My first care on reaching my quarters was to make preparations for my
departure by the packet of the same evening; my next was to sit down and
read over my letters. As I turned them over, I remarked that there
were none from my father or Lady Charlotte; there was, however, one in
Julia's hand, and also a note from O'Grady. The others were the mere
commonplace correspondence of everyday acquaintances, which I merely
threw my eyes carelessly over ere I consigned them to the fire. My
fair cousin's possessed--I cannot explain why--a most unusual degree of
interest for me; and throwing myself back in my chair, I gave myself up
to its perusal.
The epistle opened by a half-satirical account of the London season then
nearly drawing to its close, in which various characters and incidents
I have not placed before my readers, but all well known to me,
were touched with that quiet, subdued raillery she excelled in. The
flirtations, the jiltings, the matches that were on or off, the rumoured
duels, debts, and difficulties of every one we were acquainted with,
were told with a most amusing smartness--all showing, young as she was,
how thoroughly the wear and tear of fashionable life had invested her
with the intricate knowledge of character, and the perfect acquaintance
with all the intrigues and byplay of the world. 'How unlike Louisa
Bellew!' said I, as I laid down the letter after reading a description
of a manoeuvring mamma and obedient daughter to secure the prize of the
season, with a peerage and some twenty thousand pounds per annum. It was
true they were the vices and the follies of the age which she ridiculed;
but why should she have ever known them? Ought she to have been
conversant with such a state of society as would expose them? Were it
not better, like Louisa Bellew, to have passed her days amid the simple,
unexciting scenes of secluded life, than to have purchased all the
brilliancy of her wit and the dazzle of her genius at the price of true
womanly delicacy and refinement? While I asked and answered myself these
questions to the satisfaction of my own heart, I could not dismiss the
thought, that amid such scenes as London presented, with such associates
as fashion necessitated, the unprotected simplicity of Miss Bellew's
character would expose her to much both of raillery and coldness; and I
felt that she would be nearly as misplaced among the proud daughters of
haughty England as my fair cousin in the unfashionable freedom of Dublin
life.
I confess, as I read on, that old associations came crowding upon me.
The sparkling brilliancy of Julia's style reminded me of the charms of
her conversational powers, aided by all the loveliness of her beauty,
and all that witchery which your true belle of fashion knows how, so
successfully, to spread around her; and it was with a flush of
burning shame on my cheek I acknowledged to myself how much her
letter interested me. As I continued, I saw O'Grady*s name, and to my
astonishment found the following:--
'Lady Charlotte came back from the duke's ball greatly pleased with a
certain Major of dragoons, who, among his other excellent qualities,
turns out to be a friend of yours. This estimable person, whose name is
O'Grady, has done much to dissipate her ladyship's prejudices regarding
Irishmen--the repose of his manner, and the quiet, unassuming, well-bred
tone of his address being all so opposed to her preconceived notions of
his countrymen. He dines here twice or thrice a week, and as he is to
sail soon, may happily preserve the bloom of his reputation to the last.
My estimate of him is somewhat different. I think him a bold _effronté_
kind of person, esteeming himself very highly, and thinking little
of other people. He has, however, a delightful old thing, his servant
Corny, whom I am never tired of, and shall really miss much when he
leaves us.
'Now as to yourself, dear cousin, what mean all the secret hints and sly
looks and doubtful speeches about you here! The mysteries of Udolpho are
plain reading compared to your doings. Her ladyship never speaks of
you but as “that poor boy,” accompanying the epithet with the sigh with
which one speaks of a shipwreck. Sir George calls you John, which shows
he is not quite satisfied about you; and, in fact, I begin to suspect
you must have become a United Irishman, with “a lady in the case.” Yet
even this would scarcely demand one half the reserve and caution with
which you are mentioned. Am I indiscreet in saying that I don't think De
Vere likes you? The Major, however, certainly does; and his presence has
banished the lordling, for which, really, I owe him gratitude.'
The letter concluded by saying that my mother had desired her to write
in her place, as she was suffering from one of her nervous headaches,
which only permitted her to go to the exhibition at Somerset House; my
father, too, was at Woolwich on some military business, and had no time
for anything save to promise to write soon; and that she herself, being
disappointed by the milliner in a new bonnet, dedicated the morning to
me, with a most praiseworthy degree of self-denial and benevolence. I
read the signature some half-dozen times over, and wondered what meaning
in her own heart she ascribed to the words, 'Yours, Julia.'
'Now for O'Grady,' said I, breaking the seal of the Major's envelope.
'My dear Jack,--I was sitting on a hencoop, now pondering on my
fortunes, now turning to con over the only book on board--a very erudite
work on naval tactics, with directions how “to moor a ship in the
Downs”--when a gun came booming over the sea, and a frigate with certain
enigmatical colours flying at her main-top compelled the old troop-ship
we were in to back her topsails and lie to. (We were then steering
straight for Madeira, in latitude------, longitude the same--our
intention being, with the aid of Providence, to reach Quebec at some
remote period of the summer, to join our service companies in Canada.)
Having obeyed the orders of H.M.S. _Blast_, to wait until she overtook
us--a measure that nearly cost us two of our masts and the cook's
galley, we not being accustomed to stand still, it seemed--a boat came
alongside with the smallest bit of a midshipman I ever looked at sitting
in the stern-sheets, with orders for us to face about, left shoulder
forward, and march back to England, where, having taken in the second
battalion of the Twenty-eighth, we were to start for Lisbon.
'I need not tell you what pleasure the announcement afforded us,
delighted as we were to exchange tomahawks and bowie-knives for
civilised warfare, even against more formidable foes. Behold us then in
full sail back to old England, which we reached within a fortnight--only
to touch, however, for the Twenty-eighth were most impatiently expecting
us; and having dedicated three days to taking in water and additional
stores, and once more going through the horrible scene of leave-taking
between soldiers and their wives, we sailed again. I have little
inclination to give you the detail, which newspapers would beat me
hollow in, of our march, or where we first came up with the French. A
smart affair took place at daybreak, in which your humble servant, to
use the appropriate phrase, “distinguished” himself--egad! I had almost
said “extinguished”; for I was shot through the side, losing part of
that conjugal portion of the human anatomy called a rib, and sustaining
several other minor damages, that made me appear to the regimental
doctor a very unserviceable craft for his Majesty's service. The result
was, I was sent back with that plaster for a man's vanity, though not
for his wounds, a despatch-letter to the Horse Guards, and an official
account of the action. As nothing has occurred since in the Peninsula to
eclipse my performance, I continue to star it here with immense success,
and am quite convinced that with a little more loss I might have made an
excellent match out of the affair.
'Now to the pleasant part of my epistle. Your father found me out a few
evenings since at an evening party at the Duke of York's, and presented
me to your lady-mother, who was most gracious in her reception of me;
an invitation to dinner the next day followed, and since, I have spent
almost every day at your house. Your father, my dear Jack, is a glorious
fellow, a soldier in every great feature of the character; you never can
have a finer object of your imitation, and your best friend cannot wish
you to be more than his equal. Lady Charlotte is the most fascinating
person I ever met; her abilities are first-rate, and her powers of
pleasing exceed all that ever I fancied even of London fashionables. How
you could have left such a house I can scarcely conceive, knowing as I
do something of your taste for comfort and voluptuous ease. Besides, _la
cousine_, Lady Julia--Jack, Jack, what a close fellow you are I and
how very lovely she is! she certainly has not her equal even here. I
scarcely know her, for somehow she rather affects hauteur with my cloth,
and rarely deigns any notice of the red-coats so plentifully sprinkled
along your father's dinner-table. Her kindness to Corny, who has been
domesticated at your house for the last five weeks, I can never forget;
and even he can't, it would appear, conjure up any complaint against
her. What a testimony to her goodness!
'This life, however, cannot last for ever; and as I have now recovered
so far as to mount a horse once more, I have applied for a regimental
appointment. Your father most kindly interests himself for me, and
before the week is over I may be gazetted. That fellow De Vere was very
intimate here when I arrived; since he has seen me, however, his
visits have become gradually less frequent, and now have almost ceased
altogether. This, _entre nous_, does not seem to have met completely
with Lady Julia's approval, and I think she may have attributed to me a
circumstance in which certainly I was not an active cause. However happy
I may feel at being instrumental in a breach of intimacy between her and
one so very unworthy of her, even as a common acquaintance, I will ask
you, Jack, when opportunity offers, to put the matter in its true light;
for although I may, in all likelihood, never meet her again, I should
be sorry to leave with her a more unfavourable impression of me than I
really deserve.'
Here the letter broke off; but lower down on the paper were the
following lines, written in evident haste, and with a different ink:--
'We sail to-night. Oporto is our destination. Corny is to remain behind,
and I must ask of you to look to him on his arrival in Dublin. Lady
Julia likes De Vere, and you know him too well to permit of such a fatal
misfortune. I am, I find, meddling in what really I have no right to
touch upon; this is, however, _de vous à moi_. God bless you.--Yours
ever, Phil o'Grady.'
'Poor Phil!' said I, as I laid down the letter; 'in his heart he
believes himself disinterested in all this, but I see plainly he is in
love with her himself.' Alas! I cannot conceive a heavier affliction
to befall the man without fortune than to be thrown among those whose
prospects render an alliance impossible, and to bestow his affections on
an object perfectly beyond his reach of attainment. Many a proud heart
has been torn in the struggle between its own promptings and the
dread of the imputation, which the world so hastily confers, of
'fortune-hunting'; many a haughty spirit has quailed beneath this fear,
and stifled in his bosom the thought that made his life a blessed dream.
My poor friend, how little will she that has stolen away your peace
think of your sorrows!
A gentle tap at my door aroused me from my musings. I opened it, and
saw, to my surprise, my old companion Tipperary Joe. He was covered with
dust, heated, and travel-stained, and leaned against the door-post to
rest himself.
'So,' cried he, when he had recovered his breath, 'I'm in time to see
you once more before you go! I run all the way from Carlow, since twelve
o'clock last night.'
'Come in, my poor boy, and sit down. Here's a glass of wine; 'twill
refresh you. We 'll get something for you to eat presently.'
'No, I couldn't eat now. My throat is full, and my heart is up here.
And so you are going away--going for good and all, never to come back
again?'
'Who can say so much as that, Joe? I should, at least, be very sorry to
think so.'
'And would you, now? And will you really think of ould Ireland when
you 're away? Hurroo! by the mortial, there's no place like it for fun,
divilment, and divarsion. But, musha, musha! I'm forgettin', and it's
gettin' dark. May I go with you to the packet?'
'To be sure, my poor boy; and I believe we have not many minutes to
spare.'
I despatched Joe for a car while I threw a last look around my room. Sad
things, these last looks, whether bestowed on the living or the dead,
the lifelike or the inanimate! There is a feeling that resembles death
in the last glance we are ever to bestow on a loved object. The girl
you have treasured in your secret heart, as she passes by on her
wedding-day, it may be happy and blissful, lifts up her laughing eyes,
the symbol of her own light heart, and leaves in that look darkness and
desolation to you for ever. The boy your father-spirit has clung
to, like the very light of your existence, waves his hand from the
quarterdeck, as the gigantic ship bends over to the breeze; the wind
is playing through the locks your hand so oftentimes has smoothed;
the tears have dimmed his eyes, for, mark t he moves his fingers over
them--and this is a last look. My sorrow had no touch of these. My eye
ranged over the humble furniture of my little chamber, while memories
of the past came crowding on me--hopes that I had lived to see blighted,
daydreams dissipated, heartfelt wishes thwarted and scattered. I stood
thus for some minutes, when Joe again joined me.
Poor fellow! his wayward and capricious flights, now grave, now gay,
were but the mockery of that sympathy my heart required. Still did he
heal the sadness of the moment. We need the voice, the look, the accent
of affection when we are leaving the spot where we have once been happy.
It will not do to part from the objects that have made our home, without
the connecting link of human friendship. The hearth, the roof-tree,
the mountain, and the rivulet are not so eloquent as the once syllabled
'Good-bye,' come it from ever so humble a voice.
[Illustration: 3-055]
The bustle and excitement of the scene beside the packet seemed to
afford Joe the most lively gratification; and, like the genius of
confusion, he was to be seen flitting from place to place, assisting
one, impeding another, while snatches of his wild songs broke from him
every moment. I had but time to press his hand, when he was hurried
ashore amongst the crowd; and the instant after the vessel sheered off
from the pier, and got under way. The poor boy stood upon a block of
granite, waving his cap over his head. He tried a faint cheer, but it
was scarcely audible; another, it too failed. He looked wildly around
him on the strange, unknown faces, as if a scene of desolation had
fallen on him, burst into a torrent of tears, and fled wildly from the
spot. And thus I took my leave of Ireland.
At this period of my narrative I owe it to my reader--I owe it to
myself--to apologise for the mention of incidents, places, and people
that have no other bearing on my story than in the impression they
made upon me while yet young. When I arrived in Ireland I knew scarcely
anything of the world. My opportunities had shown me life only through
the coloured gloss of certain fashionable prejudices; but of the real
character, motives, and habitual modes of acting and thinking of others,
still more of myself, I was in total ignorance. The rapidly succeeding
incidents of Irish life--their interest, variety, and novelty--all
attracted and excited me; and without ever stopping to reflect upon
causes, I found myself becoming acquainted with facts. That the
changeful pictures of existence so profusely scattered through the land
should have made their impression upon me is natural enough; and because
I have found it easier and pleasanter to tell my reader the machinery of
this change in me than to embody that change itself, is the reason why
I have presented before him tableaux of life under so many different
circumstances, and when, frequently, they had no direct relation to the
current of my own fate and the story of my own fortunes. It is enough
of myself to say, that, though scarcely older in time, I had grown so
in thought and feeling. If I felt, on the one hand, how little my
high connections and the position in fashionable life which my family
occupied availed me, I learned, on the other, to know that friends,
and stanch ones, could be made at once, on the emergency of a moment,
without the imposing ceremony of introduction and the diplomatic
interchange of visits. And now to my story.