There were lords and ladies,--I saw myself,--
A duke with his Garter, a knight with his Gaelph.
“Orders”--as bright as the eye could see,
The “Golden Fleece,” and the “Saint Esprit;”
Black Eagles, and Lions, and even a Lamb,
Such an odd-looking thing--from the great “Nizam;”
Shamrocks and Thistles there were in a heap,
And the Legion of Honor from “Louis Philippe,”
So I asked myself--Does it not seem queer,
What can bring this goodly company here?
Mrs. Thorpe's Fête at Twickenham
Although Mrs. Kennyfeck's company were invited for seven o'clock, it
was already something more than half-past ere the first guest made
his appearance, and he found himself alone in the drawing-room; Mrs.
Kennyfeck, who was a very shrewd observer of everything in high life,
having remembered that it twice occurred to herself and Mr. K. to have
arrived the first at the Secretary's “Lodge,” in the Park, and that the
noble hostess did not descend till at least some two or three others had
joined them.
The “first man” to a dinner is the next most miserable thing to the
“last man” at leaving it. The cold air of solitude, the awkwardness of
seeming too eager to be punctual, the certainty, almost inevitable, that
the next person who arrives is perfectly odious to you, and that you
will have to sustain a _tête-à-tête_ with the man of all others you
dislike,--all these are the agreeables of the first man; but he who now
had to sustain them was, happily, indifferent to their tortures. He was
an old, very deaf gentleman, who had figured at the dinner-tables of the
capital for half a century, on no one plea that any one could discover,
save that he was a “Right Honorable.” The privilege of sitting at the
Council had conferred the far pleasanter one of assisting at dinners;
and his political career, if not very ambitious, had been, what few men
can say, unruffled.
He seated himself, then, in a very well-cushioned chair, and with that
easy smile of benevolent meaning which certain deaf people assume as
a counterpoise for the want of colloquial gifts, prepared to be, or at
least to look, a very agreeable old gentleman to the next arrival.
A full quarter of an hour passed over, without anything to break the
decorous stillness of the house; when suddenly the door was thrown wide,
and the butler announced Sir Harvey Upton and Captain Jennings. These
were two hussar officers, who entered with that admirable accompaniment
of clinking sabres, sabretaches, and spurs, so essential to a cavalry
appearance.
“Early, by Jove!” cried one, approaching the mirror over the
chimney-piece, and arranging his moustaches, perfectly unmindful of the
presence of the Right Honorable who sat near it.
“They are growing worse and worse in this house, I think,” cried the
other. “The last time I dined here, we sat down at a quarter to nine.”
“It's all Linton's fault,” drawled out the first speaker; “he told a
story about Long Wellesley asking some one for 'ten.' and apologizing
for an early dinner, as he had to speak in the House afterwards. Who is
here? Neat steppers, those horses!”
“It is Kilgoff and his new wife,--do you know her?”
“No; she's not one of those pale girls we used to ride with at
Leamington?”
There was no time for reply, when the names were announced, “Lord and
Lady Kilgoff!” and a very weakly looking old man, with a blue inside
vest, and enormous diamond studs in his shirt, entered, supporting
a very beautiful young woman, whose proud step and glancing eye were
strange contrasts to his feeble and vacant expression. The hussars
exchanged significant but hasty glances, and fell back, while the others
advanced up the room.
“Our excellent hostess,” said my Lord, in a low but distinct voice,
“will soon shame Wilton-Crescent itself in late hours. I fancy it 's
nigh eight o'clock.”
“It's not their fault, poor things,” said she, lying back in a chair and
disposing her magnificent dress into the most becoming folds; “people
will come late do what one may.”
“They may do so, that's very true; but I would beg to observe, you need
not wait for them.” This was said with a smile towards the hussars,
as though to imply, “There is no reason why you should not express an
opinion, if it agree with mine.”
The baronet immediately bowed, and smiling, so as to show a very white
range of teeth beneath his dark moustache, said, “In part, I agree with
your Lordship, but it requires the high hand of fashion to reform the
abuse.” Here a most insidious glance at her Ladyship most effectually
conveyed the point of his meaning.
Just then, in all the majesty of crimson velvet, Mrs. Kennyfeck
appeared, her comely person heaving under the accumulated splendor
of lace, flowers, and jewelry. Her daughters, more simply but still
handsomely dressed, followed, Mr. Kennyfeck bringing up the rear, in
very evident confusion at having torn his kid gloves,--a misfortune
which he was not clear should be buried in silence, or made the subject
of public apology.
Lady Kilgoff received Mrs. Kennyfeck's excuses for being late with a
very quiet, gentle smile; but my Lord, less given to forgiveness, held
his watch towards Mr. Kennyfeck, and said, “There 's always an excuse
for a man of business, sir, or this would be very reprehensible.”
Fortunately for all parties the company now poured in faster; every
instant saw some two or three arrive. Indeed, with such speed did they
appear, it seemed as if they had all waited for a movement _en masse_:
judges and generals, with nieces and daughters manifold, country
gentlemen, cliente, the _élite_ of Dublin diners-out, the Whites, the
Rigbys, with their ringleted girls, the young member for Mactark, the
Solicitor-General and Mrs. Knivett, and, at last, escorted by his staff
of curates and small vicars, came “the Dean” himself, conducting a
very learned dissertation on the musical properties of the
“Chickgankazoo,”--a three-stringed instrument of an African tribe,
and which he professed to think “admirably adapted for country
congregations too poor to buy an organ! Any one could play it, Softly
could play it, Mrs. Kennyfeck could--”
“How do you do, Mr. Dean?” said that lady, in her sweetest of voices.
The Dean accepted the offered hand, but, without attending to the
salutation, went on with a very curious argument respecting the vocal
chords in the human throat, which he promised to demonstrate on any thin
lady in the company.
The Chief Secretary's fortunate arrival, however, rescued the devoted
fair one from the Dean's scientific ardor; for Mr. Meek was a great
personage in the chief circles of Dublin. Any ordinary manner, in
comparison with Mr. Downie Meek's, would be as linsey-woolsey to
three-pile velvet! There was a yielding softness, a delicious compliance
about him, which won him the world's esteem, and pointed him out to
the Cabinet as the very man to be “Secretary for Ireland.” Conciliation
would be a weak word to express the _suave_ but winning gentleness
of his official dealings. The most frank of men, he was unbounded in
professions, and if so elegant a person could have taken a hint from so
humble a source, we should say that he had made his zoological studies
available and imitated the cuttle-fish, since when close penned by
an enemy he could always escape by muddying the water. In this great
dialectic of the Castlereagh school he was perfect, and could become
totally unintelligible at the shortest notice.
After a few almost whispered words to his hostess, Mr. Meek humbly
requested to be presented to Mr. Cashel. Roland, who was then standing
beside Miss Kennyfeck, and listening to a rather amusing catalogue of
the guests, advanced to make the Secretary's acquaintance. Mr. Downie
Meek's approaches were perfect, and in the few words he spoke, most
favorably impressed Cashel with his unpretentious, unaffected demeanor.
“Are we waiting for any one, Mr. Kennyfeck?” said his spouse, with a
delicious simplicity of voice.
“Oh, certainly!” exclaimed her less accomplished husband; “Sir Andrew
and Lady Janet MacFarline and Lord Charles Frobisher have not arrived.”
“It appears to me,”--a favorite expression of his Lordship, with a
strong emphasis on the pronoun,--“it appears to me,” said Lord Kilgoff,
“that Sir Andrew MacFarline waits for the tattoo at the Royal Barrack to
dress for dinner;” and he added, somewhat lower, “I made a vow, which I
regret to have broken to-day, never to dine wherever he is invited.”
“Here they come! here they come at last,” cried out several voices
together, as the heavy tread of carriage-horses was heard advancing, and
the loud summons of the footman resounded through the square.
Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline were announced in Mr. Pearse's most
impressive manner; and then, after a slight pause, as if to enable the
company to recover themselves from the shock of such august names, Lord
Charles Frobisher and Captain Foster.
Sir Andrew was a tall, raw-boned, high-cheeked old man, with a white
head, red nose, and a very Scotch accent, whose manners, after forty
years' training, still spoke of the time that he carried a halbert in
the “Black Watch.” Lady Janet was a little, grim-faced, gray-eyed old
lady, with a hunch, who, with a most inveterate peevishness of voice and
a most decided tendency to make people unhappy, was the terror of the
garrison.
“We hae na kept ye waitin', Mrs. Kannyfack, I humbly hope?” said Sir
Andrew.
“A good forty minutes, Sir Andrew,” broke in Lord Kilgoff, showing his
watch; “but you are always the last.”
“He was not recorded as such in the official despatch from 'Maida,' my
Lord,” said Lady Janet, fiercely; “but with some people there is more
virtue in being early at dinner than first up the breach in an assault!”
“The siege will always keep hot, my Lady,” interposed a very
well-whiskered gentleman in a blue coat and two inside waistcoats; “the
soup will not.”
“Ah, Mr. Linton,” said she, holding out two fingers, “why were n't you
at our picnic?” Then she added, lower:
“Give me your arm in to dinner. I can't bear that tiresome old man.”
Linton bowed and seemed delighted, while a scarcely perceptible motion
of the brows conveyed an apology to Miss Kennyfeck.
Dinner was at length announced, and after a little of what Sir Andrew
called “clubbing the battalions,” they descended in a long procession.
Cashel, after vainly essaying to secure either of the Kennyfeck girls as
his companion, being obliged to pair off with Mrs. White, the lady who
always declined, but never failed to come.
It is a singular fact in the physiology of Amphytrionism, that
second-class people can always succeed in a “great dinner,” though they
fail egregiously in all attempts at a small party. We reserve the reason
for another time, to record the fact that Mrs. Kennyfeck's table was
both costly and splendid. The soups were admirable, the Madeira perfect
in flavor, the pâtés as hot and the champagne as cold, the fish as
fresh and the venison as long kept, the curry as high seasoned and the
pine-apple ice as delicately simple, as the most refined taste could
demand. The material enjoyments were provided with elegance and
abundance, and the guests--the little chagrin of the long waiting
over--all disposed to be chatty and agreeable.
Like a tide first breaking on a low strand, in small and tiny ripples,
then gradually coming bolder in, with courage more assured, and greater
force, the conversation of a dinner usually runs; till at last at the
high flood the great waves tumble madly one upon another, and the wild
chorus of the clashing water wakes up “the spirit of the storm.”
Even without the aid of the “Physiologie du Goût,” people will talk
of eating while they eat; and so the chitchat was _cuisine_ in all its
moods and tenses, each bringing to the common stock some new device
in cookery, and some anecdotes of his travelled experience in
“gourmandise,” and while Mr. Linton and Lord Charles celebrated
the skill of the “Cadran,” or the “Schwan” at Vienna, the Dean was
critically explaining to poor Mrs. Kennyfeck that Homer's heroes had
probably the most perfect _rôti_ that ever was served, the juices of the
meat being preserved in such large masses.
“Soles, with a 'gratin' of fine gingerbread, I saw at Metternich's,”
said Mr. Linton, “and they were excellent.”
“I like old Jules Perregaux's idea better, what he calls his _côtelettes
à la financière_.”
“What are they? I never tasted them.”
“Very good mutton cutlets _en papillotte_, the envelopes being billets
de banque of a thousand francs each.”
“Is it permitted to help one's self twice, my Lord?”
“I called for the dish again, but found it had been too successful. De
Brigues did a neat thing that way, in a little supper he gave to the
artistes of the Opéra-Comique; the jellies were all served with rings in
them,--turquoise, diamond, emerald, pearl, and so on,--so that the fair
guests had all the excitement of a lottery as the _plat_ came round to
them.”
“The kick-shaws required something o' that kind to make them endurable,”
said Sir Andrew, gruffly; “gie me a haggis, or a cockie-leekie.”
“What is that?” said Miss Kennyfeck, who saw with a sharp malice how
angrily Lady Janet looked at the notion of the coming explanation.
“I 'll tell ye wi' pleasure, Miss Kannyfack, hoo to mak' a
cockie-leekie!”
“Cockie-leekie, _unde derivator_ cockie-leekie?” cried the Dean, who,
having taken a breathing canter through Homer and Horace, was quite
ready for the moderns.
“What, sir?” asked Sir Andrew, not understanding the question.
“I say, what 's the derivation of your cockie-leekie,--the etymology of
the phrase?”
“I dinna ken, and I dinna care. It's mair needfu' that one kens hoo to
mak' it than to speer wha gave it the name of cockie-leekie.”
“More properly pronounced, _coq à lécher_,” said the inexorable Dean.
“The dish is a French one.”
“Did ever any one hear the like?” exclaimed Sir Andrew, utterly
confounded by the assertion.
“I confess, Sir Andrew,” said Linton, “it's rather hard on Scotland.
They say you stole all your ballad-music from Italy, and now they claim
your cookery for France!”
“The record,” said the Attorney-General, across the table, “was tried at
Trim. Your Lordships sat with the Chief Baron.”
“I remember perfectly; we agreed that the King's Bench ruled right,
and that the minor's claim was substantiated.” Then turning to Mrs.
Kennyfeck, who out of politeness had affected to take interest in what
she could not even understand a syllable of, he entered into a very
learned dissertation on “heritable property,” and the great difficulties
that lay in the way of defining its limits.
Meanwhile “pipeclay,” as is not unsuitably styled mess-table talk,
passed among the military, with the usual quizzing about regimental
oddities. Brownrigg's cob, Hanshaw's whiskers, Talbot's buggy, and
Carey's inimitable recipe for punch, the Dean throwing in his negatives
here and there, to show that nothing was “too hot or too heavy” for his
intellectual fingers.
“Bad law! Mr. Chief Justice,” said he, in an authoritative tone. “Doves
in a cot, and coneys in a warren, go to the heir. With respect to
deer--”
“Oh dear, how tiresome!” whispered Mrs. White to Cashel, who most
heartily assented to the exclamation.
“What's the name o' that beastie, young gentleman?” said Sir Andrew, who
overheard Cashel recounting some circumstances of Mexican life.
“The chiguire,--the wild hog of the Caraccas,” said Cashel. “They are
a harmless sort of animal, and lead somewhat an unhappy life of it; for
when they escape the crocodile in the river, they are certain to fall
into the jaws of the jaguar on land.”
“Pretty much like a member o' the Scotch Kirk in Ireland,” said Sir
Andrew, “wi' Episcopaalians on the tae haun, and Papishes on the tither.
Are thae creatures gude to eat, sir?”
“The flesh is excellent,” broke in the Dean. “They are the
_Cavia-Capybara_ of Linnaeus, and far superior to our European swine.”
“I only know,” said Cashel, abruptly, “that _we_ never eat them, except
when nothing else was to be had. They are rancid and fishy.”
“A mere prejudice, sir,” responded the Dean. “If you taste the chiguire,
to use the vulgar name, and let him lie in steep in a white-wine
vinegar, _en marinade_, as the French say--”
“Where are you to find the white-wine vinegar in the Savannahs?” said
Cashel. “You forget, sir, that we are speaking of a country where a fowl
roasted in its own feathers is a delicacy.”
“Oh, how very singular! Do you mean that you eat it, feathers and all?”
said Mrs. White.
“No, madam. It's a prairie dish, which, I assure you, after all, is not
to be despised. The _plat_ is made this way. You take a fowl,--the wild
turkey, when lucky enough to find one,--and cover him all over with soft
red clay; the river clay is the best. You envelop him completely; in
fact, you make a great ball, somewhat the size of a man's head. This
done, you light a fire, and bake the mass. It requires, probably, five
or six hours to make the clay perfectly hard and dry. When it cracks,
the dish is done. You then break open the shell, to the outside of which
the feathers adhere, and the fowl, deliciously roasted, stands before
you.”
“How very excellent,--_le poulet braisé_ of the French, exactly,” said
Lord Kilgoff.
“How cruel!” “How droll!” “How very shocking!” resounded through the
table; the Dean the only one silent, for it was a theme on which, most
singular to say, he could neither record a denial nor a correction.
“I vote for a picnic,” cried Mrs. White, “and Mr. Cashel shall cook us
his _dinde à la Mexicaine_.”
“An excellent thought,” said several of the younger part of the company.
“A very bad one, in my notion,” said Lord Kilgoff, who had no fancy for
seeing her Ladyship scaling cliffs, and descending steep paths, when his
own frail limbs did not permit of accompanying her. “Picnics are about
as vulgar a pastime as one can imagine. Your dinner is ever a
failure; your wine detestable; your table equipage arrives smashed or
topsy-turvy--” “_Unde_ topsy-turvy?--_unde_, topsy-turvy, Softly?” said
the Dean, turning fiercely on the curate. “Whence topsyturvy? Do you
give it up? Do you, Mr. Attorney? Do you, my Lord? do you give it up,
eh? I thought so! Topsy-turvy, _quasi_, top side t' other way.”
“It's vera ingenious,” said Sir Andrew; “but I maun say I see no
neecessity to be always looking back to whare a word gat his birth,
parentage, or eddication.”
“It suggests unpleasant associations,” said Lord Kilgoff, looking
maliciously towards Linton, who was playing too agreeable to her
Ladyship. “The etymology is the key to the true meaning. Sir, many of
those expressions popularly termed bulls--”
“Oh, _apropos_ of bulls,” said Mr. Meek, in his sweetest accent, “did
you hear of a very singular outrage committed yesterday upon the Lord
Lieutenant's beautiful Swiss bull?”
“Did the Dean pass an hour with him?” whispered Linton to Lady Janet,
who hated the dignitary.
“It must have been done by mesmerism, I fancy,” rejoined Mr. Meek.
“The animal, a most fierce one, was discovered lying in his paddock, so
perfectly fettered, head, horns, and feet, that he could not stir. There
is every reason to connect the outrage with a political meaning; for
in this morning's paper, 'The Green Isle,' there is a letter from Mr.
O'Bleather, with a most significant allusion to the occurrence.
'The time is not distant,' says he, 'when John Bull,'--mark the
phrase,--'tied, fettered, and trammelled, shall lie prostrate at the
feet of the once victim of his tyranny.'”
“The sedition is most completely proven by the significance of the act,”
cried out the Chief Justice.
“We have, consequently, offered a reward for the discovery of the
perpetrators of this insolent offence, alike a crime against property,
as an act subversive of the respectful feeling due to the representative
of the sovereign.”
“What is the amount offered?” said Cashel.
“One hundred pounds, for such information as may lead to the conviction
of the person or persons transgressing,” replied the Attorney-General.
“I feel it would be very unfair to suffer the Government to proceed in
an error as to the affair in question; so that I shall claim the reward,
and deliver up the offender,” replied Cashel, smiling.
“Who can it be?” cried Mr. Meek, in astonishment “Myself, sir,” said
Cashel. “If you should proceed by indictment, as you speak of, I hope
the Misses Kennyfeck may not have to figure as 'aiding and abetting,'
for they were present when I lassoed the animal.”
“Lassoed the Swiss bull!” exclaimed several together.
[Illustration: 162]
“Nothing more simple,” said the Dean, holding up his napkin over Mrs.
Kennyfeck's head, to the manifest terror of that lady for her yellow
turban. “You take the loop of a long light rope, and, measuring the
distance with your eye, you make the cast, in this manner--”
“Oh dear! oh, Mr. Dean; my bird-of-paradise plume!”
“When you represent a bull, ma'am, you should not have feathers,”
rejoined the implacable Dean, with a very rough endeavor to restore the
broken plume. “Had you held your head lower down, in the attitude of
a bull's attack, I should have lassoed you at once, and without
difficulty.”
“Lasso is part of the verb 'to weary,' 'to fatigue,' 'to _ennuyer,_ in
fact,” said Mr. Linton, with an admirably-put-on simplicity; and a very
general smile ran through the company.
“When did you see Gosford?” said Meek, addressing one of the hussar
officers, eager to relieve the momentary embarrassment.
“Not for six months; he 's in Paris now.” “Does he mention _me_ in his
letter to you?”
“He does,” said the other, but with an evident constraint, and a
side-look as he ended.
“Yes, faith, he forgets nane of us,” said Sir Andrew, with a grin. “He
asks after Kannyfack,--ould sax-and-eightpence, he ca's you,--and says
he wished you were at Paris, to gie him a dinner at the--what d' ye
ca' it?--the Roshy de something. I see he has a word for ye, my Lord
Kilgoff. He wants to know whether my leddie is like to gie ye an heir
to the ancient house o' Kilgoff, in whilk case he 'll no be so fond of
playing écarté wi' George Lushington, wha has naething to pay wi' except
post-obits on yer lordship,--he, he, he! Ay, and Charlie, my man,”
continued he, turning to the aide-de-camp, Lord Charles Frobisher, “he
asks if ye hauld four by honors as often as ye used formerly; he says
there 's a fellow at Paris ye could n't hold a candle to,--he never
deals the adversary a card higher than the nine.”
The whole company, probably in relief to the evident dismay created by
the allusion to Lord Kilgoff, laughed heartily at this sally, and none
more than the good-looking fellow the object of it.
“But what of Meek, sir?--what does he say of Downie?”
“He says vera little about Mister Meek, ava; he only inquires what
changes we have in the poleetical world, and where is that d--d humbug,
Downie Meek?”
Another and a heartier laugh now ran through the room, in which Mr.
Downie Meek cast the most Imploring looks around him.
“Well,” cried he, at last, “that's not fair; it is really not fair of
Gosford. I appeal to this excellent company if I deserve the title.”
A chorus of negatives went the round, with most energetic assurances of
dissenting from the censure of the letter.
“Come now, Sir Andrew,” said Meek, who for once, losing his balance,
would not even omit him in the number of approving voices,--“come, now,
Sir Andrew, I ask you frankly, am I a humbug?”
“I canna tell,” said the cautious old general, with a sly shake of the
head; “I can only say, sir, be ma saul, ye never humbugged _me!_”
This time the laugh was sincere, and actually shook the table. Mrs.
Kennyfeck, who now saw that Sir Andrew, to use the phrase employed
by his acquaintances, “was up,” determined to withdraw, and made her
telegraphic signals, which soon were answered along the line, save by
Lady Janet, who stubbornly adhered to her glass of claret, with some
faint hope that the lagging decanter might arrive in her neighborhood
time enough for another.
Poor Mrs. Kennyfeck's devices to catch her eye were all in vain; as
well might some bore of the “House” hope for the Speaker's when he was
fixedly exchanging glances with “Sir Robert.” She ogled and smiled, but
to no purpose.
“My Leddy,--Leddy Janet,” said Sir Andrew.
“I hear you, sir; I heard you twice already. If you please, my Lord, a
very little,--Mr. Linton, I beg for the water. I believe, Sir Andrew,
you have forgotten Mr. Gosford's kind remembrances to the Dean.”
“Faith, and so I did, my Leddy. He asks after ye, Mr. Dean, wi' muckle
kindness and affection, and says he never had a hearty laugh syne the
day ye tried to teach Lady Caroline Jedyard to catch a sheep!”
The Dean looked stern, and Linton asked for the secret.
“It was by hauding the beast atween yer knees, and so when the Dean pit
himself i' the proper position, wi' his legs out, and the shepherd drove
the flock towards him, by sair ill-luck it was a ram cam first and he
hoisted his reverence up i' the air, and then laid him flat on his
back, amaist dead. Ech, sirs! but it was a sair fa', no' to speak o' the
damage done to his black breeches!”
This was too much for Lady Janet's endurance, and, amid the loud
laughter of some, and the more difficultly suppressed mirth of others,
the ladies arose.
“Yer na going, leddies! I hope that naething I said, Leddy Kilgoff,
Leddy Janet, ech. We mun e'en console ourselves wi' the claret.” This
was said _sotto_, as the door closed and the party reseated themselves
at the table.
“My Jo Janet _does_ like to bide a wee,” muttered he, half aloud.
“Jo!” cried the Dean, “is derived from the Italian; it's a term of
endearment in both languages. It's a corruption of _Gioia mia_.”
“What may that mean?”
“My joy! my life!”
“Eh, that's it, is it? Ah, sir, these derivatives gat mony a twist and
turn in the way from one land to the tither!” And with this profound bit
of moralizing, he sipped his glass in revery.
The conversation now became more general, fewer personalities arose; and
as the Dean, after a few efforts to correct statements respecting the
“pedigrees of race-horses,” “the odds at hazard,” “the soundings upon
the coral reefs,” “the best harpoons for the sulphur-bottomed whales,”
only made new failures, he sulked and sat silent, permitting talk to
take its course uninterrupted. The hussar baronet paid marked attention
to Cashel, and invited him to the mess for the day following. Lord
Charles overheard the invitation, and said, “I'll join the party;” while
Mr. Meek, leaning over the table, in a low whisper begged Cashel to
preserve the whole bull adventure a secret, as the press was really a
most malevolent thing in Ireland!
During the while the Chief Justice slept profoundly, only waking as
the bottle came before him, and then dropping off again. The
Attorney-General, an overworked man of business, spoke little and
guardedly, so that the conversation, principally left to the younger
members of the party, ranged over the accustomed topics of hunting,
shooting, and deer-stalking, varied by allusion, on Cashel's part, to
sports of far higher, because more dangerous, excitement.
In the pleasant flurry of being attentively listened to,--a new
sensation for Roland,--he arose and ascended to the drawing-room, where
already a numerous party of refteshers had arrived. Here again Cashel
discovered that he was a person of notoriety, and as, notwithstanding
all Mr. Downie Meek's precaution, the “lasso” story had got abroad, the
most wonderful versions of the incident were repeated on every side.
“How did you say he effected it, Mr. Linton?” said the old deaf Countess
of Dumdrum, making an ear-trumpet of her hand.
“By doing what Mr. Meek won't do with the Catholics, my Lady,--taking
the bull by the horns.”
“Don't you think he found conciliation of service besides?” suggested
Mr. Meek, with an angelic simplicity.
“Isn't he handsome! how graceful! So like a Corsair,--one of Byron's
heroes. I 'm dying to know him. Dear me, how those Kennyfeck girls eat
him up. Olivia never takes her eyes off him. He looks so bored, poor
fellow! he 's longing to be let alone.” Such were the muttered comments
on the new object of Dublin curiosity, who himself was very far
from suspecting that his personal distinction had less share in his
popularity than his rent-roll and his parchments.
As we are more desirous of recording the impression he himself created,
than of tracing how others appeared to him, we shall make a noiseless
turn of the salons, and, spy-fashion, listen behind the chairs.
“So you don't think him even good-looking, Lady Kilgoff?” said Mr.
Linton, as he stood half behind her seat.
“Certainly not more than good-looking, and not so much as
nice-looking,--very awkward, and ill at ease he seems.”
“That will wear off when he has the good taste to give up talking to
young ladies, and devote himself to the married ones.”
“Enchanting,--positively enchanting, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Leicester
White to a young friend beside her. “That description of the forest,
over which the lianas formed an actual roof, the golden fruit hanging
a hundred feet above the head, was the most gorgeous picture I ever
beheld.”
“I wish you could persuade him,” lisped a young lady with large blue
eyes, and a profusion of yellow hair in ringlets, “to write that little
story of the Zambo for Lady Blumter's Annual.”
“I say, Charlie,” whispered the baronet to the aide-decamp, “but he's
wide-awake, that Master Cashel; he's a very shrewd fellow, you'll see.”
“Do you mean to couch his eyes, Tom?” said Lord Charles, with his usual
slow, lazy intonation; “what does he say about the races,--will he
come?”
“Oh, he can't promise, old Kennyfeck has a hold upon him just now about
law business.”
“You will impress upon him, my dear Mr. Kennyfeck,” said Mr. Meek, who
held the lappet of the other's coat, “that there are positively--so to
say--but two parties in the country,--the Gentleman and the Jacobin.
Whig and Tory, orange and green, have had their day; and the question
is now between those who have something to lose, and those who have
everything to gain.”
“I really could wish that you, who are so far better qualified than I am
to explain--”
“So I will; I intend, my dear sir. Now, when can you dine with me? You
must come this week; next I shall be obliged to be in London. Shall we
say Wednesday? Wednesday be it Above all, take care that he doesn't even
meet any of that dangerous faction,--those Morgans. They are the very
people to try a game of ascendancy over a young man of great prospects
and large fortune. O'Growl wants a few men of standing to give an air
of substance and respectability to the movement. Lord Witherton will
be most kind to your young friend, but you must press upon him the
necessity of being presented at once. We want to make him a D.L., and if
he enters Parliament, to give him the lieutenancy of the county.”
While all these various criticisms were circulating, and amid an
atmosphere, as it were, impregnated by plots and schemes of every kind,
Cashel stood a very amused spectator of a scene wherein he never knew he
was the chief actor. It would indeed have seemed incredible to him
that he could, by any change of fortune, become an object of interested
speculation to lords, ladies, members of the Government, Church
dignitaries, and others. He was unaware that the man of fortune, with
a hand to offer, a considerable share of the influence property always
gives, livings to bestow, and money to lose, may be a very legitimate
mark for the enterprising schemes of mammas and ministers, suggesting
hopes alike to black-coats and blacklegs.
Perhaps, among the pleasant bits of credulity which we enjoy through
life, there is none sweeter than that implicit faith we repose in the
cordial expressions and flattering opinions bestowed upon us, when
starting in the race, by many who merely, in the jockey phrase,
“standing to win” upon us, have their own, and not _our_ interest before
them in the encouragement they bestow.
The discovery of the cheat is soon made, and we are too prone to revenge
our own over-confidence by a general distrust, from which, again,
experience, later on, rallies us. So that a young man's course is
usually from over-simplicity to over-shrewdness, and then again to
that negligent half-faith which either, according to the calibre of the
wearer, conceals deep knowledge of life, or hides a mistaken notion of
it. Let us return to Cashel, who now stood at the table, around which
a considerable number of the party were grouped, examining a number of
drawings, which Mr. Pepystell, the fashionable architect, had that day
sent for Roland's inspection; houses, villas, castles, cottages,
abbeys, shooting-boxes, gate-lodges, Tudor and Saxon, Norman and
Saracenic,--everything that the morbid imagination of architecture run
mad could devise and amalgamate between the chaste elegance of the Greek
and the tinkling absurdity of the Chinese.
“I do so love a cottage _ornée_,” said Mrs. White, taking up a very
beautiful representation of one, where rose-colored curtains, and a
group on a grass-plot, with gay dresses and parasols, entered into the
composite architecture. “To my fancy, that would be a very paradise.”
“Oh, mamma! isn't that so like dear old Kilgoran!” said a tall, thin
young lady, handing an abbey, as large as Westminster, to another in
widow's black.
“Oh, Maria! I wonder at your showing me what must bring up such
sad memories!” said the mamma, affectedly, while she pressed her
handkerchief to her eyes.
“If she means her father's house,” said Lady Janet to Linton, “it's
about as like a like as--Lord Kilgoff to the Farnese Hercules, or his
wife to any other lady in the peerage.”
“You remember Kilgoran, my Lord,” said the lady in black to the Chief
Justice; “does that remind you of it?”
“Very like,--very like, indeed, madam,” said the old judge, looking at a
rock-work grotto in a fish-pond.
“What's this?” cried another, taking up a great Saxon fortress,
with bastions and gate-towers and curtains, as gloomy and sombre as
Indian-ink could make it.
“As a residence I think that is far too solemn-looking and sad.”
“What did you say it was, sir?” asked the judge.
“The elevation for the new jail at Naas, my Lord,” replied Linton,
gravely.
“I 'm very glad to hear it. We have been sadly crippled for room there
latterly.”
“Do you approve of the Panopticon plan, my Lord?” said Mrs. White, who
never omitted a question when a hard word could be introduced.
“It is, madam,--you are perfectly correct,” said the obsequious old
judge,--“very much the same kind of thing as the Pantechnicon.”
“Talking of Panopticon, where 's Kilgoff?” whispered Linton to one of
the hussars.
“Don't you see him yonder, behind the harp? How that poor woman must be
bored by such _espionnage!_”
“If you mean to build a house, sir,” said Lady Janet, addressing Cashel,
with a tone of authority, “don't, I entreat of you, adopt any of these
absurd outrages upon taste and convenience, but have a good square stone
edifice.”
“Four, or even five stories high,” broke in Linton, gravely.
“Four quite enough,” resumed she, “with a roomy hall, and all the
reception-rooms leading off it. Let your bedrooms--” “Be numerous
enough, at all events,” said Linton again.
“Of course; and so arranged that you can devote one story to families
exclusively.”
“Yes; the _garçons_ should have their dens as remote as possible from
the quieter regions.”
“Have a mass of small sitting-rooms beside the larger salons. In a
country-house there's nothing like letting people form their own little
coteries.”
“Wouldn't you have a theatre?” asked Mrs. White.
“There might be, if the circumstances admitted. But with a billiard-room
and a ball-room--”
“And a snug crib for smoking,” whispered one of the military.
“I don't see any better style of house,” said Linton, gravely, “than
those great hotels one finds on the Rhine, and in Germany generally.
They have ample accommodation, and are so divided that you can have your
own suite of rooms to yourself.”
“Mathews used to keep house after that fashion,” said Lord Kilgoff,
approaching the table. “Every one ordered his own dinner, and eat it
either in his own apartment or in the dining-room. You were invited for
four days, never more.”
“That was a great error; except in that particular, I should recommend
the plan to Mr. Roland Cashel's consideration.”
“I never heard of it before,” said Cashel; “pray enlighten me on the
subject.”
“A very respectable country gentleman, sir,” said Lord Kilgoff, “who had
the whim to see his company without paying what he deemed the heaviest
penalty,--the fatigue of playing host. He therefore invited his
friends to come and do what they pleased,--eat, drink, drive, ride,
play,--exactly as they fancied; only never to notice him otherwise than
as one of the guests.”
“I like his notion prodigiously,” cried Cashel; “I should be delighted
to imitate him.”
“Nothing easier, sir,” said my Lord, “with Mr. Linton for your prime
minister; the administration is perfectly practicable.”
“Might I venture on such a liberty?”
“Too happy to be president of your council,” said Linton, gayly.
A very entreating kind of look from Olivia Kennyfeck here met Cashel's
eyes, and he remarked that she left the place beside the table and
walked into the other room; he himself, although dying to follow her,
had no alternative but to remain and continue the conversation.
“The first point, then,” resumed Linton, “is the house. In what state is
your present mansion?”
“A ruin, I believe,” said Cashel.
“How picturesque!” exclaimed Mrs. Leicester White.
“I fancy not, madam,” rejoined Cashel. “I understand it is about the
least prepossessing bit of stone and mortar the country can exhibit.”
“No matter, let us see it; we 'll improvise something, and get it ready
for the Christmas holidays,” said Linton. “We have--let us see--we have
about two months for our preparation, and, therefore, no time to lose.
We must premise to the honorable company that our accommodation is of
the simplest; 'roughing' shall be the order of the day. Ladies are not
to look for Lyons silk ottomans in their dressing-rooms, nor shall we
promise that our conservatory furnish a fresh bouquet for each fair
guest at breakfast.”
“Two months are four centuries!” said Mrs. White; “we shall accept of no
apologies for any shortcomings, after such an age of time to prepare.”
“You can have your fish from Limerick every day,” said an old
bluff-looking gentleman in a brown wig.
“There 's a capital fellow, called Tom Cox, by the way, somewhere
down in that country, who used to paint our scenes for the garrison
theatricals. Could you make him out, he 'd be so useful,” said one of
the military.
“By all means get up some hurdle-racing,” cried another.
Meanwhile, Roland Cashel approached Olivia Kennyfeck, who was affecting
to seek for some piece of music on the pianoforte.
“Why do you look so sad?” said he, in a low tone, and seeming to assist
her in the search.
“Do I?” said she, with the most graceful look of artless-ness. “I 'm
sure I did n't know it.”
“There again, what a deep sigh that was; come, pray tell me, if I dare
to know, what has grieved you?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing whatever. I 'm sure I never felt in better
spirits. Dear me! Mr. Cashel, how terrified I am, there's that dreadful
Lady Janet has seen us talking together.”
“Well, and what then?”
“Oh, she is so mischievous, and says such horrid, spite-ful things. It
was she that said it--”
“Said what,--what did she say?” cried he, eagerly.
“Oh, what have I done?” exclaimed she, covering her face with her hands.
“Not for the world would I have said the words. Oh, Mr. Cashel, you, who
are so good and so generous, do not ask me more.”
“I really comprehend nothing of all this,” said Cashel, who now began
to suspect that she had overheard some speech reflecting upon him, and
had, without intending, revealed it; “at the same time, I must say, if I
had the right, I should insist on knowing what you heard.”
“Perhaps he has the right,” muttered she, half aloud, as if speaking
unconsciously; “I believe he has.”
“Yes, yes, be assured of it; what were the words?”
“Oh, I shall die of shame. I 'll never be able to speak to you again;
but don't look angry, promise that you 'll forget them, swear you 'll
never think of my having told them, and I'll try.”
“Yes, anything, everything; let me hear them.”
“Well,”--here she hung her head till the long ringlets fell straight
from her fair forehead, and half concealed the blushing cheek, which
each moment grew redder,--“I am so terrified, but you 'll forgive
it,--I know you will,--well, she said, looking towards you, 'I am not
acquainted with this young gentleman yet, but if I should have that
honor soon I 'll take the liberty to tell him that the worthy father's
zeal in his service is ill-requited by his stealing the affections of
his youngest daughter.'” Scarcely were the words uttered, when, as if
the strength that sustained her up to that moment suddenly failed, she
reeled back and sank fainting on a sofa.
Happily for Cashel's character for propriety, a very general rush of
ladies, old and young, to the spot, prevented him taking her in his arms
and carrying her to the balcony for air; but a universal demand for sal
volatile, aromatic vinegar, open windows, and all the usual restoratives
concealed his agitation, which really was extreme.
“You are quite well now, dearest,” said her mamma, bathing her temples,
and so artistically as to make her pale face seem even more beautiful in
the slight dishevelment of her hair. “It was the heat.”
“Yes, mamma,” muttered she, quite low.
“Hem! I thought so,” whispered Lady Janet to a neighbor. “She was too
warm.”
“I really wish that young ladies would reserve these scenes for fitting
times and places. That open window has brought back my lumbago,” said
Lord Kilgoff.
“The true treatment for syncope,” broke in the Dean, “is not by
stimulants. The want of blood on the brain is produced by mechanical
causes, and you have merely to hold the person up by the legs--”
“Oh, Mr. Dean! Oh, fie!” cried twenty voices together.
“The Dean is only exemplifying his etymology on 'top side t'other way,'”
cried Linton.
“Lord Kilgoff's carriage stops the way,” said a servant. And now, the
first announcement given, a very general air of leave-taking pervaded
the company.
“Won't you have some more muffling?--nothing round _your_ throat?--a
little negus, my Lord, before venturing into the night air.”--“How
early!”--“How late!”--“What a pleasant evening!”--“What a fine
night!”--“May I offer you my arm?--mind that step--goodbye,
good-bye--don't forget to-morrow.”--“Your shawl S is blue--that's Lady
Janet's.”--“Which is your hat?”--
“That's not mine. Thanks--don't take so much trouble.”--“Not your
carriage, it is the next but one--mind the draught.”--A hundred
good-nights, and they are gone! So ends a dinner-party, and of all
the company not a vestige is seen, save the blaze of the low-burned
wax-lights, the faded flowers, the deranged furniture, and the jaded
looks of those whose faces wreathed in smiles for six mortal hours seek
at last the hard-bought and well-earned indulgence of a hearty yawn!