to him?”
“What I did say,” echoed Finigan. “Well,” he added, after a pause,
during which he I surveyed Hycy pretty closely--having now discovered
that he was, in fact, only proceeding upon mere suspicion--“I believe
I must acknowledge a portion of the misrepresentation. I must, on
secondary consideration, plead guilty to that fact.”
“I thought as much,” said Hycy.
“Here then--,” proceeded Finigan, with a broad and provoking grin
upon his coarse but humorous features, “here, Mr. Hycy, is what I
did say--says I, 'Bryan, I have a word to say to you, touching an
accomplished young gentleman, a friend of yours.'
“'What is that?' asked the worthy Beit-nardus.
“'It is regarding the all-accomplished Mr. Hyacinthus Burke,' I replied,
'who is a _homo-factus ad unguem_. Mr. Burke, Bryan,' I proceeded, 'is a
gentleman in the--hem--true sense of that word. He is generous, candid,
faithful, and honest; and in association wid all his other excellent
qualities, he is celebrated, among the select few who know him best,
for an extraordinary attachment to--truth.' Now, if that wasn't
misrepresentation, Mr. Hycy, I don't know what was. Ha! ha! ha!”
“You're half drunk,” replied Hycy, “or I should rather say whole drunk,
I think, and scarcely know what you're saying; or rather, I believe
you're a bit of a knave, Mr. O'Finigan.”
“Thanks, sir; many thanks for the prefix. Proceed.”
“I have nothing more to add,” replied Hycy, rising up and preparing to
go.
“Ay,” said Finigan, with another grin, “a bit of a knave, am I? Well,
now, isn't it better to be only a bit of a knave than a knave all out--a
knave in full proportions, from top to toe, from head to heel--like some
accomplished gentlemen that I have the! honor of being acquainted wid.
But in the I meantime, now, don't be in a hurry, man alive, nor look
as if you were fatted on vinegar. Sit down again; ordher in another
libation, and I shall make a disclosure that will be worth your waiting
for.”
“You shall have the libation, as you call it, at all events,” said Hycy,
resuming his seat, but feeling, at the same time, by no means satisfied
with the lurking grin which occasionally played over Finigan's features.
After much chat and banter, and several attempts on the part of Hycy to
insinuate himself into the pedagogue's confidence, he at length rose
to go. His companion was now in that state which strongly borders on
inebriety, and he calculated that if it were possible to worm anything
out of him, he was now in the best condition for it. Every effort,
however, was in vain; whenever he pressed the schoolmaster closely, the
vague, blank expression of intoxication disappeared for a moment, and
was replaced by the broad, humorous ridicule, full of self-possession
and consciousness, which always characterized Finigan, whether drunk or
sober. The man was naturally cunning, and ranked among a certain class
of topers who can be made drunk to a certain extent, and upon some
particular subjects, but who, beyond that, and with these limitations,
defy the influence of liquor.
Hycy Burke was one of those men who, with smart and showy qualities
and great plausibility of manner, was yet altogether without purpose
or steadfast principle in the most ordinary affairs of life. He had no
fixed notions upon either morals, religion, or politics; and when we
say so, we may add, that he was equally without motive--that is, without
_adequate_ motive, in almost everything he did.
The canvass was now going on with great zeal on the part of Chevydale
and Vanston. Sometimes Hycy was disposed to support the one and
sometimes the other, but as to feeling a firm attachment to the cause or
principles of either, it was not in his nature.
Indeed, the approach of a general election was at all times calculated
to fill the heart of a thinking man with a strong sense of shame for his
kind, and of sorrow for the unreasoning and brutal tendency to slavery
and degradation which it exhibits. Upon this occasion the canvass, in,
consequence of the desperate struggle that must ensue, owing to the
equality of the opposing forces, was a remarkably early one. Party
feeling and religious animosity, as is usual, ran very high, each having
been made the mere stalking-horse or catchword of the rival candidates,
who cared nothing, or at least very little, about the masses on either
side, provided always that they could turn them to some advantage.
It was one morning after the canvass had been going forward with great
activity on both sides for about a week, that Hycy, who now felt himself
rather peculiarly placed, rode down to Clinton's for the purpose of
formally paying his addresses to the gauger's interesting niece, and,
if possible, ascertaining his fate from her own lips. His brother Edward
had now been brought home in accordance with the expressed determination
of his father, with whom he was, unquestionably, a manifest favorite, a
circumstance which caused Hycy to detest him, and also deprived him in a
great degree of his mother's affection. Hycy had now resolved to pay his
devoirs to Kathleen Cavanagh, as a _dernier_ resort, in the event of
his failing with Miss Clinton; for, as regarding affection, he had
no earthly conception what it I meant. With this view he rode down to
Clinton's as we said, and met Harry coming out of the stable.
“Harry,” said he, after his horse was put I up, “I am about to ask an
interview with your sister.”
“I don't think she will grant it,” replied her brother, “you are by no
means a favorite; with her; however, you can try; perhaps she may. You
know the old adage, '_varium et imutabile semper_.' Who knows but she
may have changed her mind?”
“Is your uncle within?” asked Hycy.
“No,” replied his nephew, “he's gone to Fethertonge's upon some election
business.”
“Could you not contrive,” said Hycy, “to leave her and me together,
then, and allow me to ascertain what I am to expect?”
“Come in,” said Harry--“never say it again. If I can I will.”
Hycy, as we have stated before, had vast confidence in his own powers of
persuasion; and general influence with women, and on this occasion, his
really handsome features were made vulgar by a smirk of self-conceit
which he could not conceal, owing to his natural vanity and a
presentiment of success that is almost inseparable from persons of his
class, who can scarcely look even upon the most positive and decided
rejection by a woman as coming seriously from her heart. Even Harry
Clinton himself, though but a young man, thought, as he afterwards
stated to his sister, that he never saw Hycy have so much the appearance
of a puppy as upon that occasion. As had been proposed, he withdrew,
however, and the lover being left in the drawing-room with Miss Clinton
began, with a simper that was rather coxcombical, to make allusions to
the weather, but in such a way as if there was some deep but delightful
meaning veiled under his commonplaces. At length he came directly to the
'point.
“But passing from the weather, Miss Clinton, to a much more agreeable
topic, permit me to ask if you have ever turned your thoughts upon
matrimony?”
The hectic of a moment, as Sterne. says, accompanied by a look that
slightly intimated displeasure, or something like it, was the only reply
he received for a quarter of a minute, when she said, after the feeling
probably had passed away--“No, indeed, Mr. Burke, I have not.”
“Come, come, Miss Clinton,” said Hycy, with another smirk, “that won't
pass. Is it not laid down by the philosophers that you think of little
else from the time you are marriageable?”
“By what philosophers?”
“Why, let me see--by the philosophers in general--ha! ha! ha!”
“I was not aware of that,” she replied; “but even if they have so ruled
it, I see no inference we can draw from that, except their ignorance of
the subject.”
“It is so ruled, however,” said Hycy, “and philosophy is against you.”
“I am willing it should, Mr. Burke, provided we have truth with us.”
“Very good, indeed, Miss Clinton--that was well said; but, seriously,
have you ever thought of marriage?”
“Doesn't philosophy say that we seldom think of anything else?” she
replied, smiling. Ask philosophy, then.”
“But this really is a subject in which I feel a particular interest--a
personal interest; but, as for philosophy, I despise it--that is as it
is usually understood. The only philosophy of life is love, and that is
my doctrine.”
“Is that your only doctrine?”
“Pretty nearly; but it is much the same as that which appears in the
world under the different disguises of religion.”
“I trust you do not mean to assert that love and religion are the same
thing, Mr. Burke?”
“I do; the terms are purely convertible. Love is the universal religion
of man, and he is most religious who feels it most; that is your only
genuine piety. For instance, I am myself in a most exalted state of that
same piety this moment, and have been so for a considerable time past.”
Miss Clinton felt a good deal embarrassed by the easy profligacy that
was expressed in these sentiments, and she made an effort to change the
subject.
“Are you taking part in the canvass which is going on in the country,
Mr. Burke?”
“Not much,” said he; “I despise politics as much as I cherish the little
rosy god; but really, Miss Clinton, I feel anxious to know your opinions
on marriage, and you have not stated them. Do you not think the nuptial
state the happiest?”
“It's a subject I feel no inclination whatsoever to discuss, Mr. Burke;
it is a subject which, personally speaking, has never occupied from me
one moment's thought; and, having said so much, I trust you will have
the goodness to select some other topic for conversation.”
“But I am so circumstanced, just now, Miss Clinton, that I cannot really
change it. The truth is, that I have felt very much attached to you for
some time past--upon my word and honor I have: it's a fact, I assure
you, Miss Clinton; and I now beg to make you a tender of myself
and--and--of all I am possessed of. I am a most ardent admirer of yours;
and the upmost extent of my ambition is to become an accepted one. Do
then, my dear Miss Clinton, allow me the charming privilege--pray, do.”
“What will be the consequence if I do not?” she replied, smiling.
“Upon my word and honor, I shall go nearly distracted, and get quite
melancholy; my happiness depends upon you, Miss Clinton; you are a very
delightful girl, quite a _nonpareil_, and I trust you will treat me with
kindness and consideration.”
“Mr. Burke,” replied the lady, “I am much obliged for the preference you
express for me; but whether you are serious or in jest, I can only say
that I have no notion of matrimony; that I have never had any notion of
it; and that I can safely say, I have never seen the man whom I should
wish to call my husband. You will oblige me very much, then, if in
future you forbear to introduce this subject. Consider it a forbidden
one, so far as I am concerned, for I feel quite unworthy of so gifted
and accomplished a gentleman as Mr. Burke.”
“You will not discard me surely, Miss Clinton?”
“On that subject, unquestionably.”
“No, no, my dear Miss Clinton, you will not say so; do not be so cruel;
you will distress me greatly, I assure you. I am very much deficient in
firmness, and your cruelty will afflict me and depress my spirits.”
“I trust not, Mr. Burke. Your spirits are naturally good, and I have
no doubt but you will ultimately overcome this calamity--at least I
sincerely hope so.”
“Ah, Miss Clinton, you little know the heart I have, nor my capacity for
feeling; my feelings, I assure you, are exceedingly tender, and I
get quite sunk under disappointment. Come, Miss Clinton, you must not
deprive me altogether of hope; it is too cruel. Do not say no forever.”
The arch girl shook her head with something of mock solemnity, and
replied, “I must indeed, Mr. Burke; the fatal no must be pronounced,
and in connection with forever too; and unless you have much virtue
to sustain you, I fear you run a great risk of dying a martyr to a
negative. I would fain hope, however, that the virtue I allude to, and
your well-known sense of religion, will support you under such a trial.”
This was uttered in a tone of grave ironical sympathy that not only gave
it peculiar severity, but intimated to Hycy that his character was fully
understood.
“Well, Miss Clinton,” said he, rising with a countenance in which there
was a considerable struggle between self-conceit and mortification, a
struggle which in fact was exceedingly ludicrous in its effect, “I must
only hope that you probably may change your mind.”
“Mr. Burke,” said she, with a grave and serious dignity that was
designed to terminate the interview, “there are subjects upon which a
girl of delicacy and principle never can change her mind, and this I
feel obliged to say, once for all, is one of them. I am now my uncle's
housekeeper,” she added, taking up a bunch of keys, “and you must permit
me to wish you a good morning,” saying which, with a cool but very
polite inclination of her head, she dismissed Hycy the accomplished, who
cut anything but a dignified figure as he withdrew.
“Well,” said her brother, who was reading a newspaper in the parlor, “is
the report favorable?”
“No,” replied Hycy, “anything but favorable. I fear, Harry, you have not
played me fair in this business.”
“How is that?” asked the other, rather quickly.
“I fear you've prejudiced your sister against me, and that instead of
giving me a clear stage, you gave me the 'no favor' portion of the adage
only.”
“I am not in the habit of stating a falsehood, Hycy, nor of having any
assertion I make questioned; I have already told you, I think, that I
would not prejudice my sister against you. I now repeat that I have not
done so; but I cannot account for her prejudices against you any more
than I shall attempt to contradict or combat them, so far from that I
now tell you, that if she were unfortunately disposed to many you, I
would endeavor to prevent her.”
“And pray why so, Harry, if it is a fair question?”
“Perfectly fair; simply because I should not wish to see my sister
married to a man unburthened with any kind of principle. In fact,
without the slightest intention whatsoever, Hycy, to offer you offence,
I must say that you are not the man to whom I should entrust Maria's
peace and happiness; I am her only brother, and have a right to speak as
I do. I consider it my duty.”
“Certainly,” replied Hycy, “if you think so, I cannot blame you; but I
see clearly that you misunderstand my character--that is all.”
They separated in a few minutes afterwards, and Hycy in a very serious
and irritable mood rode homewards. In truth his prospects at this
peculiar period were anything but agreeable. Here his love-suit, if it
could be called so, had just been rejected by Miss Clinton, in a manner
that utterly precluded all future hope in that quarter. With Kathleen
Cavanagh he had been equally unsuccessful. His brother Edward was now at
home, too, a favorite with, and inseparable from his father, who of late
maintained any intercourse that took place between himself and Hycy,
with a spirit of cool, easy sarcasm, that was worse than anger itself.
His mother, also, in consequence of her unjustifiable attempts to
defend her son's irregularities, had lost nearly all influence with her
husband, and if the latter should withdraw, as he had threatened to
do, the allowance of a hundred a year with which he supplied him, he
scarcely saw on what hand he could turn. With Kathleen Cavanagh and Miss
Clinton he now felt equally indignant, nor did his friend Harry escape
a strong portion of his ill-will. Hycy, not being overburthened with
either a love or practice of truth himself, could not for a moment yield
credence to the assertion of young Clinton, that he took no stops to
prejudice his sister against him. He took it for granted, therefore,
that it was to his interference he owed the reception he had just got,
and he determined in some way or other to repay him for the ill-services
he had rendered him.
The feeling of doubt and uncertainty with which Bryan M'Mahon parted
from his landlord and Fethertonge, the agent, after the interview we
have already described, lost none of their strength by time. Hycy's
memorial had been entrusted to Chevydale, who certainly promised to put
his case strongly before the Commissioners of Excise; and Bryan at first
had every reason to suppose that he would do so. Whether in consequence
of that negligence of his promise, for which he was rather remarkable,
or from some sinister influence that may have been exercised over him,
it is difficult to say, but the fact was that Bryan had now only ten
days between him and absolute ruin. He had taken the trouble to write
to the Secretary of Excise to know if his memorial had been laid
before them, and supported by Mr. Chevydale, who, he said, knew the
circumstances, and received a reply, stating that no such memorial
had been sent, and that Mr. Chevydale had taken no steps in the matter
whatsoever. We shall not now enter into a detail of all the visits
he had made to his landlord, whom he could never see a second time,
however, notwithstanding repeated solicitations to that effect.
Fethertonge he did see, and always was assured by him that his case was
safe and in good hands.
“You are quite mistaken, Bryan,” said he, “if you think that either he
or I have any intention of neglecting your affair. You know yourself,
however, that he has not a moment for anything at the present time but
this confounded election. The contest will be a sharp one, but when it
is over we will take care of you.”
“Yes, but it will then be too late,” replied Bryan; “I will be then a
ruined man.”
“But, my dear Bryan, will you put no confidence in your friends? I tell
you you will not be ruined. If they follow up the matter so as to injure
you, we shall have the whole affair overhauled, and justice done you;
otherwise we shall bring it before Parliament.”
“That may be all very well,” replied Bryan, “but it is rather odd that
he has not taken a single step in it yet.”
“The memorial is before the Board,” said the other, “for some time, and
we expect an answer every day.”
“But I know to the contrary,” replied Bryan, “for here is a letther from
the Secretary stating that no such memorial ever came before them.”
“Never mind that,” replied Fethertonge, “he may not have seen it. The
Secretary! Lord bless you, he never reads a tenth of the memorials that
go in. Show me the letter. See there now--he did not write it all; don't
you see his signature is in a different, hand? Why will you not put
confidence in your friends, Bryan?”
“Because,” replied the independent and honest young fellow, “I don't
think they're entitled to it--from me. They have neglected my business
very shamefully, after having led me to think otherwise. I have no
notion of any landlord suffering his tenant to be ruined before his face
without lifting a finger to prevent it.”
“Oh! fie, Bryan, you are now losing your temper. I shall say no more to
you. Still I can make allowances. However, go home, and keep your
mind easy, we shall take care of you, notwithstanding your ill humor.
Stay--you pass Mr. Clinton's--will you be good! enough to call and tell
Harry Clinton I wish to speak to him, and I will feel obliged?”
“Certainly, sir,” replied Bryan, “with pleasure. I wish you good
morning.”
“Could it be possible,” he added, “that the hint Hycy Burke threw out
about young Clinton has any truth in it--'Harry Clinton will do you an
injury;' but more he would not say. I will now watch him well, for I
certainly cannot drame why he should be my enemy.”
He met Clinton on the way, however, to whom he delivered the message.
“I am much obliged to you,” said he, “I was already aware of it; but now
that I have met you, M'Mahon, allow me to ask if you have not entrusted
a memorial to the care of Mr. Chevydale, in order that it might be sent
up strongly supported by him to the Board of Excise?”
“I have,” said Bryan, “and it has been sent, if I am to believe Mr.
Fethertonge.”
“Listen to me, my honest friend--don't believe Fethertonge, nor don't
rely on Chevydale, who will do nothing more nor less than the agent
allows him. If you depend upon either or both, you are a ruined man, and
I am very much afraid you are that already. It has not been sent; but
observe that I mention this in confidence, and with an understanding
that, for the present, you will not name me in the matter.”
“I sartinly will not,” replied Bryan, who was forcibly struck with
the truth and warmth of interest that were evident in his language and
manner; “and here is a letter that I received this very mornin' from the
Secretary of Excise, stating that no memorial on my behalf has been sent
up to them at all.”
“Ay, just so; that is the true state of the matter.”
“What, in God's name, am I to do, then?” asked Bryan, in a state of
great and evident perplexity.
“I shall tell you; go to an honest man--I don't say, observe, that
Chevydale is not honest; but he is weak and negligent, and altogether
the slave and dupe of his agent. Go to-morrow morning early, about eight
o'clock, fetch another memorial, and wait upon Major Vanston; state
your case to him plainly and simply, and, my life for yours, he will
not neglect you, at all events. Get a fresh memorial drawn up this very
day.”
“I can easily do that,” said Bryan, “for I have a rough copy of the one
I sent; it was Hycy Burke drew it up.”
“Hycy Burke,” repeated Clinton, starting with surprise, “do you tell me
so?”
“Sartinly,” replied the other, “why do you ask?”
Clinton shook his head carelessly. “Well,” he said, “I am glad of it; it
is better late than never. Hycy Burke”--he paused and looked serious a
moment,--“yes,” he added, “I am glad of it. Go now and follow my advice,
and you will have at least a chance of succeeding, and perhaps of
defeating your enemies, that is, if you have any.”
The pressure of time rendered energy and activity necessary in the case
of Bryan; and, accordingly, about eight o'clock next morning, he was
seeking permission to speak to the man against whom he and his family
had always conscientiously voted--because he had been opposed to the
spirit and principles of their religion.
Major Vanston heard his case with patience, inquired more minutely into
the circumstances, asked where Ahadarra was, the name of his landlord,
and such other circumstance as were calculated to make the case clear.
“Pray, who drew up this memorial?” he asked.
“Mr. Hycy Burke, sir,” replied Bryan.
“Ah, indeed,” said he, glancing with a singular meaning at M'Mahon.
“You and Burke are intimate then?”
“Why, we are, sir,” replied Bryan, “on very good terms.”
“And now--Mr.'Burke has obliged you, I suppose, because you have obliged
him?”
“Well, I don't know that he has obliged me much,” said Bryan, “but I
know that I have obliged him a good deal.”
Vanston nodded and seemed satisfied.
“Very well,” he proceeded; “but, with respect to this memorial. I can't
promise you much. Leave it with me, however, and you shall probably hear
from me again. I fear we are late in point of time; indeed, I have but
faint hopes of it altogether, and I would not recommend you to form any
strong expectations from the interference of any one; still, at the same
time,” he added, looking significantly at him, “I don't desire you to
despair altogether.”
“He has as much notion,” thought Bryan, “of troubling his head about me
or my memorial, as I have for standin' candidate for the county. D--n
them all! they think of nobody but themselves!”