It is not peculiar to Irish incomes to fail to develop in response to
increasing demands upon them. It was, however, a distinctive feature
of the incomes of those who were Irish landlords during the latter
years of the Victorian era, to shrink in steady response to the
difficulties of English government in Ireland. Only Irish people can
understand the complicated processes of erosion to which Dick
Talbot-Lowry's resources were subjected, or can realise the tests of
fortitude and endurance to a man of spirit, that were involved by the
visitations of "Commissioners," with their fore-ordained mission of
lowering Dick's rents, rents that, in Dick's opinion, were already
philanthropically low. Major Talbot-Lowry, like many of his tribe,
though a pessimist in politics, was an optimist in most other matters,
and found it impossible to conceive a state of affairs when he would
be unable to do--approximately--whatever he had a mind for. At the age
of fifty-eight, fortitude and endurance are something of a difficulty
for a gentleman unused to the exercise of either of these fine
qualities, and after keeping the Broadwater Vale Hounds, for seventeen
years, as hounds should be kept, regardless of the caprices of the
subscription list, Major-Talbot-Lowry felt that he had deserved better
of his country than that he should now have to institute minor
economies, such as putting his men into brown breeches, foregoing the
yearly renewal of their scarlet coats, and other like humiliations.
Farther than details such as these, his sense of right and wrong did
not permit him to go.
"There are some things that they can't expect a gentleman to do," he
would say to his cousin, Miss Coppinger, "and as long as I keep the
hounds--"
"Then, my dear Dick, if you can't afford them, why keep them?"
Frederica would rejoin, with unsparing common-sense.
Unmarried ladies of mature age, have, as a rule, learned not only
fortitude and endurance, but have also mastered the fact that ways are
governed by means. Those processes of erosion, however, to which
reference has been made, were, comparatively speaking, slow in
operation, and there remained always Lady Isabel's twenty thousand
golden sovereigns, as safe and secluded in the hands of trustees (who
had a constitutional disbelief in Irishmen), as if they were twenty
thousand nuns under the rule of a royal abbess.
Therefore did Major Talbot-Lowry, M.F.H., and the Broadwater Vale
Hounds, make a creditable show, brown breeches and last season's pink
coats notwithstanding, at the meet at Coppinger's Court, on December
26th of the year 1897. The weather was grey and silver, with a light
southeast wind and a rising glass. Sunshine was filtering down, as it
were through muslin curtains that might at any moment be withdrawn;
some crocuses and snowdrops had appeared in the grass round the wide
gravel sweep in front of the house; there was a perplexed primrose or
two, deceived by the sun as to the date; the scent of the violets in
the bed under the drawing-room windows, came in delicate whiffs round
the corner of the house. It would have been impossible to believe that
but twenty-four hours ago, Christmas hymns had been shouted, and
Christmas presents presented, had not a group of "Wran-boys" offered
irrefutable testimony that this was indeed the Feast of Stephen.
These, a ragged and tawdry little cluster of mummers, shabby survivors
of mediæval mysteries, were gathered round their ensign holly-bush in
front of the hall-door steps. From the holly-bush swung the corpse of
the wren, and from the throats of the Wran-Boys came the song that
recounts the wicked wren's pursuit and slaughter:
"The Wran, the Wran, the King of all birds,
On Stephenses' Day was cot in the furze,
And though he is little, his family is great,
Rise up, good gentlemen, and give us a thrate--Huzzay!"
Wherever in South Munster two or three boys were gathered together,
that song was being sung, and Major Talbot-Lowry and his staff had
already met so many of such companies on their way to the Meet, that
their horses' indignation at finding a further collection of
nightmares at Coppinger's Court was excusable.
On the high flight of hall-door steps, stood Larry and Miss Coppinger,
the former pale with excitement, the latter doggedly resigned to the
convention that compelled her to offer intoxicating drinks to people
who, as she said, had but just swallowed their breakfasts. Larry had
learned many things since that day of abysmal ignorance when he had
spoken of Amazon as a "nice dog." Among his many enthusiasms he now
included a passion for the chase, and all that appertains to its
elaborate cult, that complied with Christian's, and even Cottingham's,
sense of what was becoming, and, having dedicated a shelf in the
library to books on hunting, he had read them all, with the same
ardour that, four years earlier, he had brought to bear on The Spirit
of the Nation and Irish history.
Major Talbot-Lowry looked down, from the top of his tall, white-faced
chestnut, on his young cousin, and accepted the glass of port that
Larry reverently offered to him, with a pleased appreciation of the
reverence. Cousin Dick was not invariably pleased with his young
cousin. He had gathered, hazily, from his wife, such of the tenets of
the Companions of Finn as she, instructed by Miss Weyman, had been
able to impart, and had not approved of them, nor of Larry's part in
introducing them to his young; also it was annoying (especially when
he remembered the brown breeches, etc.) to think of a young cub of a
boy having more money than he knew what to do with; and, finally, and
all the time, there was that almost unconscious, inbred distrust of
Larry's religion.
Nevertheless, it has been said that "wise men live in the present, for
its bounties suffice them," and Dick, if not very wise, was very
good-natured, and was wise enough to realise that the fine weather,
and the good horse under him, and even Larry's homage, were bounties
sufficient unto the day.
"Got a fox for me, Larry? That's right. Good boy. Where d'ye think
we'll find him?"
"He's using the Quarry Wood earth, Cousin Dick," said Larry,
breathlessly, with the anxiety of the owner of the coverts alight in
his eyes. "I'm certain he's there. I went round with Sullivan myself
last night, and we stopped the whole place. I bet he'll not get in
anywhere!"
"Good! I'll draw the Quarry Wood first," said Cousin Dick, with royal
benignity. "You get away outside at the western end, and keep a
look-out for him."
A heavy man, on an enormous grey horse, had approached the Master,
having edged his way through the hounds with ostentatious care. He was
of a type sufficiently common among southern Irishmen, with thick,
strong-growing, black hair, a large, black moustache, and heavy brows,
over-shadowing eyes of precisely the same shade of blunted blue as his
shaven chin.
"He's a credit to his breeding, Major!" said the heavy man, indicating
Larry with a sandwich from which he had taken a bite of the size of
one of his horse's hoofs; "I wish we had a few more lads coming on in
the country like him!"
"What good are they going to do?" responded the Master, reverting to
the pessimistic mood that was daily becoming more frequent with him;
"what chance is there for a gentleman in this damned country? You
might as well have a mill-stone round your neck as an Irish property
these times! What do you suppose will be left to us after the next
'Revision of Rents,' as they call it?"
"Well, deuce a much indeed," returned Doctor Mangan, equably, "but it
mightn't be so bad as that altogether! I have my little girl out for
the first time to-day, Major. I wonder might I ask your man, that's
looking after your young ladies, to have an eye to her, too?"
Doctor Mangan withdrew with the required permission, and with his
daughter at his heels, proceeded through the assembling riders and
carriages, distributing greetings as he went.
Doctor Francis Aloysius Mangan was one of the leading doctors in the
district of which the towns of Cluhir and Riverstown each felt itself
to fill the most important place. Ireland grows doctors and clergymen
with almost equal success and profusion. There is in the national
character a considerable share of the constituents that are valuable
in both professions. Power of sympathy, good-nature, intuition,
adroitness, discernment of character, and a gift for taking every man
in his humour. Qualities that are perhaps beside the specialised
requirements, but are equally indispensable.
In what degree these attributes were bestowed upon Doctor Mangan may
gradually be ascertained by the patient reader, but in the case of
Father David Hogan, P.P., of Riverstown, at this juncture in lively
converse with the Misses Talbot-Lowry, the reader may be spared the
exercise of that tiresome virtue, and may feel confident that Father
Hogan failed in none of the qualities that have been enumerated.
Father David was, indeed, the most popular man in the country with all
classes and creeds; he was universally known as the Chaplain of the
B.V.H., and was accounted one of the chiefest glories of the hunt.
Major Talbot-Lowry was accustomed to boast, in places where such as he
congregate, that He, in His country, had the best priest in Ireland! A
real good man. Kept the farmers civil and friendly. Managed a district
for the Fowl Fund. And a topper to ride--always at the top of the
hunt!
"Trust a priest to have a good horse!" is the rejoinder prescribed in
such cases, and Major Dick's fellows seldom failed to comply with the
ritual.
Father David, stout, jolly, and, like his namesake, of a ruddy
countenance, mounted upon a black mare as stout and sporting-looking
as himself, was, as Doctor Mangan drew near to the Misses
Talbot-Lowry, beaming upon these two lambs from another fold, and
having congratulated Miss Judith on the appearance of the grey mare
that she was riding (reft from Lady Isabel and the victoria), was
endearing himself to Miss Christian by tales of the brace of hound
puppies that he was walking for the hunt.
The advantage of being the youngest member of a large family is one
that takes a considerable time to mature. Christian was thirteen years
old before what was left of one of the Hunt horses, after seven
strenuous seasons of official work, was placed at her sole disposal.
This residue, battered though it was, and a roarer of remarkable power
and volume, was incapable of falling, and with anything under eight
stone on its piebald back (piebald from incessant and sedulously
concealed saddle-galls) could always be trusted to keep within
reasonable distance of hounds when they ran. It was fortunate for
Christian that Judith, now sixteen, and far from a feather-weight, had
renounced her share in "Harry," and had established a right in the
grey mare. Judith was a buccaneer. Charles, the coachman, (in
connection with the commandeering of the grey mare, which he resented)
had said of her to his respected friend, Mr. Evans: "Ah, ah! That's
the young lady that'll get her whack out of the world!"
And Mr. Evans' reaping-hook nose had sniffed assent.
Yet, though Judith was averted, the Christmas holidays always held the
menace of brothers to be reckoned with as rival claimants for Harry.
"The boys, darling!" "Unselfishness, darling!" "After the holidays, my
child!"
Lady Isabel was of the school that inculcated self-denial for its
daughters, but never for its sons; (whether from a belief that such
was inherent in the male sex, or from a fear that the effort would be
misplaced, it is difficult to say). Christian was ever quick to
respond to the call for martyrdom, but that the Twins should both
maltreat and despise the venerable Harry, added a poignancy to
renunciation that placed it almost beyond attainment. On this day of
festival, happily, renunciation was not exacted; other attractions had
absorbed the Twins, and Christian's rights were unchallenged.
Therefore, it was that the youngest Miss Talbot-Lowry, perched on old
Harry's broad back, and looking of about the same size in relation to
it as the "Wran" to the holly-bush, was now blissfully discussing
hound-puppies with her trusted friend, Father David, and was asking
nothing more that life could offer.
Dr. Mangan, meantime, waited, with a permissive smile, for the moment
to make his "little girl" known to the young ladies from Mount Music,
and to their cousin, young Larry Coppinger. He was in no hurry, and he
had often had occasion to agree with Milton (though he had been quite
unaware of so doing) in thinking that they also serve who only stand
and wait.