:, H ''^^' -^i-^j ^?^ ^ V ply^r^y/i/i/m/ ^^rCz ^ c ^^.^m L I E) R.ARY OF THE U NIVLR.SITY or ILLINOIS 823 ShSSo V. I O L D C O U R T; A NOVEL, IN THREE VOLUMES. ' By Taste and Fashion swayed, despotic leaders. We 're novel-writers all, or novel-readers. The dull historian now no more prevails; In vain the traveller tells his idle tales. The poet's lyre no more attention meets ; The Muses may sing ballads in our streets. What 's now the rage for subjects gay or grave ? —A novel, in three volumes, post octavo." Pursuid of Tatie.—C&ulo II. VOL. I, LONDON : HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET 1829. LONDON : PRINTED BY HENRY DIGGENS, LEICESTER STREKT, LEICESTER SQUARE. ?33 V.I PREFACE. The writer of a novel, who, in the present day, expects to raise his head above the number of those who throng that department of Utera- ture, must have a very high opinion of his intellectual stature. The author of the following work, however, is so well aware that his faculties are only of the common size, that he often wonders at his own imprudence in not keeping out of the crowd. Goldsmith, in the dedication of his " Tra- veller," doubts " what reception a poem may tind, which has neither abuse, party, nor blank- verse to recommend it;" — the author of " Old- court,'* with humbler pretensions, has much more reason to distrust the success of a novel which is neither political nor religious — personal nor local ; which pourtrays no public nor private character, — proscribes neither street, square, nor IV PREFACE. district, — and has no claim to be considered his- torical, philosophical, or scientific. Tn the following pages, the reader will find no mysterious intricacy of plot, no startling succes- sion of romantic adventures, extraordinary cha- racters, or wonderful events. The author enters into no rivalry with the great masters of the marvellous, and has attempted nothing more than a narrative of the ordinary occurrences of human life, interspersed with such reflections on the habits, manners, and morals of society, as his experience of the world has suggested to him. In some passages which occur in the course of the work, the reader w^ill observe that it was composed before the Catholic Question had ceased to be the all -engrossing topic of general discussion ; and previous to the adoption of that great measure of policy and justice which affords us some ground to hope, that religious dissen- sions will at length cease to ring in our ears, and that the mild principles of Christianity will so far prevail amongst those who profess to wor- ship the same Creator, as to influence their pas- sions as well as their opinions, and be discover- able in their actions no less than in their creeds. OLDCOURT. INTRODUCTION. *' I WISH," said Emily, laying down a volume of the last new publication she had received from the library, " I wish, papa, you would WTite a novel." " Nonsense I " good-humouredly ejaculated Mr. Oldcourt, the gentleman addressed, who sat in a musing position, drumming with one hand on the arm of his chair, " nonsense, my dear Emily." " Indeed, papa, I wish you would," added Isa- bella, the younger sister ; '' I am sure you would VOL. I. B 2 OLDCOURT. write a better novel than half of those which seem to be so generally admired." " Nonsense, my dear Isabella/' again rejoined Mr. Oldcourt, raising to his lips a tea-cup, which he had before partly reheved of its contents. " For my part," said Frederick, Mr. Oldcourt's second son, a delicate, slim young man about twenty, " T wonder my father has resisted the temptation so long. Every body now writes no- vels ; lords and commoners, fine ladies and fine gentlemen, philosophers, poets, and politicians. The parson pens a novel instead of a sermon, physicians write novels in preference to prescrip- tions, and the soldier lays down his sword to com- municate his campaigns in a romance." " Then I wish,'* said Emily, *' that papa would follow the fashion for once ; don't you, mamma ?" addressing her mother, who was busily employed on a new pattern of fashionable net-work. " Indeed, my dear," replied Mrs. Oldcourt, " I am sure your father's talents and knowledge of the world, qualify him to write a much better novel than " " A what ! " cried Colonel Oldcourt, (the head OLDCOURT. 5 of an old Irish family, who had passed the greater part of his life abroad in the Austrian service,) taking off his spectacles, and raising his head from a newspaper, in which he had been devour- ing a debate on the Currency Question — " Write a novel, did you say ? My brother write a novel ! I trust he has too much sense to do any thing so absurd. You are a great deal too fond of those idle effusions, girls ; you will derive no instruc- tion from them, I assure you ; and T wonder you can continue to find amusement in such flimsy and ephemeral productions. The land of litera- ture is absolutely overrun with them." " The market is rather overstocked, I must own," observed Mr. Oldcourt ; " but I think, brother, you are too severe : a good novel is no bad thing, in my opinion ; and if I do not try to write such a work, it is not because T have too much sense to do it, but rather, because I have not sense enough to do it well.'* " Oh, papa \" exclaimed the young ladies, their mamma also adding the expostulatory ejaculation of, " My dear Mr. Oldcourt 1 " " No," continued Mr. Oldcourt ; " to write a 4 OLDCOURT. good novel requires a combination of talent, which I do not think I possess. I have not the art of weaving a well-connected story, nor imagination vigorous enough to conceive strong characters and striking incidents/' " Oh, Mr. Oldcourt ! " exclaimed his good lady, " don't depreciate your talents, after the reputa- tion you have obtained by your works." " Indeed, mamma," cried Isabella, " let papa say what he will, he is considered a lion where- ever he goes.'' " And so," observed Colonel Oldcourt, " be- cause your father is considered a Hon, as in your fashionable jargon you express it, you would have him prove himself an ass, and risk the reputation he has gained by works of solid good sen^e in his own profession,* calculated to bene- * Mr. Oldcourt was a lawyer, and one of the works here alluded to by the colonel was entitled, " Outlines of a New Code of Civil Jurisprudence ;" in which it is proposed to make law an instrument of justice, and render redress at- tainable without ruin. The project, however, was declared by the highest judicial authorities to be wild and Utopian, injurious to vested interests, a departure from the wisdom of our ancestors, and threatening in its result, the subversion of our glorious constitution in church and state. OLDCOURT. O fit society, in a paltry competition with scribblers, who can hope for no fame beyond the sHp- slop celebrity of a quadrille -party, or a tea- table iramortahty of six months' continu- ance." " Oh, uncle !" exclaimed Emily, " think of the author of ' Waverley ;' is his fame confined to quadrille-parties and tea-tables?'' " A home-thrust, brother," cried Mr. Old- court, " Sir Walter will live as long as the English language shall endure. To w^hat part of the civilized world has his fame not extended? Well may he say, in the words of the poet (if the ladies will excuse me for quoting Virgil), ' Quas regio ia terris nostri non plena laboris ?' ' If he had not raised for himself a nobler and more durable monument than brass or stone, he would well deserve one from his country." " I suppose," rejoined the colonel sarcasti- cally, " you would estabhsh a niche for novehsts in Westminster Abbey, to correspond with Poet's- corner ; or place a brawny figure of your favour- b OLDCOURT. ite in company \\dth the great colossus of lite- rature, as the Gog and Magog of St. Paul's. " " In my opinion/' replied Mr. Oldcourt, " the man who, like the author of ' Waverley,' has adorned his country by his genius, and supplied so rich a fund of innocent intellectual enjoyment, not only to the present age, but to posterity, is a benefactor to his species, and deserves as well to have his statue erected, as the statesman who guides his country by his counsels, or the hero who defends it by his sword." " Well," said Colonel Oldcourt, " I acknow* ledge the author of ' Waverley' is the best of his class ; but he is an extraordinary man, and no fair example of the species. He has made his own public ; and if he still lives and triumphs in general renown, it is because he continues alternately to stimulate and feed the appetite which he has created. Let him but drop his pen for a few years, and we shall hear no more of his prose, than we now do of his poetry." " In admitting," replied Mr. Oldcourt, " that he has created his own public, you allow him an influence, which only the highest powers of in-- OLDCOURT. • 7 tellect have ever been able to exercise in any country. He is truly a genius of the first order, who moulds the general mind to his own pur- poses — who sets his mark upon his age — \vho has strength and skill sufficient to turn the tide of taste into some new channel — who startles us by novel modes of merit — shakes our idolatry of the old models by the pleasure he affords us in the new ; and completes his triumph by converting his admirers into his imitators. Well has it been said, ' that next to the genius w^ho improves the taste of his age, is the genius that perverts it.'" " Trust me, then," sneeringly rejoined the colonel, '* our era will be distinguished above all others for the latter species of celebrity. We have great geniuses, exercising their powers of perversion through every department of litera- ture, and in no department with more effect than in that of the novel." "Good gracious!" observed Mrs. Oldcourt, looking up with a gentle expression of surprise, and drawing her needle out of the row of net- work which she had just completed, " I am sure, colonel, novels were never more entertaining; than 8 OLDCOURT. they are at present, or written with more atten- tion to that deKcacy and propriety, which should always characterize works intended for circula- tion among the respectable classes of society." " My dear sister," replied the colonel, " what you call delicacy and propriety, I should be dis- posed to term affected refinement and mawkish common-place. What shall we find in the frivo- lous romance-mongers of the day, to stand a comparison with the life-breathing details of character and conversation which enrich the pages of Richardson, or the just and natural pictures of real life and manners which glow with a startling identity from the vigorous pen- cils of Fielding, SmoUet, and Goldsmith. I am no advocate for their coarseness ; that was the fault of their age : but some of our polished and popular novelists, who would not shock the re- fined ear by an indelicate expression, have much worse sins to answer for. Richardson, you will allow, is unexceptionable.'* " But is he not painfully prosing and minute, uncle ? " said Emily. " Papa undertook, last win- ter, to read out one of his works to the family- OLDCOURT. 9 circle, but we could not get through more than five of the ten volumes to which it is so labo- riously spun out; we were all so tired of the buckram Sir Charles Grandison, and the ever sweet and sensible Miss Harriet Byron." " I must confess/' said Mr. Oldcourt, "though I think Richardson an admirable writer, and in his conversations unrivalled, yet I found the book rather heavy, and less amusing than my early im- pressions of it led me to expect." " And you may remember, my dear," observed Mrs. Oldcourt, addressing her husband, " that by your recommendation, T was induced to read Field- ing's ' Amelia,' as your beau ideal of a wife ; but I found so much to object to generally in the work, and thought it so ill-adapted to delicate minds, that I have never allowed my girls to look into Fielding, or Smollet either, who I understand surpasses him in grossness." " Then by Jove ! mother," exclaimed Master Godfrey Oldcourt, a young gentleman rising fif- teen, as the horse-dealers say, who had sat listen- ing for some time, gracefully leaning on both elbows over his cup of tea, and occasionally sip- b2 1 OLDCOURT. ping it with his tea-spoon ; " then by Jove, mother, they have a very great loss ; I never was so dehghted with a book in my life, as with ' Tom Jones' and ' Humphrey Clinker/ " ''What ! Godfrey," sharply observed his uncle, "were you ever delighted in your life with any book?" '' I am sorry to say," rejoined Mrs. Oldcourt, with some apprehension of a lecture to Master Godfrey from his uncle, who had rather a ten- dency to indulge in that particular exercise of the faculty of speech, when a good opportunity occurred , " 1 am sorry to say, that Godfrey is not quite so fond of reading as his brothers, at least of reading for his improvement." " I assure you, mother," said Frederick, laying dow^n a pocket Horace, which he had been dili- gently perusing, " both Charles and I have read Fielding and SmoUet, as well as Godfrey ; and though I cannot recommend them to my sisters, I must confess, we found them highly enter- taining." " Think of Thwackum and Square, Frederick," now rejoined Godfrey with great glee, emboldened OLDCOURT. 1 1 by this timely reinforcement of his brother's sen- timents, " and Squire ^Yeste^n, and black George, the gamekeeper !" " My favourite character," said Frederick, " is Partridge. The hero, I must own, always struck me as a mere roud ; somewhat vulgar, and very unprincipled." " But what do you say to Humphrey Clinker ?'' exultingly asked Godfrey ; " with my aunt Ta- bitha Bramble ? Captain Lismahago ; and then Peregrine Pickle, Commodore Trunnion, and Tom Bowling !" " Aye ! boys," now interposed the colonel, with a triumphant wave of the hand, and tapping his snufF-box preparatory to a pinch, " these are novels worth reading ; full of wit, sense, nature, and knowledge of life : no pompous, pe- dantic, affected, philosophical rigmarol, about extravagant adventures and double-refined sen- timents." " The character of the novel," obser^-ed ^Ir Oldcourt, " is certainly very much changed in the present day ; but I think in many respects, it is improved." 12 OLDCOURT. " Changed with a vengeance !" exclaimed the colonel : "in the hands of the great masters whom I have mentioned, the novel was a faithful picture of the world and society ; representing natural characters and events in an impressive and interesting point of view : deducing precept from example, and displaying men and manners in all their varieties, with a force, truth, and tact, by which some useful knowledge of life is communicated, and we are instructed, as well as amused. But now, the novel is an unconnected jumble of oiUre characters and preposterous inci- dents : a kind of narrative hodge-podge, in which all the minutely-dissected sentimentalities of the French, are mixed up with the bug-a-boo sub- limities of the German school. There is no longer any thing simple and natural in thought or expression. Characters are caricatured, ac- tions overcharged, and passions exaggerated. All feehngs are intense — all emotions agonizing — soul swelling, bosom heaving, and heart rending. In the fashionable compositions of the day, every thing is deep and disquisitional — rhapsody and rhodomontade — philosophy or farce. Their au- OLDCOURT. 13 thors endeavour to make amends for feebleness of thought, by a strut and swell of expression — their Bobadil words all swagger and look big, as they proceed in the puzzling maze of their grand- iloquent lucubrations," '' Well, but, my dear brother ! this is satire, not criticism ; there may be some culprits who de- serve your lash : but though I admit there is too much parade of fine writing, and too constant an effort to analyze emotions and dissect the human mind, as Doctor Spurzheim would give a demon- stration of the brain, in the novels of the day, yet our best w-riters in this department are either wholly free from such vices, or if they do occa- sionally transgress, we overlook their defects in the merits which accompany them." " What can you say," resumed the colonel, " in defence of that descriptive mania which rages universally through the modern novel? Page after page drawls on, like a birthday newspaper, in a gorgeous man-milliner magni- ficence of dress, costume, and decoration ; while the story halts at its most interesting period, and you are detained through a whole chapter. 14 OLDCOURT. till the author has displayed his entire stock of architectural and antiquarian erudition, in a dull detail of banquets, banners, and bowers, traceries, bastions, and battlements, with all their peculiar characteristics, heraldic, gothic, and ara- besque." '' I grant/* replied Mr. Oldcourt, ''that in some of our best modern novels we occasionally find, « That pure description holds the place of sense.' The stores of description may indeed be termed the Balaam-box of the novehst, to which he has recourse whenever he labours under a lack of in- cident, or wants to eke out a chapter without any other available materials at hand." ''Well, but papa," said Emily, "think of the beautiful descriptions which Mrs. RadclifFe has given us. Who would wish to exclude the glow- ing pictures of romantic scenery in the ' Mys- teries of Udolpho,' or the identifying details of person, place, and circumstance, in ' Kenil- worth' or ' Rob Roy ?'" " My dear Emily,*' rejoined her uncle, " you ladies, with characteristic taste, are partial to de- OLDCOURT. 16 coration, and delight in the author v;ho flaunts in all the flowers and feathers of literature." " Nay, my dear colonel/' said Mrs. Oldcourt, " you are too severe upon us : a taste for the or- namental does not necessarily preclude a just esti- mate of the useful ; and sense and truth are surely not the less impressive for being agreeably adorned. " "Truth, my dear sister," rejoined the colonel, " is like beauty, ' When unadorned, adorned the most.' " And like beauty," added Mrs. Oldcourt, " it should be attended by the Graces." " Well, observed, my dear," interposed Mr. Oldcourt, pleased with the point of his wife's re- joinder, "my brother is hit by a rebound of his own shot." " It is no disgrace to a soldier," said the colonel, gallantly bowing to his fair opponent, " to have his position turned by a lady. But to return to the charge ; v/e must, in this instance, distinguish be- tween a decoration and an incumbrance. When the Httle truth and common sense that are to be found in a modern novel are clouded and ob- 16 OLDCOURT. scured by dull, vague, and vapoury description — when, in the full career of the story, you are ar- rested through half-a-dozen pages, and required to attend to the graceful waving of the larch and the pine — to listen to the 'mellifluous music of the umbrageous grove,' and 'contemplate the glo- rious orb of day in his refulgent course, gilding the distant mountain, and glowing on the neigh- bouring lake,' I confess I lose all patience with such impertinent interruptions, such mere book-making expedients, which, as the hack- neyed common -places of vulgar story-tellers, should be reserved to dehght the nursery in some new edition of ' Blue Beard,' or ' Jack the Giant-Killer.' 'Foregad ! if I were licenser of the press to Messrs. Colburn and Murray, I would have no mercy on the larch and the labur- nam; no ' mouldering battlement' or 'ivy-mantled tower' should stand; there should be neither morn- ing nor evening in the chronology of a novel, and 1 would blot out the sun, moon, and stars, from the literary firmament, as tending only to lead the story astray, and delude wandering scribblers from the paths of common sense." OLDCOURT. 17 ** It must be acknowledged/' said Mr. Oldcourt, that the ordinary phenomena of nature are much too lavishly employed in this way ; and we cer- tainly have had quite enough of literary land- scapes, depicted under all the sublime effects of sun and shade, under every modification of glare and gloom. There is no new mode of gilding clouds, castles, or mountains ; and, I own, I should not readily tolerate a regular sunrise from the pen of even our great novelist himself, unless it were drawn from the Peak of Teneriffe, or the highest point of the Andes." " Brydone," said Frederick, " has anticipated him in that from the summit of Etna, though many have asserted his work to be a fancy-piece.'* " The dazzhng eye of Nature," exclaimed Col. Oldcourt, " when through the lids of darkness it first glances on the morning world, may be re- presented with some success on canvass by the pencil of a Claude, or a Turner; but he is a cox- comb who imagines that with his pen he can, by any accumulation of high-sounding words and sentences, give even a faint idea of its mag- nificence, or pour the hving lustre on the soul." 18 ' OLDCOURT. " Why, uncle/' said Godfrey, turning round in his chair, " you are descriptive now yourself, and have given us a complete sunrise in miniature." " Godfrey!" exclaimed his mother, with an ex- pressive nod of the head, evidently apprehensive of the effect of his interruption upon his uncle ; but the colonel, not at all displeased with God- frey's remark, continued — ' as for the paly moon,' we have long been sick of that in poetry ; but when ' the Queen of Night ascends her ebon car,* in prose, it is past all endurance, and the scribbler should be put under restraint." " Well, uncle, notwithstanding the severity of your censures," observed Emily, " I am sure you have been often entertained by some of our modern novels ; you praised highly the lazar- house scene in ' Anastasius,' and I saw you wipe your eyes frequently while reading the affecting account of the loss of his child." " Yes, and don't you remember, Emily," said Godfrey, '* how displeased my uncle was, when the last volume of ' Brambletye House' was sent away before he had read it." '* Godfrey!" now more emphatically exclaimed ^ OLDCOURT. 19 Mrs. Oldcourt, looking at him with as minacious a contraction of the brow as her generally placid forehead could assume. *' When I begin a book, young gentleman," said his uncle, turning rather sharply on his lo- quacious nephew, " I like to finish it: a practice, which I believe, Mr. Malapert, your wisdom has not yet thought fit to adopt." "Besides, my dear Emily," addressing his niece, "I do not mean to say that I have not been some- times amused by those productions, and even greatly pleased with passages, when I could not approve of the whole work." " Your uncle, my dear Emily," said her father, " is too good a judge of these matters, and has too much taste and candour, to deny the merits of those distinguished writers who, in our day, have rendered the novel the most popular, if not the most powerful instrument of literary influence." "But T accuse them of abusing their powers," eagerly rejoined his brother; " of perverting the public taste, and pampering the general appetite with the unsubstantial quackeries of a distempered imagination, till it can no longer relish the whole- 20 OLDCOURT some fare of sense and science. The manly, the rational, the legitimate race of novels is extinct, and a piebald species, half black, half white — a mongrel breed, half history, half romance — com- pounded of fact and fiction — faithful to the charac- ter of neither, and confounding the properties of both, has succeeded in its place, deranging the established limits of regular composition, and en- croaching on every other province of literature." '' Nay, brother," answered Mr. Oldcourt, with some earnestness; *' let us do justice to the new school as well as the old. If the modern novel be in some respects open to your censure, it has also qualities which claim your admiration. Con- sider its general superiority in all the graces of style — in delicacy of sentiment and expression — its impressive pictures of passion, and rich diversities of character — its appropriate details of costume and country — identifying time and place — the wit and spirit of its dialogue — its great dramatic force, and picturesque effect. Nay, some of our novelists have aimed at higher objects, and endeavoured to illustrate important moral and political principles in their works." OLDCOURT. 21 " Yes, and religious principles too," added Isa- bella ; "as for instance in the book which I have now in my hand, ' Tremaine.' " " And there is ' Coelebs in Search of a Wife/" added Emily; " and the delightful melange of spirit, pleasantry, and patriotism, to be found in the pro- ductions of Miss Edgeworth and Lady Morgan." "Why don't you add Caleb Williams, and Hugh Trevor to the list, my dear girls," drily observed their uncle. "Why, this most absurd ambition, this insidious endeavour to make such productions an engine of deep philosophical influence and poli- tical effect, is the most flagrant offence of the modern novel. "The novel is now a sort of literary ambuscade, into which you fall without beins: in the least aware of your danger. The philosopher lurks there where you least expect to find him ; the politi- cian lies perdu in every paragraph ; and the sly polemic, in full controversial vigour, pounces upon your opinions at every turn of the page. A fine lady, lounging on her sofa, httle imagines how she may be seduced into science, or trepanned into political economy, while innocently seeking en- 22 OLDCOURT. tertainment in a chapter of fashionable chit-chat ; and she would be cautious how she ventured upon such works, if she were aware that a course of Colburn and Co. might make her as blue as the ladies of the Royal Institution. " The modern novelist is, indeed, a would-be Machiavel in his way ; his apparent, is rarely his real object : however superficial his work may seem, his design is profound ; and while you think he is only administering to your amusement, he is opening a masked-battery upon all the preju- dices of his age. Like the American rifleman of the Back Settlements, he levels point blank at your morals, your politics, and your religion, from be- hind every tree and bush in the wild waste of fiction into which, under false pretences, he has allured you ; and if your principles escape without a wound, it is not owing to the defect of his aim, but to the w^eakness of his ammunition.'' "But, my dear brother, let me understand you," interposed Mr. Oldcourt, drawing his chair a little more in front of his opponent, as if preparing for closer engagement : " you overpower me by your figurative impetuosity ; but do you mean to say OLDCOURT. 23 that the novel is not a proper vehicle for the inculcation of moral and religious principles V " My good sir," somewhat sharply rejoined the colonel, a form of address which he generally used when he did not exactly like the way in which a question was put by his adversary : " my good sir, I do not mean to say any such thing ; nor can I conceive from what observation of mine you have been led to infer such an opinion. Does it follow, because I condemn those designing scribblers, who use the novel only as a means of disseminating the most absurd and dangerous doctrines, that I must, therefore, consider that species of composition as insufficient for any good purpose, however ably and judiciously em- ployed ?" •' Certainly not," repUed Mr, Oldcourt ; " and I am sure you will agi-ee with me, that it is not only the privilege, but the duty of every writer, whether in verse or prose, from the dignified historian and the epic poet, down to the party pamphleteer and the artificer of sonnets and charades, to keep the good of society in \iew, and 24 OLDCOURT. endeavour to render his works subservient to the great end of human improvement." " True/' observed the colonel ; " but I con- tend that each writer will best eiFect his object, by preserving the appropriate character of his work, and operating within its recognised limits. Though the novelist may instruct, his business is to amuse us : a moral effect should be the cer- tain result, but not the ostensible object of his labours. His part is, to play the entertaining companion on an excursion of pleasure ; not the pedantic schoolmaster, in a holyday walk with his pupils, lecturing the whole road. " The novel now usurps the whole agency of literature. It is the favourite tool with which the intellect of the day seems disposed to work ; the fashionable channel through which all sorts of systems, opinions, and principles, are poured out upon the pubhc mind. " If a w^ould-be philosopher wishes to re-cast in a^new form, the materials of human society, and relieve the oppressed citizen from the trou- blesome restraints of law and religion, he writes OLDCOURT. 25 a novel ; adapts his observations to the develope- ment of his views, demonstrates that our best feehngs are only vulgar prejudices, and parades all the ills of life before us, in a series of absurd and insidious illustrations, till our ideas of right and wrong are confounded in a metaphysical maze, and vice and virtue are turned topsy-turvy in the general jumble. If a political quack would undermine the institutions of his country, and preach up democracy and discontent, he writes a novel ; depicts the injustice of aristocratic dis- tinctions, the abuses of exclusive property, and the advantages of ein Agrarian law. If a puri- tanical enthusiast would substitute mysticism for religion, and scare away, with the scowl of aus- terity, all the innocent enjoyments of life, he writes a novel. If a party-tool would propagate reli- gious animosity and national prejudice, to uphold an unprincipled faction in the plunder and de- gradation of his country, he writes a novel. If a retired official underhng " " My dear brother," interrupted Mr. Oldcourt, " I give up all this class of scribblers to your VOL. I. c 26 OLDCOURT. Utmost indignation ; I advocate only the genuine legitimate novel." ''' Then/' eagerly resumed the colonel, not easily diverted from a favourite topic, " we have novels national, local, and professional ; naval, military, and medical; English, Irish, Scotch, and Ameri- can : I dare say we shall soon have provincial and parochial novels ; every county will have its novelist as well as its historian : we shall have under-ground anecdotes of Cornish mines, tales of the potteries, and characteristic sketches of civil society amongst Lancashire looms and Lincolnshire cattle-feeders." This last sally of the colonel's produced a general laugh. " I wonder," said Frederick, "that in the rage for novelties, our writers have not yet made the tour of the police-offices : there is a rich harvest to be gleaned in that way. We might be gratified with annals of the Old Bailey, or the humours of theMansion-House; and Sir Richard Birnie him- self might be made the hero of a magisterial ro- mance, in a new series of * The Chronicles of Bow Street.' " OLDCOURT. 27 *' Ay," cried the colonel, chuckling at the idea ; *' and as every coterie is now occupied with the merits of some favourite felon, a Thurtell, a Burke, or an Abershaw, the public taste might be accommodated from that source, with characters of the sublimest guilt and most interesting atrocity." *'By Jove! uncle," said Godfrey, who had taken up the newspaper the colonel had been read- ing, ''they have begun the harvest in that quarter already." [Reading.'] " This day is published, in three volumes, * Richmond, or Mornings in Bow Street/ " " And what do you think of this,*' said Fre- derick, reading over Godfrey's shoulder : — " Lite- rary Intelligence." — "A correspondent informs us, that a late eminent physician has left behind him a valuable work in manuscript, which is shortly to be given to the public, under the title of 'AGastrono- micRomance, for the amusement of peptic patients ; unfolding with much physiological pathos the affec- tions of the stomach, interspersed with various vis- ceral anecdotes, and divers details of indigestion.' " " Bravo ! Frederick," said the colonel ; " I think I shall leave the cause in your hands." 28 OLDCOURT. " O ! Frederick !" cried Mrs. Oldcourt, " I thought we might depend upon you in this con- troversy." " My dear mother/' repHed Frederick, " I look upon the novel to be a national blessing to all the children of leisure — an inexhaustible source of _ational and refined amusement; and I only regret that its fascinations sometimes seduce me from more necessary studies." " That is what I complain of," said the colonel ; " nothing is read, nothing can be read now but novels ; Shakspeare and Milton, Dryden, Pope, and Young, are all laid on the shelf, and will be as unknown as Chaucer himself to the rising ge- neration.'* " I hope," continued Frederick, " I shall al- ways preserve my relish for those great writers ; but my uncle will allow me to differ from him so far as to say, that I view with great interest the general struggle of talent in the novel department of hterature. When I reflect on the number of pens that are at this moment busily employed for our amusement in all parts of the united kingdom — when I consider the number of persons of all OLDCOURT. 29 orders and degrees, that, fired by the author of 'Waverley/ now enter the hsts of competition in the great arena of romance, I am dehghted to witness a contention from which we have reason to expect so much advantage. I hke those works too, in all their varieties, with the pic- tures of the manners and habits of other countries which they present to us. I would rather have an authentic novel from Nootka Sound, or a ge- nuine Siberian ' sketch-book,' than a dozen royal quartos of wire-wove and hot-pressed pomposi- ties, called Travels, with maps, charts, cuts, and other illustrations." " History," observed Mr. Oldcourt, " has al- ways been considered by those who were the most ijhly liiougbt she fould ronvcul to Hornc uhc, as cxrctllcnl covers for j(;lly-j)ot.H, pir-.klcH, atiri preHcrvcH. The yoiin^ Hfjuirc;, loo, when a boy, -with his rrirrip.jfiions, had rare inn in tearing out tlie jjic- tiii<-.-i of dogs, horses, and other animals, from sevenil v;ihj,-jhlc. records of Natiir;il llistr^ry; and breaking uj) kojik- hulky (ju;irt.os (>i h;;irn(;d lore, to iri.ikc. pcJIc.t.s for j)Op-giniH, tails for their kite«, and wadding for their fowling-pieces and pistols, wlw'.n they weic old enough to shoot sparrows, or lire at a mark Under a process of this kind, it m.-iy well he supposed, th.it th(! interests of literature suffered nujch, and need(;d some protertifjn in the family. During the first years of JVIrs. (Jidcourt'h residence at the cjistle, sIkj did not interfere to prevent a (!ontinu;jnee of the mischief. Young, not very studlouf-', .jiid almost entirely engrossed hy tfie nnxieties find apprehensions which the dissipated, and, as she thought, dangerous pursuits of her husband, were caleiilat,ed to excite in the hoBom OLDCOURT. 101 of an aflorAionnU; \vif(-. sIk; rar(:Iy cnlerc;fi an apfirtrnorit wliicfi had lorit: IxMtn looked upon only as t.lif; Iiimhcr-roorn of l\i ,;ell an totoy vith thern ; wherj t.heir mind . u': lo l^'t nursed as v/<:ll as Ujeir hodies, and wc l/rer^rrKt as anxious about, their fut.u re fate, as their present welfare, then Mrs.Oldcourf. he^ari t.orefleet., t.hat amongst the ra- va^fed voliji/j'; . Ij': had SO I Oil J/ overlooked, sHc might find v)fii<: a ,1 .t.,jnf:e in cult ivat iruMJie iinderstand- jnr/s of her childrf^n, and uwin'' Uj'-rn t.hose advan- t.r ' (A kno'.vl<'d(/e, whieli h'-.r ov/n deficiencietf niadefier f^nly t.lie more anxious t.hey should enjoy. Sfie, t.herefore, t.ot.fie nj;jrjije-.t. -uijHiie of t.he fiousehold, t.ook measures t.o re /:ue t.he remains of tdie library from t.hr-, f/<-.ne.r;d "/.reek. The spiders were, fji ]o'l''e'l from t.h(:ir cobweb alcoves ; the rnoUi . ,/fioked out in swarms; and the dust ot antiquity disturbed on the worm-eaten shelves ; 102 OLDCOURT. and when the subsiding clouds had left the lite- rary chaos in an approachable and tangible state, with the assistance of the parish priest, who had most willingly become her ally in the operation, and added his learning to her zeal, she carefully turned over the confused mass, and found her labours rewarded by the possession of a small, but useful and amusing, collection of classical, and comparatively modern authors. To be sure, they were rather incomplete and not in the best order. They w^ould not do at Sotheby's, nor much adorn the shelves of the col- lector of whom Pope speaks, when he says — *' In books, not authors, curious is my lord." •But Mrs. Oldcourt was more than gratified when assured by her reverend coadjutor, that amongst them were to be found many works of value that might be highly useful in the instruction of her children . To this object she now appeared to turn her attention with great ardour. Her natural good sense led her to observe the coarseness of character which always results from ignorance. She saw OLDCOURT. 103 that they who have no resources of rational pur- suits, or elegant amusements, will fill up the va- cuum of life with degrading enjo}Tnents; and take refuge in sensuality from that enervating listless- ness of mind, which, to the vulgar of all reinks, makes leisure so irksome, and solitude so insup- portable. Her experience of those qualifications which were in the highest repute among the squirearchy, at least of that time, had not increased her re- spect for them ; slie was anxious that her sons should have a taste for better things — an ambition somewhat different from that which was to be gratified by the character of a six-bottle man, the fame of a flying leap at a fox-chace, or the glory of gaining twenty shots out of twenty- one at a match of pigeon-shooting. She thought she ob- sers^ed that those who were most devoted to such exploits, and most renowned for them, were not very wise in their generation, or very amiable or exemplary in the various relations of fathers, hus- bands, or sons. She laboured hard, therefore, to counteract the influence of the circumstances in which her children were placed ; and that her boys 104 OLDCOURT. were educated in a manner which could be con- sidered suitable to the station of their family in society; or, indeed, that they received any educa- tion at all, was to be attributed entirely to her affectionate anxiety, and unwearied importunities for that purpose. As for the squire himself, he would have been well contented to see his sons galloping about the country as wild as his own colts ; as long as they were well fed, well feathered, and well mounted, he could not see what farther was necessary for their comfort, or their character. He would, in- deed, have been highly gratified to see them clear a five-barred gate at a standing leap ; hit the bull's-eye of a target, or distance the field at a hunting-match. He would have been flattered to find them anxious for the honours, in that course in which he had been himself so distinguished ; and to stimulate their ambition, he would fre- quently expatiate on his own exploits, pointing, at the same time, to the trophies which attended them, in stags' heads, foxes* brushes, and race cups, won in the character of his own jockey. He wore a dollar- piece, too, suspended by a rib- OLDCOURT, 105 bon round his neck, as an order of merit, which , after the third bottle, he never failed to display, as the evidence of his triumph over the most cele- brated shot in the county — a young parson from the University of Dublin. The contest had obtained considerable notoriety ; and from the different religions of the competitors, excited an interest, which was with no small difficulty restrained from manifesting itself in a very serious exercise of the accomplishment in question, amongst the partisans of the parties. The squire was the challenger ; the umpires, according to the ceremonial of a late controversial battle in the sister country, were selected from both sides, and time and place were appointed by them. The silver target was fixed to a tree, at as many yards distance as a well-primed Wogden would carry a single ball. All that was gallant and gay of both sexes in the neighbourhood, attended on the occasion ; and on that day, the young squire of Oldcourt castle was doomed to be shot through the heart by a better marksman than himself — ^from the eyes of a fair lady, who after- wards became Mrs. Oldcourt. F 2 106 OLDCOURT. The moment of trial was announced by sound of trumpet ; the pistols, which had been care- fully examined and loaded, were delivered to the heroes of the day. All was breathless silence — manly breasts glowed, and delicate bosoms palpi- tated around. Lots were drawn for the first fire. The young parson had the precedence ; he ad- vanced gracefully, but confidently, to the spot upon which he was to place his right foot, and from which he was to take his aim. He looked steadily for a moment at his object without moving his arm from his side ; he then slowly raised his pistol to the level, and without delay ing an instant on his aim, fired. A general rush took place amongst the male spectators to examine the target ; it was found, that the bullet had struck the dollar nearly in the centre, making in it a con- siderable concavity, fitted to its own diameter. A general shout of admiration and anticipated triumph issued from the partisans of the Esta- blished Church, and Popery hung its head. No- thing short of a miracle could now be thought of, to rival such an extraordinary display of skill ; and even the most zealous of the squire's supporters OLDCOURT. 107 did not flatter themselves that he was exactly the kind of person in whose favour such an interposi - tion of Providence was to be expected. The ladies in particular, who, as he was the handsomer man of the two, seemed to be more interested for the lay, than the clerical champion, were more than disconcerted at the defeat of their favourite, which they now considered inevitable. The squire, however, was cool and undismayed. Taking his station firmly, and casting an upbraid- ing and indignant look on those who appeared to despair of his success, he exclaimed — "Na bock- lish," (never mind it) ; then crying out loudly to clear the ground, and addressing the umpires, he said — " Now turn the target, and I'll make a bed for my bullet on the other side of it." All now again was silence and anxious atten- tion. The squire, taking off his hat, bowed to the ladies, who v/ere placed in safety on* a stand fromx which they could see the whole process. He then cocked his pistol — paused for a moment as if to collect his powers, and was in the act of raising his arm to the level, when an eager voice was heard from behind him— " Now, Master Dan, 108 OLDCOURT. jewel ! for the honour of the ould faith, and the blood of the Oldcourts !" The squire dropped his pistol arm to his side, and an angry cry of silence issued from all sides ; every eye was directed to the quarter from which the interruption pro- ceeded. The disturber was found to be the old grey-headed steward of the castle, who, in his earnest anxiety for his master's glory, stood un- conscious of the commotion he had created. Order having been restored, the squire resumed his station, but stood with his back towards the target. His friends seemed surprised, and had still less confidence in the result, from what they thought an unlucky circumstance, and likely to disconcert his steadiness and self-possession. The umpires having given the last notice to stand clear of the range of the ball, the atten- tion of each party became intense ; even the la- dies uttered not a w^ord, and hardly heaved their gentle bosoms with a sigh. The squire now threw his hat on the ground, and drawing him- self up erect, gave an encouraging nod to his agitated old servant, saying at the same time, " Now for it, Andrew !" then wheeling round OLDCOURT. 109 suddenly in front, as if by signal at a regular duel, he raised his arm to the level and fired. The target fell to the ground ! An exclamation of mingled surprise and triumph burst from the whole assembly. Andrew actually hugged his master with delight. " Erin go bragh '" was shouted by the Catholic faction, to use a term by which parties are pro- perly denominated in Ireland. The Protestant faction, disconcerted, beheld the laurels shake on their champion's brow ; for even if the shots were considered equal, the extraordinary man- ner in which the squire had performed his ex- ploit, indicated superior certainty and skiU. The rush of curiosity to see and examine the target, was so violent as to endanger the peace of the meeting ; to a breach of which, indeed, the heated feelings of both parties, under the excitement of such a contest, but too much inclined them. A good deal of hustUng, and some hostile expressions, took place. " The boys" began to flourish their shilelahs, and the irrevocable watchwords of bat- tle quivered on their lips, w^hen the umpires ju- diciously interfered to allay the rising tumult, by no OLDCOURT. ordering the trumpet to sound for the attention of the assembly ; while, holding up to view the object of curiosity, they announced their decision. The hopes, the fears, and the eagerness of all to hear the result, checked their pugnacious prepa- rations, and all was calm once more. On examining the dollar, it was found that the squire had kept his word ; his ball had struck it still more in the centre than that of his antagonist* The cavity was completely reversed, leaving a small rim, just sufficient to demonstrate clearly the effect of both shots.* The squire was there- fore proclaimed to be the victor ; and the target was decreed to be delivered to him, as a trophy of his skill, by one of the fair visitants who had wit- nessed the contest. This was a most happy ex- pedient to prevent the renewal of angry feelings ; for the gallantry which is characteristic of the sons of the shamrock, would not allow the exultation of the one party, or the mortification of the other, to disturb a ceremonial in which the ladies were to be concerned. * The dollar, which still exists, as an evidence of the extraordinary contest here commemorated, the author of the present work has had in his band. OLDCOURT, 111 In compliment to one of the umpires, his daughter — the blooming, blushing, but inwardly gratified Elinor, or as she was commonly called, Nelly Burke, w^as chosen to officiate on the occa- sion ; and from the fair hand which was destined subsequently to confer upon him the most valu- able of w^orldly gifts, — a faithful and affectionate wife, Mr. Daniel Oldcourt received the prize, which he afterwards displayed with so much pride, as a trophy at once of love and victory. 112 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER VI. How much has been said, and written, and sung in praise of a country life ! Its pleasures have been described as at once rational and innocent ; its occupations as equally healthful and useful. Talk of the country in any company, and unless some quid nunc of an old bachelor should happen to be present, its delights are echoed on all sides. The philosopher expatiates on the tranquillity of the country, and its exemption from the vices and follies of what is called the world ; the statesman looks to it for repose, and resorts to it during every short respite from his official duties ; the patriot rushes to the country, as a refuge from the machinations of corrupt ministers, and the in- trigues of courts and cabinets ; the man of business OLDCOURT. 113 longs to retire to it, that he may enjoy his wealth, relieved from the cares and anxieties which have at- tended its acquisition ; the lover sighs for the shades, that he may indulge his passion in solitude, and have leisure to think of his mistress. The ladies too, — yes, the ladies dehght in the country for at least three months of the year ; they are charmed with its romantic scenery, its fruits, its flowers, and its f^tes champetres ; but they like it best •when they can share their raptures with a large party, in a splendid mansion, with a music meeting, a race ball, and a private play in con- templation ! In short, the country is in fashion ; and if you do not profess a taste for it, you are a Goth, you have no resources within yom-self, and what is more, you have no poetry in your com- position; which is now the severest thing that can be said of any body, who claims to be considered as somebody, in the circles of civilized society. The praises of a country hfe have, indeed, been the favourite theme of poets in all ages. The classic page presents us now here I ought to show my learning, by various apposite quotations 114 OLDCOURT, from ancient authors ; but, to say the truth, the only passages of this kind which occur to me at present, are the " ! Rus, ^c." of Horace, and the " ! fortunatos nimium," of the Mantuan bard. However, these are too trite and common- place to do much credit to my scholarship. I must, therefore, refer my reader to Doctor , or the dictionary of quotations. Besides, poets are bad authorities on all subjects ; the language of imagination is a very deceitful medium through which to examine objects of any kind. You might as well peep through the coloured bottles of a chemist's window, in order to ascertain accurately what is going on in the shop. Poets are out of their element among the re- alities of life ; they are professors of paradox and exaggeration, and should never be believed but when they deal in fiction. As to their pictures of a country life, they are mere fancy pieces, co- loured in the glowing hues of romance, and as unlike as their own similes to what they profess to represent. Of this, every man, with faculties above the level of a bumpkin, must be convinced. That the country has its charms I do not pre- OLDCOURT. 115 tend to deny. I am myself rather partial to it, and always get so rural and romantic about July or August, when everybody, that is any body, migrates from the civilized parts of the metropolis, that it is with great difficulty I can be detained \snithin the bills of mortality. The country, indeed, does very well when the sun shines, and you are in agreeable quarters ; in a fine fruitful autumn, when every thing is ripe and glowing, with picturesque scenery without doors, and a well- furnished library within ; when you may walk, or ride, or read, or write, or loll, or lounge, or muse, or meditate, as the whim strikes you ; when you are lucky enough, also, to have no very neighbourly people among the natives to annoy you with their formal visits, or drag you to their still more formal dinners ; at which, while you long to enjoy the fragrance of the fields and the freshness of the air — while the golden sunset, and the rising harvest-moon invite you to behold the almost rival radiance of their orbs, you find yourself condemned to a long gastronomic impri- sonment, in a hot, close-curtained hall, steaming with the triple exhalations of the cook, the com- 116 OLDCOURT. pany, and the candles ; and entertained with the discussion of such rural, interesting topics, as — the price of hay and oats, the merits of Merino and South Down, the pressure of poor rates, the in- solence of paupers, and the prosecution of poachers, at the next assizes. When not exposed to such a martyrdom as this, and left to the rational enjoyment of nature and your own faculties, a visit to the country agreeably diversifies the routine of the year, and may be endured for a month or two, without much yawning and stretching, or the manifestation of more languor and ennui than may become the cha- racter of a gentleman. But, mercy on us ! w^hat a place is the country for a Christian, when win- ter approaches, and a bleak north-easter blows in your teeth whenever you show your face out of doors ; when, in a melancholy alternation of rain and wind, you see nothing but a swamp, and hear nothing but a hurricane ; when all is dark, and damp, and dreary ; woods stript of their foliage, trees looking like overgrown birch -brooms and gigantic cabbage -stalks ; rooks cawing round their denuded nests, dead leaves whirling in eddies, and OLDCOURT. 1 17 COWS in melancholy rumination, amidst their im- poverished pastures ; when you cannot stir out without being up to your knees in mud, or drag- ging half a hundred weight at each foot in a clog of clay ; when your shoe sinks in your own gravel walk as if you trod on a quick-sand ; and if you ride half a mile from your own gate, you are spat- tered up to your shoulders. Then think of a frost piece ! " When one white desolation covers all, And Nature in her winding-sheet appears, Pale, cold, and lifeless." Till a thaw makes slop and slush the order of the day — when melting snows swellponds tolakes,and rivulets to rivers — while dissolving icicles " from every pent-house prophecy a deluge," what nerves can sustain you — what spirits bear you up against such an accumulation of horrors ! But how are they aggravated, when you find yourself amongst a circle of sportsmen, of fishers, and fowlers, and fox-hunters, and cattle-feeders, " et hoc genus omne?" The countrv, at such a season, and in such a 118 OLDCOURT. circle, it must be confessed, is little favourable to the development of any faculties that are not corporeal, or to the enjoyment of any pleasures which can be called refined. The mental become subordinate to the muscular powers \ and though the physical man may flourish in rude health, and ruddy corpulence — though he may be a sound, hale, hearty fellow, who will drink you three bot- tles at a sitting, and hunt you thirty miles at a stretch, yet the moral man is emasculated and pines away in an intellectual atrophy. Look at any man of your acquaintance who has had the courage to return, after a seven years transportation to the Botany Bay of a country life. What a strange being he appears ! how uncouth in his aspect and manners ! how antediluvian in all his notions ; you can hardly believe him to be the same person whom you remember to have seen so gay and agreeable, with the tournure of a man of fashion, and the talent of a first-rate wit, at the Alfred or the Athenaeum. He looks about him as if he had been asleep for half a century, or had just dropped from the clouds. If you speak to him about the literature of the day, or OLDCOURT. 119 any recent event in the world of fashion and science, he knows nothing of the matter ; or if, par hasard, he should have heard any thing on the subject, he is sure to have it by the wrong end ; in short, he has lost caste in conversation ; he has sunk beneath the common level of dis- course, and would be considered below par, even at a corporation dinner, or a city conversazione. Nor can you be surprised at his fate, however you may lament it , for what has the unfortunate gentleman been about all this time ? How has he been employed ? Why, with the exception of a few hours which, perhaps, the last struggles of rational ambition have led him occasionally, to loll and lounge awav, in a studious kind of sleep, he has occupied himself in hunting and shooting, and fishing and farming; which, when combined with the congenial delights of cricket, cock fight- ing, and cudgel -playing, make up, I believe, the interesting routine of rural enjoyments. It is not every man that is qualified to enjoy the country, shut up in his Kbrary, like Lord Bolingbroke, or Sir William Temple, " chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies." Though 120 OLDCOURT. these great men resided in the country, they could hardly be said to live there. Uninfluenced by local circumstances, the busy world and its in- terests engaged them still : they were active citizens of the great metropoHs of mind, com- muning with the past and the future, rather than the present ; and meditating those works, which they knew " posterity would not willingly let die." They sought the country, as they would have chosen the most secluded room in a London mansion — that they might study and think, more at leisure, and with less interruption. A man who has a mind superior to the fasci- nations of a fox chace, a fowling-piece, or a fish- ing-rod, sometimes proves that retirement is not always rustication, and that a gentleman in the country is a very different being from a country gentleman. The anomalies and inconsistencies of the hu- man character, are too common and fantastical to excite much surprise when they come under our observation ; it might otherwise be considered as somewhat extraordinary, that the occupations of the savage should become the amusement of civi- OLDCOURT. 121 lized man ; that what the one engages in through necessity for his subsistance, the other should pur- sue for his pleasure through choice. Justly has it been said of man, that he is, — " Of half that lives, the butcher and the tomb." And, unhappily, it is in his highest state of refine- ment, that he appears most particularly to merit this character. To massacre, for amusement, any li\ing creature, is not only peculiar to man, but, I am sorry to say, pecuHar to ci\-ihzed man. The Battues of the Back Settlements have at least the plea of hunger to excuse them ; and their depreda- tions are limited to the supply of that craving ne- cessity in which they originated. But it has been reserved for the polished sons of cultivated life to indulge, by way of sport, in a wanton infliction of animal suffering, unredeemed by any plea of necessity, or pretence of accomplishment, in which the gentleman puts himself on a level with the \ailgar, and must submit to be rivalled, even by his groom, his gamekeeper, and his whipper-in. I should think your professed sportsman might enlarge considerably the sphere of his enjoyments, VOL. I. G 122 OLDCOURT. and the scope of his usefulness, (as the utilitarians express it) by occasionally resorting to the sham- bles, as well as to the shades. The peculiar organ which prompts him to the slaughter of hares, woodcocks, and pheasants, might surely find some congenial recreation, and advantageous develop- ment, in Smitlifield sports, as well as other field sports. To pursue an over-driven ox, for in- stance, or to knock down a bullock, is at least as manly an exploit as to course a hare, or demolish a covey of partridges ; and might, equally, relieve the tedium of existence during the wearisome intervals of his avocations, when, reduced to a state of torpid inactivity, the unhappy sportsman finds nothing to kill — but time. It must be confessed, that the country, at least during the sporting season, has little claim to be considered as the abode of peace and innocence ; it rather may be said, to present a scene of wanton and inglorious warfare, without courage in exertion, or triumph in success ; a kind of sanguinary saturnalia, in which, gentlemen are licensed for a time to throw off the character of civilization — to resume the habits of barbarian OLDCOURT. 123 hordes, and prowl the woods for prey like the savage. There is, indeed, much delusion abroad on the subject of rural felicity, as many worthy persons discover to their cost, when fondly imagining, that their cares can be shaken off with their occupa- tions, they retire from active life to the enjoy- ment of the country. It is true, the exaggerations of poetry and ro- mance do not now much influence our notions re- lative to this matter. Arcadian dreams very rarely disturb the imaginations even of love -sick young ladies ; the age of pastoral, like the age of chivalry, is gone for ever. Shepherds and shep- herdesses are now known to be very dirty dis- agreeable people everywhere, but in a hallet at the Opera- House ; and you might traverse every corn county in England, searching the stubble-fields from the Land's end, to John O' Groat's castle, without finding a Lavinia amongst the gleaners, or any specimen of female attraction to excite an interest diiFerent from that, which the Rev. Mr. Malthus, or the parish overseer might be supposed to feel, in contemplating a paupe r in 124 OLDCOURT. search of a settlement, or a vagrant likely to be- come chargeable to the parish. A country life, indeed, is but little favourable to female beauty. Venus and the Graces look inva- riably the better for town air. The latter per- sonages, in particular, rarely thrive amidst those woods and fountains where the Muses so much delight to dwell. They are quite out of their ele- ment with " dancing fauns, and rusty bumpkins,'' (as Lingo calls them,) and are seldom found to survive a long rustication. Beauty, in its more elevated and intellectual character, that is, — " When symmetry is but the shrine in which The soul is worshipped," cannot be considered a field flower ; it is never found wild. It is a creature of cultivation — a hot-house plant, rarely brought to perfection, but in the refining temperature of a metropo- litan atmosphere. Your country belles are too blooming and robust ; they have too much rude health, and exercise their limbs and faculties with a vulgar vigour, quite incompatible with that in- teresting languor, and elegant helplessness. OLDCOURT. ] 25 which characterize the sylph -like beings that adorn the circles of fashionable society. A long residence in the country is not, I fear, more favourable to the manners, than to the com- plexion. After a summer's tanning, it requires the operation of a London season, not only to clear the skin, but to rub off a rustic air which is caught in the fields ; and, like the hay asthma, can be cured only in a town atmosphere. The polish of high life, the tournure of taste and fashion, are not to be acquired, or even preserved in the country ; the metropolis is the only school for the acquisition of such accomplishments. There, and there only, in good society, is to be acquired that undefinable grace, that last finish of manner, that brilliant varnish of character, which gives its full effect, and appropriate charm, to every quality and acquirement, personal and in- tellectual ; and, though nobody can tell in what this pohsh consists, though it is reducible to no rule, communicable by no precept, and cognizable by no particular sign, yet, it operates like en- chantment over the whole being, speaks in every look, disciphnes every feature, modulates the 126 OLDCOURT. voice, and regulates every gesture and expression, according to the most delicate suggestions of po- liteness, propriety, and grace. Some happy natures, I grant, may be found, who, in the very bosom of retirement, are dis- tinguished by an elegant simplicity and an artless grace of manner, resulting from the union of sensibility, good sense, and good temper ; and forming reasonable substitutes for that peculiar fascination, which springs from an intimate inter- course with polished society. Yet, still they are but substitutes ; and a thousand little defects of finish and refinement, will be apparent to the eye of the true connoisseur. How a season or two in London furbishes up, into fashionable semblance, the rustic graces of a provincial belle I When she first visits the me- tropolis, you are shocked by her gaucherie and mauvais ton. Then her notions of the pleasures of London are distressing ; she is sure to be in love with the fire -works at Vauxhall ; can sit out the burletta blandishments of Sadler's Wells, and actually enjoys the rack and manger jokes of Mr. Merryman, at Astley's- OLDCOURT. 127 She considers London like a great fair, and is never easy but when running from show to show. Worried, wearied, and provoked, if it be your lot to exhibit the Hons, you wander, in an agony of taste, through the horrid routine of metropo- litan amazements ; exhausted by the exactions of her insatiable curiosity, and disconcerted by a thousand violations of that unwritten code, that common law of fashion, which regulates the sen- sitive concerns of the heaii monde, and separates by an effectual, though in\dsible fence, the po- hshed lawn of life from the common field of society. 128 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER VII. In the last chapter, I flatter myself that I have sufficiently manifested my claims to be considered somebody ; as a person conversant with the beau monde, and peculiarly qualified to treat of those topics of life and manners, in the discussion of which, the pretensions of the Roturier tribe are always so impotent and presumptuous. It is the more necessary to give the reader this " taste of my quality" as early as possible, because, the fa- shion of an author is now of much more impor- tance than his wit, or his erudition ; and a novelist, in particular, is considered on a level with the ro- mance manufacturers of the Minerva press, or the utilitarian literati of the Mechanics' Institute, un- less he stamp on his work a strong impression of his intercourse with the higher orders, by a caustic OLDCOURT. 129 ridicule, and dignified contempt of the language, manners, and characters, of all the subordinate classes of society. Having thus produced my quahfication, I shall now proceed to the ordinary exercise of my narrative functions. From circumstances connected with the habits and peculiarities of its present possessor, the reader will readily believe, that the castle of Old- court was not the place in which the education of a young lady could be very judiciously conducted; nor were the disadvantages which ordinarily result from a constant residence in the country, likely to be, in that ancient mansion, very effectually counteracted. Mrs. Oldcourt, though a sensible, intelligent, and amiable woman, and of a family of much respectability, and still more pretensions, had never been accustomed to move in a highly- polished society. She had been one of the most conspicuous belles of the race -course and the assize ball : but she never had an opportunity of passing the pro- vincial barrier which separates the Sylvan Graces from the metropolitan pale of fashion and taste. Her manners were mild, matronly, and benevo- g2 130 OLDCOURT. lent, but of that homely and housewife character, which was more suited to preside with dignity in the housekeeper's-room, than in the drawing-room ; and though by no means coarse or vulgar, they could not certainly be considered refined. She had too much good sense not to be aware of her own de- ficiencies in this respect ; and she was more than anxious, to see her daughter qualified to keep pace with the march of refinement, which the affec- tionate matron could not but perceive had, even in the fox-hunting region of society to which she belonged, left her somewhat behind. The attainment of this object, however, ap- peared to be attended with no small difficulty ; she could not communicate to her child those graces which she herself did not possess. The society of Oldcourt castle was neither sufficiently select ; nor accomplished, to afford the benefit, of example ; and she never could prevail on herself to think of resorting for assistance to the second- hand manners and superficial adornments of a boarding-school ; desirous above all things to make her daughter a sincere Christian, and a good Catholic. Mrs. Oldcourt was more solicitous for OLDCOURT. 131 the purity of her mind, than the polish of her manners; and she determined, if she could not procure for her all the accomphshments she could \\ish, at least to cultivate in her daughter's cha- racter those virtues which are always most suc- cessfully inculcated, as well as beneficially exer- cised — at home. Influenced, therefore, unavoidably, by her situ- ation and opportunities, it is in the character of a genuine country girl that Grace Oldcourt must be presented to the notice of the reader. But this designation should not too hastily settle her pretensions, even in the mind of the most fas- tidious votary of style and ton. If she icas a country girl, she was one of that class which has been alluded to in the preceding chapter ; and in favour of whom, the bounty of nature, as far, at least, as person and manners are concerned, appears to supersede all the acquirements of art. The air and tournure of fashion, she certainly did not possess ; and a Chesterfield, or a Chester, would undoubtedly deplore her deficiency in a thousand delicate observances of conventional manners, which pass as the common currency 132 OLDCOURT. of polite intercourse ; and are, to the Roturier tribes, the least attainable distinctions of the higher circles of society. But she had an unaf- fected ease, an artless grace of form and move- ment, which compensated all these deficiencies ; and often excited a more touching, or, to use a fashionable term, a more intense interest in the admirer of simple nature, than the most finished fascinations of artificial elegance. Grace Oldcourt was in stature somewhat above the middle size, as round and full in all her forms, as was consistent with lightness of movement, and elasticity of limb. Her proportions, perhaps, were not sufficiently slender, or sylph-like, to suit the beau ideal of a modern fine lady ; but to the eye of an artist, they presented a model of sym- metry and shape, in which all the distinctive cha- racteristics of the female form were developed in a picturesque medium, which excluded clumsiness on the one hand, and meagreness on the other. Her face, though it could not be considered regularly beautiful, was strikingly handsome. Her com- plex ion was naturally fair ; but the frequent expo sure to the influence of the sun and the air, occasioned OLDCOURT. 133 by the habits of a country hfe, had, in some de- gree, impaired its dehcacy, and changed it to a Hebe hue of health and animation, which a word, or a thought, would sometimes heighten to as becoming a blush as ever modesty and sensibility combined to raise upon the cheek of innocence. Her manners exhibited in their fullest fasci- nation, that graciousness and afFabihty which have long been the characteristic charm of her coun- trywomen. Friendly, unaffected, and familiar, without being forward, or ever warranting, even in moments of the most unreserved vivacity, the slightest approach in the other sex, to a freedom inconsistent with that respectful demeanour which is due to modesty and virtue. Like all girls, however, who, not having com- panions of their own sex, are necessarily accus- tomed to the society of their brothers, she had been somewhat of a hoyden ; and slight traces of that character were still occasionally discoverable in certain movements of mirthful enjoyment, and playful hilarity, which the dull, the formal, and the prudish, would perhaps be disposed to repress. She partook, also, of another quality, which is 134 OLDCOURT. common in her country, and not always confined to the male sex. She had a keen relish for wit and humour ; and frequently, with her intimates, animated by some droll associations of thought or circumstance, her spirits would break out into ebullitions of merriment, and manifestations of muscular, as well as mental excitement, which an ancient maiden relative of the family would gravely rebuke, as boisterous and unbecoming. She certainly has been known, at the moment of raising a cup of tea to her lips, to have been so wrought upon by a sally of her younger brother, who was thought a wit in the family, as to agitate the level of that liquid, at some hazard to her neighbours, by a burst of laughter, which might truly be termed the heart's laugh, though not mo- dulated according to the pitch-pipe which regu- lates the risible emotions of fashionable vivacity. She would, indeed, while listening to the narra- tion of some comic incident, or ludicrous adven- ture, throw herself back in her seat, in a kind of exclamatory extasy, and laugh till the tears started into her eyes ; when, blushing at the recollection of the unmeasured mirth in which she had in- OLDCOURT. 135 dulged, she would cover her face with her hands, or playfully bow it down, abashed, upon the arm of the sopha on which she reclined. On these occasions, Mrs. Oldcourt, who, it was observed, never joined the aforesaid anti- quated spinster in any mark of reproof or disap- probation, would regard her daughter with an ex- pression of peculiar affection and delight ; and looking around on those who happened to be present, she would seem to remonstrate, in a sort of mute eloquence, against the cruelty of re- pressing the natural effects of a gaiety so innocent and agreeable, or confining the free and faithful emotions of a w^arm heart, a lively imagination, and an elastic spirit, within the formal and frozen limits of conventional reserve, and arbitrary etiquette. There is, certainly, something to be said in favour of this maternal expostulation. With all my predilection for the manners of the heau monde, T must acknowledge, that fashion may refine too far, may polish the surface of life to a shin- ing hardness, which renders it callous to the sweetest 136 OLDCOURT. impressions of sympathy and social benevolence. If all our feelings be dulled and drilled down to a kind of mechanical decorum — if our warmest emotions, subdued to artificial calmness, be ma- naged by rule, and exhibited in masquerade, what becomes of the honest language of the heart — of the original freshness, the natural simphcity and genuine grace of the human character ? We may discipline the sensibihties, and manoeuvre the manners of society by the flugelman of fashion, like soldiers on a parade, till all the distinctions of individual merit are lost in the common mass, and confounded in the general movement. But this is twaddle ; a canting, puritanical con- sideration of the matter, w^hich would become a cockney recluse, or a Somers Town sentimentalist. It is, however, couched in the ore rotundostyle ; and a touch of fine writing, now and then, has a good effect, and gives an air distingue to an author's pages. Besides, it is not amiss to show, that, however superfine a man may be himself, he has a proper philosophical respect for the charms of unsophisticated nature, which, I believe, is now OLDCOURT, ] 37 the generally approved synonime for ignorance and awkwardness, when presented to us under any not absolutely insupportable shape. But we must not argue against the utility of a thing from its abuse. The legislation of fashion may be pushed to a rigorous extreme, but it cannot be dispensed with. We can no more allow a relaxation of the laws of decorum, than of the laws of the land, without consequences as disas- trous to the manners in the one case, as to the morals of society in the other. It is true, the young, the beautiful, and the amiable, may lose something of their natural superiority in con- forming to the general standard ; but the old, the ugly, and the ungracious, are rendered less offen- sive by its enforcements. The fascinations of pure simplicity, and natural grace, may be sacri- ficed in the substitution of an artificial de- meanour ; but the freaks of folly, awkwardness, and caprice, are discountenanced and suppressed by the rigid exactions of established etiquette. We must not, under pretence of relieving the genuine feelings of the heart from the shackles of form and ceremony, introduce a license of de- 138 OLDCOURT. portment which would lower the scale of social decorum, and authorize rudeness and vulgarity to contaminate the polished regions of cultivated life. Only think of exposing a civiUzed circle to the horrors of a horse-laugh from a college wit, or a facetious country squire! How would you petrify a polite assembly by the rollicking roU- about graces of a Whitechapel hop, or a Ber- mondsey ball ! No ; it is of the last importance that a line should be drawn by the manners of les gens comme ilfaut, which the canaille may find it difficult to pass ; that all that is urbane, and amiable, and gracious, and accomplished, in the commerce of life, should be rendered secure in unapproachable elegance, from the coarse in- roads of the sordid, the mean, and the mechanical. How bloated wealth and upstart consequence feel confounded and abashed, when they find themselves in the foreign land of fashion, igno- rant of the carte du pays, and unacquainted with its language, its customs, and its laws! How they writhe under the mortifying consciousness of irretrievable vulgarity ! Such gentry are aliens to all civil institutions, and should be repelled by a OLDCOURT. 139 vigilant police of ton from the territories of taste and refinement. The few favoured beings, who, hke Miss Old- court, seem formed to "Look a Venus, and to move a Grace," can never suffer slight or depreciation in any sphere. They bear about them a universal pass- port, acknowledged through all civiUzed regions, and never appear but to receive the homage of taste, and estabhsh the supremacy of Nature. Grace Oldcourt was, indeed, in the qualities of her person and disposition, pre-eminently cal- culated to win the favour of all classes. Good humour, goodnature, and good spirits, seemed constitutional in her character ; and never were these engaging qualities more agreeably personi- fied. Her presence was as a sunshine to the whole establishment, which never failed to cheer and enliven the domestic atmosphere. Although the necessity of making her brothers her playmates had given a tomboy character to her childhood, and still influenced her riper years so far as to prevent her being entirely reconciled to the more constrained movements, and sedentary 140 OLDCOURT. habits of young ladies, yet, there was nothing which appproached to the coarse or masculine in her deportment — none of that robust or romping display of muscular animation, which might, in some instances, lead to a suspicion that Nature had made a small mistake, or intended to qualify the fair for a new Amazonian struggle in favour of the rights of woman. Her spirit, vivacity, and sweet temper, had, from her infancy, made her a prime favourite with her brothers, who were never so happy as when " sister Grace " could be associated with their sports. In many of their games, indeed, they found her a formidable rival. At a race on the lawn she distanced all competitors ; for " the swift Camilla " never " scoured the plain " with lighter foot. She could whip a top with the best performers in that line — made no small figure at bUnd-man's buff, and was never known to sit quiet, when a sly whisper from the boys, gave her a hint of a rabbit hunt. If, indeed, the gymnastic graces which are cul- tivated in the modern school of female education had been then in vogue, and the judicious system OLDCOURT. 141 of ]\Ions. Voelker had been employed to bring into vigorous development the muscular merits of the fair sex, there can be no doubt, that the energies (to use a favourite philosophical term) of Miss Oldcourt might have been successfully exerted in those athletic accomplishments which distinguish the young ladies of the present day. As it was, however, riding and dancing were the only exercises of this character in which any trace of her celebrity, after she had outgrown her frocks, could be found in the family annals. But it was not only in the amusements of her brothers that she was accustomed to join ; she took part, also, in their studies. Father Clancy, who administered learning, as well as religion, to the establishment, was often heard to declare, that she was his best pupil, and by far the readiest in unravelling the mysteries of Lilly's grammar, and the intricacies of the French verb. This worthy ecclesiastic, indeed, who was a relation of Mrs. Old- court, and whose piety and learning well qualified him for the double function he performed in the Oldcourt family, took both pride and pleasure in cultivating the taste and talents of his fair dis- 142 OLDCOURT. ciple ; and, to his instructions, seconded by the good sense of her mother, and the assistance of such works as their combined exertions had rescued from the wreck of the hbrary, she was indebted for a proficiency in polite Hterature, which would have done credit to a more syste- matic education, and was rarely exemplified in the circle in which she was placed. It does not appear, however, that in the num- bler house-wife acquirements of her time, she was particularly skilled. Although « The alphabet In many coloured worsteds owned her toil," she had no sampler celebrity. She was shrewdly suspected of having no great partiality for the ingenious arts of knitting, knotting, and netting; and though, in compliance with her mother's wish, she occasionally directed her attention to the labours of the tambour-frame, yet, what with breaking her needles, dropping her stitches, and entanghng her threads, her progress was reported to partake very much of the Penelope character — ^unravelling to-day what was done yesterday. 1 OLDCOURT. 143 As to those accomplishments which are more particularly considered ornamental, her position was little favourable to their attainment. They were not in demand among the jovial gentry of the old regime ; and the new noblesse, who had sprung up during the sour sway of the puritans, had not yet so far overcome their tabernacle taste, «uid barbarizing bigotry, as to appreciate their just value. Mrs. Oldcourt, indeed, often and loudly la- mented that " her poor girl had no opportunities to learn all these things ; " but the squire's notion of what was necessary and becoming to the female character, put all idea of expense, for such a pur- pose, quite out of the question. His daughter, therefore, had not much to boast of in this way ; though, in drawing, her mother considered her a prodigy of genius; for she copied every pretty pattern of a flounce that appeared in a new maga- zine ; but, I am sorry to say, the old lady was generally left to work it. She displayed, too, the skill of the Corinthian maid, without having a similar inspiration ; and traced the profile shades 144 OLDCOURT. of the whole family according to classic autho- rity. In music, her mother, having discovered an old spinet, whose tones combined the hum of the Jews' harp, with the jingle of a cracked dul- cimer, and the harmonious wheezings of the hurdy-gurdy, contrived to get her a few lessons from a wandering minstrel, who deserted from a military band to spread the glories of the gamut through the land. Having a good ear, and a naturally sweet voice, she soon learned enough of the instrument to accompany herself in the ancient melodies of her country ; and she sang them with a grace and feeling, which, even those who are accustomed to the strains of a Catalani, or a Pasta, might have listened to with pleasure ; for, next to the delight which we derive from the perfection of art, is the charm which true taste must always find in the simplicity of nature. OLDCOURT. 145 CHAPTER VIII. I HAVE been induced to dwell longer on the character of Grace Oldcourt than I intended, or than will, perhaps, appear consistent with the bre- vity which ought to be observed in a family re- cord of this kind; but she \vas always a great favourite of mine : Nature had done so much for her, that even the imperfect education which she had received appeared to have given her all the advantages which she could derive from the most refined cultivation. The diamond, as it came from the mine, was so rich and sparkling, that little poHsh was re- quired ; and though the skilful lapidary, fashion, might have been employed to set it according to VOL. I. H 146 OLDCOURT. the prescribed taste, its value and lustre might have been impaired in the process. It may be supposed, that such a girl as I have here attempted to describe — of ancient family, and respectable station in society — was likely to create some sensation in her neighbourhood. Not only the immediate district in which she resided paid homage to her merits, but the whole county acknowledged her attractions ; and Grace Old- court, as she was familiarly called, was a favourite toast wherever the glass circulated, and beauty w^as the theme. At a very early period of her career, she had, indeed, been brought into general notice amongst the surrounding squirearchy, by a process of in- troduction very unusual, though certainly some- what characteristic. When, in the first bloom of her sixteenth year, returning from a morning's ride, accompanied by her eldest brother, and Pierce Doran, a young lad of her own age, an humble dependant of the family, they were all suddenly surprised by the music of a pack of hounds; and as they ascended a hill, a fox burst through a gap in the hedge, and OLDCOURT. 147 darted across the road before them, followed in- stantly by the dogs in full cry, and a large field of horsemen. Miss Oldcourt's companions, aware that she was that day mounted on one of her father's most spirited hunters, and apprehensive of the con- sequences, if the horse, w^ho was as fond of the sport as his master, should be tempted to join in the chase, sprang forward to seize the reins ; but before they could effect their object, the noble animal, excited by the well-known sounds, cocked his ears, threw up his head, and neighing, as if to announce his intention, started off at full speed, clearing all obstacles with as little effort to himself, as apparent embarrassment to his fair rider. In the first impulse of their agitation, the young men endeavoured to keep up with the hunter, in order, if possible, to prevent his taking any despe- rate leap to which his mettle might prompt him. They soon found, however, that every attempt of this kind operated only as a spur to urge the spirited beast forward with still greater rapidity ; and as young Oldcourt knew his sister had an 148 OLDCOURT. excellent seat, and was no coward on horseback, he beckoned his companion to desist. They con- tented themselves, therefore, with following at a prudent distance, trusting, that she might herself succeed in arresting the progress of her steed, or if she did not, that she was too good a rider to be easily dismounted by any ordinary casualty that might occur on such an occasion. On clearing the low hedge, which formed one of the fences of the bridle-road that skirted a hill of considerable magnitude, the scene which presented itself to our party was animated and picturesque in the highest degree. On a wild, extensive heath, variegated with patches of furze- bushes and fern, stretching in a gentle slope to the borders of a river which meandered in a long line through the valley below, the whole hunt ap- peared in gay confusion, hounds and huntsmen eagerly pressing forward from different quarters ; some winding their way along the green paths that opened through the brown luxuriance of moun- tain vegetation, others impatiently bounding over bush and bramble, all dashing on at full stretch, and displaying, in its characteristic OLDCOURT. 149 effects, the half-frantic exhilaration produced by active exertion and inspiring sounds. The superior speed and spirit of the animal that had been thus excited to take part in the sport, soon carried him and his rider into the midst of those who were foremost in the pursuit ; and the attention of the whole field was immediately di- rected to the extraordinary and interesting ac- cession to their number, which they so suddenly perceived. Grace Oldcourt, at sixteen, had attained to her full stature ; and her Kght and graceful figure ap- peared to great advantage in a riding-habit of dark green, close fitted to her well-proportioned shape, and open at the neck, like a boy's collar. Her hat, in the first rapidity of her motion, had fallen from her head, and hung at her saddle-bow, suspended by a ribbon, which a judicious precau- tion against a high wind had attached to it. A profusion of beautiful brown hair streamed loosely to the breeze, or waved in clustering ringlets round a face, in which the sweetest expressions of beauty, youth, and innocence, were combined, with just as much of alarm as served to heighten her 150 OLDCOURT. bloom, and give a touching interest to her whole appearance. She sat her horse with a grace and self-pos- session, which so far precluded all the awkward- ness of apprehension, that she seemed rather to impel her steed forward, than to be carried away by his impetuosity. Some censorious per- sons of her own sex, indeed, subsequently in- sinuated, that she was not unwilling to give him his head on the occasion. Whether she found her strength inadequate to restrain him, or that, according to the aforesaid suggestion, her young and ardent spirit was really influenced by the enthusiasm of the chase, certain it is, that having succeeded in replacing her hat on her head, and given an encoura- ging nod to her brother, as much as to say, " Never fear for me ;" she manifested after- wards, no particular desire to interfere with the good pleasure of the noble animal, who bore his precious burthen with so much pride, but rather appeared quietly to deliver herself up to his discretion. The chase, which had been a Ions: one, now OLDCOURT. 151 approached the neighbouring river. Reynard, hav- ing run for some distance by its side nearly ex- hausted, made one desperate effort for his life, and suddenly plunged into the current. The hounds and most of the horsemen dashed after him with- out hesitation. A rapid glance of painful interest was at this moment, by all, directed to Miss Old- court. She was observed to make an eager effort to pull up as she approached the bank, but find- ing it without effect, desisted from the useless struggle ; and with admirable dexterity, before her horse could spring into the water, she drew her left foot backwards, tucked the skirts of her habit tight about her, and not having that preposte- rous train of broad- cloth, with which the tailor and bad taste have contrived to encumber the fair equestrian of the present day, she reached the opposite side of the river, without any other injury than that which resulted from the splashing oc- casioned by those who anxiously pressed to her assistance. Among the number, her brother and young Doran had rushed forward, with the greatest agitation, fearing more from the rapidity of the stream than its depth. But they were not so 152 OLDCOURT. well mounted, and could not approach her in time. The chase was now resumed with fresh vigour, and being on an open heath, the dogs soon ran down the luckless object of their pursuit ; Miss Old- court, in high style, coming in at the death, and reining up with a grace and ease which astonished the few who had been able to keep pace with her. As the members of the hunt came in, they eagerly pressed round her, through curiosity to behold a person who had excited an interest so extraordinary, to compliment her on her skill, and congratulate her on her safety ; but the embar- rassed girl, blushing, and confounded at the novel scene in which she made so conspicuous a figure, burst into tears, and would have fallen exhausted to the ground, if young Doran, who had just come up, had not sprung from his horse and caught her in his arms. Her brother, v/ho had now also arrived, supported her to a cottage close at hand ; and refreshed by a draught of water, she, in a few minutes, was able to remount, and prepare for the homeward route, which had been so unexpectedly interrupted. The presence of her escort some- OLDCOURT. 153 what restored her self-possession ; and the circum- stances altogether threw over her such a bloom of beauty, such a glow of modesty and animation, as the goddess of the woods herself would have attempted to rival in vain. The master of the hunt, SirNealO'Flaherty, now approached, with several of his companions — bowed respectfully to Mr. Oldcourt and his sister, and professed himself to have been formerly acquainted with their father, though not personally known to them. He then gallantly laid the fox's brush at the foot of the young lady, as the trophy of the (lay — complimented her, in the name of the Kil- bovne Hunt, and acknowledged the honour done them by her presence in the chase : an event which he declared they would not fail to celebrate in many bumpers to her health and happiness. It may be supposed that the report of an oc- currence of this nature, to which so many were witnesses, w^as soon spread around in a sporting country; and the fame of the fair huntress of Old- court Castle, her beauty and personal qualifica- tions, became the subject of general conversation in every circle. II 2 154 OLDCOURT. Such, indeed, was the interest she excited, that even the rancour of religious animosity appeared to relax in her favour; and the junior male mem- bers, at least of the few orthodox grandees in the neighbourhood, seemed disposed to enter into a more condescending intercourse than usual with her family. They were, indeed, not unfrequently observed to resort to the chapel of Oldcourt, in the hope of seeing the object of their admiration, when going to or returning from her devotions; and some sour spinsters of the CromwelUan race were heard to declare, that if countenance was to be thus given to such Popish pretensions, they would not answer for the preservation of the Protestant ascendancy. The state of society in Ireland at that time was such, as frequently to give rise to real or pre- tended apprehensions, not much more rationally founded, as to the safety of our glorious constitu- tion in church and state. In other countries, whatever shades of distinc- tion may result from rank, religion, or occupation, the two grand divisions of the people may be said to be — the rich and the poor. Whatever feuds. OLDCOURT. 155 factions, or animosities, may exist amongst them, they all consider themselves as one people — as members of the same community, and combined in the pursuit of one common interest, according to their ditferent views — the welfare of their country. But in the sister kingdom, as it is affectionately denominated, although wealth and poverty have not failed to work their usual effects, yet other causes have led to a classification of its inhabitants, much more effectual for the purpose of distinc- tion, disunion, and separation. From the period when his holiness. Pope Adrian, thought proper to compliment his countryman, Henry the Second, with the sovereignty of the Island of Saints and that monarch, in order to enforce submission to the pontifical authority, proceeded to make war on the Irish, with all that piety and pertinacity which so many oi his royal successors have since employed for the opposite purpose of compelling them to reject it — from that important era, in short, when Squire Bull, like Squire Western, resolved to make his insular relative happy, ** although he should break 156 OLDCOURT. her heart for it;" the inhabitants of Ireland have, in a great measure, formed two distinct nations, differing in language, manners, and customs ; and actuated by such opposite interests, as may be supposed to influence those who covet their neigh- bours' goods, and those who are disposed to resist the breach of the commandment which forbids the indulgence of such a desire. When the adventurers who gave way to this seductive propensity had succeeded so far as to establish themselves in the country, the distinctive appellations bestowed upon them and the Milesian race were, the Anglo-Irish and the native Irish. In process of time, the Anglo part of the name fell into disuse, and the two parties were designated as the Irish of the pale, and the Irish without the pale, or the mere Irish, as they were termed ; and for the killing and slaying of one of whom, three- and-sixpence, or half-a-crown (I forget which), was considered an adequate penalty. When that prohfic manufactory of creeds, which has been humorously called the reforma- tion, was first set on foot by the renowned theo- logical artificer of uxorious memory, Henry the OLDCOURT. 157 Eighth, and had been introduced, with all its bless- ings, into the benighted land of the shamrock, the conflicting powers were content to carry on their political and religious ravages, massacres, and con- fiscations, under the several denominations of CathoKcs and Protestants ; the latter term includ- ing every shade of dissent, from the Episcopalian and the Independent, down through all the modi^ fications of folly and fanaticism, which the exer- cise of the sacred right of private judgment, un- aided by sense or learning, had so happily operated to produce. When the infraction of the treaty of Limerick, and the infliction of the penal code, rendered the triumph of the Protestant ascendancy complete, the line of separation between the two classes was marked by the ingenious aggravation of every ob- noxious circumstance, which could indicate supe- riority on the one side, and subjection on the other — which could most offensively manifest domination without limit, and degradation with- out hope. Even in those parts of the country, where the same language, and the same general habits. 158 OLDCOURT. had been long prevalent with each, the Protestant never appeared to consider himself as of the same race with the Papist, or as having any interest in common with the mass of the people. AU the mortifying privileges of a superior caste were haughtily assumed by the predominant party, and acted upon through every gradation of society, patrician and plebeian, in peace or war, in public or private, in modes, manners, and establish- ments. Social intercourse was almost entirely suspended; for if the Protestant lord of the as- cendant was willing to receive him, the Catholic gentleman recoiled from an association in which he was considered an inferior, and admitted by courtesy rather than by right. The domineering spirit, indeed, which marked the partisans of " the glorious, pious, and im- mmtal memory" in Ireland, pervaded all classes of that body, from the highest to the lowest, and had no small tendency to create the difference of character which it assumed. While the meanest minion of the establishment beheld his Catholic countryman with the insolent air of conscious authority, the latter was cowed down to the OLDCOURT. 159 abashed aspect of helpless subjugation ; and at length, though roused to occasional paroxysms of rage, under the lash of local oppression, the abject victims of political and religious perse- cution, began to submit quietly to the yoke of those " Who made them slaves, and told them 'twas their charter." But it was in the exercise of their religion, and in their places of public worship, that the fallen fortunes of the Irish people seemed to be most strikingly and offensively exemplified. When they beheld the most ancient and gor- geous religion of Christianity, the only religion in which, according to Lord Chesterfield, " God Al- mighty is worshipped like a gentleman," stripped of its pomps, its power, and its emoluments — when they saw the Faith which had flourished in splendour, for so many centuries, and which had been enshrined, throughout the civilized world, in the noblest and most magnificent temples that have been constructed in modern times — when they saw this long venerated Faith expelled from its sacred abodes, driven to take shelter in mountains and 160 OLDCOURT. caverns — and when, at length, permitted to re- appear amongst men, they saw it reduced so low as to raise its altars in sheds and out-houses, little bet- ter than the hovels of the meanest among those who have adhered to its proscribed doctrines with such unshaken fideUty — then it was, when joining the assembled crowds of his fellow-countrymen, in the worship which was endeared to him alike by its principles and its persecutions, that the Irish Ca- thohc felt most sensibly his degradation — that his resentments often murmured in his prayers, and seemed almost devotion. Tliere were few occasions for the excitement of those feelings better calculated to produce them, than when the numerous congregation of the Rev. Father Clancy were assembled in and around the wretched edifice, which was dignilied by the name of the chapel of Oldcourt. At the entrance of a narrow by-road, leading from the centre of the village, and on a sort of triangular, and apparently unappropriated space of ground, which might remind you of those w^aste spots at the highway-side, in which the tra- veller in England so often traces the littered indica- OLDCOURT. 161 tions of a gipsy encampment, was situated this hum- ble representative of the ancient church of Ireland. Its exterior, in all architectural quahties, would have been discreditable to an English barn ; and it was distinguishable from the still ruder struc- ture of that character, which is to be found in the farm-yard of an Hibernian agriculturist, only by a clumsy attempt to add, at one end of it, a trans- verse erection, which might give it something like the figure of a cross. The walls, raised but little higher than the ordinary stature of a man, were composed of mud and gravel, worked to a tolerably solid consistency, through the agency of straw and hair. The roof was of thatch, which time and the vegetative vigour of nature had pretty generally covered over with a variegated coat of moss. The internal accommodation of the building, corre- sponded wdth what might have been expected from the exterior. The walls were naked, and uearly as rough on one side as on the other, except where the pressure of many brawny shoulders in frieze coats, had polished them to a smooth surface. The floor, formed of earth and sand, was bar- 162 OLDCOURT. dened into an irregular level, which often sup- plied a wet, generally a dirty, and always an un- even ground, on which to stand or kneel. Above, no ceiling pressed upon your head ; but as your eye explored the dusky expanse, it presented to view a goodly but confused assemblage of rafters and cross-beams in the rough, with an ingenious intersection ofwattles and twigs, contrived to form a basis for the thatcher's toil. In the nooks and crevices, so conveniently afforded by this architectural trellis-work, the swallov;s were accustomed to build their nests ; and, occasionally, some one of them, more daring than his fellows, would, perhaps in the midst of divine service, flutter over the heads of the con- gregation, and "wing the upper air" of the cha- pel, on a visit to a neighbouring nest. At the centre of the upper end, a small space was rudely railed off and boarded for the erection of the altar, which was ascended by a couple of steps. A portion of the wall, of equal breadth with the space enclosed, was roughly pannelled and painted, as a compartment of superior cha- racter, rising as high as the coping of the roof OLDCOURT. 163 would admit, and from which projected a small flat ceiling, just sufficient to cover from the cob- webbed canopy above, the altar and the platform upon which it stood. On the altar, a small wooden crucifix, in an ill- constructed niche, supplied the place of sculptured or pictorial decoration, and served to stimulate the piety (or, according to the controversial vigour of the day, the idolatry) of the people, who reverently bowed the head to the imaged suffering of him who preached peace and good- will amongst men. The chapel was furnished with neither bench nor chair ; but in the farthest corner of the shorter limb of the cross a single pew appeared, separated from the open space by three oaken rails, and furnished with seats, attached on two sides to the wall. The dignified station which this arrange- men created was allotted to the Oldcourt family, as due to their superior consequence ; and they were always prompt to share whatever accommoda- tion it afforded, with any stranger of respectability who presented himself at mass. The appearance of the ladies of the castle in their places was in- 164 OLDCOURT. deed, generally, the signal for commencing the service — Father Clancy always taking care to occupy himself very deliberately in unfolding and arranging the vestments necessary to his function, till a glance to their side of the chapel had assured him of their presence. Their arrival was always announced by some little bustle : for as their pew was situated at a considerable distance from the entrance, the in- dividuals of the family, and whatever stranger fol- lowed in their train, had to make their way by files, through a dense, and apparently impenetra- ble crowd ; a task which would have been attended with no small difficulty, if the respect and civility of the people had not, at whatever inconvenience to themselves, always opened for them an un- molested passage. The chapel was so much too small for the congre- gation, that the half of those who attended could not by any pious pressure be wedged within its walls. Many of them, therefore, whose con- sciences would not allow them to dispense with a " mouthful of prayers on the Sabbath-day," were under the necessity of indulging their de- OLDCOURT. 1 65 votions on the outside of it ; and long lines of the humbler classes, uncovered, and on their knees, were to be seen in all weathers, extending to a considerable distance round the doors, all eager to place themselves at least within the tink- ling of the little bell, which announces the most solemn part of the ceremony at w^hich they were so desirous to assist ; and evincing, by many fervent ejaculations, their participation in the devout feehng which it is intended to excite. 166 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER IX. The homely structure which, in the last chap- ter, I have attempted, without exaggeration, to describe, formed but a sorry shrine for the ancient faith of St. Patrick — for a national church of twelve centuries : a church which, through the erudition of its ministers, and the liberality of its institu- tions, contributed so much to spread the light of religion and literature amongst the rude Anglo- ancestors of those who now libelled its doctrines, and exulted in its degradation. In this humble temple, from the mouth of that venerable pastor who so long officiated at its altar, did I first hear the great truths of Christianity illustrated and en- forced, in language mild, persuasive, and simple. Here was I first impressed with the value of OLDCOURT. 167 that divine precept — that laconic code of religious legislation, which simplifies all the duties of so- ciety, and regulates all the moralities of life — that principle of peace and charity, which all Christian sects profess to inculcate, and forget to prac- tice — avow without reserve, and violate without ceremony or shame — " Do as you would he doTW by." From the serious strain of the last paragraph, I am afraid my reader will think I am going to preach him a sermon ; but there is no danger. However erratic I may prove myself in this lite- rary excursion, I shall not wander into any puri- tanical path. . I have some reason, certainly, to suspect that I am approaching to that period of human hfe "which is generally characterized by proizV?^, if not by preaching — when every man becomes more or less an historian, at least of his own exploits, and indulges his narrative propensities to a somewhat greater extent than his friends are disposed to admire ; but all this is natural. \Mien we have made a certain progress in the great journey of life, we begin to doubt the attainment of thos€ 168 OLDCOURT. objects which we have pursued with such avidity ; and, what is worse, we begin to distrust their value, even if they were attained. Our ardour begins to cool — ^we pause in our path, to re- cover breath for a new exertion, while we turn round to contemplate the distance we have tra- velled, and talk over the events which have che- quered our course. As we become less active, we become more narrative ; the retrospect seems more amusing than the prospect, and our recol- lections grow vivid in proportion as our hopes decay, till at length we are content to resign the game altogether to younger sportsmen, and con- sole our disappointed vanity, by recounting the share we have had in the pleasures and perils of the chase. Thus it is that all men are willing to become their own biographers : for as there are few per- sons, even amongst the most ill-favoured, who do not fancy they have something sensible or agree- able in their air or aspect which compensates for the want of beauty ; so there are but few amongst the most insignificant and obscure, who do not flatter themselves that a judicious account of OLDCOURT. 169 " Their life, character, and behaviour," would be interesting to the public, and might deserve to ** Live in description, and look green in song." We seldom contemplate our appearance in the glass of the past, without wishing to paint our own portraits for the benefit of posterity ; and never, surely, were there so many artists, as at present, engaged in this agreeable occupation. The organ of self-commemorativeness vvas never so interestingly developed, or the vagaries of personal adventure recorded to such a volumi- nous extent. Lords and ladies, authors and actors, poets, painters, and musicians, '' Scribi- mus Doctl," &c. We all rush eagerly forward in autobiographic rage, under every form of memoir, reminiscence, and recollection, which can enable us to enjoy what a celebrated artist in this way, the late Colley Gibber, honestly called "the dear delight of talking of one's self through two whole volumes." Phny says-— and what Pliny says is not to be slighted by any man who has been fortunate enough to be flogged through the seven forms of VOL. I. I 170 OLDCOURT. Eton, Harrow, orWestminster__Plmy says— I love to talk of Pliny, and Tully, and Maro, and Varro, and the Mseonian eagle, and the Mantuan swan ; it looks deep and erudite ; it announces a superior caste, and indicates academical accomplishment. A quotation from the learned languages operates as a classical coup de grace ; it clenches the nail of argument, and settles you at once. The meanest thoughts, expressed in Latin or Greek, like beg- gars in brocade, assume a sort of dignity ; and when you dispose a few of them judiciously, they shine like spangles on the homespun garb of ver- nacular vulgarity, and render it a more fitting dress for the high conceptions of the scholar and the gentleman. But I am forgetting what Phny says. He leaves mankind but one alternative ; that of " doing something that deserves to be written, or writing something that deserves to be read." Now, when we become our own historians, we boldly embrace both sides of the alternative; like Caesar, we commemorate our own exploits, and advance a double claim on posterity for reputation. But though, I confess, I feel a strong desire to OLDCOURT. 171 emulate the renowned reminiscents of our age — though I may, gentle reader ! be tempted one of these days, — " Celebrare domestica facta," and present you with my own life, throwing you my times, perhaps, into the bargain ; yet, as I am at present busied amongst the records of the very- respectable family in whose concerns you begin, I trust, to take some little interest, I shall return to the Rev. Father Clancy, and the chapel of Oldcourt. The priest, in some respects, was certainly not ill suited to the temple ; plain, homely, and un- pretending — a somewhat uncouth tenement of man. — " But yet within enshrined. Was truth and virtue, piety and peace." Always rather under the middle size, the compressing operation of time had reduced him still more below the ordinary standard. Though his person by no means exhibited that kind of corpulence, which is generally supposed to result from a liberal indulgence in clerical comforts, yet his cheerful temper, quiet conscience, and contented spirit, encouraged such 172 OLDCOQRT. an accumulation of integuments, as co-operating with his short figure and pecuhar style of dress, gave him an appearance somewhat portly and rotund. He was, certainly, to use a famihar idiom, " in good case." But though not quite so pale and picturesque as Sterne's monk, his aspect pre- sented you with " no common-place idea of fat contented ignorance," and betrayed no bloated characteristic of excess. The predominant expression of his face, was benevolence and kindness. In conversation, in- telhgence lighted up his little grey eyes ; and though generally mild and forbearing in his de- portment, his brow became occasionally stern in reproof ; and from the habitual exercise of that influence over the less enlightened portion of his flock, with which his sacred function invested him, it bore the evident stamp of decision and authority. Over a by no means scanty crop of grey hair, he wore a wig of nondescript character, partaking in some degree of the scratch, the buckle, and the bob ; but when frizzed by the vil- lage tonsor, for the ceremonial of the Sabbath, and frosted by a copious contribution of flour OLDCOURT. 173 from the drudging-box, it manifested behind a bushy protuberance, which seemed intended to emulate the dignity of that full-bottomed decora- tion, which was generally supposed, at that time, to give sapience as well as solemnity to the lawyer, the physician, and the divine. Beneath this professional adjunct, however, which did not always preserve its exact station, his own insurgent locks would occasionally peep forth, as if to show how unwillingly the na- tural honours of his head submitted to such an artificial incumbrance. His hat was of the three-cornered cut ; but the pressure of the hand produced a lateral expansion of the leaf, which gave it some resemblance to the broad brim of a Quaker, or that species of beaver which is usually represented as the fashionable covering of the CromweUian crew. This hat, when he found that he carried rather too much sail in a high wind, he was in the habit of se- curing in its place by a coloured pocket-handker- chief passed over it, and tied under his chin. He wore a long cravat rather loosely arranged, the ends of it carelessly introduced through one of the 174 OLDCOURT. button holes of his vest. His coat, without cape or collar, and his waistcoat, were always of the same colour — a snuiFy brown, the latter with large flaps, extending half-way down his thigh, and contain- ing pockets in which his snuff-box and his spec- tacle-case were always deposited. A pair of black leather inexpressibles, which much riding, much wear, and rough weather had changed to a rusty, and in some parts to a glossy grey, terminated in long stiff gaiters rising above the knee, and fastened at the side, as was not unusual at that day, by the agency of an iron wire, extending the whole length over these leggings, as brother Jonathan calls them. He was in winter accustomed to draw on a pair of long coarse woollen stockings, which reached in a roll nearly to his waistcoat-flaps ; the addition of a pair of spurs and a whip, wdth alash long enough for a coachman's, and which he always carried doubled in his hand, completed the costume in which, on Sundays and holydays, he mounted his nag to proceed in the performance of his duties. The steed, too, was a character as well as his master ; his qualities were but little accredited by OLDCOURT. 175 his coat. Not much larger than a pony, he was evidently better kept than curried ; rather fat and strong, than slim or sleek. His untrimmed fet- locks, and unrepressed luxuriance of mane falling on each side of his short neck — a tail originally curtailed, but now shaggily descending in a switch- like similitude of its natural length, all strongly denoted a careless grooming, and very irregular manage. His gait of going also, seemed to be peculiarly adapted to the equestrian acquirements of his reverend rider — neither a walk nor a trot ; it never broke into a canter, much less a gallop, but was a kind of ambling pace, or quadruped waddle, which contrived to get over the ground fast, without the toil of effort, or the appearance of speed. The Protestant and Popish establishments of the parish of Oldcourt, were certainly, in every respect, illustrative of the degree of favour en- joyed by the respective religions to which they be- longed. The appearance of the priest formed as striking a contrast to the sacerdotal dignity of the parson, as that of the chapel, to the architec- tural importance of the church. 176 OLDCOURT. The exemplary manner in which the worthy priest performed all the duties of his function, and his disinterested zeal for the spiritual and temporal welfare of his flock, made him a general favourite. Wherever he appeared, the tenants of the cabin turned out as he passed^ like the guard on the ap - proach of their commanding officer, to show their respect for him; the women dropped their court- sies, and wished his reverence long life. The chil- dren, I confess, were a little afraid of him, par- ticularly if they had neglected to attend the chapel to say their catechism. The poor looked to him as a sure resource in all their difficulties ; he was their counsellor in worldly concerns, their physi- cian in disease, and their consolation in death. Always their friend, and often their protector. The oppressor and the persecutor were some- times shamed into forbearance by his interposi- tion ; they were disconcerted by the calm intrepi- dity of his character ; and though they might dis- regard his resentment, they shrunk from the ex- posure w^hich they knew would result from his fearless indignation. The wants which he could not himself remove. OLDCOURT. 177 he warmly represented to those whose means en- abled them to be charitable. Never was the af- fectionate name of father, which is generally ap- plied to the Catholic clergy in Ireland, more justly bestowed. He waited not to be summoned to the succour of the distressed ; he anxiously sought out the haunts of misery and shame, and thought himself bound to labour for their rehef, as well as their reformation ; there was not a hovel in his parish with which he was not acquainted, and whose inmates were not under his vigilant obser- vation. No man could live in the commission of offence without incurring his private reproof ; and if he continued in his immoral courses, after due and solemn warning, he denounced him by name in the face of his congregation. This measure, which amongst a simple and religious people, as the Irish peasantry naturally are, had almost the effect of excommunication, seldom failed to bring the offender to a sense of his mis- conduct, or obli2;e him to remove to some other district, where the example of his licentiousness might be less zealously repressed. I 2 178 OLDCOURT. Such, indeed, was the authority procured for him by his virtues, over even the most disorderly of his flock, that the magistrates, with the civil and military power at their command, were glad to resort to his influence, as the readiest means of allaying those commotions which their own mis- conduct frequently excited. Often has his pre- sence dispersed a tumultuous assembly of his countrymen, when military menace had been dis- regarded, and the Riot Act w^ould have been read in vain. Even at their fairs, when a too copious use of the native had excited their pugnacious propensities, and a forest of shilelahs flourished around him. Father Clancy would ride into the middle of the fray — command them to peace, and sometimes lay about him with his horse-whip on the shoulders of the combatants, without the slightest apprehension that the most infuriated amongst them would raise a hand to his injury, or utter a word insulting to his sacred character. Their angry passions subsided as he spoke ; and, like quarrelsome children, though anxious to fight each other, they shrunk respectfully before the OLDCOURT. 179 displeasure, and submitted to the chastisement of one whom they considered as a common pa- rent, and knew to be a disinterested friend. His character was, indeed, particularly cal- culated to win the heart of an Irishman. He was gracious, he was generous, and he was just. Though grave and solemn in the performance of his functions, he did not think it necessary to parade his clerical importance on ordinary occa- sions. In the common intercourse of life, he was cheerful, familiar, and unpresuming. He knew the value of condescension and kind words with a warm-hearted people, and was sensible how much easier it is to gain favour from their affections, than submission from their fears. He did not restrict his communication, even with the humblest of his flock, to the exercise of his official duties ; he would enter their cabins — fami- liarly seat himself on the stool, which the good wo- man would wipe down with her apron, for his ac- commodation — inquire with some interest into their concerns, and, if he chanced to find them at their meals, he would never offend their feelings by refusing to partake of their hospitality, though of- 180 OLDCOURT. fered to " his reverence " with no more alkiring recommendation, than, " a noggin of milk, fresh from the cow," or " a fine new praty." Flattered hy the notice of so important a per- sonage as the priest is considered in an Irish village, the objects of his attention were raised in their own esteem, because they saw, that although they were poor, and often destitute, they were not despised or disregarded ; they became doubly anxious not to incur his displeasure, or oblige him to withdraw from them that countenance which at once was soothing to their feelings, and advan- tageous to their interests. They saw in him, a man who had devoted himself to the performance of duties in which no selfish passion could be gratified, nor sinister purpose suspected. They could not doubt the disinterestedness of him who was ready, at all hours — by day or by night, to attend to their spiritual wants, and as far as he could, to relieve their temporal necessities ,• who, in the midst of pestilence and death, when terror had rent asunder the bonds of nature and affec- tion, and the powerful impulse of self-preservation had driven the child from the parent, and the OLDCOtfRT. 181 parent from the child, would fearlessly take his station beside the straw bed of the wretched victim, to administer the last rites of his religion ; and breathe the hopes of futurity in the ear of him, whom this world had abandoned to despair. They could not doubt of his justice, for they knew^ him to be upright and impartial ; rigid in repressing dishonesty, and in exacting retribution for wrong. Indulgent to those errors and of- fences that found some palliation in their pecu- liar circumstances, and the frailty of our common nature ; but severe and unsparing in reproba- tion of their vices and their crimes. Such was Father Clancy ! parish priest of Oldcourt, and chaplain to the respectable fa- mily of that name. At the Castle, indeed, he officiated in a double capacity ; and was not only spiritual director to the establishment, but preceptor to the children, who were wholly indebted to him for their education. And w^eli qualified was he for either character; for he was a good scholar, as well as a good Christian. His religion was mild and charitable, displaying a 182 OLDCOURT. rational piety, remote alike from visionary mys- ticism, and vulgar superstition — teaching, that we may be exemplary in our morals, without being morose in our manners, or gloomy in our habits; and that the serious duties, are not incom- patible with the innocent pleasures of life. His attainments in literature, were such as would have distinguished him in a much higher sphere than that in which he moved. He was perfectly conversant with the Greek and Latin fathers — ^had reconnoitred the ground of theolo- gical warfare, from the days of Origen and Arius, down to those of Luther, Calvin, and John Knox ; and was so well armed for the controversial field, that, whenever in a fit of polemic rashness, the parson, or any other champion of the establish- ment, thought proper to indulge in a fling at Po- pery, the assault was repelled with a spirit, and at the same time, a temperance, which left no lau- rels for his adversaries. He was averse, how- ever, to disputation on religious subjects ; and the discourses which he addressed to his flock, were directed rather to explain the duties of a Christian, than the doctrines of a theologian. OLDCOURT. 183 But when the occasion called for it, he never flinched from a vindication of what he considered the truth. Like all persons who were, at that period in Ireland, destined for the priesthood of the Ca- tholic church, he was obliged to resort to a foreign seminary for his education ; the wise and liberal pohcy of the system of misrule, which then existed under the name of government in that country, not permitting any domestic establish- ment for such a purpose. At St. Omer's, he passed through his course of study with so much credit, that a situation of superior trust and dignity in the Irish College at Paris, was oftered to his ac- ceptance. But he preferred returning to his own country, where, uninfluenced by the dreams of ambition, or the suggestions of selfishness, he de- voted himself to a career of humble usefulness, obscure toil, and disinterested virtue. It must be acknowledged, however, that with all these merits. Father Clancy had one fault, " and that was a thumper." He had no great respect for w^hat we patriots call liberty ; and looked upon 184 OLDCOURT. ft republican as little better than one of the wicked. To the Americans, in particular, \\ho about that time had begun very seriously to disturb the repose of all " regular governments," he bore as great an antipathy as was consistent with the benevolence of his nature. It was observed, that he never took his glass of wine (or punch I should say, which he liked much better) with such relish, as when he could accompany it with his favourite toast of, "General IVaslibigton in the suds ! " He maintained, that monarchy was the most natural, and the most rational form of govern- ment. It grew out of the spontaneous arrange- ment of things, and accorded with the principles upon which human society must have been ori- ginally constructed. It was a system (he would say) suggested by common sense, sanctioned by analogy, and justified by experience. It was founded on three great bases — the paternal, the pastoral, and the patriarchal. The father and his children — the shepherd and his flock — the patri- arch and his people. It imitated the harmony of OLDCOURT. 185 heaven, and was the best security for the happi- ness of man upon earth. Repubhcs, he contended, were always tur- bulent and discontented, factious, immoral, and unhappy : and he illustrated his position, by a reference to the gloomy tyranny, and debauched servilit}^ of the Venetians ; the mercenary immo- rality, and boorish drudgery of the Dutch. His instances were certainly not ill chosen ; the United States had not at that time, furnished a knock-down argument on the other side of the question ; and, if the ancient republics were started in the race against him, he ran out of the course in a philippic against the practice of civil slavery which prevailed amongst them, declaring, that the boasted political systems of antiquity, which our classical prejudices teach us to admire, were, as far as concerned the security and happiness of the great mass of mankind, vile schemes of ty- ranny and oppression, which could be parallelled only by the state of society that disgraces our West India colonies. On the subject of trade, also, he held opinions 186 OLDCOURT. which would not much recommend him to the mercantile world. Commerce, he considered as the great corrupter of nations ; as promoting the sordid and selfish, in opposition to the liberal and generous feelings of our nature ; as making wealth the measure of merit ; establishing gam- bling on system, under the name of speculation, and stretching every man's conscience to the utmost Kmits of the law. OLDCOURT. 187 CHAPTER X. Amiable, excellent man ! religion in him was attractive, because it was what religion ought to be — a spirit of peace and good will amongst men. It seemed impossible to doubt the excellence of a system which inspired a devotion so pure, a disin- terestedness so exemplary. He was no rancorous bigot, brandishing the polemic flail over the heads of his congregation ; and occasionally belabouring his own unhappy pate in the frenzy of his zeal, and the awkward- ness of his ferocity; he was no presumptuous dealer in dogmas, urging persecution here, and de- nouncing damnation hereafter, in the name of him who says " Judge not lest you should be judged," on all who differed from his creed and believed a 188 OLDCOURT. little more or less than himself. He was no cant- ing hypocrite, who, finding, that "godliness was great gain," put on the mask of piety to impose on weak minds, and extort tribute in this world, by the terrors of the next. He was no bewildered fanatic raving in the mania of mysticism, and en- veloped in the gloom of grace — mistaking vain dreams for beatific visions, and fancying intima- tions of spiritual import, in the nightmare mala- dies of indigestion. He was truly a Christian pastor ; not only teach- ing the doctrines, but inculcating the virtues of those w^ho first devoted their lives to the duties of that character. He practised what he preached, and enforced his precepts by his example. With him no honest man was a reprobate — no sinner was a saint. Goodness he thought the best sign of grace, and faith he considered as making no amends for immorality. With all due submission to those reverend per- sons who take upon them to set the fashions of our faith, it would not be amiss if they were a little more influenced by these principles. It would, I conceive, contribute to the peace, with- OLDCOURT. 189 out diminishing the piety of the world, if they would be content to persuade rather than to per- secute ; if they would not think it necessary, — " To seize the avenging rod, Re-judge his judgment, be the God of God j " but leave those errors of credulity and incredulity w^hich Heaven appears not to visit with any pecu- liar penalties in this world, to that punishment which they have the satisfaction to know will so infcdlibly overtake them in the next. In short, if all priests were like Father Clancy, all rehgions would be more like Christianity ; and we should not think it piety to hate and persecute each other " for the love of God." When last I beheld this good man officiating at his rustic altar, the service was terminated by a proceeding which struck me as peculiarly cha- racteristic of the state of the Catholic church and its clergy in Ireland. I had often before, at an early period of my life, been present on similar occasions, without experiencing any surprise, or considering the matter as out of the ordinary course. Long absence from the scene, however. 190 OLDCOURT. some observation and much reflection, led me to regard it now with different feehngs ; and it ap- peared to me as extraordinary as if I witnessed it for the first time. At the close of a plain, appropriate, and im- pressive discourse on the love of our neighbour, delivered from the altar, (for the chapel boasted not a pulpit) in the course of which, the preacher took occasion to warn his flock with great energ)^ against taking any part in the disturbances which at that time agitated a neighbouring district, he, after a pause, and with some appearance of hesi- tation and embarrassment, addressed the congre- gation in nearly the following words : — " My good friends ! I am sorry to tell you mat- ters run so low with your priest, that he finds himself under the necessity of having recourse to your assistance. It is some satisfaction to me, however, to reflect, that a longer period than usual has elapsed since I last troubled you. You know I now do duty in two chapels separated by a distance of five miles. I have, besides, many stations to attend in remote parts of this large parish ; and I hope I may say, that you always find me ready. OLDCOURT. 191 early or late, to perform the offices of religion and humanity whenever I am called. As to my own wants, they are few, and easily supplied through your kindness ; but I must provide, also, for the poor beast that safely carries me from place to place, in your service. My good people ! I am well aware of your necessities ; and sorry should I be to press upon those who are themselves dis- tressed; but some there are amongst you, to whom Providence has dealt out the goods of this life, with a less sparing hand, and they will not be backward with their contributions, when they know that by such means only, can I be enabled to perform those duties in which your interests are so much more concerned than mine," This simple appeal was hardly concluded, when a voice from the lower end of the chapel cried out : — " I'll give you a load of hay, sir." " Thank you, Paddy Farrell !" said the priest, " thank you ; you are always ready." " I'll give you a barrel of oats, sir;" exclaimed another voice from a different quarter. "Thank you kindly, LoughUn Kenny; you have the more merit, for I fear you can but ill afford it." 192 OLDCOUET. '' I'll give you a load of straw, sir," said a third; " A sack of potatoes/' said a fourth; and so on, with sundry other small donations from different contributors, each drawing some appro- priate acknowledgment from the w^orthy priest, till he signified that he would not then trespass farther on their kindness. During this scene, I observed the old squire of the Castle taking a scrap of paper from his pocket; and having written something on it with a pencil, he delivered it to one of the boys who served mass, whom he had beckoned to receive it. The boy immediately handed it to the priest, who, when he had read it, turned round, and bowing to the pew of " the family" said : — " God Almighty bless you, Mr. Oldcourt, and your worthy family ! On this, as well as on every other occasion, I have good cause to acknow- ledge your liberaUty." " And thus it is," said I to myself, " that a Christian minister of the ancient church of Ire- land — a scholar and a gentleman — is obliged, in his own country, to solicit the means of subsist- ence I By this humihating, this almost mendi- OLDCOURT. 193 cant process, the most pious, exemplary, labo- rious, and useful body of clergy, that ever ex- pounded the principles or enforced the duties of any church, are sustained and rewarded for the zeal and disinterestedness with which they devote themselves to the service of their religion and their country ! While a church, whose pastors may be said, comparatively, to have no flocks — while a clergy, without a laity, who have cures without cares, and dues without duties — while, in short, an establishment which is hostile to the feelings, principles, and prejudices of the great body of the people, and which exists for them only in its exactions, its insults, and its persecutions, is invested with pomp and privilege — loaded with honours and emoluments, beyond all precedent of princely endowment or ecclesiastical remune- ration.*" * Extract from a speech of Lord Ebrington's, at the De- vonshire Anti-Catholic Meeting. — Times Newspaper ^ January 19th, 1829.— " His own parish, in Ireland — and there were hundreds of others similarly situated — presented an iostance of a Protestant clergyman without a church ; without a parson- VOL. I. K 194 OLDCOURT. But these (as Mr. Burke says) are " high mat- ters/' and above my sphere. The arcana of state pohcy are not to be discovered by the pro- fane ; and every one knows that common sense, common justice, and common honesty, are no rule, lorsqii'il sagit des grandes affaires. Let me return, therefore, to the concerns of the Old- court family. On the day when the proceeding which I have just described, took place, an event also occurred at the close of the ceremony, which, in its conse- quences, materially influenced the fate of one of the most interesting members of that ancient house. As the congregation were about to quit the chapel, considerable disturbance was observed to prevail amongst those who carried on their devo- age, or a single Protestant inhabitant ; except when his (Lord Ebrington's) own family resided there. He did not believe that such a state of things could be acceptable to the clergy of England ; or, that they could wish to embark in the same boat with their Irish brethren -, and if the Irish clergy w ere only known to their parishioners by the exaction of their tithes, their absence was, perhaps, better than their presence among them, when they had no duty to perform." OLDCOURT. 195 tions on the outside of it. The confusion ap- peared to be occasioned by an accident. A gen- tleman in a militar)' garb had been thrown from his horse near one of the doors, and was so stunned by the fall as to be apparently quite in- sensible. He was attended by a friend, who, much agitated, and evidently in some alarm, endeavoured to keep off the crowd, which pressed so close as to obstruct the circulation of air. With that alacrity of kindness which charac- terizes the peasantry of Ireland, all parties rushed forward with suggestions of rehef or remedy, and, by their eagerness, increased the confu- sion. " Blood-an'-ouns ! boys, stand back!" cried a man who had raised the sufferer from the ground, and supported his head upon his knee. " Stand back ! I tell you, and don't be smo- therin' us up here." ** His black stock is a-chokin' him," said another, who immediately began to loosen it ; while some of those around opened the stranger's hands, and smartly slapped them ^-ith their own. 196 OLDCOURT. as a generally received means of restoring ani- mation. " Hadn't you better bring the gintleman into the chapel?" said one of the by-standers. " Sprinkle his face with a little holy water," cried another. " It 'ill do him no good, Pat Flanagan," said a young man, w^ho had looked on with much less interest than the rest. " He has no belief in it; an' it's but a judgment on him." " Unfeehng ruffian !" cried the gentleman's friend, seizing the speaker by the collar, with great indignation ; and, as the latter instantly grappled w^ith his assailant, there would have been an immediate fray, if the presence of Mr. Oldcourt, his sons, and Father Clancy, who had now approached from the chapel, had not pre- vented further violence. In the companion of the young officer, w^ho still seemed unconscious of. what passed around him, the old squire recognised Major Ogle, a gentleman of the county, who resided a few miles from the castle, and with whom he was upon such terms of acquaintance, as at that OLDCOURT. 197 period usually subsisted between the super- cilious Protestant grandee, and the resentful popish squire. The present, however, was an occasion upon which the spirit of human kind- ness overcame all other feelings, and the mem- bers of the Oldcourt family were anxious only to discover in what way they could be most useful to a suflFering fellow- creature. To Mr. Oldcourt's inquiries as to the cause of the accident. Major Ogle, in a somewhat vague and embarrassed manner, replied, that his friend's horse had started, reared, and fallen back, crushing his rider severely under him. As immediate assistance appeared essential, and the strangers were at a considerable dis- tance from home, the Oldcourts insisted tha^ they should proceed to the castle, which was not half a mile from the chapel ; and directed the sufferer to be placed in their carriage for the easier removal, as the ladies could walk that short distance without inconvenience. Major Ogle re- luctantly acquiesced in this arrangement, as he began to be seriously alarmed for the situation of his friend, and went himself in the carriage to 198 OLDCOURT. take charge of him. In this office he was assisted by Barry Oldcourt, the eldest son, to whom, on their way, he communicated that his companion ■W£ks Sir Walter D'Arcy, a young baronet who had lately come into the possession of a hand- some fortune, and was now quartered with part of his regiment in Gcdway. As the carriage moved slowly, the whole party arrived at the same time, and the patient was with the greatest care and kindness placed in a room which was immediately appropriated to his use. He had by this time recovered his consci- ousness, but had no recollection of what had occurred ; and appeared to suffer so much pain, that Mrs. Oldcourt, the highest medical authority in the parish, declared she would not answer for the consequences if he were not bled immediately. The good lady was in her element, and anxiously produced her whole store of balsams for bruises, fomentations for sprains, drops, cordials, and specifics for all imaginable maladies. For the operation of phlebotomy, however, she had no provision, her practice had never extended to the use of the lancet; and as there was no more skil- OLDCOURT. 199 fill hand in the neishboiirhood, the horse doctor was immediately sent for from the village. Mr. Phelim ^I'Cabe prescribed for the whole equestrian order in his \-icinage ; he had an un- disputed sway in all quadruped casualties or com- plaints. No man could, like him, deal x^ith the murrain, the manse, the rot, or the staggers ; he could worm a doz, or nick a colt's tail with great dexterity, and was always consulted in cases of splint, spavin, or windgall. His neighbours, indeed, looked upon him as a person of very ex- traordinary acquirements, and were anxious to submit themselves as well as their horses to his management. "When he could do somuchforpoor dumb creatures, who could'nt spake what ailed 'em, they saw no razin why he could'nt cure a Christian with a tongue in his head, to tell his own story." His various talents were, in short, so highly appreciated, that according to the grateful strain of a humble bard, who it was supposed had benefited by their exercise, he " Was held ia honour next the priest, For he (with reverence be it spoken) Could bleed or drench both man and beast, And set a body's bones when broken." 200 OLDCOURT. To say the truth, Mr. Phelim M'Cabe himself, was very wiUing to strengthen these impressions of his importance. He was by no means satis- fied with his renown as the Sangrado of the stable and the dog-kennel. He thought he had good claims to be considered the Esculapius of the whole district ; and on more than one occa- sion, was observed to manifest some jealousy of Mrs. Oldcourt's interference and medical repu- tation. This feeling it was, which led him to assume a more than ordinary degree of conse- quence, whenever he was called upon to perform any of his functions at the castle; and when he learned the rank and station of the personage upon whom he was now required to operate, he sum- moned all his importance to his aid, and resolved to look as wise as any of the faculty. His appearance, certainly, was not very well calculated to second his intentions in this respect. His figure w^as clumsy, squat, and what is vul- garly called pot-bellied — his face was broad and bloated, exhibiting two little red eyes, under bushy, grey eye -brows, and half buried beneath his fat and florid cheeks ; a short snub nose, al- ways tinged with snuff ; a wide mouth, of what in OLDCOURT. 201 Ireland is called the potatoe character ; with a peculiar curl at one corner, at once sly and sim- ple — half smirk, half sneer. From this feature a broad, double chin descended, the lower and larger portion of which, loosely encircled by a kind of rope of red handkerchief, reposed upon a brawny chest. On his head he generally wore a woollen night- cap, not always as clean as could be wished, over which, an old unpowdered wig was carelessly stuck on ; the whole surmounted by a well-worn cocked hat, of the modern coachman's cut, which, when he took it off, commonly brought the wig along with it. His dress was generally loose and slovenly ; his unmentionables half unbuttoned at the knees, and the folds of his capacious waistcoat always dis- playing a deposit of Lundy Foote's best, which might furnish him with a supply, should his horn box be exhausted. Over all, he wore, or rather carried, in every season, an old blue great coat at- tached by one button under his chin, the arms hanging loose and useless behind, in the fashion of a hussar's jacket. k2 202 OLDCOURT. In this, his usual costume, and with more than his ordinary gravity, Mr.Phelim M'Cabe presented himself, according to requisition, at the castle. His introduction for any surgical operation evi- dently excited some surprise in Major Ogle and his friend ; a feeling which his peculiar manner and mode of address was not likely to remove. " God save all here ! No bones broken, my honeys, I hope. Well, accidents will happen on Sundays as well as Mondays." Then, unceremo- niously depositing himself on the nearest chair, and taking out his snuff-box, he addressed the ba- ronet, whom he saw reclining with the air of an invalid, on a sofa. " You are the patient, I 'spose, my young sodger?*' To this somewhat blunt in- quiry, the latter answered only by a supercilious nod of the head. Major Ogle, who was one of that very nume- ous class of squires in Ireland, who feel their dig- nity outraged by any thing like an approach to familiarity, in those whom they consider to be beneath them, was particularly disconcerted by this free and easy style of Mr. Phelim M'Cabe ; and, turning to one of the young men of the family. OLDCOURT. 203 who had ushered in the veterinary professor, he asked, with an air and emphasis, evidently intended to repress at once such presumptuous bearing, — " Is this the person whom Mrs. Oldcourt was so good as to propose?" Being answered in the affirmative, he turned to him with great hauteur and said, " Are you, my friend, accustomed to officiate on these occasions V M'Cabe, who knew the major, and his charac- ter, aware of his own present importance, was by no means disposed to be particularly respectful ; he replied, therefore, in his usual tone. " What did you say, agi-ah V The question being repeated, with increased importance, he exclaimed, — " Am I 'customed on these occasions ? Well, to be sure, that's good ! Am I 'customed to ate, drink, or sleep ? Make yourself aisy, my good sir, and lave me to mind my own business.'* Young Mr. Oldcourt here observed, " that Mr. M'Cabe knew very well what he was about." " By my sowl, you may say that. Master Barry, with your own purty mouth ;" rejoined the 204 OLDCOURT offended medical. " The very best blood in the county has smoked upon my blade, horse and man, any time these thirty years, and doubt nor distrust never fell on Phelim M'Cabe before. But, may be, major," continued he, " you'd like to try your hand yourself ; you know we follow^ pretty much the same trade, only the differ bechune us is, that you draw blood to kill, and I to cure." The sly, sarcastic tone of the horse-doctor, evi- dently exasperated the major ; and the more so, as his invahd friend could not suppress a laugh on the occasion. M'Cabe's services, however, were necessary ; he, therefore, endeavoured to conceal his displeasure, saying, — " We want your skill here, sir, and not your conversation." — " Like enough, ahaguer!'* rejoined the doctor ; " but 'pon my honour you're out of luck, for they always go together. Besides, I like dearly a little gossip, when I meet an agreeable gintle- man like Major Ogle;" (winking slily to those around) " and the divil a harm a little chat with me will do you, major, becase, you see, I can OLDCOURT. 205 tell you a bit of a sacret which you won't hear every day in the week." "What do you mean, fellow?" angrily de- manded the major. " Nothing at all, honey," answered our rustic Esculapius, with the most provoking coolness; '' only that you are a mighty great man in your own opinion. But, Lord help us ! we're all poor mistaken cratures." The baronet, in spite of his pains and bruises, was so amused with M'Cabe's dry humour, and his friend's mortification, that, bursting into a laugh, he said, — " Egad ! Ogle, you have caught a tartar." The major, greatly irritated, yet not knowing exactly how to assert himself, addressed the doc- tor, and angrily desired he would immediately proceed to perform the operation for which his presence there was required. " Arrah ! be asy, honey ; you're not in com- mand here, major," observed the doctor; at the same time, quietly unrolling an old black leather case, containing instruments which seemed more calculated to cut off the leg of a horse, than for 206 OLDCOURT. any more delicate surgical operation. " Besides," added he, " I have a way of my own of doing these things, and fair and asy goes far in the day. Tim, dear," turning to speak to one of the servants who were in attendance, " ax the mistress for a drop of the crature, just to steady my hand a bit." But Mrs. Oldcourt, who was aware of the accustomed preliminary to any of M'Cabe's per- formances, at that moment entered the room, with a bottle and glass in her hand. " My dear madam ! " exclaimed the major, " you are not, I hope, going to give this man spirits ; the fellow is half tipsy already." '' Good words, major, jewel ! " quietly observed M'Cabe, " or may be, I may lave you to bleed your friend yourself. But that is a job, they say, you're 'cute enough at." This sly allusion to rumours of certain gambling transactions, in which Major Ogle was said to have fleeced some of his associates pretty hand- somely, raised that gentleman's choler to the highest pitch. He stammered out some excla- mation which passion rendered unintelligible ; and there is no saying to what lengths the altercation OLDCOURT. 207 might have proceeded, if Mrs. Oldcourt, after fining a bumper for the doctor, had not judiciously interfered, and requested to speak to Major Ogle in the next room, a motion to which that gen- tleman immediately, and apparently with some alacrity, assented ; his unruffled opponent haiUng his retreat aloud, with — " My humble sarvice to you, major ! '* as he tossed off his bumper. " Upon my word, a very quare, crusty sort of gentleman is that same Mr. Major Ogle, as they call him," added M'Cabe, "though I'm sure I can't see why or wherefore. I'd be glad to know, indeed, what made him so great an officer, all of a sudden, unless it be his prancing about upon his long-tail filly, amongst a parcel of spalpeens who call themselves yeomanry cavillers ; but I believe I made him lave that, as the ganger said, when he shot at the crow, ' marry, come up, my dirty cousin!' Why, you'd think I was no more nor the dirt under his feet, though there's not a horse in his stable but has good rason to know Phehm M'Cabe ; but his mare may have the staggers, and himself too, for me, any how, after this bout. But come, my young gentleman, now that we've 208 OLDCOURT. pace and quiet again, we'll soon settle our busi- ness, and don't you be afeard of me. I have drawn more blood in my time than the major, great a warrior as he is." The baronet, who, though bruised a little, and in some pain, was by no means seriously affected by his fall, had been greatly entertained by the oddity before him ; he held out his arm imme- diately to M'Cabe, assured him he had no fears, and that he placed the utmost reliance on his skill. " Faith ! and that you may, honey," rejoined the doctor, well pleased with the confidence re- posed in him by his patient; " and a mighty pretty vein," baring the arm, " as a body might wish to see. Stand out of that. Master Barry, dear! for it 'ill spout out famously, I'll be bound." The event quickly realized his prophecy, and ex- ultingly he exclaimed, " there, by the piper of Blessington ! Pat Daise himself never did a uater bit of phlebotomy." Now, as the gentleman mentioned by the fami- liar designation of Pat Daise, was the most cele- brated surgeon at that time in Ireland, nothing further in the way of panegyric could be at- OLDCOURT. 209 tempted. M'Cabe really, in the humbler ope- rations of surgery, had a good deal of experience, and no small dexterity. As soon as he had tied up the arm, a httle of his jealous feehng on the subject of Mrs. Oldcourt's interference, in what he considered his department, broke out. " Now, if I understand any thing of shaving a pig," said he, " there was no great call for this job, seeing that all's safe and sound in a whole skin ; but the mistress knows best, and I'm sure Tm always willin to give up my poor judgment ; but there is no great harm done any how, and if you keep quiet for this blessed day, my young gintleman, the divil a bit you'll want either stupes, possets, or cordials, and that's all I say ; and so I'll take my lave, becase you see, there's a patient waiting for me in the stable." The baronet's horse, however, was found, on examination, to have suflPered still less from his fall than his master. 210 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER XL Walter Maurice D'Arcy, at the age of twenty-eight years, succeeded, on the death of his father, to the possession of a property which had once been sufficient for the estabUshment of a prince. Through the operation, however, of that arithmetical process, in which the heads of ancient families in Ireland have always shown them- selves great adepts — reduction, it was gradually brought within moderate limits; and the negli- gence of the late possessor, followed up by the extravagance of the present, had contributed not only to squander their due proportion of the fa- mily estate, but also very much to encumber what remained. The grandfather of the gentle- man whom we have in the last chapter introduced OLDCOURT. 211 to the reader, had been a zealous adherent of the Stuarts. Influenced by what is called loyalty, a very heroic virtue in the estimation of those who are its idols, and which, in its highest perfection, appears to be a blind, unquestioning, unhesitating, and unconditional devotion to a king, quand m4me, as Monsieur de Chateaubriand says, that is, in plain EngHsh, even though he were found to be the tyrant rather than the protector of his country ; even though he were, as in the instance alluded to, as weak, as worthless, and as ungrate- ful a prince as ever proved to the fortunate conviction oif the world, that the assumption of divine right is blasphemy in a king, and the practice of passive obedience, baseness in a people. Influenced by this political superstition, to which so many noble natures have fallen a sacri- fice, and from the victims to which, in Ireland alone, a book of martyrs might be formed to rival the religious romance under that name, which has been composed for the great edifi- cation of puritanical zeal and orthodox credu- 212 OLDCOURT. lity ; stimulated by this chivalrous devotion to that " Divinity which doth hedge a king," Sir Gerald D*Arcy embraced, with enthusiasm, the cause of the Stuarts. He raised a regiment amongst his own tenants, and continued to lead them gallantly in the field, till the war of the revolution closed in the capitulation of Limerick. He and his followers formed part of the garrison of that fortress ; and when it was surrendered by treaty to the British force, under G inkle, D'Arcy w^as so disgusted by the pusillanimity of James, and so hopeless of any farther effort in his favour, that he was one of the few Irish officers who ac- cepted the offer to be received, with the same rank, into the service of King William. In this proceeding, however, he had the mortifi- cation to find himself deserted by his regiment, not a man of which could be prevailed upon to follow his example ; neither could they be induced to join those who agreed to pass over to the Continent in the service of France. They laid aside their swords, as there was no longer abanner under which OLDCOURT. 213 they could continue to fight for their country, and retired to their homes to lament her subjugation. As a colonel without a regiment is no great acquisition to an army, D'Arcy soon found himself treated with neglect and indifference by the British commander. He, therefore, took the first opportunity to withdraw entirely from the ser\ice. For many years he lived in great privacy, consoling himself with the reflec- tion, that he had rescued his estate from the grasp of the commissioners for claims, though he never entirely recovered the respect of his te- nantry, who could not forgive his having con- sented to unite with those whom they considered as the enemies of their king, their creed, and their country. Sir Gerald was in due time succeeded by his only son. Sir Patrick Brown D'Arcy ; a young gentleman, who, having before his accession to the family honours, established for himself the cha- racter of a fine jolly fellow, who would hunt, or shoot, or drink, or fight with any man of his in- ches from Ireland's eye to the Giant's Causeway, soon invested the name of D'Arcy with that popu- 214 OLDCOURT. larity, the loss of which was said to have shortened the days of his predecessor. Sir Patrick, indeed, continued for some years to riot in the full enjoy- ment of what the squirearchy of that period were in the habit of considering the acme of rural felicity. His life was an uninterrupted carousal — divided between out-door sports and in-door revelries. In the midst of this joyous career, however, his health and his fortune manifested such startling symptoms of decay, as led him to suspect that the pleasures which he pursued, and the species of renown which he had achieved, might possibly be purchased at such a price as would leave him little room to exult in his bargain. A violent fit of the gout, which left him for six months without a leg to stand on, and a process of law, which but for the timely interference of a friend, would have left him in still less time without a house to live in, seasonably conbined to bring him to his senses as to the final result of his convivialities. A sick chamber aiFords a fine opportunity for reflection ; its atmosphere is generally fatal to folly and vanity, and the glare of the world cannot penetrate its gloom. The companions of our revels OLDCOURT. 215 are seldom anxious to obtrude on its seclusion, or desirous to disturb our meditations. The baronet, during his long confinement, was left to the full enjoyment of his cogitations ; and they led him to form a very prudent resolution, to turn over a new leaf, and endeavour to recruit his fortune and his constitution, before either was too far gone to admit of a remedy. As he, Hke most of his class, however, had never contemplated the possibility of being re- quired to be useful in his generation, so he was much better qualified to impair a property than to repair it. It became matter of some con- sideration with him, therefore, in what manner he could most successfully operate for the attainment of the latter object, as he could not but perceive his genius did not lie that way. When a man does not exactly know what to do with himself, or for what he is fit — when his talents are such occult qualities in his composition, that he himself has never been able to find them out, he generally begins to think, that a snug place under government would suit him to a hair. He has no misgivings as to his own capacity for fiUing any 216 OLDCOURT. Station to which he might be appointed. How- ever modest he may be as to his pretensions to be a good carpenter, a good shoemaker, or a good tailor ; however inadequate he may have found himself to the management of his own affairs, he never doubts that he is competent to the busi- ness of the pubhc in all its branches. From the Treasury Board down to the Board of Green Cloth, — from the Secretary of State's office down to the post office and the poHce offices, there is no function of state, ministerial, magisterial, or di- plomatic, which he is not ready to undertake, and for which he does not consider himself duly quali- fied. As he has neither the incUnation, nor the ability to draw a comfortable provision from other sources, he thinks he has a claim to quarter him ■ self on the pubhc; and thus it is, that the idle, the worthless, and the useless, are always the most importunate, and too often the most successful applicants for those appointments, which ought to be conferred on effective talent and ascertained integrity. To our worthy baronet, as to most other landed gentlemen, who find themselves a little out at the OLBCOURT. 217 elbow, the possibility of an advantageous con- nexion with the powers that be, did not fail to occur, as at once the shortest and most agreeable mode of recruiting his finances. As he was a man of some consequence in his county, he thought that by making himself useful, as the phrase is, to the government, or in other words, becoming the ready tool of authority, he might so far recommend himself, as to come in for a share of the loaves and fishes ; and having squandered his property as a country squire, he had no objec- tion to scrape it together again in the character of a court sycophant. There was, however, one Uttle impediment in his way ; — the brand of popery was strong upon him. But as he had very little religion and still less principle, this obstacle was speedily removed. He did not hestitate to con- form, at least outwardly, to the estabhshed faith. The defection of a man of his rank and station, from the ancient creed of his country, it may be supposed, excited much surprise and some regret amongst those whom he had deserted. As his family, however, remained firm to their religion, and evidently favoured the impression that con- VOL. I. L 218 OLDCOURT. venience rather than conviction had dictated his conversion, it was not regarded with so much in- dignation as would have been otherwise bestowed upon it. But whatever might have been his own dispositions on the subject, he soon found that to derive any advantage from the change, he must display something more then a lukewarm zeal for the estabhshment. Such was the religious rancour which prevailed at that day, and which the benevolent labours of the saints and bibhcals of the present, are so pi- ously directed to revive, that it was not enough to profess Protestantism, you must show yourself ready to persecute popery. To declare that you believed the doctrines of the new church to be pure, rational, and divine, would gain you no credit, unless you were prepared to assert and swear too, (if you hoped to get any thing by your conformity) that the doctrines of the old church were detestable, idolatrous, and damnable, — a monstrous system of fraud, folly, and superstition, which every pious disciple of the establishment was bound to visit with all sorts of pains and penalties here, lest heaven should forget to punish it hereafter. OLDCOURT. 219 As the theological opinions of our worthy baronet were but little influenced by the new name under which he thought proper to profess them, and as the only change which ever ap- peared in them consisted in this, that having very little religion as a Papist, he had still less as a Protestant, so he determined that no squeam- ishness on his part should detract from the merit of his apostasy, or interfere to obstruct the ad- vantages which he hoped to derive from it. To prove his sincerity, therefore, and obtain an opportunity to signalize his zeal, he repaired to the metropolis, became a diligent dangler at the Castle, and was amongst the loudest at civic feasts, in toasting the loyal sentiments of that day, — "Confusion to the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender!" As a convert of his rank, and one of the an- cient race, was considered of some consequence, he received many encouraging smiles and gracious nods from persons in authority. He was placed in the commission of the peace, and it was hinted, that if he worked his interest in his county, and 220 OLDCOURT. threw it into the proper scale, there was no saying what might be the consequence. There was a difficuhy in the way here, however, which the baronet's alacrity in the service of his new friends, and as he hoped of himself, could not easily overcome. His tenants were all Papists, and consequently incapable of rendering him any political service. For this evil there was but one remedy ; he must get rid of his Papist population,* and replace them by Protestants, if he could find them, whose votes could give him that sort of importance which he hoped might answer his pur- pose. The expedient, to be sure, was rather harsh, and somewhat ungracious in the representative of a family, which had, through so many generations, distinguished themselves as the champions of their country and its creed. But there was no alterna- tive, and if he had any qualms, he took care to suppress them. A general election was approach- ing, and the minister, he could perceive, notwith- * The elective franchise had not been conceded at this lime to the Catholics. OLDCOURT. 221 Standing his zeal for the church, had very little respect for those votaries of the establishment, who did not bring votes along with them. The general discredit, also, into which he had fallen amongst the peasantry, and the epithets, "turncoat" and "renegade,'' which, in audible whispers, occasionally reached his orthodox ears, made him less reluctant to adopt a measure to which, though at first prompted by policy alone, he was now spurred on by resentment. And after all, of what consequence are the homes, the com- forts, or even the existence of wretches, living in misery and mud cabins, when compared with the important object of a landholder, making the most of his property, and recommending himself to those who have honours and emoluments to be- stow in return for political subserviency and prostitution? Expulsion, therefore, was the order of the day; and whole families were driven from the roofs that had sheltered them and their forefathers for ages. As the unhappy victims to this benevolent exercise of the rights of property, could not be 222 OLDCOURT. entirely convinced that it was conformable to the laws of nature, justice, or humanity ; and as they were not all content to beg and starve in peace and quietness, for the accommodation of the squire and his new settlers — although they had " All the world before them where to choose " — it was, perhaps, not very wonderful, that some of these forlorn outcasts should put their house- less heads together, and united by the sympathies of wrong and resentment, concert schemes of revenge, at least, if not of redress ; indulging in a few occasional manifestations of their dissatis- faction, such as burning hay- stacks, tarring and feathering, with other unruly proceedings, expressive of the very audacious sentiment, that they had some little claim to subsistence, and that the country which gave them birth, should also give them bread, — or potatoes at least, which have long been the bread of Irishmen. It was now that "the magistrate" came forth in all his terrors — that the baronet raged and railed against White Boys, and Right Boys, and showed himself a worthy co-operator with that wise and OLDCOURT. 223 enlightened body of political Sangrados, who bleed the patient whenever he complains ; who attack the s}Tnptoms, instead of the disease, and affect to cure the most dangerous disorders, without removing the causes in which they originate. Provoked by the obstacles thus thrown in the way of his plan for " working his interest in the county," and exasperated by the detestation which his conduct excited in all around him, he soon became distinguished amongst even the most violent conservators of the peace, and took care, by a vigilant severity of persecution, to create materials for tumult where he did not find them. If a shilelah were flourished at a fair, the peo- ple were forcibly dispersed under pretence of an insurrection ; he detected the systematic muster- ings of revolt in a fray or a foot -ball match ; plots and conspiracies were hatched at every country wake ; and every well attended funeral of the lower orders was to be interrupted, or at- tacked, as an organized array of treason and rebellion. He declaimed with all the energy of a modern Orangeman, at Quarter Sessions, against the ma- 224 OLDCOURT. chinations of Popery and priestcraft ; deplored the barbarism of a country in which a gentleman could not be allowed to do what he pleased with his own property, and called for new powers of oppression and persecution, against those lawless wretches, who would disturb a landlord in the laudable project of thinning the population on his estate, to render it more profitable, and dis- lodging a whole district of its inhabitants, to con- vert it into a sheep-walk. Sustained at first by the fury of his zeal, he seemed to find a pleasure in sharpening the edge, and urging the application of every penal enact- ment ; but at length, he began to discover that the task of " working his interest in the county," was attended with a great deal of trouble, and some danger. Notwithstanding the discipline of shooting, hanging, and transporting, with which his doc- trines of political economy w'ere enforced, they made no way with the people, who continued perversely to believe that the poor as well as the rich have a right to live ; and that they, whose labours draw forth the treasures of the soil, have OLDCOURT. 225 by every law, natural, social, and divine, as strong a claim to share in its produce, as the noble and the squire, the parson and the tithe - proctor. They maintained, also, \Yith such desperate ob- stinacy, their side of the controversy, against all the odds of power and authority, that although our worthy baronet had the magistracy at his back, and the military at his command, he thought it prudent to retire for a while, to avoid the possibility of dangers, from which he was led to fear that neither the one nor the other could effectually secure him. His countrymen, he knew% were as ardent in their hatred as their love ; and he who had de- servedly forfeited the one, had always good rea- son to apprehend the consequences of the other. Sensitive minds are never quiescent under a sense of injustice and oppression. The wrongs they cannot hope to redress, they are always the most sure to resent ; for the fever of despe- ration is ever accompanied by the thirst of revenge. L 2 226 OLDCOURT. In the metropolis, therefore, the baronet de- termined, for a time, to consult his safety, and conceal his mortification, hoping also, that he might work his interest more successfully at court, than he had done in the country. The rumour of his zeal in the cause of the as- cendancy had, however, recommended him at the Castle ; he took care to second the impression by calumniating, on all occasions, the people whom he had betrayed, and courting sedulously the fa- vour of that mongrel race — half EngUsh, half Irish, who, possessing the virtues of neither, contrive to unite the vices of both, and are con- tent to be the sycophants of the one country, that they may be the tyrants of the other. In order, also, more decisively to mark his in- tention of weaning his family from their attach- ment to all those ancient habits, feehngs, and prejudices, which constitute the endearing idea of country, he determined to send his son to complete his education at Oxford ; aware that in the University of Dublin, some sympathy with the interests of his native land might be encou- raged to hnger in his breast, and impede his ad- OLDCOURT. 227 vancement, under a system which was founded on their violation. The young gentleman in question. Master Walter Maurice- D'Arcy, was at this period about fifteen years of age, very handsome in person, and what is commonly called a fine spirited boy ; that is, he was bold, mischievous, and unmanage- able. Though not very forward in his studies, he was foremost in all those pranks in which the schoolboys of that period were disposed to signa- lize their prowess. He was always the first to go out of bounds ; he was the prime promoter of all barrings out and rebellions, and the leader of every row with the snobs of the neighbouring villages. But if he was violent, he was not revengeful. When he stirred up a fray, he was himself always in the front of the battle. He never shrunk from the consequences of his proceedings — never denied his share in them, or sought to exculpate himself, by casting the blame from his own shoulders. He rather endeavoured to screen those from pu- nishment, whom his persuasion or his example had seduced into offence. If he had been in 228 OLDCOURT. good hands, he might have been courageous, ge- nerous, and just. The system under which he was educated, or rather I should say, neglected, allowed him to become daring, head- strong, and unprincipled. In the ethics of a public school, there is no immorality in mischief, and I am sorry to say, there is very little merit in morality. To riot appears to be the first, to revel the next, and to learn, the last duty that is observed in those cele- brated seminaries which come under that descrip- tion. A knowledge of the classics may be ob- tained there, by those who w^ould acquire it any where; but the most important objects of education, morals, manners, and accomplish- ments, are extra's, and not in the bond. There are few estabhshments in the country, in which I should think a revision of the system pursued, would be attended with more advantage, than in those little communities where the rising race are to acquire the qualities which must distinguish them as statesmen and legislators — as citizens and subjects. The commissioners for the education inquiry might not injudiciously ex- OLDCOURT. 229 tend their investigations to this side of the water, and peep into Westminster as well as Maynooth ; devote a few moments to the Charter-House, as well as to the Charter Schools ; and examine the manner in which they " Teach the young idea how to shoot," at Eton, Harrow, and Winchester, as well as at the Belfast Academical Institution. The characters of most men may be said to be formed at school : there the seeds are sown, which afterwards vegetate to vice or virtue ; there the passions are first awakened in the young mind ; its principles are first endan- gered, and its propensities first established. Every man whose education has given him an opportunity to make the observation, will recol- lect what were his feelings, when, as a boy, with the impressions of religion and morality imbibed in the domestic circle, strong upon him, he was first turned loose into the riotous arena of a great school, to mingle in the unruly contentions of those who may be termed the Uttle savages of civilization. How strange and startling the 230 OLDCOURT. scene ! and what a shock to all his notions ! how soon does the associate of the play -ground be- come enlightened, out of school at least, if not in it I The film of ignorance is speedily removed as to vice, if not as to knowledge. The best dis- position — the purest principles, cannot stand against the storm of ridicule, or remain steady within the influence of example. He first won- ders — next hesitates, and then imitates. With what a different view of life does he re- turn to the parental roof in his first vacation ! How he laughs at the simplicity of his former domestic companions, as he consequentially com- municates to their startled curiosity, the pro- ficiency he has made in the manly disregard of nursery notions, and all that he has learned in this, his first lesson in "the knowledge of the world." That the process by which man is to be pre- pared for the performance of the various duties of society, — that the nature of the moulds in which the minds of the rising generation must be cast, should excite so little interest amongst parents, and so little inquiry in the public at large. OLDCOURT. 231 is, perhaps, somewhat extraordinary. It seems not very consistent with the spirit of the age, that the great art of education should be the only art which is allowed to stand still, while all others keep moving in the general march of mind; — that the spur of improvement which may be said to be rowel deep in all the interests and occupa- tions of life, should not be applied to that great object, upon the rational management of which, the welfare of the whole depends. Whatever was the process of education adopted in the intellectual nursery in which young D'Arcy was placed, it was not very well calculated for the judicious cultivation of his faculties. His powers were naturally good, but they were neg- lected. A vigorous constitution, and an en- ergetic spirit were suffered to run riot, till irregu- larity became an uncontrolable habit ; and, to speak craniologically, his organs of mischief and mutiny were developed with an activity so in- convenient to the peace and discipHne of the es- tablishment, that his father received a hint which led him to supersede, by his son's removal, the necessity of his expulsion. 232 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER XII, The University of Oxford, at the period when Walter Maurice D'x\rcy became a member of it, was not (according to some unexceptionable au- thorities) the very best place to which a young gentleman of his peculiar turn, could be sent to pursue his studies. He was said to have been contemporary there with Gibbon ; but that statement I should think, on a comparison of dates, must be erroneous. It certainly does not appear that they were asso- ciated, either in their studies, or their sports; that they ever read, rioted, or revelled in the same set ; although it must be confessed, that in morals, manners, and literature, our hero shared in all those advantages, for which the historian OLDCOURT. 233 of the Roman empire has so eloquently recorded his gratitude to his Alma Mater. At Oxford, young D'Arcy soon found himself in his element ; and was gratified to perceive, that the qualities which had rendered him conspi- cuous at school, were not likely to be discouraged at college, and might there be exercised upon a much larger scale. Before he was six months' resident, he had obtained that ascendancy amongst his compa- nions, which daring spirits always assume over common minds, and was consulted, and consi- dered as a leader in that warfare with proctors, bursars and beadles, against order, discipline, and erudition, which, in those retreats of science and somnolence, so often ruffles the pillows of aca- demic dignitaries. — -*' While heads of houses from their slumbers wake, And towers and halJs with college thunders shake." When he had overcome the preliminary ob- jections to his brogue and his country, and had proved, by the summary process, which is usually resorted to on such occasions, that it was not al- 234 OLDCOURT. together safe to take such liberties with either, as the genuine John Bull, of every degree, is al- ways disposed to indulge in, he became a general favourite. He was even received as an acquisi- tion to their symposia, by that class of students, who look upon their residence at the University, as the first stage in the journey of enjoyment, which, as far as they are concerned, they hold themselves privileged to consider human life. His vivacity and spirit gave a new zest to their irregularities; and he manoeuvred the war against college authorities so skilfully, that, though those conservators of cloister decorum were generally on the alert, they were often foiled in their efforts to repress the disorders which were con- ducted according to his tactics, or to detect the delinquents that were engaged in them. As to his studies, it may be supposed, that the course which he pursued was not very favour- able to their advancement. His scholastic re- putation was by no means in proportion to his convivial celebrity. With powers which would have enabled him to attain the highest honours of the University, if he had been disposed to contend OLDCOURT. 235 for them, it was his ambition to be considered the cleverest in evading every duty, and the boldest in violating every regulation of his college. To be the most intrepid in riot, thoughtless in dissi- pation, and reckless in expense, was the only triumph which he sought for ; and though he had many competitors in this career, he was always double first, or senior optime. But his labours in this way, though generally successful, as far as his fame was concerned, were not always safe. The devices of his ingenuity did not always secure him against the proctor's vigilance. The effects of a frolic or a row, were sometimes to be traced in characters of personal disfigurement, which could be neither concealed, nor misunderstood ; and some sallies of gallantry beyond the boundaries of college decorum, were productive of results which embarrassed our academic Lothario, through several years of his life. The old baronet, also, began to find, by many awkward hints, and importunate applications, that the residence of a high-spirited young gen- tleman-commoner, at Oxford, was attended with 236 OLDCOURT. an expense upon which he had not calculated, and for which he was not very well prepared. As he was not solicitous that his son should dis- tinguish himself in any studies but those which would advance his interest at the Castle ; and as his aim in sending him to Oxford, was to pay homage to the ruling faction in Ireland, and show his desire to Anglify his family, in the person of his heir, he thought these objects were now sufficiently attained. After he had gone through the usual routine of fines, impositions, and rustications, it was thought prudent, therefore, to withdraw Mr. Walter Maurice D'Arcy from the University of which he had been so active a member, as quietly as possible, without waiting for the ceremony of a degree. He had remained long enough at Oxford, how- ever, to become Anglified in the superficial man- ners, though not in the solid worth which might recommend the transformation thus expressed. He had lost his brogue and his patriotism — had learned to forget the interests, and disre- gard the feelings of his native land — had en- OLDCOURT. 237 grafted some of the \^ces of this country, on the Hibernian stock, and worked up the raw materials of Irish impudence, into the hard, cold, and callous temperament of English efiron- tery. I have often thought, that it would be no un- entertaining subject of inquiry, to investigate the different modes and degrees in which, that very serviceable quality, called impudence, is most ge- nerally developed, in the national character of the two countries- By all parties, at this side of St. George's Channel, the sons of the shamrock have been usually complimented, both in poetry and prose, with an undisputed pre-eminence in " matchless intrepidity of face." " Hibernia famed, 'bove every other grace, For matchless intrepidity of face." But this polite concession of national superiority, on the part of John Bull, will not be so readily acquiesced in, by those who are best acquainted with his merits ; and it can be considered, only, as a proof of the characteristic modesty, with which he always compares himself with his neighbours. 238 OLDCOURT. Impartial observation would, perhaps, find it difficult to say, which should bear the palm ; or might, in the language of Dryden's Ode, decree, that " both divide the crown ; " as considering that each possesses, in an equal degree, the qua- lity in question, and differs only, in the pecuhar mode in which it is exemplified. The impudence of an Irishman is generally rash, swaggering, and ostentatious ; imposing in its ease, and often imprudent in its exercise : not so much resulting from a confidence in his pre- tensions, as from a happy mixture of ^tourderie and indiscretion. He is ashamed to be modest, because he con- siders diffidence as a kind of cowardice, and braces his nerves for the drawing-room, as well as for the field. The impudence of an English- m^an, on the other hand, is cool, quiet, and de- termined — silent, sulky, and unimpressible ; re- sulting from a perfect satisfaction with himself, and every thing that belongs to him, as well as a perfect conviction, that his superiority to the rest of the world can neither be doubted or denied. The unruffled aspect of his assurance, might OLDCOURT. 239 lead you to suppose its dullness was diffidence, if the uncivil assumptions of his arrogance did not soon convince you of your mistake. An Irishman is impudent through fun, through folly, through knavery; — an EngUshman is im- pudent from pride, from presumption, and ill- manners. The impudence of an Irishman is often lively, eccentric, and entertaining; — the impu- dence of an Enghshman is always heavy, phleg- matic, and offensive. The most impudent Irishman may be disconcerted, and put out of countenance ; there are always some vulnerable points about him, where you can touch him to the quick : but an impudent Englishman, is not to be abashed by mortal means ; he has a husk around him that nothing can penetrate ; his effrontery is as cool and determined as his courage ; and you can no more make him ashamed than afraid. But, though the character of John Bull is by no means deficient in bronze, and he can "shine in brass," as w^ell as his neighbour, it may pos- sibly be observed, that it is a mental currency not so much in circulation here, nor so generally mixed up with the national manners as it is con- 240 OLDCOURT. sidered to be amongst the children of Erin. But this I apprehend to be a small mistake, which a definition of our terms cannot fail to remove. Impudence, from its derivation, and according to the best lexicographic authority, means shame- lessness ; that quality of mind, which prompts, and enables us, unblushingly, to deviate from the estabhshed decorums of society ; which leads us to be rudely regardless of the interests, feelings, and prejudices of other people. It is in manners, what profligacy is in morals; the one arises from the want of feeUng, as the other results from the want of principle. If this definition be just, it follows, that a highly susceptible people are not likely to be conspicuous for their effrontery. They may, under strong excitement, occasionally outrage the conventional manners of society, but they will not habitually transgress them. The Hibernians are universally acknowledged to be a sensitive and impassioned race ; but I have yet to learn, that such a character has been ascribed to the English people. John Bull himself, indeed, though strikingly unreserved in the admission of OLDCOURT. 241 his own merits, does not appear to take credit for sensibility, as one of his pecuHar characteristics. Whatever other superiorities he may lay claim to ever his brother Pat, if he were seriously to assume, in addition, the reputation of a higher sense of honour — a more quick and lively feeling of insult or indignity, and, consequently, a more sensitive apprehension of disgrace or shame, he would only prove, that " matchless intrepidity of face," is a quality not confined to the national physiognomy of the sister kingdom. The Irish, I apprehend, are not more generally impudent than the English, but they are generahy less awkward ; they have not less modesty, but they have more manner. An Irishman is more at his ease in society than an Enghshman ; he sooner acquires I' usage du monde ; he is a more malleable material on the anvil, and more rea- dily fashioned into anv civil shape. He is no self -worshipper, in the sulky solitude of pride, feeding on his own incense — no national Nar- cissus, admiring himself in the stream of his own thoughts. He requires no sacrifices to his VOL. I. M 242 OLDCOURT. peculiarities — no homage to his self-importance — no attention which he is not willing to repay. He considers the feast of life as a social pic-nic, where every guest must endeavour to ensure his own w^elcome, by contributing his quota to the general entertainment, and doing every thing he can to make himself agreeable to the company. The Irish people, indeed, differ from the Eng- lish to a degree that seems quite extraordinary, when the long and intimate connexion which has subsisted between them, is considered. To be sure, the nature of their intercourse has not been well calculated to blend or soften the harsh lines of national demarkation. They have been, un- fortunately, connected more by associations of repulsion than attraction ; they have been rather tied together than united. Thus it is, that the elements of each people have been mixed without mingling, and that the characters of their pro- genitors may be, at the present day, traced in their descendants, through all the modifications which time and circumstance, the assimilating powers of law, language, manners, and govern- OLDCOURT. 243 ment, have conspired to produce. They are, not only morally, but physically a distinct race. They differ in figure, feature, and complexion. The Irishman is looser-hmbed, more active, more alert. iVn e-sperienced drill-sergeant will tell you, how much sooner an Irish bog-trotter can be converted into a soldier, than an English boor — how much more military aptitude he discovers, in his manner of handling a musket, a sword, or a pike. An officer who has seen much service, will acknowledge, how much more lively the Irish soldier is in his movements upon a march ; how much more patient he is of fatigue, and cheerful under privation. It is no exaggeration to say of him, that no man can be found in any state of society, who will fight or work, with more alacrity, on an empty stomach. There is a muscular elasticity about the Irish, which seems peculiarly to fit them for all athletic exercises ; in dancing or fencing, in running or wrestling, hand-ball, foot-ball, or hurhng, they are always conspicuous, whenever these pursuits excite their attention, or their emulation. The dexterity of a spalpeen, with his shilelah, would 244 OLDCOURT, puzzle a professor of the art of defence, at the salle des armes. Even in boxing, the peculiar boast of Englishmen, although their impetuosity of temper renders the Irish almost incapable of that cool exertion of skill, which such a species of combat requires, yet the triumphs of Corcoran, in the school of Broughton, and the laurels of Donelly, Randall, and O'Brien, among the mill- ing champions of the present day, sufficiently attest their pugilistic powers. In the qualities of mind, the two nations seem to ditfer still more decidedly, than in those of the body. The Irishman is warm, open, and im- petuous; the Enghshman is cool, cautious, and reserved. The former is lively, volatile, and un- steady ; the latter is grave, deliberate, and de- termined. The passions of the Irishman are more easily roused, but they are also more easily allayed. His fire is sooner kindled, and blazes more fiercely while it lasts ; but the fire of the Englishman burns longer, and does not emit so much smoke. The Irishman is more enthusiastic in his at- tachments than the Englishman, but not so OLDCOTJRT. 245 Steady. As a companion he is more agreeable, but not so firm as a friend. He is the creature of impulse, and consults his feelings rather than his interests. He talks more, and thinks less than an Englishman. He has not so much pride, but he has more vanity ; he is more affected by praise or censure. A feverish spirit of distinction rages through the whole Hibernian mind. From the hero at the head of an army, down to the fellow who flourishes his cudgel at a fair, the national spring of action is the desire of admi- ration. They rush into danger with alacrity, and make a jest of toil, if they think you will be as- tonished by their bravery, or surprised by their skill. Any one who has noticed a hank of hod- men, coursing each other down a five-story ladder, must have observed, with what emulative agility they spring from round to round, in their dan- gerous descent ; happy, if they can attract the attention of the gazers below, and making a sport of labours which few Enghshmen can be found to perform. The Irishman has more dash and display about 246 OLDCOURT. him than the Englishman. Business has but a small chance of his attention, when pleasure stands smiling in his way. Compared wdth the Enghshman, his character is more striking, but not more estimable ; his qualities have more lustre, but not more richness. The Irishman affords a contrast to the account given of himself by Addison : he has generally more ready money in his pocket than the Englishman, but, perhaps, he cannot so often draw on his banker for a thousand pounds. The current of his intellect rolls on more rapidly, and covers a wider space of channel; but the stream is not always so deep or so clear. He has more wit, but less wdsdom, than the Englishman ; he has more humour, more fancy, and more imagination, but not more genius, more judgment, or more taste. But this digression has led me farther than I intended from my course. We must now en- deavour to overtake Mr. Walter Maurice D' Arcy, who, having crossed the channel, arrived safe in his native land, to display all the advantages of an English education, and enjoy the eclat of an OLDCOURT. 247 Oxford scholar, amongst those of his early asso- ciates, who had been content to matriculate in the University of Dublin. In person, D'Arcy was certainly very much improved, and might justly be considered a fine specimen of the Milesian stock. He was tall and well proportioned — a happy medium between the Hercules and the Adonis — sufficiently mus- cular for strength, but not too robust for elegance. His countenance was manly — somewhat florid, and animated by large dark eyes and eyebrows ; the whole expressing activity of body, and vivacity of mind. The inward, however, did not perfectly corres- pond w4th the outward man. His passions were violent, and his temper impetuous. As he had never been taught to regulate the one, or restrain the other, they were, without hesitation, indulged to an extent, limited only by the incon- venience which resulted from their gratification. He had little learning, less religion, and no morality. His father, hke all fathers who are too much engaged in pleasure or business to 248 OLDCOURT. occupy themselves with their children, thought he had performed all the duties of a parent, when he sent him to school, and afterwards to college. What he learned there, or whether he learned any thing there, it never once entered his head to inquire. As he placed his son at a Protestant school, he concluded he would not be a Papist ; and that was quite religion enough for his purpose. As he was entered a gentleman commoner at Oxford, he took it for granted, he would acquire there as much literature and morality, as became a gentleman who wished to advance himself in the w^orld, and make his w^av at court. The baronet was certainly not disappointed in his expectations : there was no danger whatever, that his son's studies w^ould abstract him from the more important interests of life ; and it w^as pretty evident, his progress amongst the great and the gay, would not be retarded by any incon- venient squeamishness as to the means of ad- vancement. Notwithstanding, therefore, some striking in- stances of youthful indiscretion, w^hich pressed OLDCOURT. 249 rather heavily on the disordered finances of the family, the old gentleman received his son with some satisfaction — was pleased with his personal appearance, and philosophically reconciled him- self to his irregularities, by observing, that he was '' a chip of the old block." m2 250 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER XIII. After some time spent in the dissipations of Dublin, which, at that period, were of a much more bacchanahan character than would be con- sistent wdth the manners of good society in the present day, the miUtary spirit of young D'Arcy led him to adopt the profession of arms. His father had recently become a member of the Irish Areopagus ; a body, which, for purity and patriotism, has been immortalized in the re- cords of modern times. Although he had failed to work his interest in the county, his apostate zeal had been rewarded by a seat for one of those ancient sanctuaries of public spirit, which send their members to the legislature to represent the government, and mis-represent the people. OLDCOURT. 251 For this species of legislative promotion, the baronet was eminently qualified ; having neither principle nor patriotism. Though his voice rarely sounded in the debate, his vote always told in the division ; and as the policy of English statesmen in Ireland, has ever been to corrupt and compel, rather than to concihate and convince, provided they could secure support, they cared little for justification. The baronet's services to the state were not without their reward. His claims were acknow- ledged by the kindred spirits that distributed the patronage of the time ; and as he had proved him- self, alike regardless of his religion and his country, his son was considered a promising candidate for court favour, equally free from all embarrassing predilections on these points, and therefore a very proper person to receive a commission in the — regiment, then on duty in Dubhn. The army, whatever may be thought of it in a moral point of view, is certainly a good school in which to acquire the manners of a gentleman. La Rochefoucault justly observes, " L'air bour- geois se perd rarement a la cour ; mais il seperd 252 OLDCOURT. tonjours a Varmte." The most unlicked cub of a country farmer, that ever made his way to a marching regiment, through the intermediate gradations of the constabulary force, the yeo- manry, or the mihtia, no sooner gets possession of a pair of colours, than he assumes an air su- perior to the class from which he sprung ; he speedily brushes up into something smart and debonair; and if he have not in his nature such an invincible gaucherie, such an irrepressible vigour of vulgarity, as bids defiance to all influence of refinement and grace, he gradually acquires a pohsh of deportment, which often contrasts favourably, with the less liberal, and less gracious demeanour of the higher classes. An officer, w^ho is not a coxcomb — who has ceased to take pride in his red coat, his epaulettes, or his moustaches — who has seen enough of ser- vice in love and war, not to parade his gallantry on all occasions — and who has had sufficient in- tercourse with foreign society, to shake off the absurd and offensive nationalities which pass cur- rent as patriotism, amongst the illiberal and vul- gar of all classes, in all countries ; such a man, OLDCOURT. 253 who has been disciplined in the world, as well as in the camp — who has laid aside the gasconade of fighting all his battles o'er again, and learned that " Of boasting, more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid j" such a man is often found to be one of the most agreeable and estimable characters that adorn any class of life. If he have not the erudition of the scholar, or the lights of the man of science, he has the often as useful, and sometimes more available knowledge, of the man of the world ; and possesses a pecuhar tact of politeness and propriety, which qualifies him for the most re- fined circles. The regiment in which young D'Arcy com- menced his military career, was one of those which happened to be more distinguished in peace than in war — more remarkable for its dissipation than its prowess. A regiment generally takes its cha- racter from its colonel. The commanding officer sets the fashion in morals and manners, as well as in disciphne and dress, and upon him depends 254 OLDCOURT. whether dandyism or heroism — puppyism or po- hteness, shall prevail in the corps. In this respect, D'Arcy was not fortunate. His colonel was a coxcomb, proud, insolent, and overbearing ; and his example was all-powerful, through every gradation of rank, amongst a body of officers, consisting chiefly, of young men of family and fortune, whom, only personal vanity, and the spirit of idleness, had prompted to em- brace the profession of arms. They considered the calling of a soldier, as an amusement, rather than an occupation — as affording them a favour- able opportunity for profligacy, and investing them with the privilege of impertinence. Amons:st characters like these, our hero soon distinguished himself, as, upon all occasions, the most daring, the most dissipated, and the most disorderly. In the first month after he had joined the regiment, he established his reputation for spirit, in a duel with a brother officer. D'Arcy, like some of his countrymen at home, and like almost all his countrymen who have been educated in England, had the patriotism of pride, but not the pride of patriotism. He had no feeling for OLDCOURT. 255 the injuries of Ireland; but a word which he could construe into an insult to the dignity of an Irishman, he resented as a personal offence. He could see the dearest interests of his country assaulted, her population persecuted, and her in- dependence destroyed, without indignation, or even emotion ; nay, he could, without scruple, co-operate in the conspiracy against her pros- perity, her liberty, and her religion; but his sensi- bility could not brook a sarcasm against her most palpable defects, or even a joke at the ex- pense of her pecuharities. This species of patriotism, (if such a manifes- tation of vanity and egotism can ever be justly called by that name) is but too common amongst that class of Hibernians, who may be considered a kind of Milesian mustees. They are interested in the reputation of Ireland, only as far as their amour-propre is involved in it ; but they have no love of country — none of that ennobling ardour of sentiment — that generous glow of soul, which springs from the attachment to the place of our birth, with all its associations, local and personal ; its habits, manners, and peculiarities. D'Arcy, however, was an Irishman, and of the 256 OLDCOURT. genuine stock. Although his EngHsh education might have aUenated him from the cause, it could not disconnect him with the character, of his country ; neither could he, like her calumniators of the Creole cast, find compensation in his claim of Enghsh descent, for the heartless sacrifice of Irish reputation. Even his selfishness, therefore, only made him the more sore on this subject ; and as he was the only Irish ofiicer in his regi- ment, his sensibihty was soon put to the test. Englishmen are, in general, bad jokers ; they rarely indulge in a jest themselves, and as rarely appear to relish it in others. Yet, the least facetious among them, will occasionally labour at a joke upon Paddy and his country; and, perhaps, the most abortive efforts of humour on record, are to be found in the clumsy jocularities of John Bull, when, disposed to give the edge of ridicule to wrong, he tries to be witty at the expense of the sister kingdom. " Long from a country ever hardly used — Unjustly censured — wantonly abused, Have Britons drawn their sport." Churchill's Rosciad. To quiz the natives was a favourite practice OLDCOURT. 257 amongst the officers at the mess -table of the — th regiment ; and they ^\'ere much incUned to con- tinue the amusement, even when D'Arcy became on« of their number ; but he displayed a spirit and determination of manner which tended to re- press this propensity, and led them to suspect that " There was in him something dangerous." A young lieutenant, however, who, as a sprig of nobility, considered himself to be particularly privileged, forgot this salutary caution ; and, in the rashness of his nationality, hazarded a sneer at the new recruit. D'Arcy, who w^as as little defi- cient in wit as in spirit, retorted with a humour- ous severity, that completely turned the laugh against his assailant. Mortified at the ill success of his first sally, and angry, as baffled imperti- nence always becomes, the young noble endea- voured, in a strain of irritated imbecility, to recover his ground ; till, in the agony of his exas- peration, he had the brutality to observe, in an audible whisper, that " the character of the regi- ment was degraded by the admission of an Irish bog-trotter." D'Arcy, who, at the moment, was in the act 258 OLDCOURT. of raising a glass of wine to his lips, immediately altered its direction, and delivered it full in the face of his opponent ; at the same time, demand- ing instant satisfaction for the unprovoked insult he had received. The manner in which the last bumper had been administered to the haughty young noble, imme- diately counteracted the effect produced by those bumpers which he had previously taken. Be- coming at once sober and civil, he professed him- self ready to submit his conduct to the decision of the mess ; but D'Arcy would listen to no terms of accommodation. The interference of the major, however, who presided, effected a post- ponement of hostilities to the following morning, when the parties met in the Phoenix Park, and D'Arcy, who was an excellent shot, lodged a ball in the body of his antagonist, whose life had nearly been the forfeit of his illiberality. The spirit with which D'Arcy asserted him- self on this occasion, and the evidence which the duel afforded, that he possessed, in no ordinary degree, an accompKshment in which the better orders of his countrymen are generally proficients — that of firing at a mark — put an end to all fur- OLDCOURT. 269 ther molestation on the subject of his country. The standing jokes of the mess- table were sud- denly discontinued ; and to quiz the natives appeared to be by no means so agreeable a re- creation over the bottle, as it had been previously considered by his brother-officers. The social qualities of D'Arcy were calcu- lated to overcome all prejudices against him. He was hvely, loquacious, and good-humoured ; had wit enough to be entertaining, and informa- tion enough to give an interest to his conversa- tion, without imparting to it the assuming air of instruction. Though fiery and impetuous in re- pelling the slightest insult, he was never forward to give offence, and seemed to have pleasure in reconciling the quarrels of others. He was al- ways ready for a frolic, and as fertile in resources for conducting it, as in expedients for turning aside whatever disagreeable consequences might result from it. His irregularities, indeed, were of a nature, which, as far as they operated, tended rather to raise the corps in the public estimation ; for, though he was very dissipated, and somewhat prone to mischief, there was an open boldness. 260 OLDCOURT. and a manly spirit of gaiety about him, \vhich were highly congenial to the disposition of the people amongst whom they were displayed. It is no unmerited compliment, to say of the Irish, that they are as martial a race as any in Europe. As far as it may be considered to ex- press a disposition to fight, their claims to that character must be admitted as incontrovertible. It has been jocularly, though not unjustly said of them, that they are the only people who " fight for their amusement ;" and, certainly, taking the sons of St. Patrick in the mass, it would not be easy to find a community, amongst whom, the pleasures of the bottle and the battle are more intimately connected, or the ideas of a fray and a festivity so habitually associated. Though so often employed as agents for en- forcing against them the most obnoxious and oppressive laws, the military have always been favourably received by the Irish ; and except under circumstances of political or fiscal hostility, English troops, in quarters amongst them, have been treated with a kindness and hospitality which they do not often experience in their own country. OLDCOURT. 261 Let an officer conduct himself like a gentle- man, avoid irritating nationalities, and do his duty firmly, but not offensively, and they ^s•ill not only forgive him the severity which he may be employed to exercise against them, but consider his temperance and impartiality as entitKng him to their warmest respect and gratitude. In proportion, however, as they are partial to the character of a soldier, when sustained by the qualities of courage, candour, and liberality v/hich belong to it, they are disgusted by the military coxcomb, who puts on the uniform w^ithout par- taking of the spirit of the soldier — who considers himself as belonging to a superior caste, whose privilege it is to be ignorant without shame, and insolent with impunity. Of this class were too many of the officers amongst whom D'Arcy had enrolled himseK; and the regiment had be- come unpopular amongst all orders of the people in Dublin, as affected, haughty, and supercilious ; exhibiting neither urbanity amongst men, nor gallantry amongst women. Vices of a masculine character, which have social pleasures for their object, and strong pas- 262 OLDCOURT. sion for their apology — -which are not incon- sistent with generosity, or what the world calls honour, the Irish are disposed to view wdth con- siderable indulgence, particularly in the military man. But offences which appear to be, in any degree, connected with effeminacy of manners ; which seem to spring from vanity and selfishness, and denote alike, folly and feebleness of character, they regard with contempt and detestation. The cold progeny of pride, arrogance, and affectation, they abhor. In a martial garb, they would prefer a profligate to a puppy. D'Arcy, although but little influenced in the pursuit of his pleasures, by any sensitive delicacy about his reputation, was mortified to find that he shared in that species of obloquy w^hich the folly, foppery, and insolence of its officers, in pubUc and private, had justly brought down on the regiment to which he belonged. So offensive, indeed, had they become by their misconduct, and such a spirit of resentment appeared to be rising against them, amongst all classes, that the commander-in-chief tht)ught it prudent to re- move the regiment to other quarters. OLDCOURT. 263 Previous to its removal, however, circum- stances occurred which induced D'Arcy to termi- nate his connexion with it, in a manner which illustrated the impetuosity of his character, and excited no little attention. Although the chastisement he had inflicted on the arrogant young coxcomb who had insulted him, when he first joined the mess, effectually re- pressed all disposition to treat him with disrespect, and his convivial manners had even made him a favourite with the corps in general, yet the colonel always regarded him with coldness and apparent aversion. Haughty and overbearing, inflated with military consequence, ignorant of the essential properties of a soldier, but a martinet in all the minutiae of service on the pa- rade. Colonel Shervington set an example of super- ciUous insolence, and frivolous affectation, which gave a tone to the whole corps ; the officers, with flattering servihty, reflecting the manners of their commander. The appointment of young D'Arcy to a commission in his regiment, had very much excited his dissatisfaction ; for, with that vulgar illiberality which is ever characteristic of a little 264 • OLDCOURT. mind, he piqued himself on having none but Enghsh officers under his command ; and a know- ledge of his sentiments in this respect, had not a Httle encouraged the spirit of rudenes and insult, which D'Arcy at first experienced, and which he so promptly and severely punished. Shervington had married a sister of the young nobleman who had been at once the offending and the suffering party in the duel ; and though the wantonness of the provocation had, according to every principle of honour, exonerated D'iVrcy from all blame in the transaction, the colonel conceived an enmity to him, which manifested itself upon all occasions. Secure beneath the shield of his superior rank, he scrupled not to employ, towards the object of his dishke, every means of mortification and annoyance, which could be practised without committing his per- sonal or military responsibility. At the mess, he treated D'Arcy with the most unbending hauteur, studiously avoided addressing him, and never asked him to take wine. D'Arcy was sure to be employed upon any disagreeable duty of the regiment, and was frequently rebuked in the OLDCOURT. 265 face of his company on parade, for some little in- advertent de\iation from precise rule, in such im- portant matters as the shirt collar appearing above the black stock, or his lappels not being buttoned back exactly according to regimental orders, in that case made and provided. In short, D'Arcy found himself constantly exposed to all those petty vexations which insolence in authority knows so well how to inflict, and which a proud and generous spirit knows so little how to bear. Often, in the frenzy of his irritation, was he tempted to brave all consequences, and satisfy his feelings, by chastising his oppressor, even at the head of his regiment. The opportunity which the principle of mili- tary submission affords, for the exercise of this galhng species of tpanny, in the higher officers of the army and navy, is, perhaps, the most se- rious objection to the profession of a soldier or a sailor. The rules of the service cannot regulate the feelings, nor can the various modifications of insult and indignity be brought within the juris- diction of the Horse -Guards. Under such a system of subordination, the most refined forms VOL. I. N 266 OLDCOURT. of civility may be used as the medium of the most mortifying offence, without supplying tangible matter for a court-martial, an inquiry, or even a complaint. Where power is despotic, there is no discrimination competent to define how far authority may be exercised without in- solence, and duty exacted without oppression. How insupportable to the feelings of a man of honour and a gentleman, to be exposed in help- less submission to the scowling eye of arrogance with an aiguillette, or to suffer, perhaps, from a series of petty persecutions, inflicted under the specious forms of discipline and duty I The violent spirit of D'Arcy was ill calculated to undergo, patiently, an infliction of this nature ; and on some new instance of provocation, he resolved, at all hazards, to extricate himself from a situation which had become at last absolutely insupportable. As the shortest way of eflecting this, and at the same time, as the speediest mode of enabling him to satisfy his feelings with re- spect to Colonel Sher\dngton, he came to the determination of throwing up his commission ; a measure which would at once release him from OLDCOURT. 267 ail military subjection, and leave him at liberty to take such steps as might be suggested by his indignation. Not having purchased his com- mission, he felt himself more warranted to deal with it in this way; and he had sufficient con- fidence in the peculiar spirit of his father, to be tolerably secure, that, whatever displeasure he might feel at such a sacrifice, would be soon ap- peased, by a consideration of the motives in which it originated. To the commander of the forces in Dublin, therefore, he transmitted his commission, accom- panied by a letter in which he detailed the nature of the grievances which compelled him, at such a sacrifice, of his interest and professional views, to withdraw himself from a situation, where the feelings of a gentleman were outraged, in a manner which he could neither resist nor resent. After this measure, the next consideration with D'Arcy was, in what way he could, most eflfectually and publicly, give expression to the indignation which had so long boiled in his brea-t against the colonel ; and he determined, as the 268 OLDCOURT. mode most congenial to the impetuosity of his cha- racter, to insult Shervington on the parade of the regiment, in order that he might satisfy his feelings on the spot where they had been so often wounded, and assert himself in the pre- sence of those who had witnessed, and, perhaps, enjoyed his mortification. OLDCOURT. 269 CHAPTER XIV. In the proceeding which D'Arcy meditated, as mentioned in the last chapter, it was necessary that he should select a friend, upon whose courage and coolness he could rely ; and Charles O'Hara, a relation and an old school-fellow, at that time commanding a corps of Dublin Volunteers, im- mediately occurred to him, as a person whose experience in afiairs of honour, well qualified him to officiate on such an occasion. O'Hara was several years older than D'Arcy, but a similarity of spirit had attracted them to each other at school, and the former found in his young associate an apt scholar, as ripe for mis- chief as himself. The attachment, commenced thus early, was renewed after D'Arcy's return from 270 OLDCOURT. Oxford. O'Hara had passed through his career in the Dublin University with pretty nearly the same honours and advantages which D'Arcy had obtained on the banks of the Isis. The frolics of our "silent sister" were, however, of a more pug- nacious character than those which occupied the students of the English Alma Mater ; and, inde- pendent of the general warfare against the watch and the theatres, which the college lads at that time carried on with equal spirit and perseverance, and in which he bore a distinguished part, young O'Hara had been engaged, either as principal or second, in so many duels, that he obtained the enviable reputation of the most daring Hood, and ioxmididihlQjire- eater of his day. Yet, notwithstanding the offensive celebrity which he had thus early attained, he could not justly be considered quarrelsome or ill-tempered. By a kind of Quixotic generosity, not uncommon amongst his countrymen, he was more frequently engaged in the disputes of others than in his own. He was ready to be any man's second ; for that was a duty which he held himself bound to per- form for every gentleman who paid him the com- OLDCOURT. 271 pliment to apply to him for such a service ; and he was so tenacious of the honour of his friend, when it was once placed in his hands, that it could be very rarely extricated, but at the risk of a shot or two. Whatever the cause of quarrel, he con- sidered all attempts at apology or accommodation, as equally suspicious and derogatory, until sanc- tioned by such a preliminary. The duty of a second, he contended, w^as not to make up the quarrel, but to regulate the combat, and be responsible for its being conducted accord- ing to the laws of honour. The institution of the modern duel, he maintained to be in the high- est degree judicious and salutary ; and to its in- fluence he ascribed the superior poUsh and refine- ment, which, since its introduction, have charac- terized the manners of the better orders of society, when compared wdth the coarseness and even brutality which degraded the civil intercourse of the Ancients. " If the heroes of Homer," (he would triumphantly ask) "had been liable to answer at the point of the sword for the slightest expression of incivility or disrespect in their intercourse with each other, could they ever have descended to wrangle and scold like 272 OLDCOURT. angry fish-women, with their arms a-kimbo ; or would the pages of the Ihad have been disgraced by the records of such vulgar vituperation ? — No ! the responsibility of the sword or the pistol is the only safeguard for the feelings. It takes under its protection the whole tribe of nondescript delicacies and civil decorums, which are too sen- sitive and undefinable for the coarse tact of sta- tutary legislation." The duel may, indeed, be said to be the best pre- server of the peace — the most effectual equalizer of civil rights — the true levelling principle which counteracts the disparities of nature and fortune, and puts all gentlemen upon a par. Where the magistrate has no jurisdiction, the duelHst comes into play. He takes cognizance of the manners, as the former does of the morals of society — ^he restrains, within due bounds, the proceedings of public assemblies — keeps order in a ball-room better than ten masters of the ceremonies, though every man of them were a Beau Nash or a Beau Brummell — and rescues those who have more spirit than strength, from the usurpations of mus- cular arrogance and mere physical superiority. The duel is the natural offspring of the ancient OLDCOURT. 273 trial by battel— a mode of decision very much in fashion amongst our ancestors, and still resorted to with singular satisfaction by all classes of per- sons in the sister kingdom : the pistol and the pike, the sword and the shilelah, being the favourite um- pires of dispute amongst that pugnacious population. As an administrator of this peculiar process, O'Hara had early qualified himself. With the pistol, he was a candle-snuffer, and with the sword, he was, like Tybalt, " The very butcher of a silk button." The latter instrument not having been entirely laid aside, in his day, as an appendage to the dress of a gentleman, he had some opportu- nities of proving that he could use it with skill. On one occasion, particularly, at Lucas's coffee-house, then the " Brookes's" of Dublin- after a night passed in play, some dispute arose at breakfast between him and a brother officer. Fevered as they were by wine, want of sleep, and the occupation in which they had been engaged, they drew their swords and fought out of the coffee- room into the street; O'Hara, with equal power and impetuosity, pressing on his antagonist, who N 2 274 OLDCOURT. continued retreating on the defensive, parrying, with great skill and coolness, the thrusts of his ad- versary. The passengers in the street, surprised at such an exhibition, collected round the com- batants, who made their way through the crowd, till they came opposite to the stand of chairmen at the Exchange, facing Parliament-street, where, some of those able-bodied fellows, with their poles beat down the swords of both parties, and succeeded in separating them, but not before O'Hara had wounded his opponent in the sword- arm, and received himself a scratch on the shoulder. The publicity of the contest having attracted general attention, the interference of friends, as blood had been drawn, succeeded in pre- venting farther consequences. The peculiar taste and prowess which O'Hara displayed in all matters connected with affairs of honour, occasioned him to be consulted as an au- thority, and selected as an umpire in disputed points. His decisions, too, were generally sub- mitted to without appeal. To demur was considered a contempt of court, for which the refractory party was expected to answer, as for a personal offence. OLDCOURT. 275 O'Hara laid down the law as to the number of paces to be measured between the combatants — the exact size of the pistols — how many shots should tcike place, before a proposal for accom- modation could be offered or accepted. He es- tablished in his apartment a drill for young duellists; and it was his favourite amusement to instruct them in the ceremonial according to which, a man of honour and spirit may blow out the brains of his best friend and most intimate companion, without the smallest impeachment of his gallantry, his morality, or his humanity. With the precision of a dancing-master, he fixed the position in which you were to stand, and proved to you, that by a judicious management of your attitude, your arm, and your pistol, you presented to the ball of your adversary, a target in which six inches only were mortal. He de- termined by rule, whether parties were to fire together by signal, or cast lots for the first fire ; whether they should stand back to back, wheel round and fire, or advance on each other from their ground, and fire at their own option ; and would tell vou, in what desperate extremity of 276 OLDCOURT. mortal offence, the combatants could be autho- rised to assassinate each other, while holding the corners of a pocket-handkerchief. Such was the man whose assistance our hero determined to secure in the affair in which he was about to engage ; and, certainly, a better se- cond could not be chosen by any man who was desirous to fight. D'Arcy found O'Hara at breakfast ; a pair of barking-irons, as he usually called his pistols, on the table before him, with his writing desk, on which lay a note that ap- peared to have been just written. " What ! " cried D'Arcy, on entering the room, " pistols for two, and muffins for six ? Why, my friend, this looks like business ; but I hope not on your own account." " D'Arcy, you are the very man I wanted. But, come, take your coffee with me, and you shall know for what." " Nay," replied D'Arcy, " you are too late for me. But I suppose you have had a field-day this morning in the Fifteen Acres. First or second, Charles, I am glad to see you in a whole skin." "Ton my honour, D'Arcy, I'm provoked be- OLDCOURT. 277 yond measure. I have spent my morning very foolishly, as you shall hear. T was prevailed on to go out with young Burton, of Balh'man, who had some words at the theatre with a pert coxcomb of a counsellor. So having adjusted the prehminaries to my satisfaction, we proceeded to the Phoenix to finish the affair handsomely, as I thought ; when, on the ground, my boy, full of spunk and cool as a cucumber, behold you! up comes the man of law with his second, proffering an apology — misconception, forsooth ! — too much wine, and what not. Now you know how I hate this sort of child's play : I therefore objected to it, and urged the necessity of at least exchanging a brace of shots for the honour of the parties. But the man -of -law's second de- clared that, as an ample apology had been offered, he could not consent to proceed farther ; and that he should consider me legally responsible for the consequences, if any thing unpleasant occurred. 'O, ho !' said I, 'my lad, is that your drift ? I per- ceive, sir, you wish to take the cause out of the counsellor's hands, and do a little business on your own account. Mr. Burton, you are at 278 OLDCOURT. liberty to accept the apology offered if you think proper ; this gentleman and I must have a little conversation on the subject as soon as conve- nient/ — Now, D'Arcy, as I don't like losing time on these occasions, I have written a bit of a note, which I want you to deliver for me this morning." Opening the unsealed note, he read as follows : — " Sir, " As I conceive that your procedure, in the little affair in which we were engaged this morning, was inconsistent with the rules which are admitted amongst gentlemen, to govern the conduct of seconds on such occasions, and per- sonally disrespectful to me, I shall be obliged by your naming a friend with whom the gentleman who does me the honour to bear this note, may communicate on the part of, " Sir, *' Your most obedient humble servant, " Charles O'Hara." *' My dear fellow," cried D Arcy, '' T am al- OLDCOURT. 279 ways at your command ; and, odd enough, my business with you this morning is to solicit a similar service ; but are not you, in the present instance, rather volunteering an afiair with this person. You know I do not pretend to be an authority in these matters, but I cannot see why the seconds should quarrel because the principals have come to an accommodation." " D' Arcy,'' said O' Hara, " I must read you my ' chapter on the duties of seconds,' where you will find two different cases laid down, in which the second is converted into a principal ; and five more in which he is entitled to require satisfaction even from his own party." " Nay, then,*' said D' Arcy, laughing, " a second, before he interferes in a duel, should make his will as well as the principal." "The office of second," resumed O' Hara, with great gravity, " is a serious and important function. The second superintends the admi- nistration of a system upon which the peace and decorum of society depend. He may be said to be the magistrate of good manners, whose busi- ness it is to see the common law of honour en- 280 OLDCOURT. forced with strictness and impartiality, not only for the advantage of the parties, but for the good of the community/' " But/' observed D'Arcy, "what has the com- munity to do with my private quarrels ? and why should accommodation be refused, when a suf- ficient apology is offered." "D'Arcy, my lad," resumed O'Hara, "you have not considered this matter so deeply as it deserves. Like all boys, you would quarrel and fight, or be friends, according to your humour, without rule or system, and wdthout considering the consequences of such irregularities. But a duel is peculiarly the appeal of a gentleman, and if, in resorting to it, you are sheltered in some degree from the laws, it is only to incur a double responsibility to the manners of society for your mode of conducting it. When you are engaged in a duel, you must consider, that you have not only to obtain satisfaction for the offence against yourself, but also to punish an offender against the proprieties of civil intercourse ; and although the first may be satisfied with an apology, the latter cannot be secured without a penalty. No, OLDCOURT. 281 no, seconds are umpires, not negotiators. After a challenge has been delivered and accepted, matters are not to be patched up with honour to the parties, or advantage to society, without smelHng powder. I would no more compound a quarrel than a felony. You encourage the bully and the coxcomb to new violations of civil decorum, when, by accepting an apology as the composition for impertinence, you suffer them to escape the just consequences of their mis- conduct." " Then," saidD'Arcy, "you would have every duel a mortal combat, and make life the penalty of a dispute." " By no means," replied O'Hara ; " but to render the duel effectual for its object, (which I take to be the preservation of peace and politeness) I would make it so far certain in its penalties, that the discharge of a case of pistols should be the sine qua non of accommodation." " But then," observed D'Arcy, " you expose the unoffending party to suffer as well as the ag- gressor." 282 OLDCOURT. "To be sure, my good sir," rejoined O'Hara ; "the honourable risk he runs secures the duellist, in case of accident, from the odium of assassina- tion, and makes him a generous champion in the pubhc cause, rather than the angry avenger of a private injury. The man who comes forward to chastise insolence, and call brutality to account, is a general benefactor ; he stands in the gap of good manners to check the assaults of barbarism, and hazards his life, that the more timid and un- protected portion of the community may enjoy themselves in politeness and peace. Believe me, D'Arcy, the duellist is your true peace-officer; a far more effective guardian of civil society than any that the cohorts of Sir John Fielding can supply." *' My dear fellow," said D'Arcy, who knew how apt his friend was to hold forth on this topic, and who wished to introduce his own business ; " my dear fellow, you know I am a disciple of your faith and practice in these matters ; and it is because I meditate a little performance of my ow'n, for the public good, in this way, that I have called upon you this morning." OLDCOURT. 283 But O'Hara had got upon his hobby, and was not to be so easily dismounted. " Certainly," continued he ; " that is the true light in which to consider it. As a means of gra- tifying your resentment, or righting your wrongs, the practice of duelling is absurd ; for what can be more irrational or ridiculous, than the principle, that because a man has violated your feelings, you should insist upon giving him a most favour- able opportunity to strike at your life ? ' You have insulted me, sir, and my honour requires that you should endeavour to shoot me through the head.' This would be monstrous folly ; but the duellist is influenced by nobler motives than any which result from personal feelings. When a gentle- man receives an insult, the peace and good order of society are outraged in his person. The coarse and vulgar ministrations of law take no cognizance of those multifarious, though indefinable offences, which lacerate the generous spirit, and inflict wounds more deep than any bodily injuries. "There is no tribunal before which an offender of the feelings can be cited, to answer for his delin- quency. He is, perhaps, too powerful for con- 284 OLDCOURT. tempt, and too ruffianly for remonstrance ; you cannot cope with him in rudeness, or kick him into decorum. What then is to be done ? Is the culprit to escape unquestioned, till all the civilities of life are exploded, and society becomes a brawl and a bear-garden? No; the indignity you have suffered, gives you a right to vindicate the cause of the community, which is involved in your own ; you consider yourself as an appointed functionary, to enforce the provisions of public decorum. You regard the dehnquent as a vio- lator of the social compact, against whom there are no legal means of redress ; you, therefore, appeal to arms ; you make war upon him, and trust your cause to the trial by battle, in which we are to suppose that the right will always pre- vail.'' "Nothing can be more clear," interrupted D'Arcy, " and it is precisely on that ground that I come." But the current of O'Hara's eloquence on this subject was not to be impeded, and he eagerly continued. — " Look at the effects of duelling upon society ; see, at what a small expense of human life, the OLDCOURT. 286 offensive humours and angry passions of men are kept in subjection. The very name of a dueUist has a tranquilUzing effect upon the whole Bobadil crew. Even those ' homines agrestes,' the un- couth race of country squires, are found to assume some awkward airs of urbanity, when they know there is a fire-eater in their neighbourhood. Look in at Nangle's or Lucas's coffee house, and if you find some swaggering coxcombs disposed to be impertinent or unruly, only mention my friend Tiger Roche in their hearing, or let fighting Keogh but show his face amongst them, and you will see how soon the elements of insolence will subside into civility and peace. Depend upon it, my friend, those little instruments, (pointing to the pistols on the table) with hair-triggers, in skilful hands, at twelve paces distance, are more effectual guardians of the peace, and of good order in society, than any which legislation can devise, or the bureau of Monsieur de Sartine himself supply." " I am so convinced of their efficacy," eagerly interposed D'Arcy, " that I wish to have im- mediate recourse to their assistance." 286 OLDCOURT. " But, as correctives," rejoined O'Hara, " their operation depends upon system and regulation. Individuals in a state of hostility, like nations, must be governed by some generally recognised principles, which all parties find it their interest to maintain. As the end of all war is peace, or public security against lawless oppression, so, the object of the duel, which may be called the war of private life, is to secure the general intercourse of society from wanton insult, or personal disrespect. Society, in giving you a right over my life, which it may be fairly said to do, when it permits you, with impunity, under given circumstances, to send a bullet through my head, or a sword through my body ; in giving you, I say, a right of this kind, which is sanctioned by our manners, in opposition to our laws, society is entitled to prescribe the conditions upon which a privilege so important is to be enjoyed, as well as the regulations under which it ought to be exercised. If you be per- mitted, in this instance, to take the law, apparently, into your own hands, it is not for your particu- lar gratification, but for the general advantage. You are allowed to demand satisfaction for your OLDCOURT. 287 own insulted feelings, only, as the best means of protecting the feelings of society, and screening them from future aggression. Your ministration is preventive as well as penal, and should not be subjected to the uncertainties of personal caprice. " Your individual quarrel might, indeed, be ar- ranged by concession and apology ; but you are pledged to exact an atonement for the offence which society has received in your person ; and the hazard of a shot or two is indispensable to- wards any satisfactory or honourable repara- tion." " My dear fellow," exclaimed D'Arcy, " your theory is admirable ; as you describe it, a duel seems an act of justice, and fighting, a moral obli- gation." " Here," said O'Hara, taking a bundle of manu- script from the drawer of the table at which he sat ; •"' here is a work upon which I have been engaged for some time ; in which my views on this subject are developed with considerable crae. As the trial by battle, however, decried in our law courts, must alwavs be the favourite mode of decision to 288 OLDCOURT. which gentlemen resort for the adjustment of differences, in which their honour or their feehngs are concerned, I shall give it to the pubhc, under the title of ' The Institutes of Honour, or Code of Private Quarrel, laid down according to the best authorities, ancient and modern/ I shall prefix an essay on the age of chivalry, and an introduc- tion, containing an authentic account of the most remarkable single combats, from the days of Don Bellianis of Greece, down to the sanguinary contest between Lord Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton ; the whole wound up with the most interesting rencontres of our own times." "Illustrated with cuts,''^ added D'Arcy, laughing; *' and adorned with a striking likeness of the author as a frontispiece." " I am quite serious, D'Arcy, I assure you," said O'Hara, not quite pleased at the jocular mode in which his friend seemed disposed to treat his literary intentions. "Well, my dear fellow," rejoined D'Arcy, " you know you are my Magnus Apollo ; and if you do publish on the subject, I have no doubt you will rival Hugo Grotius himself, ' de jure OLDCOURT. 289 pads et leU'i,' and be the very Puffendorf of polite society. But let us attend now to your practice as well as your theory ; you say you have got a little affair on hand yourself, and I am come to you \vith a declaration of war on your own principles, and in which I want to engage you as an auxiliary/' "With all my heart/' cried O'Hara, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. " An alliance offen- sive and defensive — but who is the enemy ? Be- fore you speak, I'll swear he is in the wrong ; and you know, <' ' Thrice is be armed \^-ho hath his quarrel just.' " " Oh !" answered D'Arcy, ''my cause, " < Preaching to stones, Avould make them capable.' " *' Well," added O'Hara, " you know my prin- ciples ; I am no negotiator on such occasions ; no special pleader of apology. When the quar- rel is a good quarrel, I never mar it by meddling ; and, once in the field, we must have no shilly- shally work— no i/i." " Hang the cowardly conditional !" exclaimed D'Arcv. " It is only fit to patch up dandy dis- putes, and men-milliner animosities. I am for VOL. I. o 290 OLDCOURT. * Bellum internecinum ;' will that satisfy you ? — Seats on a powder-cask, or slugs in a saw-pit. You know I am no flincher." "'Give me your hand/' said O'Hara; "you were always a lad of spunk, and I did you wrong. By heaven ! the very supposition was an offence — an insult ; and I doubt if you can overlook it, even in a friend. You have certainly a right to de- mand satisfaction first, according to my own code, and you shall have it, my dear fellow, with plea- sure ; when we have exchanged shots, I can make you an apology.'* Thank you, thank you, my worthy friend, said D'Arcy ; '' I know your liberality on these points, but I won't stand on ceremony. Just at present, if you please, I would rather engage you as second than as principal." "Well," rejoined O'Hara, "if you desire to postpone your claim on me without prejudice, as the lawyers say, you can do so ; and, in the mean time, we may render each other a mutual service. What is your cause of war ? ' teterrima causa helli ;' as I believe our old friend, Horace, has it." OLDCOURT. 291 D'Arcy had no sooner stated the irritation which was excited in his mind by the conduct of Colonel Shervington, and the course of provocation under which he had so long suffered, than his friend, drawing his manuscript again from its de- pository, exclaimed, with evident exultation, "My dear fellow, I have your case provided for here to a tittle. Let me see," turning over the leaves, " Sec- tion the Fourth, under what head? public insults — private insults ; studied insults — no ; insults by words — ^by looks — ^by acts ; insults by proxy — by implication — by suggestion — by insinuation or procuration. Oh! here we have it, chapter twenty-five, page five hundred and seventy-nine . " ' Insults from superiors 1 ' all classed, you see, and considered under their proper heads, with their various quaUfying circumstances and dis- tinctions : — ' Insults from superiors ; ' that's the general head ; now for the particular specification. ' Insults from superiors in rank — in station — in fortune — in age, in office and authority.' Your case falls under this last denomination, and is thus treated of. — [Reading in a tone of im- portaiice] : — " ' Of the three great genera of offence — the 292 OLDCOURT. venial, the malevolent, and the mortal, which we,' — yoLi see I adopt the pronoun plural, as most becoming the dignity of the subject : — ' of the three great genera of offence, which we have considered in the present work, and which the inefficiency of human laws leaves to the more applicable jurisprudence of public opinion, and the summary process of the pistol or sword ; the species of which wx are about to treat in this chapter, belongs to the second genus, or the class malevolent. The offence which it consti- tutes, is particularly aggravated by the relative position of the parties ; the one being in a situ- ation to require, and the other, to afford protec- tion. It is termed malevolent, because it pro- ceeds from an evil disposition, and indicates an ungenerous and ignoble spirit. A gentleman will always studiously avoid giving offence to those who are not in a situation to resent it. The army, the navy, and all official persons, are particularly subject, and sensitive to this species of insult, which always partakes of cowardice and cruelty — of insolence and oppression. The wound which it inflicts, rankles and festers in the heart for years ; and never can be completely OLDCOURT. 293 healed, until time and circumstances have af- forded to the suiFerer an opportunity of reco- vering his own respect, by demanding and ex- acting retribution.' — So much for the wrong: now for the remedy, " By the ' Institutes of Honor/ the aggrieved party, in this case, is allowed a latitude in the indulgence of his feelings, proportioned to the exasperation which the nature of the insult is calculated to excite. " ' If a gentleman could descend to such a pro- cedure, he would be justified in inflicting personal chastisement on the offender. He may, however, pass upon him some personal indignity, and follow it up by an immediate summons to the field. The offence does not admit of apo- logy ; the parties must continue to exchange shots at nine paces distance, till the appellant declares himself perfectly satisfied, either by his adversary being put hors de combat, or ac- knowledging himself in the wrong.' " " Bravo I admirable!'' exclaimed D' A rcy; — " ' By Heaven ! Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going.' 294 OLDCOURT. All quarrels must henceforth be conducted according to your code ; you will be renowned as the very Draco of duellists." " I am not sanguinary in my principles," said O'Hara, gravely; " and to render the practice of duelling useful, or rare, you must make the ap- peal du dernier ressort, serious and systematic. Tf you have an hour to spare, I will just read you a few chapters, and you will then see my drift." Alarmed at the prospect of listening to a long dissertation, which, from the disorder of the ma- nuscript, would require as much time to arrange as to read, D'Arcy hardly knew how to extri- cate himself from his position, with an author so sensitive as O'Hara, who might consider his un- wiUingness to attend to him, as coming under some particular denomination of offence. He, however, reminded his friend of the serious aiFair in which he was about to engage with Colonel Shervington ; expressing, at the same time, his desire to proceed in it, exactly according to the regulations laid down in the " Institutes of Honor.'' "Oh, ay ! very true," said O'Hara ; and OLDCOURT. 295 having exacted a promise from D*Arcy, that he would shortly devote a morning to the perusal of the whole work, the author, for the present, re- turned his papers to their usual place of deposit. After a short consultation, it was agreed that D*Arcy, accompanied by his friend, should repair the following morning to the parade of Colonel Shervington's regiment, and there, in the pre- sence of cdl his officers, declare his opinion of the treatment he had experienced from their com- mander ; demanding, at the same time, immediate and ample satisfaction. The matter having been thus arranged, the two friends made an appointment to take an early breakfast together the next day at O'Hara's apartments ; and D'Arcy proceeded forthwith, to execute the charge intrusted to him by the for- mer, relative to the unsatisfactory affair in which he had been that morning engaged. 296 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER XV. D'Arcy was punctual the following morning at the breakfast table of his friend. Besides the apparatus necessary for their repast, he found the board spread with divers cases of pistols, two or three small swords, a powder flask, and some bul- lets, which seemed of recent manufacture, depo- sited in a saucer. " I always cast my own bullets," said O'Hara, after the first salutation ; "so much depends upon the accuracy of fit, and the perfect round - ness of the ball. I have, therefore, a particular mould for each pistol, so mathematically true to the bore, that the bullets, in loading, would flatten a hair, if it happened to be in the way." OLDCOURT. 297 "' Your armoury appears to be extensive," ob- served D'Arcy ; " but I suppose we shall not take the field before to-morrow morning." " Why, T don't know how that may be, said O'Hara ; " the pubUc manner in which you pro- pose to declare war to-day, must necessarily at- tract attention ; and, in order to avoid interruption from peace-officers and impertinent people, the best way will be (as there is no room for parley) to repair at once to the Fifteen Acres;* you know they lie quite convenient to the barracks ; and the affair may be finished there at once, without any noise or nonsense." D'Arcy eagerly adopted this suggestion, as af- fording him the earliest opportunity of indulging his resentment ; " but," said he, " you must lend me a pair of your barking-irons ; — not supposing I should want them so early, I am not provided with my own." "With all the pleasure in hfe," replied O'Hara; '' here they are, of all sorts, my dear fellow, ?itrum hcrriim, as Lilly says : take which you please, but if you1l be ruled by me, these are the ticklers ;" * A part of the Phoenix Park, much resorted to for the purpose of deciding' affairs of honour. o2 298 OLDCOURT. taking up one of a pair on the table. " With either of these I'll engage to split a bullet on the edge of a knife at any distance within pistol range. They be- longed to the famous Sligo man. Beau Bateman, and have done execution in their time I assure you. I won them from him in a handy-cap, the day after his duel with the Knight of Kilgobbin." " Oh ! " said D'Arcy, " I have often heard of that affair ; at Oxford, it was quoted as a proof of Irish ferocity ; but where lay the blame in that business ?" " With Kilgobbin, certainlv, in the first in- stance," replied O' Hara ; "but, subsequently, with the seconds. If my work had been out at the time, they would have known their duty better, and the fatal result might have been avoided." " They had been great friends, I beheve ?" ob- served D'Arcy. "Yes, thick as inkle weavers," said O'Hara; " but they had a dispute on the turf about a bet on the paddereen mare.* The knight, w^ho was the loser, grew warm ; and Bateman, laughingly, said to him, ' Why, knight, you are more un - lucky than I thought you were/ * A celebrated racer at that period. OLDCOURT. 299 " 'How so, sir?' *' ' You have lost your temper as well as your money/ '* ' I don't know, sir/ replied the knight ' whether a little of your coolness would enable me to preserve the one, but 1 am sure a little of your cunning would have prevented my losing the other/ "'Cunning !' repeated Bateman, with an ex- pression of surprise ; ' nay, nov/ T fear for your discretion, which would be the worst loss of all, since it is that which you can least afford/ "'Egad!' said a foolish fellow among the bystanders, with a horse laugh, 'Egad, knight, he is down upon you there '/ " A man is never so disposed to be quarrelsome as when he is conscious he is angry without cause, and finds the laugh turned against him by the good humour of his opponent. The knight, therefore, so httle relished the merriment which Bateman's last observation had excited, that, with undisguised acrimony he replied to him, — " ' You are disposed, sir, to play off your wit, as well as your wager, at my expense ; but give 300 OLDCOURT. me leave to tell you, your joke is a bad one, and I'll make you answer for it seriously/ '"Poh! pohl' rejoined Bateman, sneeringly, 'you overrate your powers, Kilgobbin ; you cannot make me serious.' " ' I'll try, however,' said the knight, ' if I cannot teach you to be civil.' " ' I rather think you want a lesson yourself in that way,' rejoined Bateman ; ' and I have no objection to give you one.' " At this period of the altercation, to which all around began to attend, somebody touched Bateman's horse behind, and made him start for- ward a pace or two, in the direction of Kilgobbin ; his rider checking him, and turning round at the same time to see what occasioned the movement, by some accident struck the knight slightly in the face with the lash of his whip. The latter, exaspe- rated beyond all bounds, took this as a following- up of the lesson which Bateman professed his willingness to give him ; and, making use of some coarse expression, was proceeding furiously to attack his opponent, when he was interrupted by the interference of those about him. OLDCOURT. 301 " Bateman immediately declared the application of his whip to have been entirely accidental ; and that, ahhough he thought Kilgobbin's expressions intemperate, he had no intention of taking serious notice of them, much less of resorting to so un- gentlemanly a mode of displaying his resentment. " The knight, however, was not to be appeased, and took the matter up, evidently in a bad spirit, as if he had some lurking discontent with Bate- man, which he was determined to make this in- cident the pretext to gratify. " Bateman was calm and undisturbed, but, after his first declaration, would allow no farther over- ture to be made on his part ; and, as no accom- modation was to be expected, a meeting was ar- ranged for the following morning. " I have the whole affair noted down in my work, amongst the celebrated duels. " They fought on the Curragh of Kildare, in the presence of five hundred spectators." O'Hara, seeing D'Arcy interested in the re- lation, continued. " It was a glorious morning in September ; the sun shining strong, but the air rather cold. Bate- 302 OLDCOURT. man, who was the first man that ever put a pistol into my hand, asked me to go with him to the ground ; merely, as he said, that I might see the sport. " I confess, I gladly assented : I was then a raw boy, had never been engaged in any transac- tion of this kind ; and, as I considered an affair of honour quite essential to the reputation of a young man of spirit, I was delighted at the oppor- tunity of observing how two such men would con- duct themselves on such an occasion. "They were old stagers, prime shots, and game to the back-bone. Of the two, however, Kil- gobbin was the most famed for the pistol ; and had never gone out, without knocking down, or at least, winging his man. They well knew each other's powers, and that made them less disposed to an accommodation, which might be attributed to wrong motives. Besides, from the nature of the quarrel, as it was taken up by the appellant, it could not but have a serious result to one, or both of the parties. " The knight was a rough, rather coarse, ruddy complexioned man, about forty, with a scar OLDCOURT. 303 under his eye, which he got in a scuffle with a cavalry officer, in the pump-room at Bath. Beau Bateman, as he was called, fram his peculiar style of dress, was a tall, handsome fellow, evidently younger than his antagonist, full of gaiety and good humour, and remarkable for that propensity to joke, which is so much the characteristic of our countrymen. *' I eagerly observed his countenance w^hen we met in the morning, but all was calm and steady ; his eagle eye as bright and brisk as ever ; he was even more talkative and jocular than usual. He had been particularly attentive to his dress, which was always in the extreme of the fashion ; and, in short, he manifested in his whole demeanour, such a perfect sang froid, that had it not been for a slight tremor of the upper lip, when, turning aside to me, he told me, in case of accident, to give his pistols to his nephew — a chum of mine in college (who, by-the-by, was afterwards the first man I wounded with these very pistols) ; had it not been, I say, for this slight tremor, and a pressure of the hand with which he 304 OLDCOURT. accompanied his directions, nobody would have supposed that he was about to present himself as a target to the best shot in Ireland." " Was he a good mark ? " inquired D'Arcy. " No ! he was thin/' replied O'Hara, " and well understood how to take his position. Egad, well thought of ! I must give you some hints on that subject. Stand up, my boy, and I'll show you how to present a proper front to the enemy ; you are one of Pharaoh's lean kine, and might make yourself as difficult to hit as the back of a knife ; but if you stand square, any bungler may bring you down." D'Arcy, however, was, from similarity of cir- cumstances, too much interested in the account of the duel, not to wish to hear the remainder of it ; looking at his watch, therefore, he assured his friend, there was ample time, as he did not wish to go to the parade of the regiment before ten, and begged him to continue his narration. " Well," resumed O'Hara, with whom this was always a favourite topic, " we were, I believe, just about to proceed to the ground; but I should OLDCOURT. 305 first tell you the names of the seconds. Rick Barton, of Bally Castle, for Bateman, and one of the Frenches, of Mountmelic, for Kilgobbin ; both excellent fellows, but of no great experience, and rather ruled by their principals than guiding them. " On our way to the field, we were joined by some common friends of the parties, who la- mented the breach which had occurred, and seemed to think, that as the knight acted upon an erroneous impression, something might still be done to effect an accommodation. " Bateman, how^ever, in a very decisive tone, declared his resolution, to admit now of no inter- ference of that nature ; observing, that although Kilgobbin was a very honest fellow in the main, when he w^as thoroughly piqued, and felt himself in the wrong, he was always the most obstinate and unmanageable. He stated, also, that if Kil- gobbin were to withdraw his challenge, he, Bate- man, would consider himself bound to call him out, for having doubted his assertion. Matters, therefore, were now left to take their course. " On arriving at the ground, we saw the knight 306 OLDCOURT. and his party in conversation, and a number of persons scattered about at a distance. " Bateman, politely lifting his hat, said, ' Good morning, gentlemen, I hope we have not kept you waiting.' French answered, ' By no means, we were before our time.' Kilgobbin, in a rather ungracious way, replied to his adversary's salu- tation, ' Sir, your most obedient.' The others shook him cordially by the hand, for his jocular manners had made him a general favourite. " The seconds were now about to measure the distance — nine paces, when Kilgobbin re- marked, that we were in the view of some cabins on the right. This seemed an odd objec- tion, as there was no interruption to be appre- hended from such a quarter, and many of their inhabitants were collecting round to see the sport. He suggested, however, that we should remove about a quarter of a mile further, to a fine level turf, on the banks of a pond called Brown's-hole, from the name of a fool who thought fit to jump into it. " As we proceeded, I occasionally observed the knight's countenance, and T thought he appeared OLDCOURT. 307 to be flushed, eager, and somewhat restless ; look- ing round frequently with an unquiet eye, and paying only a sort of yawning attention to what was said to him. *' All this time, Bateman was as gay and agree- able as ever, cracking his jokes, and sometimes pleasantly pointing them at the sulky air of his adversary, declaring ' he saw no reason why old friends should not shoot each other in good humour, when their honour required that they should resort to such a ceremony/ " By the time we had reached the spot, and the ground was measured out, the spectators had be- come so numerous, that it was necessary to ap- point two gentlemen to keep the lines, as it were, and warn the lookers on out of the range of the bullets. " The most intense interest appeared to pervade the whole group. " Kilgobbin, I perceived, had, during the arrange- ment, so manoeuvred, as to get at that side which would enable him to stand with his back to the sun. Every thing was now nearly ready, the pistols loaded, the flints examined, and the se- 308 OLDCOURT. conds settling apart the order of proceeding ; when, to my surprise, the knight took off his coat and gave it to his servant to hold ; then baring his right arm up to the elbow, and stepping a few paces to the side of the pond, deUberately plunged it into the water, and held it there." " Good God!" exclaimed D'Arcy, " what a vindictive spirit that displayed." " So it was felt, I assure you," replied O'Hara; " and a murmur of disapprobation ran through the whole party. The knight, however, was not in- fluenced, though he seemed mortified by the mani- festation of feeling which had broken forth ; and Bateman observing him, exclaimed, in a laughing tone, ' What ! knight, are you nervous ? ' " 'Yes,' answered Kilgobbin, sneeringly ; ' you frighten me, and a cool hand is a good safe- guard.' " ' A cool head is better,' rephed Bateman. " ' A cold heart may make it so, Mr. Bateman,' retorted the knight ; ' and T leave you all the benefit that is to be derived from it.' " Here one of the country people, standing near with a small bottle of the ' native' in his hand. OLDCOURT. 309 to comfort him in the freshness of the morning, conceiving, I suppose, that Kilgobbin was com- plaining of the coldness of his heart, which he concluded was a very unlucky feeling at such a moment, with equal simplicity and good nature said, — " 'Ah, then, may be your honour would take a drop of a dram ? ' " ' How can he, my good fellow,' said Eateman ; *' ' don't you see he is out of spirits this morn- ing?' " This sally produced a general laugh, notwith- standing the seriousness of the occasion ; for Pat, you know, can't resist a joke, even when the rope is about his neck. The knight looked like thun- der, and his old crony. Colonel Cavanagh, turn-, ing to Bateman, exclaimed, ' Well, Beau, I will do you the justice to say, that you are as ready with your pun or your pistol, as any man that ever stepped on the Curragh of Kildare !' " 'They are alike offensive weapons in his hand,' rejoined Kilgobbin ; ' and he makes his friends his mark for both.' " ' Only when they think proper to become my 310 OLDCOURT. enemies ;' said Bateman, bowing significantly to the knight. " This preliminary skirmish of words was now put an end to, by the seconds delivering to each his pistol, and desiring him to take his ground. The breathless attention and eager curiosity of the spectators was now so intense, that it was with difficulty they could be kept from closing in on both sides, and endangering their lives. The proper space, however, being at length cleared, the combatants appeared in their stations. Bate- man's position w^as absolutely a picture ; easy, erect, graceful, and unembarrassed; the vitals well guarded, without any studied soHcitude. Anatomically considered, there were not six inches of the body exposed to mortal injury. He wore his hat, and his dress seemed as if he had just left his toilette. " Kilgobbin w^as still without his coat, and his head uncovered ; his w^hole appearance slovenly ; his manner eager and angry, with a good guard however, and bending somewhat forward on his right knee, as if stretching to reach as near as possible to his opponent. OLDCOURT. 311 " As challenger, the knight was to have the first shot ; the signal was given, and he fired without effect. Bateman now received the word, and in- stantly discharged his pistol, the ball striking the ground at his antagonist's feet. The seconds now delivered another pistol to each, the groupes around hardly breathing, so absorbed in the inte- rest of the scene. " Again the word was given, and, at the same moment, Bateman's second cried out to the knight, ' Stop, sir, you have advanced a pace on your ground.' Kilgobbin, in drawing back, said, * I beg pardon, I was not aware of it.' Some- body amongst the spectators cried out, ' Keep your ground, knight;' upon which he immediately said, ' I am willing to waive my shot, to atone for my irregularity.' " ' By no means,' answered Bateman ; ' but if Kilgobbin wishes to shorten the distance, let him advance, I have no objection.' " ' No, no,' exclaimed the seconds, ' keep your ground, gentlemen.' The signal was now re- peated, the knight fired, and his ball took oflP one of the breast-buttons of Bateman's coat. 312 OLDCOURT. " ' That was well intended, Kilgobbin,' said Bateman, ' and in your best style.' " ' No/ said the former, ' my hand is out, and I have not my own pistols/ " Bateman then fired in his turn, his ball pass- ing through the sleeve of Kilgobbin's shirt without touching his arm, '' ' Come, that's not bad/ said the knight. " Some confusion seemed here to arise amongst the crowd, and a horseman appearing at a dis- tance, galloping towards the ground, a cry was heard that the high sheriff of the county was coming. " ' By Jupiter !' exclaimed his brother, who was present, " ' that is impossible, for I left him in his bed yesterday, having been wounded him- self in a duel, the day before, with the clerk of the peace.' It was now discovered that the horse- man was Kilgobbin's groom, with his master's favourite pistols, which had been sent for to a considerable distance, and had not arrived in time. The knight seemed much pleased to get them, and requested to have them loaded instead of those he had used. OLDCOURT. 313 " Bateman's second objected to any change of pistols, unless his principal ^\'ere allowed to take his choice of one of them. " Kilgobbin agreed to this, butBateman refused, saying, gaily, he was too good a carpenter to find fault with his tools. They now resumed their sta- tions, and the knight having received one of his favourite weapons, was called on to fire, which he did, with more deliberation and effect than before. Bateman was seen to stagger back a few paces, and drop on one knee, his pistol, in the effort to recover himself, fell from his hand, and exploded, but without doing any mischief. He was, how- ever, immediately on his ground again, declaring he was but slightly hurt, and calling for another pistol. " The seconds now interfered, asserting that enough had been done to satisfy the honour of both parties ; and the spectators eagerly joined in their opinion, crying out, ' No more, no more, gentlemen !' " Kilgobbin, observing the general sentiment, said, ' He had no objection now to accept a proper apology !' VOL. I. P 314 OLDCOURT. "'What do you say, Mr. Bateman?' asked young French, who seemed particularly anxious to put an end to the affair. " ' I say, sir/ steadily replied Bateman, ' that I am not a man to make an apology at the muzzle of a pistol on any occasion; but, in the present instance, to offer an apology would be to sanction intemperance, and acknowledge an accident to be an offence. I am here to satisfy the Knight of Kilgobbin, but not to humour him.' "Several voices here exclaimed, 'Bravo, Bate- man !' The seconds consulted together for a mo- ment, and French turning to him again, said, ' Will you, Mr. Bateman, in the presence of this assem- bly, declare the blow to have been accidental V " ' Not while I have a leg to stand on,' answ^ered he, with great vehemence ; ' I disdain to repeat an assertion which has been once doubted. By the expression of that doubt, I am properly the of- fended person, and alone have the right to demand an apology.' "The case now seemed hopeless, as neither party would give way. Considerable confusion and much altercation arose ; some persons crying out OLDCOURT. 315 to the seconds to quit the ground ; others calling on them to do their duty, and let the combatants proceed. The general feeling, however, was evidently against Kilgobbin. Joe Blake, General Bingham, and other members of the Jockey Club, declared that he pushed the matter too far. Lyon Lynch, of Lynchestown, roundly accused the seconds of not understanding their duty; warm words passed between him and Andrew French, who said, ' That as he could not please the gentle- man in his character of second, he would try if he could not give him satisfaction as principal,' Here Bateman, in his humorous, laughing way, interposed, stopping Lynch's rejoinder, with ' Come, come, gentlemen, order, order ! if you please. This is no place for quarrelling, and it is very hard that Kilgobbin and I can't be allowed to fight it out in peace.' " At this moment, up comes the King of the Curragh, as he w^as called, old Sir Toby Tuite, whose word, for half a century, was considered in that part of the country, as the law and the gospel in all matters of dueUing, horse-racing, and cock- 316 OLDCOURT. fighting. As he \vas acquainted with the case, the seconds appealed to him, and a general silence took place immediately, to hear the veteran's de- cision, which he delivered wdth great solemnity. " ' Gentlemen,' said he, ' a blow is the greatest indignity which can be put upon a man of honour and feeling. My friend, Kilgobbin, has received one in pubhc, under circumstances which might reasonably make a man of high spirit very reluc- tant to admit the excuse of accident, even when he had himself no doubt on the subject. We must not allows our personal dignity to be tainted by even a conjectural violation.' (' Hear him, hear him !' said the knight.) ' Kilgobbin is justified, therefore, in the course w4iich he has adopted. As blood has been drawn in the field, he is also at liberty to receive an apology, if he chooses so to do ; but as an apology has been refused by my friend Bateman, Kilgobbin is authorised by the strict law of honour to proceed.' "'Who ever questioned it?' interposed Kil- gobbin ; polishing, with his shirt sleeve, the barrel of his pistol. OLDCOURT. 317 '" I say, gentlemen, he has a right to prpceed as long as his antagonist stands before him — until one or the other is disabled/ " ' A second Daniel !' exclaimed the knight exultingly ; ' a second Daniel !' "'Yes, gentleman,' continued Sir Toby, 'though the offence must be considered to have been originally improbable — though it was, in the first instance, disclaimed, and has been here sufficiently atoned for, yet, strictly speaking, Kilgobbin may insist upon proceeding to the last extremity. He has a right to demand the pound of flesh — it is in the bond — but, by the cross of St. Patrick!' con- tinued the old man, raisins: his clenched hand ' he is a Jew, if in this case he exacts it,' " I here could not resist cr3'ing out,, in my turn, ' A second Daniel ! a second Daniel I' and the words were loudly echoed on all sides. The knight, disappointed and provoked by the un- expected winding up of the decree, now angrily remonstrated with his second — protested against all further inteference or delay, and declared, with great vehemence, ' that no power on earth should move him from the ground, until he either was stretched upon it, or had received an apology.' S18 OLDCOURT. '* The unfavourable feeling towards Kilgobbin, which, from the moment when he dipped his arm into the pond, seemed to prevail among the spec- tators, became now more evident, and a voice from amongst them, cried out, ' Well said. Shy- lock/ Kilgobbin, exasperated to the last degree, immediately turned round, and cocking his pistol, exclaimed, ' By him that made made me ! I'll blow out the brains of any man who dares to utter that word/ The word ' Shylock' was instantly repeated in a roar of at least fifty voices, on the side from which it had first proceeded. The case was helpless ; there was no attacking a host. Kilgobbin was speechless with rage and mortifica- tion. Garret Byrne, of Spring Grove, who was standing near me, said, ' Hang it, this is too bad ;* and addressing the groupe with much warmth, observed, ' Gentlemen, this is very irregular — all parties agree that the Knight of Kilgobbin has a right to proceed, if he thinks proper, and I, for one, will stand by him in the assertion of that right. Fair play and no favour is my maxim.' " ' Very proper,' was now echoed on all sides. ' Fair play and no favour — proceed, proceed/ "The seconds, though honourably anxious to OLDCOURT. 319 prevent farther mischief, yet uneasy under a re- sponsibiUty unsustained by any acknowledged or estabhshed authority, and conceiving that the ob- stinacy of the parties left them no alternative, resolved that the affair should now proceed. The space was therefore again cleared, and, in the midst of much agitation and increased interest in those around, the parties once more took their ground. As Bateman approached his station, he looked so pale, and appeared to walk with so much difficulty, that I anxiously ran up to him, ex- pressing my fears that he was seriously hurt. ' A mere scratch, my dear boy,' said he; 'take no notice.' He had tied a handkerchief round his thigh, and I saw the blood trickling down into his boot. - All was now hushed once more— the pistols were delivered, and the seconds were about to give the word to Kilgobbin, when he observed,— 'You forget, gentlemen, that my antagonist has not returned my last shot. I am bound to receive his fire.' " ' No, sir,' replied Bateman, ' it is your turn to fire ; my pistol was discharged ) adding, in his 320 OLDCOURT. jocular manner, ' that an accidental shot was as good as an accidental blow.' "' Why, Bateman/ said French, ready to take hold of any thing that promised peace, ' that is a direct admission." " 'Oh, no,' rejoined the former, 'only a joke.' " It was agreed, that as the pistol was not in Bateman's hand when it exploded, he should be considered as having his turn in reserve, and must therefore first proceed to deliver his fire. " While the seconds retired to their posts, Kil- gobbin, who felt his confidence in his own powers restored, by getting his favourite pistols, cried out, ' Now, Bateman, mind what you are about — I have got my own tools, and by G — d ! I'll bring you down the next shot.' " Bateman, bowing slightly, repHed, ' I thank you, sir, for the warning.' " The word was then given. Bateman fired and his antagonist dropped as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt. " Bateman exclaimed, ' Good G od ! I have killed him.' " We all ran up to Kilgobbin — his second raised OLDCOURT, 321 him a little from the ground — he opened his eyes, looked round him, and seeing his adversary near him, faintly said, ' Give me your hand. Bate- man — you are not to blame for this — God bless you !' — he never spoke again. " He had been hit under the right breast, and the ball lodged in the spine. " Poor Bateraan, dreadfully shocked, fell to the «arth, through weakness from loss of blood, and was obliged to be carried off the ground. He was afterwards tried and honourably acquitted," p 2 322 OLDCOURT. CHAPTER XVT. When a man is about to fight a duel, it may- be questioned whether it operates as a stimulus to his valour to be told, that a party has just been shot through the body in an affair at Chalk Farm, or Wimbledon Common. Even if he be. in the words of Junius, " as brave as a total ab- sence of all feeling and reflection can make him," it is probable, that a person so circumstanced, will occasionally think of " a bullet in the thorax, or a sword in the small guts ;" and, perhaps, if he were to acknowledge the truth, he might confess, that Falstaff's feelings, although indecorous, were not unnatural, when he exclaimed — " There lies honour for you." However this may be, and whatever reflections OLDCOURT. 323 the affair so circumstantially related by O'Hara, in the last chapter, might have excited in the mind of our hero, there was " no outward or visible sign" by which to judge of their effect. Although he evidently took much interest in the narration, his attention seemed to be wholly uninfluenced by any reference to himself, or to the transaction in which he was about to engage. From the nature of the case, its result might be expected to be quite as serious as that which had been just described ; but the passions of D'Arcy were too violent, his provocations too recent, and his desire of revenge too ardent, to be checked by any considerations of personal hazard. After undergoing a drill, therefore, in which his friend took some pains to convince him, that a good position in the field was as important to the duellist as to the general, our hero and O'Hara set forward to the Royal Square, in the barrack, a servant following with a case of pistols, to be ready for immediate action, if required. D'Arcy, having given up his commission, con- sidered himself no longer a soldier, and was therefore out of uniform. O'Hara was dressed 324 OLDCOURT. in full regimentals, as Lieutenant-Colonel of the Volunteers. The latter, indeed, appeared to enter upon this expedition with an alacrity, the cause of which, it may not be unnecessary to explain. About a year before the present period, a cir- cumstance had occurred which brought the corps he commanded, in contact with the regiment of Colonel Shervington, in a w^ay which might have led to very serious consequences, if great prudence and temperance had not been mani- fested by persons high in authority. During the war with America, which then raged, the military resources of Great Britain were so much exhausted by the disasters of the contest, that the forces destined for domestic purposes, were wholly inadequate to the duties required of them; and Ireland, though threatened with invasion from abroad, and torn by dissen- sions within, was left, with all her dangers and discontents, to protect herself. At this moment of embarrassment, when the ■attempt to tyrannise over our colonies recoiled lipon ourselves, and created a democracy where OLDCOURT. 325 we intended a despotism — when, discomfited, disheartened, and disgraced, we beheld all Europe either openly in arms, or covertly in alliance against us — when the combined fleets of France, Spain, and Holland, rode vinmolested through the channel — and the palsied powers of the state seemed scarcely capable of self-defence; at such a moment — when rebellion could not have been successfully resisted, and the wrongs of centuries might have been effectually avenged — what was the conduct of Ireland ? of Catholic Ireland I With a spirit and alacrity unexampled, all ranks forgetting their injuries, and suspending their dis- putes, rushed forward in support of the empire : they created a national army for national de- fence, and with a fidelity so generous as to be almost romantic, remained loyal to a government and a people, whose policy towards Ireland (ac- cording to the words of Mr. Pitt), " had been for the last three hundred years, equally unwise, im- politic, and unjust." The Papists were then found as hearty as the Protestants, and far more hearty than the Pres- byterians, in the cause of Great Britain. They set 326 OLDCOURT. up neither a republic nor a pretender ; there were no popish plots — no Jesuitical machinations to undermine our Protestant constitution in church and state. The evils of divided allegiance were then inoperative and unknown — reserved as a convenient bug-bear for modern bigotry, and left to flourish in the rhetorical rhodomon- tade of canting hypocrisy, and political imposture. Never was there an army more national, more patriotic, more popular ! The spirit of a people, at all times prone to military enterprise, was aroused to an enthusiasm which disregarded the considerations of sex or age. Women and chil- dren partook of the general ardour, and were arrayed in the uniform of the respective corps in which their husbands and fathers had enrolled themselves, for the defence of their country. The governing party, at first beheld with some alarm, and admitted with great reluctance, the necessity of placing arms in the hands of the Catholics. Some corps were embodied on the principle of excluding that obnoxious race ; but this illiberal policy soon gave way, under the apprehensions which the imminent danger of OLDCOURT. 327 the crisis excited, and it was thought prudent to allow them at least one privilege — that of de- fending their country. As the constitution of this national force ^Yas at that time strictly popular, the whole having been raised, armed, and commissioned, without any interference or authority of the government, it may be supposed, that httle connection or sympathy existed between the volunteers and the small body of regular troops then stationed in Ireland. Professional persons seldom look with much favour upon the amateur tribe, who take up, as an amusement, what the others pursue as an occupation. The arrogance which a conscious possession of science creates on the one side, and the vanity which characterizes the pretension to it on the other, co-operate to produce in both, a feehng of dislike, if not of absolute hostihty. The army, I beheve, are commonly supposed to be at least as sensitive on this point as any other body of men ; and the militia, train bands, fencibles, and volunteers, are alike, though not 328 OLDCOURT. perhaps in the same degree, objects of some ridi- cule and disfavour amongst his Majesty's regular forces. The volunteers of Ireland, at this time, were certainly not considered " depositaries of panic -,'''' since, to their protection, at a very alarming period, was entrusted the most exposed and not the least important part of the empire. The sarcasms of a late eminent statesman, upon this description of force, were, indeed, more charac- terized by wit than wisdom. Raw levies and an undisciplined rabble, as patriot bands are generally called by the admirers of standing armies, have often given a lesson to regular troops ; and never liad the professional soldier more reason to doubt his superiority over the armed citizen, than in the unhappy contest which subsisted at the period here alluded to. History, indeed, has often proved what has been so strikingly illustrated in the American and French Revolutions, — that there is something better than discipline — more to be depended upon than tactics ; and that patriotism, even with OLDCOURT. 329 a pike, may disconcert the most rigid discipli- narian, "^'ith Dundas's forty-five manc£uvres at his fingers ends. But the soldier, like every other professional man, will naturally be influenced by the pride of his art, and feel disposed to undervalue those who attempt to perform his functions, without having passed through the same process of edu- cation as himself, or acquired that martial air and mechanical dexterity, which are so impressive on parade. The volunteers of Ireland, therefore, though at that juncture as important a body of men, in the estimation of the government, as in their own, were viewed with considerable jealousy by the king's troops; and some occasional manifestations of this feeling, had rendered both parties a little touchy and tenacious. Every thing, however, which prudence could dictate, was done on the part of the public authorities, to prevent such a coUision of interests or duties, as might give oc- casion for offence ; and the military were par- ticularly impressed with the necessity of observing a discreet and respectful deportment towards a 330 OLDCOURT. body of men whose services were, at the moment, so essential to the state. In despite of every precaution, how^ever, the indiscretion of individuals frequently endangered the public tranquillity; and the following circum- stance, amongst many, will sufficiently indicate the spirit which prevailed, and the delicate ma- nagement which it required. The corps of volunteers, commanded by Col. O'Hara, having appointed a field-day in the Phoenix Park, assembled to the amount of seven or eight hundred men ; and, in their march to the ground, met, in Parliament Street, a detachment of Col. Shervington's regiment, on their way to reheve the castle guard ; they were luckily on different sides of the street. O'Hara, with that spirit of gallantry and politeness which invariably charac- terizes the gentleman, and which should always distinguish the soldier, as a mark of respect to the king's troops, ordered his men to carry arms as they passed, and the officers of the corps saluted with their swords. "Whether taken by surprise, or doubtful how far an interchange of civility W'ith men who were in OLDCOURT. 331 arms only as defenders of their country, might be consistent with mihtary etiquette, or the dignity of those who are pecuUarly denominated his Majesty's forces, it is difficult to say; but the rehef guard, uninfluenced by the courtesy of O'Hara and his corps, proceeded on their route, without taking notice of the respect which had been paid to them. The feelings of men of honour and spirit, under a slight of this nature, which appeared at once as impoUtic as impolite, may be easily imagined. On the return of the corps from the park, a meeting of the officers was held, to consider in what man- ner they could, most consistently with their duty to their country, express their sense of the insult which they had received. The result was, that the officers of the regiment should be held respon- sible, as gentlemen, for a conduct which seemed more particularly attributable to them ; and, ac- cordingly, a cartel, demanding immediate satis- faction, was forwarded to each of them, from the individuals of corresponding rank in the corps. Such a general challenge, it may be supposed, excited no small surprise and embarrassment. 332 OLDCOURT. The sensitive spirit of the soldier rendered it a matter of some deUcacy for the individuals thus called upon, to hesitate, where the honour of the regiment appeared to be involved, even by an in- judicious proceeding ; and, on the other hand, the possible consequences of complying with such a requisition, in exciting a hostile feeling between the volunteers and the army, at such a moment, was a consideration too alarming to the security of the country, to allow the parties concerned, to consult their own feelings, or proceed to extremi- ties, if they could by any possibility be prevented. A communication of the affair was, therefore, made to the higher authorities ; and the interference of influential persons on both sides was employed, to allay, by temperate and judicious explanation, the angry feelings which had been called forth, and which might have led to the most disastrous consequences. But, however O'Hara had been induced to sacrifice his private feelings on the occasion, to considerations of public advantage, he never alluded to the circumstance but with some ex- pression of indignation ; and there seemed to exist OLDCOURT. 333 in his mind a kind of lurking dissatisfaction with himself, for not having exacted, in some way or other, a public atonement for the offence which had been received by the corps under his command. On more than one occasion, he appeared to contemplate, with some gratification, the prospect of coming into personal collision with Colonel Shervington or some of his officers; but as no consideration could ever prompt O'Hara to de- part from the deportment of a gentleman, and as the other parties were strongly impressed with the necessity of caution and politeness, in their demeanour towards the volunteers, nothing had occurred, which, even by the most punctilious interpretation, could be brought within the opera- tion of any rule or precedent laid down in the " Institutes of Honour ;" and although a hostile spirit existed between the parties, there appeared to be no legitimate cause of war. Under these circumstances, therefore, D' Arcy's quarrel with Colonel Shervington was considered by O'Hara, as quite a lucky occurrence. He took part in it with the greatest alacrity, flattering 334 OLDCOURT. himself, no doubt, that, out of the many cases which he had laid down, wherein the second was converted into a principal, some one might arise, in which he would be justified in bringing the colonel to account, on grounds that would not commit the military with the volunteers, or violate those conditions of peace, to which he had, through some paramount influence, so reluctantly assented. In accompanying D'Arcy as his friend, he entered into all his feelings, with even more zeal than usually distinguished him on such occasions ; he adopted all his resentments, and longed for nothing so much as a fair opportunity to super- sede the claims of his principal, and make the quarrel his own. At the parade of the regiment, they found Colonel Shervington surrounded by his officers. The situation of the noble barrack of Dublin is too remote from the fashionable part of that city, to be visited, on ordinary occasions, by per- sons of any distinction, unconnected with the army. Besides the usual spectators of the com- OLDCOURT. 335 mon class, however, there were a few private gen- tlemen mingled amongst the military groupe, in conversation with their friends. The appearance of a volunteer officer in the barrack, in full uniform, at this period, eJways ex- cited a peculiar interest. The regular soldier regarded him as a kind of interloper, assuming a character and consequence to which he had no legitimate claim ; and, in the present instance, the martial air, manly figure, and lofty deport- ment of O'Hara, were calculated to attract a more than ordinary share of attention. His person was not unknown to Colonel Sher- vington, though he did not think it proper to recognise him on this occasion. When D'Arcy and his friend had approached the spot where the colonel stood, that officer, observing D'Arcy out of uniform, addressed him, in an angry and au- thoritative tone, demanding, — " Why he presumed to absent himself from his duty without leave, and appear upon parade, in plain clothes ?" The irritated manner of the commander immediately drew the attention of all around, when D'Arcy, in an emphatic tone, replied: *' Colonel Sher- 336 OLDCOURT. vington, I am happy to say, I am no longer subject to your control, or obliged to submit to your insults." The colonel, with great agitation, interrupting him, said, — " What do you mean, sir, by this daring breach of discipline ? I will instantly order you under arrest." Beckoning to a serjeant to advance. " Sir," said D'Arcy, " I disclaim your autho- rity ; I have come here to tell you, in the face of your regiment, that your conduct towards me, has been tyrannical and oppressive — unworthy the character of an officer and a gentleman, and such as compels me to demand immediate satis- faction." Such a mode of address, in the presence of all his officers, and from one whom he considered as a subaltern of his regiment, . confounded the proud and overbearing spirit of Shervington. He was astonished at what appeared to him so des- perate a departure from the rules of military sub- ordination, and, speechless with rage, he me- chanically clapped his hand on his sword. O'Hara, observing the action, immediately stepped OLDCOURT. 337 forward, and said, — " My friend. Colonel Sher- vington, is, as you see, unarmed, but if you are disposed for a little sword exercise this morning, to amuse these gentlemen, I am," drawing his s\vord, and putting himself in a pos- ture of defence, •' entirely at your service." A proceeding so extraordinary, added to the air and character of the man, who was know-n to several of the persons present, excited, as may be imagined, no small interest. Several of the officers interposed between him and the colonel, ^yho, though confessedly a brave man, seemed by no means prompt to accept his invi- tation. Some of the more zealous proposed to disarm O'Hara ; but Shervington had the pru- dence instantly to repress any attempt of that kind. Calling a serjeant of the guard, he ordered D'Arcy under an arrest, to be conveyed to his quarters, declaring he w^ould make an example of him, for the benefit of the service. D'Arcy angrily retorted, that he w'as no longer subject to military law — refused to submit unless compelled by violence, and w^arned them to pro- ceed at their peril. The colonel, how-ever, w^ould VOL. I. 338 OLDCOURT. listen to no remonstrance ; and repeated his orders to take him by force, if necessary, to the guard-room of the regiment. " Mr. D'Arcy," said O'Hara," as Colonel Sher- vington thinks proper to evade your challenge, in this unhandsome manner, you have for the present, no alternative but to submit to military violence, satisfied that you will have ample redress for this outrage. In the mean time, your rights devolve on me." Major Creighton also expos- tulating with D'Arcy, who was always a favourite with him, the latter allowed himself to be con- ducted from the parade, under arrest, though agitated by feelings of disappointment and ex- asperation, that prompted him to a resistance which would have been ineffectual and absurd. Colonel Shervington was evidently much pro- voked and disconcerted by this occurrence. To be called to account thus publicly, by one of his own officers, in the presence of all those over whom he was accustomed to exercise a despotic sway, was galling to his pride ; and a lively recol- lection of his former dem^U with O'Hara, to- gether with the necessity which had been im- OLDCOURT. 339 pressed upon him, of a conciliatory and respectful demeanour towards the volunteers, made him particularly anxious to avoid committing himself with a person of O'Hara's peculiar turn. Though personally brave, as well as arrogant and overbearing, the embarrassment of Sherving- ton was, therefore, not a little increased, when O'Hara, turning to him after D'Arcy had left the parade, observed with a solemn air : — " Colonel Shervington, as a soldier, and a gen- tleman, you are doubtless prepared to answer to me, as Mr. D'Arcy's friend, for the unaccountable treatment to which you have subjected him ; and you cannot be surprised, if in a case like this, where matters are so public, I require immediate satis- faction. My servant is in attendance v/ith pistols, the park is close at hand, and I shall await your leisure." " Sir," replied Shervington, with much cool- ness and self-possession, " as a commanding officer in his ^Majesty's service, T do not hold myself responsible to you, or any man, for the manner in which I exercise the duties of that station." 340 OLDCOURT. " Sir," rejoined O'Hara, " I am also a com- manding officer, in the service of my country — a service which I take to be not less honourable than that of which you boast. To plead pro- fessional privilege, as a protection for offence, would, I conceive, be rather an awkward expe- dient for either character to adopt ; you can- not, of course, mean to resort to such a one with me." ''Your conduct and language, sir," said Sher- vington, " are extraordinary. Your name, I be- lieve is — " " O'Hara, at your service," replied the latter, with an expressive bow. " Those who respect the uniform I wear, call me Colonel O'Hara ; I was vain enough to suppose, I was not altogether un- known to you by that designation ; but I shall endeavour to impress it more strongly on your recollection in the present instance." " Upon what ground, then, Mr. O'Hara," haughtily rejoined Colonel Shervington, " do you presume to interfere in this way between me and my officers ?" O'Hara, observins: the marked manner in which OLDCOURT. 341 the colonel avoided giving him his military title, replied, with an expressive smile, — " Lest my claimupon you, sir, should not be strong enough on my friend's account, you are pleased, I perceive, to afford me sufficient grounds of quarrel on my own/' Here, Major Creighton, interposing, remarked, that " the parade was no place for a contention of this nature." " It is for that reason," retorted O'Hara, "that! require an immediate adjournment to a place more appropriate ; and give me leave to observe to you, sir, at the same time, that when I have dis- patched my affair with your colonel, I shall be at the service of any of his officers, who may be disposed to interfere in my proceedings." " I can no longer suffer this interruption to the business of the parade," warmly observed the colonel. "You can at once put an end to it," rejoined O'Hara, " by signifying your assent to my pro- position. I have already declared I should await vour leisure." 342 OLDCOURT. Shervington, with all his caution, now found that there was no honourable means of avoiding the contest, to which O'Hara so pertinaciously invited him ; and wishing at least, by postponing it to the following morning, to procure time for deliberation, in a matter w^hich, he had reason to beheve, would be thought of some importance by his superiors, he emphatically replied, — " Sir, if you conceive you have any claim on me, I refer you to my friend. Major Creighton, who will communicate with any person whom you may appoint, and remain at home this evening for that purpose." "I am sorry, and indeed surprised. Colonel Shervington," said O'Hara, "to be obliged to observe, that in these affairs, delays are danger- ous ; I trust, however," looking significantly on those around him, " that no obstruction will grow out of a postponement, which I cannot but consider very unnecessary, if not extraordinary. Upon my honour. Colonel Shervington," con- tinued he, with a peculiar expression of the eye, which that officer well understood, " I shall con- OLDCOURT. 343 sider myself very unlucky, if I am again frus- trated in my hopes of bringing matters to a pro- per termination between us." To this observation, Shervington replied only by a slight bow, and O'Hara retired from the parade, declaring he was sorry to be obliged to resort to the civil power, to procure the discharge of his friend, from the illegal restraint which mili- tary violence had imposed upon him. 344 OLDCOURT, CHAPTER XVII. D'Arcy had not anticipated the measure adopted by Colonel Shervington ; and he was both mortified and disappointed, by the result of a proceeding which he had flattered himself would amply gratify his resentment. When, therefore, he found himself placed under arrest, in his late apartment in the barrack, with the prospect of being eventually foiled in his efforts to exact a proper reparation from Shervington, he raged like a chafed lion. He knew, however, that he could not be long detained by mere military authority ; and was only apprehensive lest his friend, O'Hara, under the influence of his peculiar notions, should find out that it was his duty, according to the " In- OLDCOURT. 345 stitutes of Honour," to take up the quarrel of his principal, and call Shervington to immediate account, before the former could interfere to prevent it, and follow up his own claim. While indulging in these feelings, and medita- ting new projects of vengeance, D'Arcy, in the course of the morning, received a visit from Major Creighton, with whom he had always been on good terms. Creighton was a plain, blunt, honest Englishman, who had seen service, and was rather out of place amongst the dandies of his regiment. A soldier of fortune, he had, at an early age, obtained a pair of colours, and entered upon his military career, with»an enthusiasm v.hich antici- pated the triumphs of a Turenne or a Marlbo- rough. But a few campaigns soon cooled his ardour, and convinced him, that heroism, unless exhibited in a hi^^h place, makes but little figure in a gazette extraordinary; and that merit, with- out money or interest, is apt to be stationary in the army list. He persevered, however, and having reaped all Q 2 346 OLDCOURTc the glory that, in the British service, usually falls to the sickle of a subaltern, he found himself, after thirty years' hard duty under the rigours of the north, and the fervours of the south, with more scars than honours — promoted, by great good fortune, to the rank of captain, unattached ; and at full liberty to enjoy that " otiiim cum dig- nitate," which is provided by a grateful people for the defenders of their country. Disappointed and disgusted, he was about to retire to all the pleasures of repining, and the penury of half-pay, when, by a small legacy from a relation, and a loan from Colonel Shervington, who (according to the system at that time pur- sued in the army) had been commissioned, in the cradle, the very year in which Creighton fought his first campaign, he was enabled to purchase a majority in his friend's regiment. In assisting him to obtain this promotion, Shervington was less influenced by generosity, than by a desire to avail himself of Creighton' s military experience, in the management of a corps, to the command of which the former had OLDCOURT. 347 been raised, without having ever " set a squadron in the field/' or known more of " the order of a battle" than Cassio himself. Creighton, who w^as little pleased with his brother officers, soon perceived that D'Arcy, with all his faults, had, at least, the spirit of a soldier. On many occasions, the honest major evinced a disposition to conduct himself, towards the young Hibernian, wdth a greater degree of liberality than seemed to actuate the proceedings of his commander ; but his obligations, of a pecuniary nature, to the latter, operated as a check on his better feelings, and prevented that independent manifestation of his sentiments, w^hich might have rescued D'Arcy from much petty persecu- tion, and even produced a salutary effect on the general character of the regiment. Although he much disapproved of Sherving- ton's general deportment towards D'Arcy, yet his ideas of military subordination, led him to view the conduct of the latter, on parade, as un- warrantable and outrageous. For the colonel of a regiment to descend to a personal conflict with one of his subalterns, was. 348 OLDCOURT. in his opinion, quite out of the question. But he apprehended the worst consequences from the violence of a spirit which prompted so intemperate a proceeding as that which he had witnessed ; and although D'Arcy, by throwing up his com- mission, had reheved himself from the terrors of a courtmartial, the major considered, that in a contention with his superior officer, his young friend would, under any circumstances, be the victim ; and he was anxious, by his good offices, to prevent, if possible, such a result. He, therefore, earnestly represented to D'Arcy, the imprudence of which he had been guilty, and the consequences to his future prospects, which must necessarily follow from such an example of mutinous insubordination. He contended that the colonel, consistently with the respect which he owed to the service, could not consent to meet D'Arcy, or allow himself to be held per- sonally responsible to him, for the manner in which he exercised his command; — that any attempt, on the part of D'Arcy, to force a meeting, would only have the effect of placing him in unpleasant circumstances, and might. OLDCOURT. 349 perhaps, excite the pubhc feehng in a way which would not be prudent at the moment, and could not but be disagreeable to the government, with which D'Arcy's friends were, he knew, closely connected. Finally, he urged, that as the regi- ment was to change quarters in a few days, and D'Arcy was to be no longer connected with it, the absence of the colonel would remove all ground of irritation, or opportunity of offence ; and he thought, under these circumstances, he could in- duce Shervington to take no farther notice of what had passed. D'Arcy was in a temper of mind which left him little disposed to attend to these remonstrances, though he listened to them with respect, and duly acknowledged the motive by which they were dictated. The very hint of any thing like a con- cession on his part, increased his exasperation ; and he declared, in a form of speech which was rather more energetic than refined, that he would follow the regiment wherever it went, and horse- whip the colonel at its head, if he could obtain no other means of chastising him. The major warmly censured D'Arcy's intern- 350 OLDCOURT. perance, and was so far offended by the unmea- sured terms in which his friend and commander was spoken of, that there is no saying how the interview might have terminated, if it had not been interrupted by the entrance of a sergeant, who announced to the major, the colonel's order for D'Arcy's immediate Hberation. When Shervington's anger and mortification at the scene on the parade had so far subsided, as to allow of his entering into a calm consideration of the case, he reflected, that D'Arcy, having re- signed his commission, was no longer subject to military authority ; and as he knew that a brief process of law, in the shape of a " habeas corpus," would speedily reclaim the liberty of the subject, and, perhaps, lead to the infliction of a penalty for its infringement, he determined to anticipate such a proceeding, by at once reheving the pri- soner from the arrest under which he had placed him. The honest major, pleased at D'Arcy's enlarge- ment, cordially shook hands with him on his de- parture from the barracks ; but once more earnestly remonstrated against all farther violence OLDCOURT. 351 in an affair " so inconsistent with military pro- priety, and the rules of the service/* In his zeal for his young friend, O'Hara had suffered no time to be lost. On quitting the parade in the morning, he immediately repaired to counsel learned in the law, by whose assistance he proposed, with all possible expedition, to sue out the legal document above alluded to ; but the unexpected liberation of D'Arcy superseded the necessity of such a proceeding, and left the two friends to concert together new measures of hos- tility against Colonel Shervington It was with no small difficulty that O'Hara could be prevailed upon to yield to D'Arcy the prior right of proceeding. He contended, that as Shervington had virtually refused to meet his principal, according to the fifth case, in the tenth chapter of the " Institutes of Honour," he, O'Hara, as second, was bound, not only to take up the quarrel of his friend, but also, to resent the insult offered to himself, in so disrespectfully dealing with a case in which he was officially concerned. D'Arcy, however, was determined to bring the 362 OLDCOURT. matter to an immediate issue. He provided him- self, therefore, with an instrument calculated to inflict a very degrading castigation ; and, without intimating his intention to O'Hara, whose high sentiments of honour led him to regard all at- tempts at personal violence as degrading to the character of a gentleman, he asked the major to accompany him in a direction where, from, his acquaintance with Shervington's habits, D'Arcy knew he was likely to meet him. They had not proceeded far, when turning from Essex Bridge, upon Arran Quay, they encoun- tered the colonel and Major Creighton, approach- ing arm in arm. The peculiar feelings which operated on all the parties, occasioned something like an invokm- tary start ; and, in the minds of three of them, an undefined anticipation of what might now ensue. D'Arcy, disengaging himself from his friend, darted forward towards Shervington, who drew back a little as the other advanced. " You are a scoundrel and a coward ! and thus I chastise you," exclaimed the former, raising his OLDCOURT. 353 whip at the same time, about to suit the action to the word. O'Hara, however, observing his intention, seized his friend's arm in sufficient time to rescue the colonel from the disgrace of a blow ; and remonstrated with D'Arcy against so violent a proceeding. The latter, obstructed in his design, by the pow- erful opposition of O'Hara, was obliged to con- tent himself with repeating the epithets he had before used, and shaking his whip at his adver- sary ; a species of insult to a man of honour, hardly to be aggravated by any bodily sufferance, which might result from the tangible apphcation of such an instrument. In the exasperation of the moment, Shervington, who was in uniform, had drawn his sword, and might have severely avenged himself on D'Arcy, if Major Creighton had not interfered to prevent him. An occurrence of this nature, in open day, and in so public a place, immediately, as may be supposed, attracted a crowd ; and the parties, who begcin to be sensible of the awkwardness of performing such a scene before so many spec- 354 OLDCOTJRT. tators, and who intended to refer proceedings to a more appropriate opportunity, were about to withdraw from observation, when they found themselves under arrest, and in custody of several peace-officers. This event had been brought about, through the intervention of some of Colonel Shervington's friends, who had witnessed the transaction of the morning. Aware of D'Arcy's violent spirit, when they found measures adopted to free him from arrest, they determined, by an immediate appli- cation to the magistrates, to prevent the conse- quences which would otherwise inevitably ensue ; and which, by involving the colonel with O'Hara, might again commit the regiment with the corps of volunteers under his command. Warrants of arrest were, therefore, issued against all the parties ; and the peace-officers traced the steps of the two friends so quickly, as to terminate the rencontre in the unexpected manner which has just been stated. D'Arcy's first impulse was to extricate himself by resistance or flight ; and for either purpose, he knew he could depend upon finding allies among OLDCOURT. 355 the crowd. The generous warmth of an Irish- man always prompts him to take part with the oppressed : and prima facie, he considers every man oppressed, whom he sees in jeopardy from any process of law, or authority. A moment's re- flection, how^ever, soon convinced our hero, that nothing would be gained to his object by such a mode of proceeding, as the arrest of his ad- versary w^ould be effectual in preventing hos- tiUties, within the limits of legal authority. He therefore submitted quietly, according to the advice and example of his friend O'Hara, who considered it always unbecoming a gentleman, to enter into personal conflict with the humbler functionaries of the law, against w^hom, resistance is rarely successful, and from w^hom, indignity must always be wdthout redress. Before the magistrate, therefore, they were carried ; and in due form bound, under heavy re- cognizances, to keep the peace towards all his Majesty's liege subjects in the kingdom of Ireland, during the space of two years. D'Arcy, whose resentment against Shervington, and desire of revenue, seemed to increase with 356 OLDCOURT. every obstruction which occurred to their gratifi- cation, immediately resolved to cross the channel, and invite his adversary to join him at Holyhead, where they might settle their dispute without fear of interruption. To this arrangement O'Hara readily agreed as consistent with the " Institutes of Honour," and convenient for the adjustment of his own affair with Colonel Shervington, which he was determined to prosecute, and had reluct- antly consented to postpone, in favour of D'Arcy's prior claim. Having sailed, therefore, in the first packet, and arrived at their destination, they caused a communication to be made to Major Creighton, stating, that they would w^ait a week at Holyhead, in the confident expectation that Colonel Sher- vington would lose no time in repairing to a rendezvous, so favourable to their common purpose. On the third day, however, of their impa- tient sojourn at the Head, they learned from a paragraph, in an Irish newspaper, that the regiment, under the command of Lieutenant- Colonel Shervington, had marched on their OLDCOURT. 357 route to Cork, from which port they were under orders to proceed to join the army at New York. The following day brought a letter from ]Major CreightoD, confirming this information, and ex- pressing the regret of Colonel Shervington, that the unavoidable attention to his military duties, deprived him of the honour of complying with Colonel O'Hara's summons, and obliged him to postpone, to some more favourable opportunity, that adjustment of their difference which they mutually desired. This was a termination of the affair, which neither D'Arcy nor O'Hara had anticipated; and the angry passions of the former were the more provoked and mortified by it, from the marked manner in which all mention of him had been studiously omitted, in the major's apologetic communication. O'Hara, also, particularly ex- pressed his disappointment ; as, from the double capacity in which he was to act — as second, in the first instance, and principal, in the second, he hoped to derive from the transaction, a highly interesting illustration of the principles laid 358 OLDCOURT. down in his great work of the " Institutes of Honour." UnwiUing to return immediately to Dubhn, D'Arcy, finding himself so far on his road, de- termined to divert his chagrin, and gratify his curiosity, by a trip to the great metropolis of the British empire. The friends, therefore, separated, with many expressions of regard ; D'Arcy taking post to London, and O'Hara, returning by the first packet to Ireland, to prosecute his great work, and arrange the new materials, which the pug- nacious propensities of his friends, as well as him- self, so copiously supplied. Unluckily, however, the world was not destined to be benefited by the labours of this Puffendorf of private quarrels. Before his voluminous ma- nuscripts were prepared for the press, he became a victim to his own code, and fell by a shot from the pistol of one of his most intimate compa- nions, on a slight offence, for which an apology had been offered, but which, according to the " In- stitutes of Honour," he could not receive, till a case of pistols had been discharged as a preliminary. OLDCOURT. 359 In the giddy vortex of a London life, D'Arcy was whirled about for some time, much more to his satisfaction than to his credit. His father, who easily forgave the sacrifice of his commis- sion, in the eclat of the circumstances which at- tended it, had interest enough to procure him access to what is called good society; and his own passions and propensities made him ac- quainted with that of a different description, without the ceremony of an introduction. Some Oxford men, also, who had graduated like him, in every form of college dissipation, were delighted to meet again their old associate, and eagerly pressed forward, to initiate him in all the mysteries which characterize the great alma mater of the metropolis. His studies, indeed, in this seminary of sin, embraced the whole course of civic dissipation. There was nothing too high or too low for the ambitious range of his curiosity, or his insatiate ardor of enjoyment. The volatility of his spirits, and the versatility of his taste, fitted him for all pleasures, as well as for all pursuits. From the refined assembhes of St. James's, 360 OLDCOURT. the fashionable intrigues of the Ridotto, and the stately promenades of Ranelagh, he could join in the most riotous orgies of Vauxhall — would lounge the lobbies of the theatres, \sith the relish of a city rake, and co-operate as loudly in the damnation of a new play, as if he were a dramatic author himself. In short, he was a man of fashion in May Fair — a man of gallantry at Almack's — a man of wit in the clubs — a man of spunk in the taverns — and a man of pleasure everywhere. He considered it incumbent on him to " see life" in the Tom-and-Jerry sense of that phrase; which means, to become acquainted with the manners and manoeuvres of the low and the licentious, through all their vulgar varieties ; and he flattered himself he was studying human na- ture, while observing their profligate pursuits and pleasures. He conceived that knowledge of the world was to be obtained in the plebeian haunts of Bermondsey Spa and Bagnigge Wells, as well as in the fashionable resorts of patrician dissipation — and carried his researches so far, as occasionally to dive amongst the sots of the Cider- OLDCOURT. 361 Cellar, and terminate his nocturnal course of ex- perimental profligacy, at the Finish in Covent- Garden. Through all these irregularities, however, he was impelled by the unreflecting impetuosity of his spirits, rather than by any natural propensity to the vices in which he participated. There was but one species of sensuality to which he could be said to be constitutionally addicted ; and as that one is supposed to be a peculiar characteristic of his countrymen, the unhmited indulgence of which, no moral or religious inculcation had ever taught him either to control or condemn, so, in the pursuits of gallantry, he considered himself as exercising a sort of national privilege, which all whom it might concern, were aware he possessed, and took it for granted, he would use without ce- remony or remorse. A handsome young Irishman, in London, was, according to the common notion amongst his class, a licensed libertine, who m^ight prey at large and " tell them 'twas his charter." He misjht seduce the wife or dausjhter of his frie^.d. without any impeachment of his honour, so long VOL. I. R 362 OLDCOURT. as he was willing to fight the father of the one, or the husband of the other ; and he was encou- raged to flatter himself that he had a more than or- dinary claim to that impunity, which the injustice of society allows to the unprincipled destroyer of innocence and virtue, while it visits the victim of his treachery with contem-pt and reprobation. Amongst women, therefore, he was dissolute from passion, from vanity, and from habit. His other immoralities depended more upon his as- sociates than upon himself. Though always ready for mischief, and delighted with a frolic, he rather acquiesced in what was wrong, than proposed it — he erred more from imitation, than taste. To rule amongst his associates was his great ambi- tion, and the daring spirit which he displayed, generally enabled him to effect that object. His desire was to be foremost on all occasions ; but he was indifferent where the expedition led, pro- vided he had the command of it : and, like many others who appear to govern in matters more important, he often but followed the suggestions of those whom he professed to lead. Thus, place him amongst revellers, and he OLDCOURT. 363 was the most conspicuous for riot and debauch, though not naturally turbulent, nor much addicted to excess ; with the votaries of Bacchus, he was a perfect Silenus, though he liked wine only as promoting conviviality, and giving wings to wit ; while amongst gamblers, he would play, with a spirit which could be easily excited to a despe- rate stake, without participating in the fever of the faro-table, or finding any music in the rattle of a dice-box. In such a course of voluptuous indulgence, he continued for nearly two seasons, to revel amongst the gay, the giddy, and the licentious, of all classes ; disturbed only by some sharp ex- postulations from the old baronet, on the sub- ject of the supplies, and by those occasional em- barrassments in which his spirit of gallantry en- tangled him. He had, however, no qualms of conscience to molest him, as to the \sTongs in- flicted on the one sex, and his courage was of too reckless a character, to regard the resent- ment which they might draw down upon him from the other. His chivalrous intrepidity, in- deed, sometimes led him to take part in disputes 364 oldcourT* in which he had himself no direct concern ; and, to do him justice, except when it was called upon to extricate him from the conse- quences of the liaisons dangert^uses in which he was too often engaged, his courage was always exercised to his credit, and in the cause of good manners. His feeling'^:, except when they were per- verted by the ruling passion above alluded to, and which •' Liki.' Aaiou's serpent swallowfci up the roat," w ere commonly liberal and generous. His natural disposition could not be considered vicious ; the soil was good, and if it had been judiciously cul- tivated, it could not have failed to produce a har- vest, that v.ould have amply rewarded the hus- bandry bestowed upon it. But it was neglected ; 'twas •' An unw( ctled garden that grew to seed," and displayed only a rank luxuriance of noxious vegetation. Whatever might be said of his morals, his manners were invariably gracious and polite. He OLDCOURt. 365 possessed, in an eminent degree, that peculiar tact of society — that prompt alacrity of attention to all the graces of civil intercourse, which charac- terises his countrymen, and recommends a well educated Irishman to the favour of the fair in all countries. In an age of chivalry, he would have been the most courteous, though, perhaps, not the most constant of knights ; ajid would have been the valorous champion of every dulcinea, who, in his ardent devotion to the sex in general, might have dispensed with the homage of his fidelity to one in particular. With that strange and lamentable inconsis- tency, which is so often, and so fatally illustrated in what are called the better classes of society, he showed, that the most sensitive delicacy of manners, is not incompatible w ith the most cruel violation of the morals, which ought to be most respected in civihzed life. He would, without hesitation or remorse, inflict the deepest injury on the woman whom he professed to love ; while an insult offered, in his presence, to even the most indifferent stranger of the same sex, or any breach 366 OLDCOURT. of good manners, which violated the respect due to the female character, in the ordinary inter- course of life, would excite him to an indignation, which no regard for personal safety could re- press. The Quixotic spirit which prompted him upon all occasions to step forward as the righter of those social wrongs which insolence and ill man- ners are always ready to perpetrate against the peace and decorum of civil intercourse, will be sufficiently illustrated in the incident which shall be related in the following chapter. END OF VOL. I. PRISTLD BY HENRY DIGGENS, LEICESTER STRtKT, LiilCESTER SQUARE.