Ormond was received with much kindness in Dr. Cambray’s family, in which
he felt himself at ease, and soon forgot that he was a stranger: his
mind, however, was anxious about his situation, as he longed to get into
active life. Every morning, when the post came in, he hoped there
would be a letter for him with his commission; and he was every morning
regularly surprised and disappointed, on finding that there was none. In
the course of each ensuing day, however, he forgot his disappointment,
and said he believed he was happier where he was than he could be any
where else. The regular morning question of “Any letters for me?” was
at last answered by “Yes; one franked by Sir Ulick O’Shane.” “Ah! no
commission--I feel no enclosure--single letter--no! double.” Double or
single, it was as follows:--
“DEAR HARRY,
At last I have seen the executrix and son-in-law, whom that great
genius deceased, my well-beloved cousin in folly, King Corny, chose
for himself. As to that thing, half mud, half tinsel, half Irish, half
French, Miss, or Mademoiselle, O’Faley, that jointed doll, is--all but
the eyes, which move of themselves in a very extraordinary way--a mere
puppet, pulled by wires in the hands of another. The master showman,
fully as extraordinary in his own way as his puppet, kept, while I was
by, as much as possible behind the scenes. The hand and ruffle of the
French petit-maitre, and the prompter’s voice, however, were visible and
audible enough for me. In plain English, I suppose it is no news to you
to hear that Mdlle. O’Faley is a fool, and Monsieur de Connal, Captain
O’Connal, Black Connal, or by whatever other _alias_ he is to be called,
is _properly_ a puppy. I am sorry, my dear boy, to tell you that the
fool has let the rogue get hold of the five hundred pounds lodged in the
bank--so no hopes of your commission for three months, or at the
least two months to come. My dear boy, your much-lamented friend and
benefactor (is not that the style?), King Corny, who began, I think, by
being, years ago, to your admiration, his own tailor, has ended, I fear
to your loss, by being his own lawyer: he has drawn his will so that any
attorney could drive a coach and six through it--so ends ‘every man
his own lawyer.’ Forgive me this laugh, Harry. By-the-bye, you, my dear
ward, will be of age in December, I think--then all my legal power of
interference ceases.
“Meantime, as I know you will be out of spirits when you read this,
I have some comfort for you and myself, which I kept for a
bonne-bouche--you will never more see Lady O’Shane, nor I either.
Articles of separation--and I didn’t trust myself to be my own
lawyer--have been signed between us: so I shall see her ladyship sail
for England this night--won’t let any one have the pleasure of putting
her on board but myself--I will see her safe off, and feel well assured
nothing can tempt her to return--even to haunt me--or scold you. This
was the business which detained me in Dublin--well worth while to give
up a summer to secure, for the rest of one’s days, liberty to lead
a bachelor’s merry life, which I mean to do at Castle Hermitage
or elsewhere, now and from henceforth--Miss Black in no ways
notwithstanding. Miss Black, it is but justice to tell you, is now
convinced of my conjugal virtues, and admires my patience as much as
she used to admire Lady O’Shane’s. She has been very useful to me
in arranging my affairs in this separation--_in consequence_, I have
procured a commission of the peace for a certain Mr. M’Crule, a man whom
you may remember to have seen or heard at the bottom or corner of the
table at Castle Hermitage, one of the _Cromwellians_, a fellow with
the true draw-down of the mouth, and who speaks, or snorts, through his
nose. I have caused him, not without some difficulty, to ask Miss Black
to be his helpmate (Lord _help_ him and forgive me!); and Miss Black,
preferring rather to stay in Ireland and become Mrs. M’Crule than to
return to England and continue companion to Lady O’Shane, hath consented
(who can blame her?) to marry on the spur of the occasion--to-morrow--I
giving her away--you may imagine with what satisfaction. What with
marriages and separations, the business of the nation, my bank, my
canal, and my coal-mines, you may guess my hands have been full of
business. Now, all for pleasure! next week I hope to be down enjoying my
liberty at Castle Hermitage, where I shall be heartily glad to have my
dear Harry again. Marcus in England still--the poor Annalys in great
distress about the son, with whom, I fear, it is all over. No time for
more. Measure my affection by the length of this, the longest epistle
extant in my hand-writing.
“My dear boy, yours ever,
“Ulick O’Shane.”
The mixed and crossing emotions which this letter was calculated
to excite having crossed, and mixed, and subsided a little, the
predominating feeling was expressed by our young hero with a sigh, and
this reflection: “Two months at the least! I must wait before I can have
my commission--two months more in idleness the fates have decreed.”
“That last is a part of the decree that depends on yourself, not on the
fates. Two months you must wait, but why in idleness?” said Dr. Cambray.
The kind and prudent doctor did not press the question--he was content
with its being heard, knowing that it would sink into the mind and
produce its effect in due season. Accordingly, after some time, after
Ormond had exhaled impatience, and exhausted invective, and submitted to
necessity, he returned to reason with the doctor. One evening, when the
doctor and his family had returned from walking, and as the tea-urn was
just coming in bubbling and steaming, Ormond set to work at a corner of
the table, at the doctor’s elbow.
“My dear doctor, suppose I was now to read over to you my list of
books.”
“Suppose you were, and suppose I was to fall asleep,” said the doctor.
“Not the least likely, sir, when you are to do any thing kind for a
friend--may I say friend?”
“You may. Come, read on--I am not proof against flattery, even at my
age--well, read away.”
Ormond began; but at that moment there drove past the windows a
travelling chariot and four.
“Sir Ulick O’Shane, as I live!” cried Ormond, starting up. “I saw
him--he nodded to me. Oh! no, impossible--he said he would not come till
next week--Where’s his letter?--What’s the date?--Could it mean this
week?--No, he says next week quite plainly--What can be the reason?”
A note for Mr. Ormond was brought in, which had been left by one of Sir
Ulick O’Shane’s servants as they went by.
“My commission, after all,” cried Harry. “I always knew, I always said,
that Sir Ulick was a good friend.”
“Has he purchased the commission?” said Dr. Cambray.
“He does not actually say so, but that must be what his note means,”
said Ormond.
“Means! but what does it say?--May I see it?”
“It is written in such a hurry, and in pencil, you’ll not be able to
make it out.”
The doctor, however, read aloud--
“If Mr. Harry Ormond will inquire at Castle Hermitage, he will hear of
something to his advantage.
“U. O’SHANE.”
“Go off this minute,” said Mrs. Cambray, “and inquire at Castle
Hermitage what Mr. Harry Ormond may hear to his advantage, and let us
learn it as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Harry; and ere the words were well uttered, a
hundred steps were lost.
With more than his usual cordiality, Sir Ulick O’Shane received him,
came out into the hall to meet his dear Harry, his own dear boy, to
welcome him again to Castle Hermitage.
“We did not expect you, sir, till next week--this is a most agreeable
surprise. Did you not say--”
“No matter what I said--you see what I have done,” interrupted Sir
Ulick; “and now I must introduce you to a niece of mine, whom you have
never yet seen--Lady Norton, a charming, well-bred, pleasant little
widow, whose husband died, luckily for her and me, just when they had
run out all their large fortune. She is delighted to come to me, and is
just the thing to do the honours of Castle Hermitage--used to the style;
but observe, though she is to rule my roast and my boiled, she is not to
rule me or my friends--that is a preliminary, and a special clause
for Harry Ormond’s being a privileged _ami de la maison_. Now, my dear
fellow, you understand how the land lies; and depend upon it, you’ll
like her, and find her every way of _great advantage to you_.”
So, thought Harry, is this all the advantage I am to hear of?
Sir Ulick led on to the drawing-room, and presented him to a
fashionable-looking lady, neither young nor old, nothing in any respect
remarkable.
“Lady Norton, Harry Ormond--Harry Ormond, my niece, Lady Norton, who
will make this house as pleasant to you, and to me, and to all my
friends, as it has been unpleasant ever since--in short, ever since you
were out of it, Harry.”
Lady Norton, with gracious smile and well-bred courtesy, received Harry
in a manner that promised the performance of all for which Sir Ulick
had engaged. Tea came; and the conversation went on chiefly between
Sir Ulick and Lady Norton on their own affairs, about invitations and
engagements they had made, before they left Dublin, with various persons
who were coming down to Castle Hermitage. Sir Ulick asked, “When are
the Brudenells to come to us, my dear?--Did you settle with the
Lascelles?--and Lady Louisa, she must be here with the vice-regal
party--arrange that, my dear.”
Lady Norton had settled every thing; she took out an elegant
memorandum-book, and read the arrangements to Sir Ulick. Between whiles,
Sir Ulick turned to Ormond and noted the claims of those persons to
distinction, and as several ladies were named, exclaimed, “Charming
woman!--delightful little creature!--The Darrells; Harry, you’ll like
the Darrells too!--The Lardners, all clever, pleasant, and odd,
will entertain you amazingly, Harry!--But Lady Millicent is _the_
woman--nothing at all has been seen in this country like her!--most
fascinating! Harry, take care of your heart.”
Then, as to the men--this man was clever--and the other was quite a
hero--and the next the pleasantest fellow--and the best sportsman--and
there were men of political eminence--men who had distinguished
themselves on different occasions by celebrated speeches--and
particularly promising rising young; men, with whom he must make Ormond
intimately acquainted. Now Sir Ulick closed Lady Norton’s book, and
taking it from her hand, said, “I am tiring you, my dear--that’s enough
for to-night--we’ll settle all the rest to-morrow: you must be tired
after your journey--I whirled you down without mercy--you look fatigued
and sleepy.”
Lady Norton said, “Indeed, she believed she was a little tired, and
rather sleepy.”
Her uncle begged she would not sit up longer from compliment;
accordingly, apologizing to Mr. Ormond, and “really much fatigued,”
she retired. Sir Ulick walked up and down the room, meditating for some
moments, while Harry renewed his intimacy with an old dog, who, at
every pause in the conversation, jumping up on him, and squealing with
delight, had claimed his notice.
“Well, my boy,” exclaimed Sir Ulick, stopping short, “aren’t you a most
extraordinary fellow? Pray did you get my note?”
“Certainly, sir, and came instantly in consequence.”
“And yet you have never inquired what it is that you might hear to your
advantage.”
“I--I thought I had heard it, sir.”
“Heard it, sir!” repeated Sir Ulick: “what _can_ you mean?”
“Simply, sir, that I thought the advantage you alluded to was the
introduction you did me just now the favour to give me to Lady Norton;
you said, her being here would be _a great advantage to me_, and that
led me to conclude--”
“Well, well! you were always a simple good fellow--confiding in my
friendship--continue the same--you will, I am confident. But had you no
other thought?”
“I had,” said Harry, “when first I read your note, I had, I own, another
thought.”
“And what might it be?”
“I thought of my commission, sir.”
“What of your commission?”
“That you had procured it for me, sir.”
“Since you ask me, I tell you honestly, that if it had been for your
interest, I would have purchased that commission long ago; but there
is a little secret, a political secret, which I could not tell you
before--those who are behind the scenes cannot always speak--I may tell
it to you now confidentially, but you must not repeat it, especially
from me--that peace is likely to continue; so the army is out of the
question.”
“Well, sir, if that be the case--you know best.”
“I do--it is, trust me; and as things have turned out--though I could
not possibly foresee what has happened--every thing is for the best:
I have come express from town to tell you news that will surprise you
beyond measure.”
“What can you mean, sir?”
“Simply, sir, that you are possessed, or soon will be possessed of--But
come, sit down quietly, and in good earnest let me explain to you.
You know your father’s second wife, the Indian woman, the governor’s
mahogany-coloured daughter--she had a prodigious fortune, which my poor
friend, your father, chose, when dying, to settle upon her, and her
Indian son; leaving you nothing but what he could not take from you,
the little paternal estate of three hundred pounds a year. Well, it
has pleased Heaven to take your mahogany-coloured step-mother and your
Indian brother out of this world; both carried off within a few days of
each other by a fever of the country--much regretted, I dare say, in the
Bombay Gazette, by all who knew them.
“But as neither you nor I had that honour, we are not, upon this
occasion, called upon for any hypocrisy, farther than a black coat,
which I have ordered for you at my tailor’s. _Have also noted_ and
answered, _in conformity_, the agent’s letter of 26th July, received
yesterday, containing the melancholy intelligence: farther, replied to
that part of his last, which requested to know how and where to transmit
the property, which, on the Indian mother and brother’s demise, falls,
by the will of the late Captain Ormond, to his European son, Harry
Ormond, esq., now under the guardianship of Sir Ulick O’Shane, Castle
Hermitage, Ireland.”
As he spoke, Sir Ulick produced the agent’s letter, and put it into his
ward’s hand, pointing to the “useful passages.” Harry, glancing his eye
over them, understood just enough to be convinced that Sir Ulick was in
earnest, and that he was really heir to a very considerable property.
“Well! Harry Ormond, esq.,” pursued Sir Ulick, “was I wrong when I told
you that if you would inquire at Castle Hermitage you would hear of
something to your advantage?”
“I _hope_ in Heaven,” said Ormond, “and _pray_ to Heaven that it may be
to my advantage!--I hope neither my head nor my heart may be turned by
sudden prosperity.”
“Your heart--oh! I’ll answer for your heart, my noble fellow,” said Sir
Ulick; “but I own you surprise me by the coolness of head you show.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Ormond, “I must run this minute to tell Dr.
Cambray and all my friends at Vicar’s Dale.”
“Certainly--quite right,” said Sir Ulick--“I won’t detain you a moment,”
said he--but he still held him fast. “I let you go to-night, but you
must come to me to-morrow.”
“Oh! sir, certainly.”
“And you will bid adieu to Vicar’s Dale, and take up your quarters at
Castle Hermitage, with your old guardian.”
“Thank you, sir--delightful! But I need not bid adieu to Vicar’s
Dale--_they_ are so near, I shall see them every day.”
“Of course,” said Sir Ulick, biting his lip; “_but_ I was thinking of
something.”
“Pray,” continued Sir Ulick, “do you like a gig, a curricle, or a
phaeton best, or what carriage will you have? there is Tom Darrel’s
in London now, who can bring it over for you. Well, we can settle that
to-morrow.”
“If you please--thank you, kind Sir Ulick--how _can_ you think so
quickly of every thing?”
“Horses, too--let me see,” said Sir Ulick, drawing Harry back to the
fire-place--“Ay, George Beirne is a judge of horses--he can choose for
you, unless you like to choose for yourself. What colour--black or bay?”
“I declare, sir, I don’t know yet--my poor head is in such a state--and
the horses happen not to be uppermost.”
“I protest, Harry, you perfectly astonish me, by the sedateness of your
mind and manner. You are certainly wonderfully formed and improved since
I saw you last--but, how! in the name of wonder, in the Black Islands,
_how_ I cannot conceive,” said Sir Ulick.
“As to sedateness, you know, sir, since I saw you last, I may well be
sobered a little, for I have suffered--not a little,” said Harry.
“Suffered! how?” said Sir Ulick, leaning his arm on the mantel-piece
opposite to him, and listening with an air of sympathy--“suffered! I was
not aware--”
“You know, sir, I have lost an excellent friend.”
“Poor Corny--ay, my poor cousin, as far as he could, I am sure, he
wished to be a friend to you.”
“He wished to be, and _was,_” said Ormond.
“It would have been better for him and his daughter too,” resumed Sir
Ulick, “if he had chosen you for his son-in-law, instead of the coxcomb
to whom Dora is going to be married: yet I own, as your guardian, I
am well pleased that Dora, though a very pretty girl, is out of your
way--you must look higher--she was no match for you.”
“I am perfectly sensible, sir, that we should never have been happy
together.”
“You are a very sensible young man, Ormond--you make me admire you,
seriously--I always foresaw what you would be Ah! if Marcus--but we’ll
not talk of that now. Terribly dissipated--has spent an immensity of
money already--but still, when he speaks in parliament he will make a
figure. But good bye, good night; I see you are in a hurry to get away
from me.”
“_From you!_ Oh! no, sir, you cannot think me so ungrateful. I have not
expressed, because I have not words--when I feel much, I never can say
any thing; yet believe me, sir, I do feel your kindness, and all the
warm fatherly interest you have this night shown that you have for
me:--but I am in a hurry to tell my good friends the Cambrays, who I
know are impatient for my return, and I fear I am keeping them up beyond
their usual hour.”
“Not at all--besides--good Heavens! can’t they sit up a quarter of an
hour, if they are so much interested?--Stay, you really hurry my slow
wits--one thing more I had to say--pray, may I ask to _which_ of the
Miss Cambrays is it that you are so impatient to impart your good
fortune?”
“To both, sir,” said Ormond--“equally.”
“Both!--you unconscionable dog, polygamy is not permitted in these
countries--Both! no, try again for a better answer; though that was no
bad one at the first blush.”
“I have no other answer to give than the plain truth, sir: I am thinking
neither of polygamy nor even of marriage at present. These young ladies
are both very amiable, very handsome, and very agreeable; but, in short,
we are not thinking of one another--indeed, I believe they are engaged.”
“Engaged!--Oh! then you have thought about these young ladies enough to
find that out. Well, this saves your gallantry--good night.”
Sir Ulick had this evening taken a vast deal of superfluous pains to
sound a mind, which lay open before him, clear to the very bottom; but
because it was so clear, he could not believe that he saw the bottom. He
did not much like Dr. Cambray--Father Jos was right there. Dr. Cambray
was one of those simple characters which puzzled Sir Ulick--the idea of
these Miss Cambrays, of the possibility of his ward’s having formed an
attachment that might interfere with his views, disturbed Sir Ulick’s
rest this night. His first operation in the morning was to walk down
unexpectedly early to Vicar’s Dale. He found Ormond with Dr. Cambray,
very busy, examining a plan which the doctor had sketched for a new
cottage for Moriarty--a mason was standing by, talking of sand, lime,
and stones. “But the young ladies, where are they?” Sir Ulick asked.
Ormond did not know. Mrs. Cambray, who was quietly reading, said she
supposed they were in their gardens; and not in the least suspecting
Sir Ulick’s suspicions, she was glad to see him, and gave credit to his
neighbourly good-will for the earliness of this visit, without waiting
even for the doctor to pay his respects first, as he intended to do at
Castle Hermitage.
“Oh! as to that,” Sir Ulick said, “he did not intend to live on terms
of ceremony with Dr. Cambray--he was impatient to take the first
opportunity of thanking the doctor for his attentions to his ward.”
Sir Ulick’s quick eye saw on the table in Harry’s handwriting the _list
of books to be read_. He took it up, looked it over, and with a smile
asked, “Any thoughts of the church, Harry?”
“No, sir; it would be rather late for me to think of the church. I
should never prepare myself properly.”
“Besides,” said Sir Ulick, “I have no living in my gift; but if,”
continued he, in a tone of irony, “if, as I should opine from the list
I hold in my hand--you look to a college living, my boy--if you are
bent upon reading for a fellowship--I don’t doubt but with Dr. Cambray’s
assistance, and with some _grinder_ and _crammer_, we might get you
cleverly through all the college examinations. And doctor, if he did
not, in going through some of the college courses, die of a logical
indigestion, or a classical fever, or a metaphysical lethargy, he might
shine in the dignity of Trin. Coll. Dub., and, mad Mathesis inspiring,
might teach eternally how the line AB is equal to the line CD,--or
why poor X Y Z are unknown quantities. Ah! my dear boy, think of the
pleasure, the glory of lecturing classes of _ignoramuses_, and dunces
yet unborn!”
Harry, no way disconcerted, laughed good-humouredly with his guardian,
and replied, “At present, sir, my ambition reaches no farther than to
escape myself from the class of dunces and ignoramuses. I am conscious
that at present I am very deficient.”
“_In_ what, my dear boy?--To make your complaint English, you must say
deficient in some thing or other--‘tis an _Iricism_ to say in general
that you are _very deficient._”
“There is one of my particular deficiencies then you see, sir--I am
deficient in English.”
“You are not deficient in temper, I am sure,” said Sir Ulick: “come,
come, you may be tolerably well contented with yourself.”
“Ignorant as I am!--No,” said Ormond, “I will never sit down content in
ignorance. Now that I have the fortune of a gentleman, it would be so
much the more conspicuous, more scandalous--now that I have every way
the means, I will, by the blessing of Heaven, and with the help of kind
friends, make myself something more and something better than I am.”
“Gad! you are a fine fellow, Harry Ormond,” cried Sir Ulick: “I remember
having once, at your age, such feelings and notions myself.”
“Very unlike the first thoughts and feelings many young men would have
on coming into unexpected possession of a fortune,” said Dr. Cambray.
“True,” said Sir Ulick, “and we must keep his counsel, that he may not
be dubbed a quiz--not a word of this sort, Harry, for the Darrells, the
Lardners, or the Dartfords.”
“I don’t care whether they dub me a quiz or not,” said Harry, hastily:
“what are Darrells, Lardners, or Dartfords to me?”
“They are something to _me_,” said Sir Ulick.
“Oh! I beg pardon, sir--I didn’t know that--that makes it quite another
affair.”
“And, Harry, as you are to meet these young men, I thought it well to
try how you could bear to be laughed at--I have tried you in this very
conversation, and found you, to my infinite satisfaction, _ridicule
proof_--better than even _bullet proof_--much better. No danger that a
young man of spirit should be bullied out of his opinion and principles,
but great danger that he might be _laughed_ out of them--and I rejoice,
my dear ward, to see that you are safe from this peril.”
Benevolent pleasure shone in Dr. Cambray’s countenance, when he heard
Sir Ulick speak in this manner.
“You will dine with us, Dr. Cambray?” said Sir Ulick. “Harry, you will
not forget Castle Hermitage?”
“Forget Castle Hermitage! as if I could, where I spent my happy
childhood--that paradise, as it seemed to me the first time--when, a
poor little orphan boy, I was brought from my smoky cabin. I remember
the day as well as if it were this moment--when you took me by the hand,
and led me in, and I clung to you.”
“Cling to me still! cling to me ever,” interrupted Sir Ulick, “and I
will never fail you--no, never,” repeated he, grasping Harry’s hand,
and looking upon him with an emotion of affection, strongly felt, and
therefore strongly expressed.
“To be sure I will,” said Harry.
“And I hope,” added Sir Ulick, recovering the gaiety of his tone, “that
at Castle Hermitage a paradise will open for your youth as it opened for
your childhood.”
Mrs. Cambray put in a word of hope and fear about Vicar’s Dale. To which
Ormond answered, “Never fear, Mrs. Cambray--trust me--I know my own
interest too well.”
Sir Ulick turning again as he was leaving the room, said with an air of
frank liberality, “We’ll settle that at once--we’ll divide Harry between
us--or we’ll divide his day thus: the mornings I leave you to your
friends and studies for an hour or two Harry, in this Vale of Eden--the
rest of the day we must have you--men and books best mixed--see Bacon,
and see every clever man that ever wrote or spoke. So here,” added Sir
Ulick, pointing to a map of history, which lay on the table, “you will
have _The Stream of Time_, and with us _Le Courant du Jour.”_
Sir Ulick departed. During the whole of this conversation, and of that
of the preceding night, while he seemed to be talking at random of
different things, unconnected and of opposite sorts, he had carefully
attended to one object. Going round the whole circle of human
motives--love, ambition, interest, ease, pleasure, he had made accurate
observation on his ward’s mind; and reversing the order, he went round
another way, and repeated and corrected his observations. The points he
had strongly noted for practical use were, that for retaining influence
over his ward, he must depend not upon interested motives of any kind,
nor upon the force of authority or precedent, nor yet on the power
of ridicule, but principally upon feelings of honour, gratitude, and
generosity. Harry now no longer crossed any of his projects, but was
become himself the means of carrying many into execution. The plan of
a match for Marcus with Miss Annaly was entirely at an end. That young
lady had given a decided refusal; and some circumstances, which we
cannot here stop to explain, rendered Marcus and his father easy under
that disappointment. No jealousy or competition existing, therefore,
any longer between his son and ward, Sir Ulick’s affection for Ormond
returned in full tide; nor did he reproach himself for having banished
Harry from Castle Hermitage, or for having formerly neglected, and
almost forgotten him for two or three years. Sir Ulick took the matter
up just as easily as he had laid it down--he now looked on Harry not
as the youth whom he had deserted, but as the orphan boy whom he had
cherished in adversity, and whom he had a consequent right to produce
and patronize in prosperity. Beyond, or beneath all this, there was
another reason why Sir Ulick took so much pains, and felt so much
anxiety, to establish his influence over his ward. This reason cannot
yet be mentioned--he had hardly revealed it to himself--it was deep down
in his soul--to be or not to be--as circumstances, time, and the hour,
should decide.