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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 B0ia51NG USE ONCT 
 
 L161 — O-1096
 
 MY UNCLE THE CURATE 
 
 ^ Nob0l. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE BACHELOK OF THK ALBANY" AND "THE FALCUX FAMILY. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CIIATMAN AND HALL, 18(1, STRAND, 
 
 MDCCCXLIX.
 
 C. WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND.
 
 gZ3 
 
 V. / 
 
 
 C MY UNCLE THE CURATE 
 
 1 
 
 ^ 
 
 VOf,. I,
 
 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Reader. " Pr'ythee, good author, no 
 humdrum commencement now ; something 
 dramatic — startling — new — or, at least, not 
 very old." 
 
 Author, '• I think I shall hit your fancy. 
 * It was a fine October morning, and a so- 
 litary horseman was seen slowly pacing up 
 a hill—' " 
 
 Reader. " Oh !— oh 1— oh .'—that dread- 
 ful morning — that eternal horseman — that 
 everlasting^ hill 1" 
 
 Author. "Well, what do you say to two 
 horseman, and an inn-door ; one of the 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 horsemen masked ; time night ; the moon in 
 the last quarter." 
 
 Reader, " Off, off;, off, horsemen and 
 moon both, — that moon has been in the last 
 quarter since the Great Cyrus was written." 
 
 Author. ''* The fire blazed on the hearth ; 
 an old couple basked in the kindly light ; a 
 kitten sported with a terrier on the rug ; 
 the table was covered with wine and bis- 
 cuits." 
 
 Reader. " Mi pardonate, gentle master, 
 do not a ton of novels at least commence 
 with wine and biscuits ?" 
 
 AutJior. " You may have walnuts, if you 
 please, and I would undertake to provide 
 nut-crackers. Any thing in reason. I have 
 an account with the fairies' cutler, and a 
 pair of nut-crackers is neither here nor 
 there." 
 
 Reader. " Pray do let us have a new 
 beginning, — is the request so very unreason- 
 able?" 
 
 Author. " The most unreasonable request 
 in the world ; if your ladyship were a writer
 
 ]\IY UNCLE THE CURATE. 3 
 
 of fiction, you would know how hard it is to 
 turn up any thing new." 
 
 Reade7\ " Being a reader of fiction, that 
 is a truth I don't want the writers of it to 
 tell me." 
 
 Author. "Then oudit vou to be the 
 more charitable. Time was when readers 
 were gentle in truth, now they are only 
 gentle by courtesy, — the fairest of you are 
 unfair, — no allowance for an author's diffi- 
 culties; no gracious oversight of his Httle 
 short-comings; and then, like the Athenians 
 of old, you keep always calling for something 
 new, as if a writer's brain was like the shop 
 of a Parisian modiste!^ 
 
 Reader, " Very monstrous indeed ! — to 
 expect something new in a novel !" 
 
 Author. "Now, suppose the novel were 
 an Irish one, to have nothing novel in it 
 would be quite in character." 
 
 Reader. " Well, there has been enough 
 
 of this idle parley. It is better to get hito 
 
 the house in any way, than to be left in this 
 
 unceremonious fashion standing at the door." 
 
 b2
 
 4 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Author, " The door is open, madam. — I 
 am sincerely distressed it is not a new one, 
 to please you." 
 
 Reader. " A distressed author is nothing 
 new, at all events." 
 
 Author. " As old at least as the scene to 
 which I am going to introduce you — the old 
 hall of an old college; an old table with old 
 books on it." 
 
 Reader, " Old, old, old, all old indeed." 
 
 Author, " Not all, there is a young man 
 at the old table, and now that I see the dawn 
 of a smile, madam, on your lips at the men- 
 tion of the young man, I accept the omen, 
 and respectfully touching your white hand, 
 usher you into my — book." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CAMBEIDGE. 
 
 It was the beginning of the long vacation 
 of 183 — , the universities were growing de- 
 serted ; students were trooping home to the
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 5 
 
 country-houses of tlieir fathers and uncles : 
 the classical antiquary was preparing to sail 
 for Egypt and Asia Minor ; the professors 
 of botany and geology were studying the 
 hand-books to Switzerland; and numbers of 
 grave bachelors and graver doctors in black 
 coats and gray were getting their fishing- 
 tackle in order, and poring over old Izaac 
 and Sir Humphry Davy, preparatory to an 
 indolent tour in Wales, or the Scotch High- 
 lands. 
 
 But there are ahvays a few men who 
 linger behind in the long days, as if to keep 
 the lights of science from going quite out, 
 or haply, like culinary vestals, to guard the 
 kitchen-fires from extinction. One is too 
 ambitious of academic success to squander a 
 summer roving or fly-fishing ; another loves, 
 but cannot afford to travel; a third would go 
 home if he had only a home to go to ; and 
 a fourth (as there are drones in every hive), 
 is perhaps too sedentary, too lazy, or too 
 corpulent, to think of locomotion with the 
 sun in Leo or Virgo. 
 
 The quadrangle of Hall, Cambridge,
 
 6 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 looked particularly desolate and gloomy — 
 all the birds^ in fact, had flown but three. 
 One of these — the only one interesting to us 
 —was Frank Vivyan, a young man of good 
 family, handsome person, considerable 
 talents, and very little else to depend upon 
 for advancement and success in life. Vivyan 
 had made up his mind to pass this his first 
 vacation in the monastic repose and almost 
 solitude of his hall. It was not a matter of 
 inexorable necessity, nor yet, on the other 
 hand, absolutely voluntary ; — at least, not a 
 deliberate choice. His purse, though not 
 full, was not quite empty. His pursuits did 
 not enjoin the sacrifice of health to business. 
 The fact was that he only tarried behind his 
 fellow-scholars, because he did not well know 
 where he could enjoy himself more than at 
 Cambridge, having no father's house to har- 
 bour him, no invitation elsewhere that he 
 cared to accept, little fancy to wander alone, 
 and no friend to propose to join him in a 
 ramble. 
 
 The day was warm, but not sultry, and 
 Vivyan was sitting, or more properly loung-
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 7 
 
 ing, in a chair too capacious for his size, and 
 too luxurious for his standing, at a small, but 
 very solid, table, close to a tall, narrow 
 window, with an infinity of minute panes. 
 The window stood wide open to admit the 
 genial sunshine and the delicate air. A man 
 is known not better by his companionships 
 than by the arrangements and aspect of his 
 chambers. The disorder of Vivyan's was not 
 inelegant or vulgar, but still it was disorder ; 
 there was a neg-lie^ence that denoted the in- 
 dolent, or at least the erratic, student ; it 
 looked as if there had been a battle of the 
 books, and the papers had the appearance 
 of having been blown about like the leaves 
 in the Sibylline grotto. There were places 
 for books and papers, but nothing was exactly 
 in its place. An open piano was strewed 
 with French mathematics, easily known by 
 their blue and pink robe de cliamhre. The 
 floor adjacent was encumbered with a chaos 
 of loose music. A deep, comfortable sofa 
 seemed to be used as a general repository for 
 articles of all sorts, useful and useless, nccessi-
 
 8 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 ties and luxuries, hats, canes, brushes, pam- 
 phlets, boxes, umbrellas, and cigars. All 
 looked careless and desultory, a study in a 
 state of sieue. The table was a wilderness 
 of writing-materials, pen, ink, paper, enve- 
 lopes, sealing-wax, seals with antique devices 
 dispersed in all directions, like people in a 
 panic ; the books were so multifarious as to 
 afford no grounds for concluding, with any 
 confidence, what branch of study was most 
 in cultivation, or what profession, if any, was 
 the student's aim. There were books of 
 mathematics, history, metaphysics, poetry, 
 politics, a work on geology, and a volume of 
 '• Quentin Durward." You could scarcely 
 decide what was the young man's immediate 
 pursuit. A volume of Hobbes was open be- 
 fore him, but other books were open too ; 
 Claudian, Shelley, and a treatise of " Conic 
 Sections." He was readinjj^ none of the 
 three^ but seemingly watching the swallows 
 as they darted across the window. 
 
 He was not an idler ; only a literary 
 truant. Mental refmement was written on
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 9 
 
 his brow; it spoke in his eye, but the intel* 
 lect was of an unfixed and airy character. 
 A sheet of paper that lay there amongst the 
 other stragghng leaves let you fully into the 
 story of his mind. It was covered with a 
 maze of characters and hieroglyphics, alge- 
 braic symbols, Greek verses, geometrical 
 lines, and lines of English poetry, the ex- 
 actest possible type of the state of intellec- 
 tual vagrancy. 
 
 A picture stands on the mantel-piece; a 
 green curtain covers it, — let us draw it aside, 
 — ah! — what a face ! what supreme beauty! 
 A face that Raphael might have painted. 
 And how like it is to Vivyan! We have 
 said that he was handsome; he must have 
 been so, indeed, to have resembled that 
 lovely portrait. If his features had a fault, 
 it was owing to their resembling their ex- 
 quisite original only too closely — tlie st3'le 
 was too delicate and feminine. But tlicn 
 his youth was some excuse ; at least it was 
 a fair apology for the smoothness of his 
 upper lip, which was only beginning to be
 
 10 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 shadowed by the promise of a moustache. 
 His hair was fair, and where its thick ckis- 
 ters were parted with " artless heed" in front, 
 they displayed a forehead of briUiant white- 
 ness, and the most intellectual form. His 
 eye was blue, mild, bright, but with some- 
 thing of dreaminess, or languor, in its very 
 brilliancy. It was, however, not the lan- 
 guor of sensuality ; nor was that the cha- 
 racter of his mouth either, although it was 
 still further, perhaps, from indicating the 
 energetic and heroic qualities. Upon the 
 whole a physiognomist of no very great 
 acuteness might have divined what was in- 
 deed the truth, that Frank Vivyan was a 
 young man of great attractions and brilhant 
 parts, but deficient in the hardier qualities of 
 perseverance and self-reliance, which so fre- 
 quently conduct minor talents to eminence, 
 while great abilities, unstrengthened and 
 unsustained by them, are often destined to 
 shame their possessors and disappoint the 
 world. If Vivyan escaped these dangers, it 
 was owin2j to the force of circumstances.
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 11 
 
 Had lie been left to be the architect of his 
 own fortune, it is probable the fabric would 
 never have been raised. 
 
 Vivyan was the younger of two brothers ; 
 he had lost his mother early, and his father 
 (an imprudent man) some years previous to 
 the present period. You will easily believe 
 that in point of fortune he was no Croesus ; 
 his havings in money, like " his havings in 
 beard," were a "younger brother's portion." 
 A small Irish property, yielding something 
 under two hundred a year^ had descended to 
 him from the maternal side, — a revenue suffi- 
 cient, with sharp economy, to maintain him 
 in the position of a gentleman, but totally 
 insufficient to support the expense of the 
 least costly form of university education. 
 For this advantage, therefore, Frank was 
 necessarily a dependent upon friendly aid. 
 It was not from his brother, however, he 
 received it : his brother. Sir Godfrey Vivyan, 
 was a selfish and dissipated man, who, 
 having inherited his father's extravagance 
 along with his estate, found his available
 
 12 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. ' 
 
 income much too limited to supply his own 
 frivolous or licentious pleasures. The bene- 
 factor of Yivyan was a distant relative, a 
 wealthy merchant, resident in the south of 
 Spain, whom the young man had never so 
 much as seen. It was, of course, therefore, 
 no feeling of personal affection or esteem 
 that stimulated the munificence of this gentle- 
 man. Its origin was of a more tender, indeed 
 of a romantic nature. In his youth he had 
 formed a passionate attachment to Vivyan's 
 mother ; inexorable circumstances had not 
 only prevented their union, but united the 
 lady to another ; time passed away, and with 
 it the first bitterness of blasted prospects ; 
 but what can " raze out the written troubles'* 
 of the heart, — " pluck from the memory the 
 rooted sorrow" of frustrated love and hope 
 blighted ? The rapturous fascination of 
 Mr. Everard's youth continued to be the 
 tranquil charm and innocent solace of his 
 old age. Having heard by report how 
 strongly Frank resembled his mother, and 
 that he had been left but poorly provided
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 13 
 
 for, Mr. Everard was irresistibly impelled to 
 promote his advancement in the only way 
 that seemed open to him ; and he proceeded 
 to the attainment of his object with a delicacy 
 and frankness that left the young man no 
 alternative but to accept the kindness in- 
 genuously, or inflict an ungracious wound 
 through a mistaken feeling of independence. 
 Yivyan had a cousin, named George 
 Markham, four or five years his senior, gene- 
 rous, brave, cordial, and manly, heir to a 
 handsome fortune, and already in the enjoy- 
 ment of so large an allowance as to place all 
 the pleasures that became a gentleman libe- 
 rally and lawfully within his reach. Vir- 
 tuously more than intellectually educated, 
 his tastes were happily innocent and 
 healthy, 
 
 " not of the courtly train, 
 
 Or city's practice, but tlie country's innocence;" 
 
 he was passionately fond of rural sports, 
 indeed of rural life in every respect, and 
 spent the greater part of every year at his 
 father's seat, a place called Manor Oakham,
 
 14 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 in the neighbourliood of Southampton, ex- 
 cept when he went to Scotland in the grouse 
 season, made a pedestrian tour through the 
 Alps or Pyrenees, or even ranged the world 
 as far as the banks of the Jordan, and the 
 cataracts of the Nile. He was an ardent 
 lover of natural beauty, as most sportsmen 
 are, particularly anglers, and Markham was 
 as renowned with the rod as the gun ; — 
 indeed, the books he was most addicted to, 
 if not the only ones to which he had ever 
 paid much attention, were old Izaak and his 
 fly-book. 
 
 Vivyan had not seen or known much of 
 this relation of his until some short time 
 after he was established at Cambridge. An 
 accidental circumstance then brought Mark- 
 ham to that part of England, and he did not 
 omit paying his fair cousin a visit. Nobody 
 was so winsome as Frank Vivyan ; he was 
 all openness, benevolence, gentleness, cour- 
 tesy, and good-humour. Markham was 
 charmed with liim : he perceived his mental 
 superiority, but the perfect artlessness and
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 15 
 
 modesty, nay the very supineness, of Vivyan's 
 character, prevented that superiority from 
 being disagreeably felt by any body, even by 
 those who were in the position of his intel- 
 'lectual rivals, which was not the case at all 
 with Markham. Frank upon his part was 
 an easy conquest. He gave his cousin his 
 affections almost in the first hour of their 
 acquaintance; and embraced his invitation 
 to Southampton without one thought of 
 Legendre, or Mr. Peters his tutor. 
 
 The life to which his cousin introduced 
 him was dehghtfully idle. All the forms 
 and varieties that ease and idlesse ever took 
 in a country-house were at Vivyan's disposal 
 from cock-crow to sunset. There was not a 
 work on mathematics in the library to re- 
 mind him of his deserted studies, or a grave 
 academic face at the table to recall the ima<]^e 
 of Mr. Peters. 
 
 Markham was not motherless ; but liis 
 mother, an eccentric woman of fashion, lived 
 entirely between London and Paris ; and his 
 father, also an oddity, and an invalid to boot,
 
 16 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 was drenching himself abroad with all tlie 
 waters of Germany. The house was thus 
 abandoned to youth, and pleasure, which is 
 youth's business. Vivyan's modes of enjoy- 
 ment, however, differed in many respects 
 from his cousin's. Markham was active 
 and athletic, full of animal spirits, as eager 
 at every thing he engaged in as if his life 
 and fortune were staked on it, habitually an 
 early riser, a man to catch the larks asleep 
 in their nest, and to make chanticleer crow 
 if he neglected his duty. Vivyan, on the 
 contrary, was addicted a little to his couch. 
 He had probably, like most of us, witnessed 
 in his time many more sunsets than sun- 
 rises. It is only metaphorically that men in 
 general are much given to worship the rising 
 sun. 
 
 At Manor Oakham, Vivyan scarce knew 
 how the time passed, only that it passed 
 agreeably; it was like dreaming ; — or imagine 
 swimmino^ without an effort down a brig;ht 
 stream that flows over sparkHng pebbles, 
 between banks of flowers. Markham adapted
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 17 
 
 himself to liis friend's tastes and strenn^tli ; 
 he shortened his rides and moderated his 
 walks to suit him. For the first time in his 
 life he became something of a sannterer, and 
 jit cost him some trouble to become one ; he 
 was so used to rapid and energetic move- 
 ments. But he always took his gun with 
 him. Frank, too, carried a light fowling- 
 piece for a few days, but he found the encum- 
 brance greater than the amusement it 
 afforded ; he loved loitering in the woods for 
 the mere love of the Avoods and the loitering ; 
 and he was no great shot either, just enough 
 to frighten a pheasant now and then, or hit a 
 hare couchant. His sportsmanlike essays 
 made Markham and his company smile, but 
 when they smiled, Vivyan himself laughed, 
 and made livelier hits at his own misses than 
 they did. It is only affectation that is ever 
 ridiculous ; and Frank, far from affecting to 
 be a shot, did not even assume the garb and 
 externals of a sportsman. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 18 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PREPARATIONS POR A " VOYAGE PITTORESQUE." 
 
 " 'Tis a rare fortune, but of inestimable solace, to have a 
 worthy man, one of a sound judgment, and of a temper con- 
 formable to your own, who tal^es a delight to bear your 
 company in your travels. I have been at a very great loss 
 for one in mine. But such a companion should be chose, 
 and taken with you from your first setting out. There can 
 be no pleasure to me without communication : there is not 
 so much as a sprightly thought comes into my mind, which 
 it does not grieve me to have produced alone, without one 
 to communicate it to. But yet it is much better to be alone 
 than in foolish and troublesome company." 
 
 Montaigne. 
 
 The visit referred to in the previous chap- 
 ter was made in the vacation preceding that 
 when our story properly commences. Yivyan 
 had given Markham a general promise to 
 return to Manor Oakham whenever his 
 studies and other arrangements should admit
 
 PREPARATIONS. 19 
 
 of it ; but such promises are not considered 
 very binding unless when the memory of 
 them is kept fresh by renewed invitations. 
 Vivyan, however, had never heard from his 
 cousin since his return to Cambridc^e, and 
 was under the impression that he had gone 
 abroad, when, as he was occupied watching 
 the swallows, in the manner already de- 
 scribed, his servant entered, and delivered 
 the following letter : 
 
 " Manor Oakham, Southampton. 
 
 " My dear Frank, 
 
 " The Circe is mine. You remember 
 the boat we saw at Cowes last September, 
 and which we both admired so much. I 
 have bought her, and have a grand scheme 
 in my head of a ^ voyage pittoresque' to Ire- 
 land and Scotland — a kind of romantic sur- 
 vey of the coast, islands, sea-ports, &c. What 
 say you ? recollect you arc an Irish land- 
 lord, and ought to look after your property. 
 You have nothing; more ag;rceable on hand, 
 have you ? I will bide your convenience, 
 c 2
 
 20 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 but sail witli me you must. You can bring 
 your books, and make a scientific as well as 
 a picturesque tour of it, if you are disposed 
 to combine the utile with the dulce. Would 
 Mr. Peters join us ? as you please, only do 
 not fail. 
 
 " Yours ever truly, 
 
 George Markham. 
 
 "P.S. Don't trouble yourself about a 
 sailor's dress — I can rig you out. I have 
 been at Constantinople and Grand Cairo, 
 and all over the gorgeous East since we met 
 last." 
 
 This letter enchanted Vivyan, who really 
 had no such love for his college as to prefer 
 a summer in his chambers, to such a sum- 
 mer as Markham invited him to spend. 
 Yachting, too, was an untasted pleasure; 
 it could not fail to be charming, particularly 
 with his books ! He perfectly recollected 
 the Circe — there was sorcery in the very 
 name; but the notion of invitmg Mr. Peters 
 upon a party of pleasure of any kind with
 
 PREPARATIONS. 21 
 
 his grave, sallow, quadrilateral face, his 
 fliixional eyes, and his blue spectacles, — it 
 sounded like asking my Lord Primate to 
 dance a polka. 
 
 ' The Circe, that idle argosy, chartered 
 to trade in midsummer amusement, lay at 
 anchor, waiting for sailing orders, within 
 two hundred yards of Manor Oakham, 
 whose fine old woods extended to the very 
 margin of the sea, the outermost trees drop- 
 ping their branches into it. The yacht was 
 manned by three able seamen, and there 
 was a good cargo of champagne and claret 
 in the lockers, with other stores to corres- 
 pond; for Markham, though an enthusiastic 
 sailor, and as fond of the sea as Byron, was 
 not the man to neglect victualling his bark, 
 or to be content with pickled pork, biscuit, 
 and grog on a voyage. 
 
 It was a lovely, still, gray evening, and 
 the sea lay polished as a mirror, and blue as 
 tlie sky overhead, save the spaces imme- 
 diately in the shadow of the impendent 
 trees; and there it was so sombre, that at
 
 22 ]MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 first you were not aware how lucid it was 
 at the same time. The moon was just risen, 
 and promising- to repay the world with a 
 flood of silver for the loss it was soon to ex- 
 perience of the sun's golden rays. 
 
 The house was a little in disorder. Pieces 
 of sail-cloth, spars, telescopes, compasses, 
 chronometers, fowling-pieces, and even cut- 
 lasses, were scattered over the hall and 
 dining-room, in odd association with busts, 
 bronzes, vases, and candelabras. In one 
 corner of the hall lay a small anchor, a swivel- 
 gun, and a marlin-spike, while a biUiard- 
 table in the centre was covered with flag^ 
 and streamers of as many kinds, as if the httle 
 Circe had been a liae-of-battle ship. The 
 young men themselves were about to sit 
 down to their last dinner on terra-firma ; a 
 small . table was placed close to a window 
 commanding a view of the element to which 
 they were soon to commit themselves \ it 
 was no doubt the situation they would have 
 deliberately chosen, but in point of fact the 
 perplexed servant had selected it as the only
 
 PREPARATIONS. 23 
 
 part of the room unencumbered witli nautical 
 implements, naval stores, sailors' jackets, 
 charts, and fishing-tackle, books, cigars, and 
 powder-flasks. A chart of the channel was 
 spread on a sofa, Markham was examining 
 it carefully, while Vivyan, immersed in the 
 most luxurious chair he could find, was turn- 
 ing over Spenser's '' View of the State of 
 Ireland," Avhen they were both summoned to 
 dinner, which had been laid on the table 
 without excitino; their observation. 
 
 "This time to-morrow," said Markham to 
 his friend, as he helped him to soup, " we 
 shall dine in a less spacious apartment, but in 
 point of dinner we shall probably be better 
 off than we are to-day ; we shall be unlucky 
 if we do not take some good fish, and there is 
 a case or two of champagne in the lockers for 
 which I can answer, if there is any faith in 
 wine-merchants." 
 
 " You think we shall sail to-morrow, 
 George," replied Frank, caring little about 
 the fish or the wiae, but bent with all his 
 soul upon the voyage.
 
 24 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " Certainly," said Markham, " if the wind 
 is as steady as we are, and some letters arrive 
 which I am expecting. As to the weather, 
 there is no sign of change at present, nor any 
 likelihood of it. The barometer is rising ; 
 the moon looks well. I have great faith in 
 the moon as an oracle of the weather ; you 
 cannot see her where you are sitting." 
 
 Vivyan changed his position to do homage 
 to the queen of the woods and floods, for 
 both her titles were recalled by the delicate 
 splendour which was just beginning to steal 
 over the tops of the oaks, and beyond them 
 again, in a tremulous line of light, athwart 
 the water. 
 
 " Is she not beautiful. ?" cried Markham ; 
 " to-morrow night she will be nearly full, 
 and a moon-rise by water is a magnificent 
 spectacle. I saw a glorious one on the sea 
 of Galilee." 
 
 Markham loved nature ; not ideally like 
 Vivyan, but heartily and honestly, never- 
 theless. He was a true sportsman, — and all
 
 PREPARATIONS. 25 
 
 true sportsmen love the moon, though not 
 many see her rise on the sea of GaHlee. 
 
 " Observe the effect of the hght upon the 
 Circe's shrouds," said Vivyan, returning to 
 Ms seat. 
 
 " Two bhmders," said George, good-hu- 
 mouredly. " Frank, I fear you will always 
 be, what we sailors call a land-lubber." 
 
 " But how have I blundered now, George ?" 
 
 " Why, in the first place you insult the 
 Circe by mistaking that clumsy fishing- 
 smack for her ; and secondly, you talk of the 
 shrouds when you mean the sails, though I 
 have told you some dozen times that the 
 shrouds of a ship are the ropes, not tlie 
 canvas." 
 
 " How precise you are," said Yivyan, 
 laughing ; " but you will see how I shall 
 improve in nautical lore during our cruise. 
 By-the-bye, are we to make for the Irish or 
 the Scotch coast first ?" 
 
 " You shall decide," said the good-natured 
 Markham. 
 
 " Then I am for Ireland," said Frank ;
 
 26 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 " let us give the more distant expedition 
 precedence ; we can run up the Clyde, or 
 visit the islands later in the season, if there 
 is time after our Irish adventures." 
 
 " Content," said Markham ; " but we shall 
 incidentally see something, too, of the Scot- 
 tish coast, as our course will lie between 
 that and the Irish ; that is, if you have no 
 objection to proceed northwards, and com- 
 mence our researches after the picturesque 
 along the shores of Donegal." 
 
 " What I desire of all things," said Vivyan, 
 " I have heard such accounts of the wild 
 beauties of that part of Ireland; my only 
 wish is that the long vacation were longer 
 by a couple of months." 
 
 " "We shall make it last as lonc^ as we 
 can," said Markham, " and if it should out- 
 last our stock of champagne and our other 
 sea-stores, we must only take in a fresh sup- 
 ply at Belfast, or in Dublin, where we must 
 put in for a day or two, to see the bay which 
 they compare with Naples, and taste the 
 herring for which it is so renowned. But
 
 PEEPAEATIONS. 27 
 
 tell me, Frank, how does it happen that you 
 have never visited your Irish estate : — small 
 as it is, it may be worth looking after." 
 
 Vivyan smiled, and said that it was the 
 Irish usage to do every thing by proxy, and 
 that he only conformed to the custom of the 
 country. 
 
 " What will surprise you more," he added, 
 " my agent has never seen my property any 
 more than myself. He employs a sub-agent, 
 who resides in the neighbourhood, and col- 
 lects the rent, which he transmits to his 
 employer in Dublin, who in turn transmits 
 it to me." 
 
 " Probably the sub-agent keeps a deputy 
 also," said Markham. 
 
 " Most hkely," said his cousin. 
 
 " I feel no small curiosity," said Markham, 
 " to see a country that is managed in that 
 sort of fashion." 
 
 " Depend upon it," said Frank, " we shall 
 sec a great many curious things in Ire- 
 land." 
 
 " We shall keep a list of Irish anomalies,
 
 28 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 — but in what part of Ireland is your pro- 
 perty situate ?" 
 
 " In Donegal , or Enniskillen^ I believe," 
 said the young poco-curate absentee. 
 
 Markham laughed heartily. 
 
 " Enniskillen is not a county, Frank." 
 
 "Not a county! — are you certain ?" 
 
 Markham was not certain, so they called 
 for a gazetteer to settle the question. They 
 then became exceedingly merry at their own 
 expense over a bottle of claret, much merrier 
 than if they had been perfect masters of 
 Irish geography, so that "ignorance was 
 bliss," in this instance, as in many other 
 cases that occur in life. 
 
 " At all events," said Yivyan, rising from 
 the table, " I shall be back to my college 
 * and my business in the beginning of Novem- 
 ber. We shall see a great deal of anomaly 
 in three months." 
 
 " Of course," said his cousin, " you must 
 not forget your business, but it is no harm, 
 believe me, to lay in a good stock of health 
 and spirits in the long days ; — a man returns
 
 PREPARATIONS. 29 
 
 to his books with such force after a little re- 
 laxation." 
 
 Markham had much more experience in 
 relaxation than study, and so indeed had his 
 cousin also, though he was not in the habit 
 of unbending himself in the same strenuous 
 way. 
 
 The arrival of the expected letters closed 
 the evening. Amongst them was one which 
 particularly interested them, with a view to 
 their project of invading Ireland. It was 
 from a nobleman, a distant relative of Mark- 
 ham's, who possessed a considerable property 
 in the same county where Vivyan's small 
 estate was situated. Markham had ac- 
 quainted Lord Bonham (that was the noble- 
 man's name and title) with his intentions for 
 the summer, and his lordship now wrote to 
 place his house in Ireland at his friend's 
 service, and give him one or two introduc- 
 tions, which he might possibly fmd it useful 
 or agreeable to avail himself of. As not 
 only Lord Bonham himself, but the persons 
 mentioned in his letter, will be found in- 
 volved (some in no small degree), in tlie
 
 30 IVrr UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 course of the events to be related in the 
 sequel, it may not be amiss to place the letter 
 at the disposal of the reader. 
 
 " My deak ]\Iaekham, 
 " I am both surprised and pleased to hear 
 of your projected cruise. Ireland is worth a 
 visit, and I sincerely wish it were in a state 
 to make it more inviting to visitors than it 
 now is, or probably will be for a longer time 
 than it is agreeable to think of. You are no 
 politician any more than myself, and so much 
 the better for your peace and comfort. As 
 to Ireland, I fear I am no great patriot, but 
 then, as I am not an Irishman (though I have 
 some property there), I neither feel mysehf 
 bound to wear a green coat or to hold green 
 opinions. Should your voyage lead you to 
 the north-western coast, you will find much 
 romantic attraction, and you will be in the 
 neighbourhood of my more picturesque than 
 profitable patrimony, where my lodge (for it 
 is no more) will be heartily at your service, 
 with the liberty of unlicensed shooting and 
 fishing over some six or seven thousand
 
 PEEPAEATIONS. 31 
 
 acres of moor and locli. You will find the 
 fishing good, I am not so sanguine about 
 the shooting, but there will probably be 
 grouse enough for a pie. You will find hos- 
 pitality whenever you choose to land, but 
 in the part of the country I speak of there 
 are not many people to exercise that good 
 old virtue, which it is the modern fashion to 
 call a barbarous one. I have one excellent 
 friend, whom if you fall in with, you will 
 not fall out with me for introducing you to. 
 His name is Spenser ; he is rector of the 
 parish of Eedcross, and as great a curiosity 
 as a fly in amber, for he is a liberal parson 
 in the Orange province of Ulster. I hope 
 you will visit him, and I know you will like 
 him if you do. He is not particularly well 
 off in point of wife, as you will probably find 
 out for yourself, but he has two daughters, 
 against whom I would caution both you and 
 your fi:iend Mr. Vivyan to be on your 
 guard, if your object is merely to sec the 
 beauties of Ireland, and not to carry any of 
 them off with you. One of the Miss Spen-
 
 32 IMY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 ser's is a particular friend of Lady Bonham ; 
 you have perhaps seen her with us ; if so, 
 you will not have forgotten her, even 
 though you have since been in the East, and 
 seen Georgians and Circassians. However, 
 be of good courage and visit Ked cross. I 
 send you a letter of mark to my good friend 
 the clergyman, and wish you a fair wind 
 and every other blessing that man or yachts- 
 man can desire. 
 
 " I remain, my dear Markham, 
 
 " Yery sincerely yours, 
 
 " BOXHAM. 
 
 " P.S. I knew the father of your friend 
 Vivyan, and I had also an old acquaintance- 
 ship with his amiable and eccentric friend 
 in Spain. By-the-bye, my private accounts 
 state that poor Mr. Everard is declining in 
 health alarmingly. If Mr. Vivyan has not 
 heard this intelligence, pray do not mention 
 it, as it is possible my information may be 
 exag^o;erated." 
 
 CO 
 
 *" I can answer for myself," said Markham,
 
 PREPAEATIONS. 33 
 
 as lie conducted his friend to his bed-room, 
 after reading all the foreo-oincr letter to him, 
 save the postscript, " I can answer for myself 
 that I have no design on Bonham's portable 
 beauties." 
 
 **Nor I, unquestionably," said Yivyan^ 
 laughing; " but do you recollect the lady his. 
 lordship commends so highly ?" 
 
 " I do not," said Markham, " I fear I have 
 been sadly inattentive to the book of beauty ; 
 but as she is a favourite of Lady Bonham's, 
 I have no doubt she is very good and very 
 sensible, as well as handsome." 
 
 " Quite a dangerous female character,'* 
 said his cousin, bidding him good-night. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 MY UKCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CIRCE SAILS. 
 
 " Fair laughs the morn and soft the zephyr blows, 
 While proudly riding o'er the azure realm, 
 In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; 
 Youth on the prow and Pleasuee at the helm." 
 
 Gray. 
 
 The barometer kept rising, the moon 
 was constant to the promise of the previous 
 evening, the morning rose without a cloud 
 on her forehead, and the cousins (almost as 
 early) with minds equally serene and brows 
 alike cloudless. Much of the nautical lum- 
 ber which we described as so intrusively 
 encumbering apartments never intended 
 for the uses of dock-yards, had been re- 
 moved on board the night before. What 
 remained was transported at dawn of day,
 
 THE CIRCE SAILS. 35 
 
 and before the clock in the cupola over the 
 offices struck six, Markham and Vivyan were 
 on their way through the woods and meadows 
 to the cosy little bay where the pinnace was 
 moored, which was to take them to the 
 Circe. They diverted themselves on the 
 way with omens from the ravens, hawks, 
 and pigeons, losing no opportunity, how- 
 ever, afforded by the windings of the path, 
 the undulations of the ground, and the 
 breaks in the forest, of catching a glimpse of 
 their " varmint" vessel, and vicing with each 
 other in encomiums upon her. Markham was 
 followed by the two inseparable attendants 
 of his excursions by land or by water; Law- 
 rence, his man, looking prematurely sea-sick, 
 and Pedro his dog, in riotous spirits. Law- 
 rence was a native of Britain ; Pedro claimed 
 Newfoundland as the country, not of his 
 birth, but of his parentage. Ashore there 
 is no doubt but that Lawrence was the more 
 serviceable of the two vassals, for he was a 
 faithful, intelligent, attentive domestic as 
 ever served a master. But afloat it was 
 d2
 
 36 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 another matter. There Pedro shone to infi- 
 nitely more advantage; his tastes and de- 
 lights were so aquatic, his spirits so exu- 
 berant, his appetite so keen, his affections so 
 warm, all his doggish virtues so developed, 
 while Lawrence was absolutely good for 
 nothing, not even in '^ summer seas," except 
 when their surface was smoother than glass 
 itself. It w^as indeed a proof of his strong 
 attachment to Markham that Lawrence fol- 
 lowed him even in his cruises : nothing was 
 to him so inexplicable as how his mas- 
 ter, or any body else, could take pleasure in 
 a treacherous, nauseous element, connected 
 in his mind with every image of terror and 
 danger, with sharks, corsairs, shipwreck, 
 hurricanes, and the hideous spectre of the 
 Flying Dutchman. He was everlastingly 
 afraid of being boarded, or swamped, 
 stranded, or water-logged.; without any dis- 
 tinct idea of the differences between those 
 several disasters. He had heard tales of 
 Spanish privateers, and fearful anecdotes of 
 Kidd and Paul Jones ; but in fact such was
 
 THE CIRCE SAILS. 37 
 
 Lawrence's horror of tlie higli seas, that 
 every name he heard mentioned by his mas- 
 ter, or Frank Vivyan, with any degree of 
 awe or suspicion, became associated in his 
 mind with piratical ideas. He was not with- 
 out apprehension of being captured and sold 
 to the Algerines by Daniel O'Connell 
 (whose political exploits were then in the 
 mouth of everybody) ; and fancy dressed 
 up William Cobbett for him in a fierce 
 cocked hat and a blue coat, with a pistol in 
 one hand and a cutlass in the other. 
 
 Admirable studies Markham and Vivyan 
 would themselves have made for a painter, 
 who wanted a pair of handsome young cor- 
 sairs for a wild sea-piece. Markham was 
 tall, athletic, muscular ; his figure would 
 have been a model of manly beauty had it 
 not been a little too robust (inclining to the 
 Milo more than the Antinous), but his bear- 
 ing was graceful and gentlemanlike, whicli, 
 combined Avith good, open, manly, though 
 somewhat rigid features, the complexion 
 of vigorous health, a good, cool, daring eye
 
 38 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 (more that of a sportsman, however, than a 
 poet), made him altogether a very handsome 
 man; — and so he was considered bvmaid and 
 matron for many miles round Southampton, 
 in which neighbourhood the greater part of 
 his stirring life had been spent. His nautical 
 costume became him well, and he wore it 
 with the air and ease of a sailor by craft ; 
 for though a young man, George was an 
 ancient mariner, scarcely remembering the 
 time when ropes and cables were not as 
 " familiar to him as his garter." 
 
 A shout of w^elcome and triumph burst 
 from the little crew, with whom he was 
 higlily popular, when Markham, followed 
 by his cousin, and the ghastly Lawrence, 
 jumped with a cheer on the snow-white 
 deck of the Circe. For a few moments he 
 engrossed all eyes and all admiration, but 
 Frank Vivyan was not long without receiv- 
 ing his full share of attention and applause. 
 He looked an Adonis in his sailor's dress, or 
 a Paris settinej out to make a Helen his 
 booty, and perfectly bewitched the rugged
 
 THE CIRCE SAILS. 39 
 
 tars with the radiance of his countenance, 
 and the singular elegance of his slight 
 person. He was such a contrast to his 
 cousin, of such a different style of beauty • 
 yet his present attire, — the loose blue jacket, 
 the cap with its gold band, the chequered 
 shirt, the black ribbon, the white vest and 
 trousers, — had the advantage of taking some- 
 thing from the delicacy of his exterior, and 
 giving him a manlier air than he had yet 
 attained to. In short, you have only to 
 imagine Don Juan following Lambro's pro- 
 fession, to form some notion of the picture 
 which Yivyan presented that morning as he 
 came on board, in the sinecure capacity of 
 first-lieutenant to his cousin. 
 
 " Aura veni r he cried, as they weighed 
 anchor : and the breeze seemed to relish 
 being so classically wooed, for it sprang cheer- 
 fully up ; the buxom white sail welcomed it 
 to its swelling bosom ; and the Circe darted 
 like an arrow from her station, smashing the 
 sparkling water into foam, resembling in- 
 numerable fragments of crystal and emerald.
 
 40 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 The frothing, gurgling sound of the waves 
 curling round the keel was music to the 
 ears of the young men, particularly to Mark- 
 ham's. Another moment, and a charming 
 view presented itself. The wood that de- 
 scended to the beach, the high lawn beyond 
 (itself scattered with trees of the stateliest 
 growth), the ancient manor-house, gray, irre- 
 gular, and massive, with the heights that shel- 
 tered it behind, — formed a beautiful scrap 
 of scenery, though of a quiet and civilised 
 character, widely different from that which 
 our mariners were going in quest of. 
 
 Having now fairly embarked our yachts- 
 men, we must leave them for some time on 
 the high seas to the mercy of ^dnds and 
 waves, hoping that Markham may prove a 
 skilful seaman enough to carry the Circe 
 safe to the shores of Donegal. The most 
 ruinous mother could not have cockered 
 and petted Yivyan more than George did 
 during that voyage. From stem to stern 
 every thing on board was arranged for 
 Vivyan's ease, luxury, and amusement.
 
 THE CIRCE SAILS. 41 
 
 Markham had neglected notliing, — coffee, 
 cigars, ice, liqueurs, eau-de-Cologne and eau- 
 de-vie, fruit, vegetables, games of several 
 kinds, abundance of amusing books and 
 prints ; couches or divans to loll, chat, 
 smoke, or sleep on ; excellent telescopes, an 
 armoury of fowling-pieces and rifles, a guitar, 
 and a violin ; with every work of note that 
 had ever been published, illustrative of the 
 scenery and topography of the parts of the 
 kingdom which it was their purpose to 
 visit, and to which we now hasten before 
 them.
 
 42 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THE PAESONAGE. 
 
 " And now they nigh approached to the sted, 
 
 Where those fair mermaids dwelt : it was a still 
 And calmy bay, on one side sheltered 
 With the broad shadow of a hoary hill." 
 
 The Faeey Queex. 
 
 A THOUSAND picturesque bays and creeks 
 indent the western and north-western shores 
 of Ireland, most attractive to the lovers of 
 coast scenery, and most commodious as fish- 
 ing stations, though sharing, of course, the 
 general marked inattention of the uncivil 
 Irish to the advantages with which Nature 
 has blessed them. The scenery at some 
 points of the coast in question is as fine, per-
 
 THE PARSONAGE. 43 
 
 hapSj as any of its class in tlae BritisTi islands. 
 The mountain chains of the interior, ap- 
 parelled in gold and purple by the gorse and 
 heather, terminate in a series of headlands 
 of every variety of shape and altitude, 
 throwing themselves boldly into the Atlantic, 
 which, whirling into the gorges between 
 them, forms a succession of lochs, more or 
 less exposed to the fury of the ocean, accord- 
 ing to their extent and form, but sometimes 
 exhibiting in their windings all the quiet 
 beauty of the stream-fed mountain lake. Ap- 
 proaching such spots as these by water, the 
 contrast is very striking between the boiling 
 surf through which you make your perilous 
 way into the inlet, and the repose that reigns 
 often at no great distance from its mouth. It is 
 like the calm of settled government after the 
 throes of revolutionary violence, when revo- 
 lution has the good fortune to be succeeded 
 by peace and order. 
 
 There existed some twenty years ago, and 
 probably still exists, a parsonage in the 
 county of Donegal, and parish of Redcross,
 
 44 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 situated close to the water edge, on the shores 
 of a small but beautiful arm of the sea, which 
 resembled, just at that place, one of the many- 
 romantic lakes or pools which abound in the 
 Welsh highlands. The parsonage (a com- 
 fortable house, containing accommodation 
 for a large family, but with no great archi- 
 tectural pretensions) stood on the northern 
 side of the creek, orfiorde (as such inlets are 
 called in Norway), so that it enjoyed a 
 southern exposure, beside being very well shel- 
 tered on the north and north-east by a lofty 
 range of hills, whose steep rocky sides, 
 strewed with patches of wild vegetation (de- 
 licious browsing for sheep), rose like a wall 
 over it. In the westerly direction, where 
 the hills were least precipitous, a copse of 
 oak and birch crept from their base to the 
 very summits ; and towards the east, or to 
 the left of the parsonage, a high point of 
 rock, which stood boldly into the water, was 
 crested in a very imposing manner with a 
 group of pines, or trees of that species, whose 
 tops were fired at midsummer with the sun's
 
 THE PARSONAGE. 45 
 
 beams, long before their golden track was 
 visible upon the bosom of the lake. A few 
 acres of greensward — the natural turf im- 
 proved by not much manual labour — filled 
 up the space between the house and the 
 beach, consisting of a narrow strip of sand, 
 which, not being itself often encroached on 
 by the waves, manifested equal forbearance 
 to the lawn, which it seemed to skirt with 
 silver. From the front of the parsonage the 
 view was exquisite, for it not only com- 
 manded the loch itself, with its picturesque 
 banks, distinguished by their air of idle gran- 
 deur, but the additional prospect of a not 
 very distant mountain range beyond, one of 
 whose numerous peaks was nearly of a sugar- 
 loaf form, and domineered superbly, with its 
 fine dark blue cone, over the less ambitious 
 parts of the chain. 
 
 The scenery altogether was the wildest 
 imaginable, but its wildncss was chastened 
 by its unity and simplicity. Nature is well 
 compared by a German writer to a great 
 poet, " who produces his greatest effects with
 
 46 IVrr UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the fewest means ;" a great tliought, and a 
 few houseliold words to clothe it. 
 
 It was evident that the tenants of the parson- 
 age were in the habit of enjoying the scenery 
 around them, from the water as well as from 
 the land, for a small pier, neatly constructed 
 with square massive blocks of granite, had 
 been thrown some twenty feet out into the 
 loch, forming not only a quay for embarka- 
 tion, but a kind of diminutive harbour, 
 within which was now moored a small but 
 smart cutter, destined no doubt for distant 
 voyages, as well as a boat, like a Thames 
 wherry, designed for cruises not far from 
 home. At the extremity of the pier was 
 erected a flag-staff, supported by iron stays; 
 there was generally breeze enough in a moun- 
 tain region so close to the sea to keep the 
 gay ensign floating, but on the evening when 
 our story commences, there was scarcely a 
 breath to stir an aspen-leaf; the flag had 
 ceased to wave, and drooped like the pen- 
 dent from a woman's ear. 
 
 The sun was preparing to set in all his
 
 THE PAKSONAGE. 47 
 
 pomp, and Mr. Spenser, the rector, with his 
 son Sydney, two marriageable daughters, Ara- 
 bella and Elizabeth, and one or two younger 
 children, were assembled after dinner in 
 front of the parsonage, to enjoy the spectacle, 
 Mr. Spenser was sitting, the rest were stand- 
 ing, all more or less intent upon the scene 
 before them ; nor were they enjoying it in 
 silence, but, on the contrary, conversing 
 eagerly, noticing the beauties of the prospect, 
 and speculating upon that ever-debateable 
 topic in these climes — the weather of to- 
 morrow. 
 
 A cruise of pleasure seemed to be on the 
 tapis. At a distance of about half a league 
 from the mouth of the fiorde was a. very 
 small but extremely picturesque island, a 
 frequent summer haunt of the Spensers ; they 
 held it in joint tenancy with a nation of 
 rabbits^ and it was to this Httle sjDeck in the 
 ocean that they were contemplating a voyage 
 and pic-nic on the following day. 
 
 " And a splendid day it will be," cried 
 Sydney, a robust, square-built youth, attired
 
 48 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 in a kind of sailor's dress, a handsome boj, 
 but with features that indicated both sen- 
 suahty and wilfulness, as if he had either 
 been left untutored and undisciplined, or as if 
 discipline had been thrown away upon him. 
 The tone of his voice, too, was boorish, as if 
 he kept other company occasionally than 
 that in which we now see him. 
 
 " I am no weather-seer." said his father, a 
 comely, grave man, between forty-five and 
 fifty, whose attire announced the well-bene- 
 ficed clergyman, and whose placid counte- 
 nance, at once benign and intellectual, pro- 
 claimed him one of the race of gentle shep- 
 herds. 
 
 " You have not yet visited your island this 
 summer," he added, addressing the junior 
 branches of his family. 
 
 " The island ! the island !" shouted the 
 little Spensers in chorus. 
 
 " Listen 1" said Elizabeth, the rector's se- 
 cond daughter, a radiant brunette of eigh- 
 teen, with a figure that was perfect, and a 
 face of the sweetest and noblest expression.
 
 THE PARSONAGE. 4^ 
 
 She spoke witli one hand on the bare shoul- 
 der of her little brother, and a finger of the 
 other raised to command attention. 
 
 " The island !" replied a voice from afar, 
 as of a viewless speaker ; — it was a voice, 
 and nothing but a voice, for the spot was 
 remarkable for its echo, and the shrill and 
 joyful cry of the children came back from 
 the rocks and hills with a sharpness and 
 fidelity wdiich the famous echo of Blarney 
 could not h&ve surpassed. 
 
 Sydney, however, said, he thought there 
 was a still more wonderful echo on the island, 
 and he hoped his friend Dudley Dawson 
 would bring his French-horn, to awaken it. 
 
 " You surely did not invite Mr. Dawson !" 
 said the brown girl, but in a low but dis- 
 pleased tone, as if unwilling to stir a painful 
 subject. Her elder sister, Arabella, expressed 
 her disapprobation in stronger terms. 
 
 "But I did," replied the young man, 
 rudely, and left the circle; perhaps to super- 
 intend the preparations for tlie morrow's 
 amusement. He spoke with a clownishness 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 of phrase and accent, wliicli you were sur- 
 prised to hear in a member of such a group, 
 and the brother of such sisters. 
 
 The placid clergyman made no remark, 
 but sat with one of his courtly legs crossed on 
 the other, gazing on the landscape, murmur- 
 ing to himself lines of Ovid, and verses of 
 Milton, on the phenomena of echo, for his 
 mind was stored with all that is sweet and 
 beautiful in ancient and modern poetry. 
 
 The crisis of the sunset was now ap- 
 proaching ; the sun descended rapidly upon 
 the brow of the mountain which intercepted 
 the view of the Atlantic. The variegated 
 clouds lay in long, irregular, fleecy masses, 
 parallel to the horizon, their edges burnished 
 by the retiring luminary, whose blazing disc 
 only appeared in the intervening spaces, 
 sometimes so contracted as only to disclose 
 a slender bar of intense lustre, like an ingot 
 of ruddy gold. But directly the sun dropped 
 below the lowest cloud of the strata, there 
 was nothing to obstruct his splendour until 
 he touched the summit of the mountain,
 
 THE PARSONAGE. 51 
 
 when he soon vanished, to illumine and 
 gladden other lands. 
 
 Often as the Spensers had witnessed the 
 same imposing spectacle from the same spot, 
 they had never admired it so much. As 
 still they gazed, their contemplation was 
 disturbed by a loud clear hurrah, proceed- 
 ing from the heights on the opposite side of 
 the creek. 
 
 " Uncle Woodward !" exclaimed several 
 voices, instantly. Some called him " Uncle 
 Hercules." 
 
 The quarter from which the shout pro- 
 ceeded was more easily discovered than the 
 personage to whom it was ascribed, for the 
 distance across the inlet was upwards of a 
 mile, and the tortuous way in which the 
 road ran upon that side, often altogether 
 hidden by masses of rocks, or clumps of 
 heather and brushwood, rendered ^it often 
 difficult and sometimes impossible to detect 
 where the road ran at all. In fact, it had 
 been carved in days of rough but daring 
 engineering, and when other considerations 
 E 2 
 
 UNlVtHbirV OF ILUNOll
 
 52 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 besides public convenience influenced road- 
 making in Ireland, in a continual steep zig- 
 zag, from the margin of the creek to the 
 summit of the impending hills, an extent of 
 some four or five miles, without one furlong 
 which you could travel with tolerable safety, 
 except on foot, or mounted on one of the 
 sure-footed ponys of the country. 
 
 Every eye was strained in the direction of 
 the familiar signal. 
 
 " He will shout again, if it is your uncle," 
 said Mr. Spenser. 
 
 " I think I see him, papa," said one of the 
 children, — " see, just at the tall white rock, 
 where the eagles used to build until last 
 summer, when Sydney shot that grand one." 
 
 " It was not Sydney ; it was Mr. Daw- 
 son," lisped the other little one. 
 
 "I see nothing yet,'' said Mr. Spenser. 
 
 Another hurrah was heard as he spoke, 
 and almost at the same instant ]\Ir. Spenser, 
 waving his hat, pointed to a spot where the 
 road came conspicuously into view, directly 
 opposite the parsonage, and about one hun-
 
 THE PARSONAGE, 53 
 
 dred and fifty feet above the level of the 
 water. The correctness of the discovery was 
 soon acknowledged ; the girls waved their 
 handkerchiefs, and their little brother re- 
 turned his uncle's greeting with a scream, 
 which, thoudi verv inferior in sonorous 
 effect, probably reached his ear, for again 
 the same stentorian salute came booming 
 across the estuary, multiplied by a score of 
 echoes. 
 
 A few moments brought our new ac- 
 quaintance to the water's edge, for he had his 
 stout mountain hack under him, a pony in 
 whom discretion and valour were blended in 
 the justest proportions, and who was so fa- 
 miUar with up-hill and down-hill, that he 
 actually never stumbled except upon level 
 ground. There was a snug little deep sandy 
 cove, just where the precipitous road seem- 
 ingly tumbled down upon the beach ; and 
 just above high-water mark was a low rock, 
 to which, by means of an iron ring, was 
 attached a boat, with a couple of oars, de- 
 signed expressly for the accommodation of
 
 54 IVIY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 those who, having to cross the inlet, Uke Mr. 
 Woodward, preferred this short cut to a 
 circuitous route which led you for a couple 
 of miles along the shore, until you gained a 
 point where the estuary was narrow enough 
 to be spanned by a rude wooden bridge. 
 
 The Spensers watched their relative's pro- 
 ceedings with the liveliest interest, increased 
 by some little surprise at receiving a visit 
 from him on that particular evening. He 
 loosed the boat from the ring, drew it down 
 along the smooth tav/ny sand, launched and 
 almost simultaneously stepped into it, leaving 
 the pony to take care of himself, which he 
 was extremely well able to do. A couple of 
 lusty strokes, such as only a very powerful 
 man could have given, pushed the boat into 
 deep water. He then paused, but it was 
 only to throw off his hat and coat, prepara- 
 tory to resuming the oar with still greater 
 vigour. 
 
 "My uncle deserves to be called Her- 
 cules," said Sydney, who had just returned, 
 raising a hearty cheer which his muscular
 
 THE PARSONAGE. 55 
 
 relative as heartily responded to ; and the 
 cheering and counter-cheering lasted until 
 the boatman gained the shore, and v/as sur- 
 rounded and welcomed by the Spensers. He 
 towered above them all like a dromedary in a 
 flock of sheep. There was not another such 
 strapping fellow in all the diocese, nay, in all 
 the arch-diocese, in either Protestant establish- 
 ment, Catholic church, or Presbyterian synod. 
 Hercules Woodward stood six feet three inches 
 in his stocking-feet, and he was broad and 
 brawny in proportion. Though possessing a 
 giant's strength, however, you soon perceived 
 that he was not the man to make giant-like use 
 of it. He had the honestest thoug^h roucjhest 
 set of features imaginable ; a face as massive 
 and strongly marked as those which sculp- 
 tors assign to river-gods, a high bald fore- 
 head, bushy, reddish whiskers, and good- 
 humoured but powerful eyes, over which a 
 pair of enormous brows beetled, with an 
 endeavour, not always unsuccessful, to give 
 them a ferocious aspect. 
 
 Such was his person. His dress was very 
 much in keeping with it. He wore a short
 
 56 IMY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 frock, or ratlier jacket, of dark blue cloth, 
 not mucli finer than frieze : it was somethincr 
 between a sailor's jacket and a shooting-coat. 
 His trousers, very wide and very short, 
 were of strong gray plaid, the [coarsest of 
 the kind that is called shepherd's, and his 
 waistcoat was from the same piece ; a black 
 silk handkerchief loosely encircled his hir- 
 sute throat ; his feet were furnished with 
 shoes such as men wear in snipe-shooting, and 
 his head was provided with a low-crowned 
 and broad-brimmed glazed hat. And now 
 that you have him before you, such as nature 
 formed, and the tailor finished him, to what 
 profession would you suppose him to belong? 
 It was difiicult enough to believe that he 
 was Mr. Spenser's brother-in-law, but it will 
 be harder still to credit what is equally 
 true ] — he was also his curate ! 
 
 There was a marked difference in the greet- 
 ings and receptions "my uncle, the curate," met 
 with from the two ladies. By Elizabeth he 
 was received with cordiality and tenderness, 
 by her elder sister with cold and fastidious 
 civility. It gave you an insight into the cha-
 
 THE PAESONAGE. 57 
 
 racters of the two girls. Nothing could ever 
 conquer Arabella Spenser's repugnance to her 
 rustic relative, neither her father's regard for 
 him, his own sterling virtues, or the fact 
 that he was the husband of her Aunt Carry, 
 one of the v/orthiest, as she was one of the 
 largest, specimens of womankind. 
 
 To Mr. Spenser, indeed, he was a most 
 striking contrast. Mr. Spenser was so quiet 
 and refined ; the intellectual predominated 
 in him so much above the physical ; his 
 person was so elegant, his manners so calm 
 and courtly. In fact^ it was obvious that 
 they had been born in different spheres of 
 society ; the rector was Corinthian, the 
 curate Doric; and moreover, to distinguish 
 them still further asunder, the former was by 
 origin and education an Englishman, while 
 the latter was the genuine indigenous growth 
 of the province of Ulster, descended from 
 a plain bluff race of ancestors^ who had sent 
 many a good rough scholar up to Duljlin 
 College, and supplied many a sturdy shep- 
 herd to the Irish church.
 
 58 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 THE WEATHES-SEER. 
 
 The curate was a weatlier-seer, if tlie 
 rector was not. Not a mountaineer in the 
 country could predict wet or dry, hot or cold, 
 a calm or a hurricane, so unerringly as 
 Hercules Woodward, because in fact, nobody 
 lived so much abroad as he did, and was 
 so conversant with the elements in all their 
 aspects and vicissitudes. With earth, air, 
 and ocean, at least, he Hved on terms of daily 
 famiharity. His acquaintance with fire was 
 not quite so intimate, though no man enjoyed 
 a blazing one of turf more of an evening, 
 when he had his wife at his side, and his 
 little Woodwards littered about him. 
 
 It was the purest as well as the most active
 
 THE WEATHER-SEER. 59 
 
 good nature which brought Hercules over to 
 the parsonage that evening, all the long way 
 from the town of Redcross, where he dwelt. 
 
 "You are not dreaming of sailing to- 
 morrow," he said, with his bluff, stormy 
 voice^ and striding at the same time tov/ards 
 the house, with his younger niece, Elizabeth, 
 on his arm, where she looked something like 
 a sprig of geranium hanging from a stalwart 
 mountain ash. 
 
 " Yes, indeed we are, uncle," replied seve- 
 ral voices, eagerly. Hercules looked unpro- 
 pitious. 
 
 " Did you see the sun set, uncle?" cried the 
 little Arthur Spenser. 
 
 " Shan't we have a charming day to 
 morrow ?" cried his smaller sister. 
 
 " For barnacle and wild ducks, Mysie," 
 replied the curate, looking down at the little 
 girl, as if from the top of a steeple. 
 
 " You don't mean to say it will be wet, 
 sir ?" growled Sydney, with temper, appre- 
 hensive of the effects of his uncle's opinion 
 upon tlie rest of the party.
 
 60 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " Wet and wind, and plenty of both. The 
 car of day Avill be a covered car to-morrow, 
 Syd, my boy," replied his uncle, taking no 
 notice of his nephew's ungracious looks and 
 tones, being probably accustomed to such 
 displays of temper. 
 
 The prediction, however, caused general 
 surprise ; and the little Spensers, as well as 
 their elder brother, looked considerably dis- 
 concerted by it. 
 
 " I'll tell you more," continued Hercules, 
 not thinking much of the pain he was giving 
 in such a cause, " we are going to have seve- 
 ral days of wild weather : — it was nothing 
 else brought me over. I was afraid you might 
 venture out in the morning and get capsized 
 in one of those squalls to which that piece of 
 water there is subject at times, innocent as 
 it looks at the present moment." 
 
 Sydney's aspect lowered, but he kept a 
 passionate silence. 
 
 " Uncle, you are such a mar-plot," said 
 one of the younger children, half pettishly, 
 half playfully.
 
 THE WEATHER-SEER. 61 
 
 " Never mind, Mysie, we shall have our 
 sail," muttered Sydney, in a gruff, refractory 
 tone, which possibly nobody heard, for no 
 notice was taken of it. Elizabeth gently re- 
 proved the child for calling her uncle a mar- 
 plot and thanked him over and over again for 
 his kindness, pressing him at the same time 
 to stay that night at the parsonage. 
 
 " What would your aunt say to that, 
 Lizzy ?" answered her huge relative, — " no, 
 Lizzy, my dear, I'll drink tea with you, and 
 then across the water again to the dulce 
 domum. Val, how is Mao; this evenine^ ?" 
 
 Mr. Cpenser's name was Valentine, and 
 his wife's was Margaret. The curate had 
 some familiar abbreviation for every body 
 he v/as related to or intimate with, except 
 his niece Arabella, whose name he uniformly 
 pronounced in full, though her father some- 
 times called her Bell. The curate was a 
 notable tea-drinker, and as proud of the 
 number of his cups as topers are of the num 
 ber of their bottles. Althoudi Father
 
 62 ]VIY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 Mathew had not yet appeared, there was a 
 Temperance Society in the parish of Red 
 cross, which had Mr. Woodward's cordial 
 support. Mr. Spenser, though any thing 
 but a votary of Bacchus, dechned joining 
 the society ; he used pleasantly to observe 
 that temperance was " a very proper virtue 
 in a curate." 
 
 Uncle Woodward drank six cups upon 
 that occasion. It was not a very lively 
 meal. Sydney was gloomy and morose ; 
 Arabella frigid, the rector abstracted ; Eliza- 
 beth alone exerted herself to make her uncle 
 feel comfortable and at home, nor was it 
 difficult to do so, for nobody was less exact- 
 ing, though nobody felt more keenly the 
 absence of warmth when he had a right to 
 expect it. But his stay was brief ; for the 
 evening was faUing rapidly ; in fact, it was 
 nearly dark when he rose with even more 
 than his wonted abruptness, and bade them 
 all good-night, shaking hands with every 
 one, and even kissing a few of them. The
 
 THE WEATHER-SEER. 63 
 
 curate shook hands with a vigour that was 
 sometimes distressing ; but friendly, warm- 
 hearted people readily pardoned the mo- 
 mentary pain to their fingers, for the sake 
 of the cordiality that accompanied the 
 squeeze. 
 
 Mr. Spenser accompanied his brother-in- 
 law to the little harbour. 
 
 " When shall I see you again, Hercules?" 
 he said ; " I am anxious to have your advice 
 on a matter of very great importance." 
 
 " I'll come over in the morning," said the 
 curate. 
 
 " Bring Carry with you," said his brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 " The weather won't do for that, Val. 
 There will be a storm, rely upon it. On no 
 account allow Sidney to sail. Good night, 
 Val, good night;" and with that the stout 
 curate seized the oars again, and pushed 
 across the shadowy water. 
 
 " I trust," said Mr. Spenser to himself, as 
 he Avalked back to the house, *'that Lord
 
 64 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Bonham's friends are not at sea, or that they 
 will get into some port before the gale rises." 
 Lord Bonham had written to advertise him 
 of the probability of his receiving a visit 
 from the Circe about this time. 
 
 The rector, on returning to the drawing- 
 room, found his son arranging the details of 
 the next day's expedition, just as if nothing 
 had occurred to render its postponement ad- 
 visable. It was a great relief to his daughters, 
 no small surprise to them likewise, when 
 their father, with a decision very unusual to 
 him, acted on his brother-in-law's prudent 
 advice, and interdicted the voyage in the 
 most absolute manner. 
 
 Before the parsonage was asleep that night 
 the moaning of the wind at intervals, accom- 
 panied with the rattling of windows, and the 
 flapping of the branches of rose trees and 
 woodbine against the glass, promised to ve- 
 rify the prophecies of Mr. Woodward only too 
 completely. The rector got very little rest, 
 but it was his wife and not the wind that dis-
 
 THE WEATIIER-SEEE. 65 
 
 turbed liis slumbers. Mrs. Spenser was not 
 a very comfortable consort in the calmest 
 weather, but she was particularly disagree- 
 able in a high wind. This, however, is a 
 premature peep behind the bed-room cur- 
 tains. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 66 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PASRONAGE ASLEEP. 
 
 " Now the cricket's chirp is lieard, 
 Loud as note of any bird ; 
 And the ticking of the clock 
 Is become a mighty knock ; 
 Enter we the silent house, 
 With the footsteps of a mouse ; 
 Creep along the corridor, 
 Mark we every chamber-door, 
 Let the crayon make no sound. 
 None must know our midnight round." 
 
 The Mysterious Visitors. 
 
 When people are asleep, it is a very good 
 opportunity for a little gossip on tlieir affairs 
 and antecedents, and not a bad time either to 
 take casts of tlieir faces, and examine the 
 bumps on their heads. 
 
 Mr. Spenser had now been incumbent of 
 the parish of Redcross for about ten years. 
 He came to it shortly after his marriage with
 
 THE TARSONAGE ASLEEP. 67 
 
 his present wife (who was the step-mother 
 of Arabella, Elizabeth, and Sydney), and 
 her eldest child was now entering his eighth 
 year. The benefice was a good one, worth 
 from eight hundred to a thousand pounds 
 per annum, and had been bestowed upon 
 him by its patron, Lord Bonham, a noble- 
 man with whom Mr. Spenser had formed a 
 close friendship, originally at Eton, and sub- 
 sequently at Cambridge. His lordship's 
 estate, which we have already mentioned, 
 lay in the neighbourhood of Redcross ; but 
 there was no mansion upon it, only a shoot- 
 ing lodge, where he occasionally established 
 himself for grouse-shooting or salmon-fishing. 
 He offered his agency to his friend along 
 with the parish, but although such a union 
 of offices was a common thing in Ireland at 
 the time, Mr. Spenser's strict notions of cleri- 
 cal duty and propriety revolted at it, and he 
 firmly declined this additional proof of Lord 
 Bonham's friendship, although his increasing 
 family rendered an augmentation of income 
 a point of no small importance. The rector 
 f2
 
 68 MY UKCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 had been more fortunate in his first than in 
 his second marriage. His first wife was a 
 woman of strong sense, sterling worth, and 
 great personal attractions. The beauties of 
 her mind she transmitted to her dau^^rhter 
 Elizabeth ; those of her person only to Ara- 
 bella. The present Mrs. Spenser was a dis- 
 contented, intractable, selfish, and eccentric 
 woman, and had been an invalid, and a most 
 vexatious one, ever since the birth of her 
 youngest child, keeping her bed-room seven 
 or eight months of the year, and talking of 
 returning to it the remaining four or five. 
 Her complaint was one of the non-descript 
 disorders, called nervous, one part real to 
 nine parts fanciful ; the sources of untold 
 profits to doctors, and untold miseries to 
 husbands. If people were harmless in pro- 
 portion to their imbecility, it would be all 
 well ; but the misfortune is, that those wdio 
 have the least control over themselves, often 
 possess the most powerful and mischievous 
 ascendency over others. This was remark- 
 ably illustrated in the instance of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Spenser. The rector had all the weak-
 
 THE PARSONAGE ASLEEP. 69 
 
 nesses of an amiable cliaracter, and his wife 
 all the weaknesses of a selfish one. The two 
 sets of weaknesses, united in the bonds of 
 matrimony, made a very uneasy union, and 
 Mr. Spenser would indeed have been very 
 unhappy in his second marriage, only for the 
 extreme placidity of his temper, the society 
 of his daughters, and his passionate love of 
 books. When the living plagued him, he 
 often fled to the dead for refuge, and found 
 in literary pleasures sweet though short 
 respites from his conjugal griefs. And here 
 let us pause, and give a word of advice to 
 men in Mr. Spenser's position of life. 
 
 A man in moderate circumstances, par- 
 ticularly a widower with children, who 
 thinks of marrying a lady in delicate health, 
 ought to examine himself, and see that he 
 possesses not only the qualities that befit the 
 master of a house, but those that arc indis- 
 pensable in a mistress likewise. In fiict, 
 beinj^ destined to dischar2;e the united func- 
 tions of the father and motlicr of his family, 
 he ought to be an active, bustling, motherly, 
 manao;inij^ sort of a gentleman, skilled in
 
 70 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 nursery affairs, equal to the control of house- 
 maids, and not above " meddling with buck- 
 washing;" he should know as much as pos- 
 sible about chin-coughs and teething, to 
 which branches of useful knowledge were 
 he to add some tincture of the science of 
 pickling and preserving, it would not be 
 amiss, under the circumstances. An invalid 
 wife is a very expensive article of luxury 
 even to a gentleman with a thousand a year, 
 and so Mr. Spenser found it. Had he made 
 as good a choice as his curate did, it would 
 have saved him a couple of hundreds annu- 
 ally at the least ; he would have had a 
 buxom helpmate to control his servants and 
 govern his children for him, instead of the 
 croaking turtle he had, who gave him more 
 trouble than all the rest of the establishment 
 put together. 
 
 Mrs. Spenser had never accommodated 
 herself to life in Ireland, particularly to the 
 life of a country parson in the wildest and 
 loneliest part of the island. She quarrelled 
 with the people, and she quarrelled with the 
 climate ; there was always either a storm in
 
 THE rARSONAGE ASLEEP. 71 
 
 the atmosphere, or a tempest in the political 
 world — always something to discompose her; 
 and when there was nothing, nothing an- 
 swered equally well. You are not to sup- 
 pose that she would have been happy and 
 contented in a country without a breath of 
 wind, either literal or metaphorical. On 
 the contrary, she was a woman to raise a 
 storm wherever she happened to be ; she 
 would get you up a hurricane in an ex- 
 hausted receiver, and find or make some- 
 thing uncomfortable in Eden itself The 
 rector was free from avarice, and the only 
 ambition he had was a literary one ; but 
 his helpmate was as covetous as Mammon, 
 and as ambitious as Lucifer. She never for- 
 gave a tithe defaulter, and was for ever in- 
 stigating her husband to wring the utter- 
 most farthing out of his parishioners ; while, 
 at the same time, she thought it extremely 
 hard that he should discharge any pastoral 
 duty at all; continually urging him to settle 
 in Dublin, where a man of his talents and 
 address, enjoying the smiles of a Lord- Lieu- 
 tenant, and charming with his witty and clc-
 
 72 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 gant conversation the vice-regal circle, might 
 fairly aspire to high preferment in the church 
 — even to change his simple pastoral crook 
 for a crozier. It would have been strange, 
 indeed, if such qualities as these in a wife 
 had not exercised a very decided influence 
 on the life and fortunes of an easy uxorious 
 husband. 
 
 The main defect of Mr. Spenser's cha- 
 racter (legible in his countenance) was its 
 deplorable want of energy. With a little 
 firmness he might have been a very happy 
 man ; without it, he was the sport of a 
 thousand passions and caprices from which 
 his own mind was perfectly free. He was 
 formed for contemplation, not for action ; a 
 man of the study and the bower, not a man 
 of business, or the world. He was vigorous 
 with his pen or at liis books ; industrious 
 only in his green-leather armdeather. Con- 
 trol over his children he had none, or ex- 
 tremely little ; he spared no expense either 
 on their accomplishments, or tlieir amuse- 
 ments, but here his parental interference 
 ended : if Sydney rioted at a sufficient dis-
 
 THE PARSONAGE ASLEEP. 73 
 
 tance from the library, and if lie could 
 always have one of his girls to accompany 
 him in a walk, or a ride, and had Arabella 
 to sing little French romances after tea of an 
 evening, he was content. 
 
 His eldest son, far from being his comfort 
 or pride, was now beginning to give him 
 much uneasiness, and was destined to give 
 him more. It w^as the rector's own fault — 
 he had been a careless father, and he could 
 not and did not escape the consequences of 
 neglecting his parental duties. With his 
 daughters Arabella and Elizabeth, however, 
 he had better reason to be pleased ; his 
 mild brown eye rested with joy upon them 
 both, but with most delight upon the elder, 
 doubtless because she was her mother's like- 
 ness, for in every thing else Elizabeth far 
 excelled. 
 
 They differed strikingly in both person 
 and mind. Arabella was tall, fair-haired, 
 with delicate and very handsome features ; 
 her figure was also very good, her carriage 
 distinguished, but haughty ; and the same 
 expression, mixed with something of petu-
 
 74 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 lance and scorn, was visible in her eyes and 
 on her lips, agreeing perfectly with her 
 mode of receiving the homespun curate, 
 although so closely connected with her. 
 At the same time she was not decidedly or 
 strikingly unamiable, only vain, frivolous, 
 cold, and egotistical, not even returning her 
 father s fond preference with one-half of her 
 sister's affection and devotedness. In short, 
 she was a woman without passions and 
 without a heart. Elizabeth Spenser was no 
 common girl. In person she was not so 
 tall as her sister, but, though younger, she 
 was even more mature in appearance ; 
 somewhat rounder, promising in a short 
 time to be a robust as well as a beauteous 
 woman. Her hair was a dark brown, and 
 nature had been prodigal to her of that 
 loveliest of female ornaments. Her eyes 
 were dark also, only more gray than black. 
 The nose was slightly aquiline ; it made her 
 countenance a commanding one ; and the ex- 
 pression of her mouth, too, was a further 
 indication of energy and self-reliance. Yet 
 the best part of her loveliness was that with
 
 THE PARSONAGE ASLEEP. 75 
 
 wMcli lier mind irradiated her person, as 
 the beauty of a lamp is shown by the pure 
 bright flame within it. EHzabeth's oppor- 
 tunities of improvement had not been 
 greater than her sister's ; but as two neigh- 
 bouring vineyards, with the same cultivation 
 to enrich the soil, and the same sun to ripen 
 the grape, will produce wines of the most 
 dilFerent qualities and value, so did the 
 rector's daughters, under the same roof, 
 the same influences, and the same instruc- 
 tions, moving in the same society, keeping 
 the same company, hearing the same conver- 
 sation, and surrounded by the same books 
 and other means of improvement, grow up 
 to woman's estate, with minds and charac- 
 ters totally dissimilar in flavour and in 
 worth. 
 
 In Elizabeth Spenser the spirits of love 
 and knowledge — the seraphic and cherubic 
 characters, to borrow the old Rabbinical 
 distinction — were beautifully blended. With 
 all the soft attributes of her sex, were com- 
 bined a solidity of judgment, and a sincerity,
 
 76 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 deptli, and vigour of character^ which kept 
 them from degenerating into mere female 
 fondnesses, and enabled her in after life to 
 act a very difficult part incomparably well, 
 in several capacities, and through severe 
 trials. She was the only member of the 
 family by whom Sydney was not systemati- 
 cally spoiled ; her influence was, of course, 
 but a feeble substitute for parental authority, 
 but it was sometimes not altoojether unavail- 
 ing. She was more capable, however, of 
 being useful to the little ones, who, between 
 their hypochondriac mother, and a governess, 
 — who, though active enough, occupied her- 
 self very little with her pupils, — were in a very 
 fair way to be ruined. Here Elizabeth had 
 a hard card to play, for Mrs. Spenser was as 
 jealous of interference with her motherly 
 prerogatives as she was deficient in the 
 discharge of her motherly duties. It was 
 not without considerable address that Eliza- 
 beth succeeded in usurping the degree of 
 influence absolutely necessary to prevent 
 Mrs. Spenser from ruining her children by 
 proxy.
 
 THE PARSONAGE ASLEEP. 77 
 
 For the useful and valuable attributes of 
 her character, Elizabeth Spenser was in- 
 debted chiefly to the influence, instruction, 
 and example of Mrs. Woodward, her aunt, 
 the wife of the colossal curate. When Mr. 
 Spenser first went over to Ireland to take 
 possession of his benefice, he was accom- 
 panied not only by his present wife, but by 
 his sister Caroline, or Carry, as she was com- 
 monly called in the family. We shall pre- 
 sently make this excellent lady's acquaintance. 
 The wonder was how Caroline Spenser had 
 remained single so very long ; she had so 
 many of the qualities that marrying men of 
 sense look for in women ; her presence was 
 so goodly, her understanding so strong, while 
 for prudence she was a proverb. But she 
 had no fortune, or a very small one, and — she 
 was formidably fat. 
 
 Besides (so deceitful are appearances and 
 so inscrutable the ways of women), she did 
 not seem to be a marrying woman at all, and 
 least of all did any body dream that she had 
 preserved her heart lor upwards of thirty 
 years in a pohshed circle in England, to lose
 
 78 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 it at the end of that period, and lose it 
 abruptly to a poor curate in the wildest 
 part of Ireland. Mr. Woodward was curate 
 of Redcross when Mr. Spenser was appointed 
 to it. If ever there was love at first sight 
 this was a case of it. There was nothing 
 odd in Hercules falling in love with Caroline 
 Spenser, her attractions were so exuberant; 
 but people did wonder a little at Caroline so 
 promptly returning the fire, the curate was 
 so very rough a diamond, and Carry, though 
 her charms had a tendency to coarseness, 
 was coarse in no other way. But " paucas 
 palabraSj' as Christopher Sly says. They 
 met, they loved, they married; one of the first 
 duties Mr. Spenser performed in the little 
 church of Redcross was to unite his flourish- 
 ing sister in the holy bands of matrimony to 
 his gigantic curate. 
 
 She was a serious loss to her brother, par- 
 ticularly as the second Mrs. Spenser soon 
 began to exhibit her physical as well as 
 moral disqualifications for the management 
 of a family.
 
 THE CURATE AT HO^IE. 79 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 
 
 ** From one great source the human nature springs. 
 And subjects will be indolent as kings ; 
 Hence ev'ry viceroy pays a substitute, 
 And hence deputed ministers depute ; 
 Kings hireling secretaries keep, and these 
 Must have their secretaries too ; for ease 
 Bishops place rectors through their holy sees, 
 And rectors mince them into curacies. 
 ■"Mong all the wretches found on Proxy's list, 
 That crawl 'twixt heaven and earth, and scarce subsist; 
 'Mong all the lots to which the poor is heir. 
 The hardest portion is the curate's share." 
 
 The Curate. By the Rev. Evuns Lloyd. 
 
 The curate's house, an old, white, un- 
 gainly, three-storied building, with a number 
 of long narrow windows, was situated near 
 one end of the town of Eedcross, within a 
 courtyard, surrounded by a dilapidated wall, 
 which was decked in summer with red snap-
 
 80 UY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 dragons, and gaudy but sweet wall-flowers. 
 A tall gate, with taller pillars, topped with a 
 pair of stone globes, all white-Avashed, ad- 
 mitted you into the yard; and there, on your 
 way to the door of the house, you probably 
 encountered a couple of young pigs, or a 
 little squadron of ducks and ducklings, 
 bound for a small circular pond in the 
 spacious, luxuriant, well-tilled, kitchen-gar- 
 den (a wilderness of vegetables and red 
 roses) behind the house. On the ground- 
 floor were three rooms : one was a parlour 
 and drawing-room combined ; another was 
 Mr. Woodward's sanctuary; and the third 
 the store-room of his wife, sometimes called 
 " Carry's Miscellany/' and sometimes the 
 " Mother's Magazine." The upper apart- 
 ments were small and numerous (you will 
 find it generally the case in the house of a 
 curate) ; the highest of all somewhat crazy, 
 and shaky in gales of w^ind ; and none very 
 luxuriously furnished. The whole was 
 oddly surmounted by an hexagonal turret, 
 formed almost entirely of glass, crowned
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 81 
 
 with a weather-cock, and called the Obser- 
 vatory. It was nothing but the distance 
 prevented you from seeing the United States 
 from this belvedere. It contained an old 
 refracting telescope upon a rickety stand, of 
 power enough to exhibit some of Jupiter's 
 moons, but of no great use for the discovery 
 of new planets or nebulas. A few scattered 
 copy-books, grammars, and catechisms, with 
 a twelve-inch globe, showed that Carry 
 occasionally schooled her children there ; but 
 it answered other purposes also : it served 
 as a supernumerary dressing-room when 
 there were visitors ; and as a great treat and 
 reward to the little Woodwards after a long 
 career of industry and virtue, tea was now 
 and then taken in the observatory ; but this 
 was a secular event, and only took place in 
 very fme weather, about the full of the 
 moon. 
 
 Mrs. WoodAvard did a great deal, — per- 
 haps all it was in her power to do, — but it 
 was an irregular, harem-scarem house, not- 
 withstanding. The flxct was^ that witli the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 inveterate propensities of Hercules, more or 
 less inherited or aped by his children, and 
 the careless, untidy, slattern, take-it-easy, 
 and deuce-m ay-care habits of the Irish maid- 
 servants, it was next to impossible to preserve 
 (with a curate's paltry income) any thing 
 like English order and discipline. Carry 
 soon almost gave it up, contenting herself 
 with keeping her own more especial terri- 
 tories neat, taking care that her children 
 should be scrubbed and curried with all the 
 vigour of some powerful maidenly arm every 
 morning of their lives, and seeing that there 
 was always a scrupulously clean and bril- 
 liantly white cloth on her table, no matter 
 how plain the meal was, even an Irish stew, 
 which was turtle and venison to her hus- 
 band. Often did Carry threaten to enforce 
 general order on some future day, commonly 
 on the next Monday ; but that Monday was 
 like the Greek calends, or the Feast of Next- 
 Never-Come-Tide, and Carry at last gave up 
 even threatening it. Circumstances were too 
 strong for her ; nay, so enthusiastically de-
 
 THE CURATE AT HOIME. 83 
 
 voted was slie to Hercules, that she felt, and 
 owned she felt, herself growing more and 
 more tolerant every day of the domestic dis- 
 order and confusion, out of which he was 
 like a fish out of water. Fortunately, she 
 was of such a cheerful, hopeful, elastic tem- 
 perament, — or how else could she have 
 brought up such a troop of Woodwards half 
 so well and so respectably as she did. For- 
 tunately, too^ though the most affectionate 
 creature in the world, she was not a woman 
 to be imposed on, or trifled with ; but a little 
 authoritative^ and carried matters with a 
 higher hand than she would perhaps have 
 done, had her husband been more at home, or 
 less unfit than he was, by reason of his very 
 size and strength, to deal with the irregulari- 
 ties of children. One day, when her eldest 
 boy was seven or eight years old, he com- 
 mitted some serious infraction of the law, of 
 which Carry made complaint to Hercules, 
 who was forthwith proceeding to punish the 
 malefactor with nothinc: less than a club. 
 Carry was frightened out of her life, took 
 g2
 
 84 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the culprit into lier own hands, settled the 
 matter in a motherly way, and never trou- 
 bled her husband again with the enforce- 
 ment of nursery discipline. 
 
 She used pleasantly to say that the rod 
 was in her house a branch of economy ; it 
 enabled her, for instance, to do without a 
 railing round the pond in the garden, and 
 to dispense with the services of a nursery 
 governess ; a title, indeed, by which it was 
 known and respected in the family. 
 
 It was dark, and growing late, when the 
 worthy curate returned that night to this 
 queer house and the loving and anxious wife 
 of his bosom. Carry had despatched her 
 great children to bed, and was sitting up for 
 him, with a little one in its cradle at her 
 side, in the low, spacious, square, unpapered, 
 rudely furnished room, called the study; a 
 very different room from Mr. Spenser's 
 library \ but Hercules liked it all the better 
 for the difference, comfort being inextricably 
 associated in his mind with the state of 
 things called "higgledy-piggledy." It cer-
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. * 85 
 
 tainly was a curiosity. Books, carpenter's- 
 tools, shoes that looked as if they had 
 walked round the world, a very untidy 
 washing-stand, fishing-rods and tackle, old 
 hats and boat-cloaks, a fowling-piece and a 
 duck-gun, with twenty other miscellaneous 
 articles strewed the apartment in " most 
 admired disorder." In one corner was a 
 broken oar, a spade, and a w^ooden hay-fork ; 
 in another, a collection of walkin2:-sticks 
 and cudgels, large and various enough to 
 set up a shop with ; a row of shelves in- 
 tended for books were stuffed with papers, 
 packets of garden-seeds, pruning-knives, a 
 shot-canister, with some horn and tin vessels 
 intended for pic-nics ; and all these things were 
 covered with no very thin coating of dust, 
 for the curate was always fidgety when his 
 wife, or her maids, even talked of " settling" 
 his " study/' and there was a sort of under- 
 standing (sometimes violated certainly) tluit 
 brush and broom were not to molest him 
 more than once or twice in the year, about 
 certain great festivals of thechurcli.
 
 86 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 There was a blazing turf-fire in the grate, 
 the evening having grown coohsh, and Carry 
 not beino; certain whether her husband 
 would take tea at the parsonage or not. 
 Contemplate her by the alternately rosy and 
 golden light from the turf-fire ! She is 
 worth looking at, and has comfort enough iu 
 her face and her person to make the apart- 
 ment of the neediest curate in the church 
 comfortable. What age would you give her 
 credit or discredit for ? Forty. Not quite 
 so much by four or five years ; a year or 
 two younger than her brother, Mr. Spenser. 
 And she is very fair and very fat, too ; you can 
 hardly see the chair she sits on, she over- 
 spreads it so ; but her corpulence has not yet 
 obliterated her shapes, and merged them, as, 
 alas, it will probably do ten years hence, in 
 one huge round mass of maternity. She is a 
 glorious woman, Aunt Carry, as she sits there, 
 with her red shawl drawn cosily round her, 
 over her habitual black silk dress, expanded 
 before the hearth, but not very close to the 
 fire^ with one plump foot to that of the cradle.
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 87 
 
 making or mending a small pair of sky-blue 
 trousers, and every now and then listening to 
 catch the sound from the road of the hoofs of 
 her husband's pony. She is a glorious woman 
 within and without \ bursting not with come- 
 liness only, but with every matronly virtue, 
 and housewifely accomplishment ; her heart 
 is as ample as her person ; she is thrice- 
 blessed with good-sense, good-nature, and 
 good-humour inexhaustible ; industrious as 
 a working-bee, and for economy (else she 
 would make an indifferent wife for a curate) 
 a very Joseph Hume in petticoats. The 
 features of Carry were good, and mas- 
 sive like her figure. Her complexion was 
 florid ; her eyes gray, clear, piercing ; her 
 air was that of a woman who was the mis- 
 tress as well as the mother of a family. If 
 there was a soup^on of severity, or rather 
 combativeness, in her physiognomy, it was 
 the result of her position in life, which had 
 its own difficulties, and required a woman 
 with more than a woman's spirit to meet and 
 conquer them.
 
 88 I\IY UKCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 The little pair of sky-blues contained in 
 themselves the history of a curate's wife. 
 They had been the Sunday dress of each of 
 her three bo}^ in succession, according as 
 each had attained the period when she thought 
 proper to promote him from petticoats. 
 Three times had they been altered, reduced, 
 repaired, and turned with her own hands* 
 When the first out-grew them, they descended 
 to the second ; and when the second burst 
 through them. Carry repaired the breach, 
 and they were handed down to the third. 
 The congregation of Redcross church was 
 as familiar with that pair of trousers as with 
 the cassock of the curate himself, and as- 
 tonishing it was how well they held out, 
 and how well they looked, after so many 
 transformations. 
 
 Twice she was positive she heard the 
 desired step ; twice she was disappointed ; 
 it was either the wind in the branches of 
 the tall mountain-ash on the TvAit of the 
 hall-door, or the pigs in the yard, or one 
 of the villagers also belated. At length,
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 89 
 
 however, she caught the true unmistakeable 
 steady, dogged, homeward trot of the pony ; 
 and in less than five minutes the bell that 
 communicated between the outer gate (for 
 there was a walled court in front of the 
 house) and the kitchen announced the 
 return of the curate to all his household. 
 His servants adored him. He had three, 
 two maids, and something between a man 
 and boy, called Peter, who was groom, 
 gardener, footman, and butler ; at least, if 
 he was not the butler, the curate had no 
 other. Peter had been brought up by his 
 mistress, and stood in great awe of her, but 
 he was always the same giddy illogical fellow, 
 and neither Carry's ratings, or his master's 
 cudgelings, did much to mend him. When 
 the court-yard bell rang at night, Peter always 
 ran to open it with the kitchen candle, although 
 there was a lantern expressly for the purpose. 
 There was no use in lecturing or licking him. 
 It was in his Celtic blood never to make 
 the proper use of any thing. When there 
 was the least wind, the candle of course
 
 90 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 was blown out, directly the house-door was 
 opened, although the provoking Peter did 
 his best to make a lantern of it with one of 
 his hands. Then he invariably gave the 
 wind a sub-audible malediction for " laving 
 him in the dark," as if the wind was to 
 blame; and registered an oath in the same 
 key that the house was " the windiest house 
 he ever see'd in all his born days." 
 
 Yes ! — Peter v/as a very provoking fellow; 
 but then there flowed, united in his veins, 
 two streams of the purest Celtic blood ; 
 his father was a Hogg, and his mother a 
 M'Swyne, so that race had probably some- 
 thing to do with it. 
 
 Carry never could run very fast, but, as 
 fast as she could run, she ran to meet and 
 embrace her husband as he stumbled into 
 the room, having been, as usual, obliged to 
 gTope his way from the court-yard gate to 
 the door of his study. 
 
 " Dear Hercules!" she exclaimed, throw- 
 ing her large loving arms about him; and 
 right conjugally did the stout curate return
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 91 
 
 the greeting. This done, he hung up his 
 hat on one of the prongs of the hay-fork, and 
 threw himself down, not on a chair, but on 
 a seedy old black leathern trunk, covered all 
 over with torn labels, figures, and directions, 
 and used (when not upon foreign service) 
 for holding all sorts of things, which nobody 
 else would have thous^ht of stowino- in such 
 a receptacle. 
 
 " All well at the rectory?" inquired Carry. 
 
 " All well," he replied^ unbuttoning his 
 enormous outside coat, which was none of 
 your modern paletots, but more of a Boreas 
 than a Zephyr, and throwing it plump down 
 on the cradle. 
 
 Carry jumped up with a scream ; and it 
 was truly marvellous that the little sleeper 
 was not crushed into a pancake. However, 
 it was not so much as awakened, which made 
 the distressed mother think for a moment 
 that her awkward husband had committed 
 infanticide. 
 
 " Who could have thought the baby was 
 there?" he exclaimed, in his own defence.
 
 92 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " The cradle is not a very extraordinary 
 place for a baby," rejoined Carry, a little 
 sharply. 
 
 " But in the study, I mean," said Hercules. 
 
 The notion of any thing being out of place 
 in Mr. Woodward's study was a pleasant 
 one! Probably, however, that subject had 
 been exhausted, for Carry made no remark, 
 but asked her husband would he take tea. 
 
 Notwithstanding the six cups he had taken 
 at the rectory, Mr. Woodward acquiesced 
 with readiness, and Peter was ordered to 
 make the necessary preparations ; which he 
 at length accomplished, after making about 
 ten journeys backwards and forwards be- 
 tween kitchen and parlour; when one journey 
 would have sufficed, with a grain of fore- 
 thought, or thought of any kind. Carry was 
 tired of being provoked with him, and sat 
 working at the little blue inexpressibles, 
 raising her eyes now and then to observe 
 Peters movements, and call her husband's 
 attention to the wonderful amount of unne- 
 cessary trouble he was giving himself.
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 93 
 
 " Upon my word," said the curate, as liis 
 man left the room for the last time, " I think 
 the charg;e of laziness so often broufrht 
 ag-ainst Irish servants is a most unwarrant- 
 
 o 
 
 able one." 
 
 " At all events," said Carry, '• if they do 
 hate trouble, they are the most self-sacrificing 
 people in the world, for they never spare 
 themselves any." And, so saying, she rose 
 to make tea. 
 
 " Now am I as happy as a bishop over his 
 Burgundy," cried the good curate, rejoicing 
 in his wife, his home, and his turf-fire, and 
 extending his immense limbs towards the 
 flaminjz mountain on the hearth. 
 
 ^' Are bishops always drinking Burgundy?" 
 asked Carry, "for I never read a speech or 
 an article about the church but I fmd bishops 
 and Burgundy always mentioned together." 
 
 " Just because they begin the same letter," 
 said her husband ; " bishop and Burgundy, 
 curate and Conijo." 
 
 " I don't expect ever to see i/ou a bishop,
 
 94 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 Hercules," said his wife, pouring out the 
 second cup. 
 
 " I should not be a jot happier than I 
 am, Avere I the primate," he replied; "but, 
 Carry, I sometimes think I am a bishop; 
 you are my bonny bishopric, I am bishop of 
 Carolina ;" and he rose and kissed her while 
 she was dropping the sugar into his tea. 
 
 '• You can't say, then, you have not got a 
 fat diocese," she answered, with a smile that 
 seemed the over-flowing of a well of warmth 
 and light within her. 
 
 "I wouldn't take Canterbury in ex- 
 change," said Hercules ; "but I honestly 
 confess, Carry, my dear, I should have no 
 objection, for the sake of my wife and my 
 children, to hold a good living in com- 
 mendamr 
 
 " If it ever comes," she replied, with a 
 good-humoured little sigh — a sigh without a 
 tincture of melancholy in it, "I hope we 
 shall be thankful and enjoy it wisely; we are 
 very happy, poor as we are, and I trust we
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 95 
 
 shall not be less so, if we are ever better off 
 in the world ; — I am not impatient for pro- 
 motion, I assure you, Hercules." 
 
 " How mucli happier we are than your 
 brother, for instance, with one of the best 
 benefices in the north of Ireland ; — but Val 
 was not so lucky in his bishopric as I was, 
 Carry." 
 
 " Oh," said Carry, with feeling, " there is a 
 great deal in my brother's situation that makes 
 me seriously uneasy on his account ; not 
 merely his wife, though. Heaven knows, she 
 is quite vexation enough for any poor man." 
 
 '' I am going over to him in the morning," 
 said the curate, " to consult with him about 
 something he is anxious about, — I dare say 
 it is about Sydney." 
 
 Carry was vexed to hear that her husband 
 purposed to tramp over the hills again so 
 very soon, but she was too much interested 
 in her brother's concerns to make much 
 work about it. 
 
 " Did you see Sydney?" she inquired. 
 
 Her husband mentioned how uncivilly he
 
 96 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 had been received by his nephew, on ac- 
 count of his interference to have the voy- 
 age of pleasure postponed. 
 
 " Graceless boy," cried his aunt, — "but 
 what else is to be expected from the com- 
 panion of Dudley Dawson ? If my brother 
 is thinking of sending Sydney to Cambridge, 
 I trust, Hercules, you won't oppose it." 
 
 " Indeed, Carry, I think it would be much 
 wiser in Yal to send him to Trinity College, 
 Dubhn." 
 
 "As to the relative merits of Colleges," 
 said Carry, " I am not qualified to give an 
 opinion •, but the further Sydney is removed 
 from his present associates the better, — there 
 cannot be a doubt of that." 
 
 " I don't think as ill of Dudley Dawson as 
 you do, Carry. I think you are all too hard 
 on him ; your sister-in-law dislikes him be- 
 cause his father is a tithe-defaulter — why 
 that's no fault of Dudley's ; the girls object 
 to him because he smokes cisrars and talks a 
 little too loud, as perhaps I do myself ; and 
 you, my dear — "
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 97 
 
 " As to me," said Carry, warmly, ** I dis- 
 like liim for every reason that could make 
 me dislike a young man — he is designing, 
 vulgar, dissipated — " 
 
 " No, Carry, not exactly dissipated, — only 
 a little wild. Recollect the life his father 
 led, and how Dudley's education was neg- 
 lected." 
 
 " But that is no reason why he should be 
 suffered to corrupt my nephew." 
 
 " Corrupt is too strong a word. Carry." 
 
 " Corrupt his morals^ and brutalise his 
 manners, for he is doing both," continued 
 his wife with an earnestness well justified, as 
 we shall soon see^ by the real state of the 
 case. 
 
 " I shall never forget how he assisted me 
 that night last October, when the two fishing- 
 smacks were capsized in the upper part of 
 Loch Erne," said Hercules ;" he behaved 
 like a hero. Between us, we saved the lives 
 of three men and a boy, and only for Daw- 
 son, two of them at least would have pe- 
 rished." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 "It was very brave, no doubt, and 
 very meritorious," said Carry, folding up the 
 blue trousers, as it was growing late, " but a 
 brave man may be very bad company ; and 
 I have no notion of Mr. Dudley Dawson, 
 on the strength of any exploit of the kind, 
 gaining a footing in my brother's family, and 
 even presuming to inflict his attentions on 
 one of his daughters." 
 
 This was the first the curate had heard 
 upon this subject. 
 
 " Well, Carry, my dear," he rejoined, 
 " you will say I am a great deal too tolerant, 
 but I don't think it's a crime in any man to 
 admire Elizabeth ; and if it is a presump- 
 tion (as I don't say it is not), why so much 
 the worse for himself, and he is more to be 
 pitied than blamed in my humble opinion." 
 
 •' You are too tolerant, my dear, very 
 many degrees," said Carry, rising to light 
 her bed-room candle. 
 
 "Eecollect," said the curate, rising also, 
 " a certain personage is not so black as he is 
 painted." 
 
 i
 
 THE CURATE AT HOME. 99 
 
 " But he is quite black enough, notwith- 
 standing," rejoined his wife, retiring, having 
 had the last word in this amicable though 
 warm discussion, so womanly was she in all 
 points. She did not go to bed, however, 
 until she saw that all was still in her son's 
 dormitory, and that Peter in his giddiness 
 had taken no measures for burning down 
 the house. 
 
 h2
 
 100 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 BAD EDUCATION AND BAD COMPANY. 
 
 *• Instruct your son well yourself, or others will instruct 
 him ill for you. No child goes altogether untaught. Send 
 him to the school of Wisdom, or he will go of himself to the 
 rival academy, kept by the lady with the cap and bells. 
 There is always teaching going on of some sort, just as in 
 fields vegetation is never idle." 
 
 Essay on Mental Tillage. 
 
 Sydney was the principal sufferer by the 
 loss of his mother, his father s weaknesses, 
 and the lax domestic system which grew up 
 out of those causes combined. The mind 
 of the young man had not been left wholly 
 uninstructed, but the formation of his cha- 
 racter had been neglected deplorably. The 
 good, easy rector, being an elegant scholar, 
 fancied that, with the occasional aid of a 
 resident tutor, he could bring up his son 
 very well at home; where he would also
 
 BAD EDUCATION AND BAD COMPANi'. J 01 
 
 have the benefit of his sisters' governesses 
 for the acquisition of modern languages, 
 and the other things taught, and perhaps 
 taught best by women. As the boy was 
 quick, if not docile, this plan succeeded well 
 enough for a time, as far as mere learning 
 was concerned; but in other respects it 
 wofully miscarried. Sydney made no in- 
 tellectual progress which was not more than 
 counterbalanced by the absence of that con- 
 troul which his disposition and temper par- 
 ticularly stood in need of A too short in- 
 terregnum of the sensible and energetic Mrs. 
 Woodward's administration (just before his 
 fether's second marriage), was the only 
 period of his childhood in which he had 
 been kept in any thing like restraint, or 
 known what discipline was, even in its mildest 
 form. The consequence was, that he grew up, 
 acquiring the metres of Horace, and the names 
 of the Muses, but contracting bad habits in 
 profusion. For one hour spent in his father s 
 library, or his sisters' society, he passed six 
 with grooms, game-keepers, boatmen, or with 
 men who kept such refined and improving
 
 102 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 company. Associations like these rapidly 
 uncivilised liim ; lie grew boorish in his 
 manners, boisterous in conversation when 
 he was not moodily silent, violent when 
 crossed in any scheme of self-indulgence ; and 
 it was only the shght influence, which we 
 have already said, that his sister EHzabeth 
 managed to acquire, that restrained him from 
 continual displays of his overbearing temper, 
 even in the presence of his father, the 
 mildest and most equable of men. 
 
 His step-mother had the common fault of 
 step-mothers, which ( contrary to the vulgar 
 opinion) is not nearly so much undue severity, 
 as the far worse extreme of necrlect and 
 indifference. Even before she fell into her 
 present state of health, she took no pains at 
 all with her husband's children, and never 
 interfered with their management, except in 
 the most absurd and mischievous manner. 
 Indeed, with respect to Sydney, she en- 
 courag;ed his faults in the bes^inning; of her 
 
 O DO 
 
 acquaintance with him, and subsequently, 
 when they came to be too offensive and 
 troublesome, she pursued la system equally
 
 BAD EDUCATION AND BAD COMPANY. 103 
 
 reprehensible, licensing his absences from 
 home, whenever, upon one pretence or 
 another, he asked permission to join the 
 companions of his riotous pleasures, some- 
 times for several days together. 
 
 It is a great mistake to say that the good 
 points of a character redeem the bad ones, 
 even when the former predominate decidedly. 
 On the contrary, a single uncorrected fault 
 will often make a whole career vicious, not- 
 withstanding a multitude of qualities tending 
 of themselves in the direction of honour and 
 virtue. Sydney Spenser had his good points ; 
 he could do a brave and generous thing oc- 
 casionally. He was popular with the poor 
 in the neighbourhood, not merely because he 
 was athletic and enterprising, but because he 
 was really capable of kind actions, and when 
 he had a little money to command, would 
 bestow it on an object of charity, instead of 
 his selfish gratification, if the former chanced 
 to come first in his way. With his compa- 
 nions his propensity was to be lavish, as far 
 as his means went. His guns, dogs, ponys, 
 his boats, and even his clothes, were at the
 
 104 ]\rY UXCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 absolute disposal of his favourites, and some 
 of them were by no means backward to 
 profit by his munificence. Sometimes he 
 showed his generosity by being as ready to 
 take as to give ; in fact, he had established a 
 sort of communism with several young men 
 of his own age and tastes, the principal and 
 the most objectionable of whom was Mr. 
 Dawson, about whom the curate and his 
 wife differed in opinion so much. 
 
 Dawson (whose career, not only as a pri- 
 vate but as a public man, is destined to form 
 an important part of our history) was a few 
 years older than Sydney Spenser, but much 
 in advance of him in a vicious acquaintance 
 with the world. He was the son of an em- 
 barrassed man, and lived himself from hand 
 to mouth, making the state of his fathers 
 affairs the excuse for his own irregularities, 
 while in reality he was running the same 
 dissolute rig which had reduced the once- 
 considerable property of the family to almost 
 nothinjT. He led a kind of oscillatino' hfe 
 between Donegal and London, appearing 
 and disappearing suspiciously; but he had
 
 BAD EDUCATION AND BAD COMPANr. 105 
 
 always some plausible account to give of 
 himself, and few people knew either how 
 handsomely in debt he was, or to what inge- 
 nious resorts he was now and then driven 
 by his financial difficulties. In fact, just at 
 the present period, matters were going so 
 very ill with him, that he was seriously 
 thinking of turning patriot and getting into 
 Parliament; tlie time being exceedingly pro- 
 pitious for the advancement, in that line, of 
 men of his stamp and character. However, 
 it was not altogether necessity that suggested 
 this high flight, for he was not destitute of 
 vulgar ambition, any more than he was defi- 
 cient in personal vanity, a quality which 
 indeed he possessed in an inordinate degree. 
 His family was respectable (though not as good 
 blood as the Howards and Plantagenets), and 
 he might have moved in good society,had his 
 tastes been different ; but he loved low com- 
 pany, and his manners and personal appear- 
 ance soon became insuperable obstacles to 
 his social reformation. On every return from 
 London (where his conduct was under .least
 
 106 MY UNCLE THE CUE ATE. 
 
 restraint), he fell a step lower in the scale ; 
 and, as is usually remarked in such cases, he 
 was particularly offensive when he aimed at 
 being particularly polished and well-bred. 
 
 Such was the rising young politician, 
 whose rude eye having been captivated by 
 the rector's second daughter, was now da- 
 ringly, though not avowedly, aspiring to her 
 hand; hoping, by means of his league with 
 her brother, to gain a footing in the family, 
 and confidently relying upon his personal 
 merits, estimated by his enormous self-con- 
 ceit, to carry all before him afterwards. 
 
 None of the Spenser family had a notion, 
 at the point of time from which we start in 
 these domestic memoirs, either of the extent 
 of Dawson's presumption with respect to 
 Elizabeth, or that Sydney was involved as 
 much as in truth he was with so dangerous 
 an associate. Dawson was in the habit of 
 advancing him small sums of money, to 
 enable him to purchase articles which he 
 took a boyish fancy for, and had not the 
 means of procuring for himself For the
 
 BAD EDUCATION AND BAD COMPANY. 107 
 
 possession of these things he would account, 
 when any account was required, by stating 
 that they were either loans or presents. Nor 
 was this the worst. Sydney had learned to 
 contract little clandestine debts in other 
 quarters also; and independently of his liabi- 
 lities to Dawson, he was now in the books 
 of country shopkeepers to the extent of near 
 fifty pounds, a serious amount of debt to a 
 youth of eighteen, who had not fifty pence 
 in the world to discharge it. 
 
 " Sir," said Doctor Johnson, upon a cer- 
 tain occasion, "small debts are like small 
 shot ; they are rattling on every side, and 
 can scarcely be escaped without a wound. 
 Great debts are like cannon-balls, of loud 
 noise, but little danger." The sequel will 
 show how well the truth of this witty re- 
 mark was illustrated in the case of Sydney 
 Spenser.
 
 108 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 
 
 " He keeps bis time, as punctual as the sun, 
 \Vhen rising he redeems the pledge he gave 
 Tlie world at setting, and sent us to our couches 
 With strong assurance of another morrow. 
 Oh, Sir, the sun himself is not more faithful 
 Than strenuous friendship ; nor the solar beams 
 More full of warmth and comfort." 
 
 New Play. 
 
 The following morning verified Mr. Wood- 
 ward's predictions to the letter. The sun 
 rose red with choler, the sky was surly and 
 foul; the mountains were shrouded with 
 mists, so that only the outline of their sum- 
 mits was discernible^ and that only at inter- 
 vals, when the wind, which came in sullen fits, 
 dispersed for an instant the accumulated 
 vapours. The gulls and cormorants, retreat- 
 ing from the ocean, like refugees from an
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 1()9 
 
 impending revolution, flew screaming over 
 the loch, to their wonted asylums in the in- 
 land valleys. Before the family assembled, 
 it was evidently preparing to blow great 
 guns; the gale moaned and howled in the 
 chimneys, and the waves were dashing over 
 the little strand at the foot of the lawn, and 
 swinging the cutter to and fro so rudely as 
 to extort even from the fool-hardy Sydney 
 himself a surly admission that the weather 
 was unsuitable for aquatic amusements. But 
 the curate had made an appointment with 
 his brother-in-law, and no weather that ever 
 " came out of the sky," as the Irish peasant 
 expresses it, would have prevented him from 
 keeping it. When Hercules set out, " on a 
 raw and gusty day," upon one of his pro- 
 digious walks, with his huge dreadnought 
 of dark blue frieze, his oiled-skin hat, and a 
 great crooked club in his fist, it was not 
 easy for a stranger to make out who or what 
 he was — whether a farmer, or a pilot, a 
 fisherman, or a mountain shepherd ; indeed, 
 he sometimes looked like a man who lived
 
 110 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 both by hook and by crook, as the saying is. 
 At some distance, — particularly when he was 
 encountered on a bleak moor, or upon the 
 crags, — he seemed a very desperate charac- 
 ter, and made your heart sink within you; 
 but when people were near enough to see 
 him well, distrust vanished, and they felt 
 that it was no small degree of personal se- 
 curity to keep in his company, or within the 
 protectorship of his arm. The police of the 
 country had often found him a valuable 
 ally, for being a puissant pedestrian (not- 
 withstanding the possession of so capital a 
 pony), he was intimately acquainted with 
 every recess in the mountains, every cavern 
 on the shore, every house, castle, ruin, 
 almost every rock and tree, within a circle 
 of forty miles round the village of Redcross ; 
 and for the capture of a smuggler, or any 
 description of lawless character, not a con- 
 stable in the north had half of the Rev. ISIr. 
 Woodward's reputation. His acquaintance 
 with persons, too, was co- extensive with his 
 knowledge of localities ; he knew everybody
 
 THE CONSULTATION. Ill 
 
 all through and round the country, gentle 
 and simple ; and there were few to whom he 
 had not done some strenuous kindness. He 
 had saved dozens of lives in shipwreck ; and, 
 possessing a certain smattering of physic and 
 surgery, he had cured many a wrinkled crone 
 of her rheumatism or her toothache. Not a 
 blue jacket on the coast but would have died 
 for him; and the old women in red cloaks 
 and blue petticoats, when they could not 
 keep up with him on foot, pursued him with 
 benisons until he was out of sidit. 
 
 With all Mr. Spenser's knowledge of his 
 curate's hardy habits and character, he was 
 not a little surprised on coming down to 
 breakfast that morning to meet him in the 
 hall, just arrived. He was dripping like a 
 water-dog, and spattered above his knees 
 with the yellow clay of the hills ; but he 
 cared little or nothing about it, and was also 
 Provokingly thoughtless of the damage he 
 did the floors and carpets by such a needless 
 importation of mud and moisture. 
 
 Mr. Spenser induced him to divest him-
 
 112 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 self of his drenched outer-garment, and had 
 less difficulty to make him sit down and eat 
 a breakfast fully proportioned to his size and 
 brawn. All curates are prodigious break- 
 fast-eaters ; the reason probably is that they 
 are not always confident of dinner ; — more 
 shame upon the system that deprives them of 
 what ought to be the well-grounded faith of 
 every honest hard-working man in every path 
 of life. But Hercules had taken a walk that 
 morning, enough to make any man's appetite 
 wolfish. 
 
 *' I think, Val," he acknowledged, " I have 
 played the wolf to that cold shoulder of lamb." 
 
 " Quite right," said the rector, smiling ; 
 " and now^ play the fox to that cold fowl, I 
 advise you;" and no second invitation was 
 required. Not a fox in the shire could have 
 disposed in much shorter time of two legs 
 and one wing of the fat capon in question. 
 He scarcely spoke a word to his nieces during 
 the meal, except to give Elizabeth a parcel of 
 loves from her aunt, in a kind of parenthesis 
 between an egg and a cup of tea.
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 113 
 
 "Now I am your man," he cried_, having 
 at lensfth concluded his labours, and rising^ 
 from the table, with a droll lingering look at 
 the little that survived the havoc, as if it was 
 scarcely worth while to leave it, and yet im- 
 possible to do more than he had done. 
 
 " Well, Val, you want to talk to me about 
 Sydney?" 
 
 Sydney had not appeared at breakfast, but 
 that was coo common an incident to occasion 
 a remark from any body. 
 
 " I do. Let us adjourn to the library." 
 They did so. Mr. Spenser seated himself in 
 his own green leather chair; Mr. Woodward 
 preferred striding up and down the room, 
 often visibly agitating his friend for the safety 
 of a bust of Curran and some small groups 
 of statuary — things easily overset by the 
 knock of an awkward elbow or the switch of 
 a coat-tail. The curate was a dangerous per- 
 son in a drawing-room, or wherever there hap- 
 pened to be any fragile articles of vertu. 
 
 " Hercules," said the rector, " now that 
 the time draws near when Sydney's university 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 education ought to commence, it is time to 
 discuss the question, to what university we 
 ought to send him. Let me at once tell you 
 that Mrs. Spenser—" 
 
 The curate made an impatient gesture, as 
 
 much as to say, " What the has Mrs. 
 
 Spenser to do in a matter of the kind V The 
 rector continued — 
 
 " Mrs. Spenser is decidedly for either Ox- 
 ford or Cambridge." 
 
 " Oxford !" muttered Hercules, contemp- 
 tuously, and, had he not been interrupted, 
 would have proceeded to express the same 
 scorn for the other university. 
 
 "1 myself," continued Mr. Spenser, "lean 
 to Cambridge, — as I w^as a Cantab, you will 
 understand my feeling, — but I wish to do 
 nothing rashly ; I desire to combine a due 
 regard to my own circumstances with the best 
 course for Sydney's future interests." 
 
 "Why talk, then, of Oxford and Cam- 
 bridsfe — of either one or the other — when 
 you have Trinity College, Dublin, where 
 your son would get twice as sound, twice as 
 cheap, and twice as moral an education as it
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 115 
 
 is possible to get any where else in the world. 
 Since you have asked my opinion, Val, here 
 it is frankly for you. Send the boy up to 
 Dublin — ^ you may go further and fare worse,' 
 as Father O'Leary said to the Protestant 
 bishop who was abusing Purgatory. Send him, 
 I say, to the college of Swift, Burke, Gold- 
 smith, and your favourites, Grattan and John 
 Philpot Curran. There, put him under the 
 tuition of my cousin, Tom Beamish, — and I'll 
 answer for it, Val, you'll never repent it." 
 
 " So far," said the rector, having listened in 
 the calmest manner to this speech, which was 
 delivered quite in any thing but a calm way, 
 " so far I anticipated the opinion you would 
 give; but — " 
 
 The curate was on his hobby, and took the 
 word out of his brother-in-law's mouth with- 
 out scruple. 
 
 " I'll show you all the advantages, Val, 
 seriatim. First, the economy — " 
 
 " I grant the economy," said Mr. Spenser. 
 
 "In the second place, Val, — indeed I 
 should have put this first, — comes the moral 
 I 2
 
 116 MY UNCLE THE CURATE, 
 
 consideration. Now there Dublin bangs Ox- 
 ford and Cambridge hollow. It was founded 
 by the Maiden Queen, remember that, Val. 
 No vice in old Trinity. Not a man there 
 knows a game-cock from an ostrich ; no horses 
 dogs, or curricles. Smash a few lamps, and 
 thrash a sleepy old Dogberry, once a-year, 
 that's all — an old usage, only at the feast of 
 the SanctcE et individucB Trinitatis — no 
 great profligacy in that." 
 
 Mr. Spenser smiled at the curate's notions 
 of honouring the Trinity, and, without dis- 
 puting the positions of the enthusiastic Her- 
 cules, said, that he was so far from under- 
 rating the moral view of the question, that he 
 considered it far the most important point of 
 all. 
 
 " But," he continued, '• I cannot disguise 
 from myself, that Sydney has formed some 
 unfortunate connexions in Ireland, which, not 
 exactly prejudicial to his morals, certainly 
 are so to his manners. These connexions 
 I am desirous to break off as speedily and as 
 completely as possible, and I see no way so
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 117 
 
 likely to answer the purpose as to send him 
 to an English university, where the company 
 I allude to could not possibly follow him." 
 
 " He may get into worse," interrupted the 
 curate. '* The worst I know about the Daw- 
 sons (for I know you allude particularly to 
 them) is, that they have not paid you the 
 tithes they owe." 
 
 ''That objection will soon be removed, I 
 am happy to tell you," said Mr. Spenser. 
 " Read this," and he handed the curate the 
 following letter, which we insert, because it 
 may help to throw a light upon the character 
 of the VvU'iter. 
 
 " Castle Dawson, July — , 183—. 
 
 "My dear Sir, 
 " I trust I need not assure you what pain 
 it has ofiven me, that owino" to the embarrassed 
 state of my unfortunate father's affiiirs, the 
 tithes due to you from the Castle Dawson 
 property have remained so long unsettled. 
 Had my fechngs been regarded, or my 
 urgent solicitations been attended to, your 
 claims would have had the priority to those of
 
 118 1\IY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 any other creditor ; bat my father, being a 
 confirmed absentee (not altogether indeed a 
 voluntary one), is of course uninfluenced by 
 the profound sentiments of respect and admi- 
 ration which every resident in this parish 
 must entertain for the most excellent clergy- 
 man, and (let me say, without flattery) the 
 most useful country gentleman in Ireland. But 
 my present object in addressing you is merely 
 to say, that I have at length succeeded in 
 making arrangements for the full and imme- 
 diate discharge of the arrears so long unhap- 
 pily due from this estate. I have given 
 notice to this eflect to Mr. Maguire, your 
 proctor, that he may come over here on some 
 early day and receive the amount. 
 
 " Please to present my most respectful com- 
 pliments to Mrs. Spenser, whose health I trust 
 will improve as the summer advances, and be- 
 lieve me^ 
 
 " My dear Sir, yours, 
 " With the most sincere admiration and respect, 
 
 " Dudley Dawson. 
 
 " To the Rev. Valentine Spenser, 
 " Redcross Rectory, Redcross."
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 119 
 
 " Now, there !" cried Hercules, with some 
 triumph, " that's what I call tlie letter of a 
 brave, honest fellow." 
 
 " A little too sweet, methinks," said the 
 rector. 
 
 " Come, Val, that^s a good letter, and an 
 honest letter; if there's a little too much of 
 the suaviter in modo^ there's the fortiter in 
 re along with it. My firm belief is, that you 
 would never have got one farthing of those 
 tithes but for the personal influence and exer- 
 tions of Dudley. He might as well have left 
 the sweetness out^ but since he has put the 
 money m, I am not disposed to be hard on 
 him." 
 
 " But to return to our subject," said Mr. 
 Spenser, " I was going to observe that vicious 
 pleasures are expensive ones, and that my in- 
 come is not large enough to enable me to 
 make Sydney such an allowance as would give 
 him the means of indulging in pleasures of 
 that description. Moreover, Sydney, though 
 wild and wilful, has no actual vices that I have
 
 120 MY UXCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 observed, or heard of. He has been brought 
 up, you know, under my own eye." 
 
 " Under your eye^ Yal," said the curate, 
 "but not under your hand ; and as to the 
 limited allowance which you say is all you 
 can make him, that seems to me to be only 
 an additional source of danger, adding debt 
 and improbity to dissipation, supposing him 
 to fall into bad company, which, as he has 
 done here under your own roof, he is at least 
 as likely to do when some hundred miles away 
 from you." 
 
 " There is a great deal, I admit, in what 
 you say," said Mr. Spenser, yieldingly. 
 
 Hercules pushed his success with uncouth 
 energy, swinging his arms about, and raising 
 his voice painfully. 
 
 " Send him to Dublin — I'll go up myself 
 with him — Tom Beamish is the best fellow 
 and best friend I have in the world. All the 
 vacations will be spent here with you — make 
 him a pensioner — he will get a scholarship if 
 he minds himself — think of that, Yal. I'll 
 tell you W'hat a scholarship did for me : — I
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 121 
 
 had chambers, Val, books on the buttery, 
 exhibitions — twenty pounds a year, think of 
 that, Val. The college paid me instead of 
 my paying the college — I had a vote for 
 the member — " 
 
 " Yes, and you voted against my friend 
 Plunket, I'll answer for it — ah, Hercules?" 
 
 '' Yes, that I did," cried the sturdy Wood- 
 ward, elate at the memory of the conscientious 
 opposition he had given to the greatest orator 
 of his age^ and brightest ornament of his coun- 
 try ; *' but the best of all is yet to come. I had 
 commons — dinner, you know, dinner, Yal — 
 roast leg of mutton and boiled leg of mutton 
 alternately every day of my life for five 
 years — take your pen and calculate how 
 many legs that was in all — in fact, Val, five 
 years' maintenance in the Prytaneum, like 
 Themistocles or Xenophon." 
 
 " I was not aware that Themistocles or 
 Xenophon received that honour," said Mr. 
 Spenser, quietly. Mr. Spenser had no great 
 respect for the scholarship of his curate, 
 which, indeed, was not very elegant or 
 exact.
 
 122 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 " Can you prove that they did not ?" de- 
 manded the curate. " And, at all events, 
 Val, if tliey did not, you can't deny that they 
 deserved it." 
 
 " That's another matter," said the rector. 
 " But there is a great deal in all that you 
 have said on the college question, and I will 
 turn it carefully over in my mind, Hercules, 
 you may depend upon it." 
 
 " What's the use, Val, of turning it over in 
 your mind ? Let me write to Tom Beamish 
 by this post," said the impetuous curate. 
 
 " Not quite so fast," said the rector, smihng 
 as he rose. 
 
 The curate rose also, and took his leave; 
 not, however, without a sanguine hope that 
 the enumeration of the legs of mutton had 
 carried the day hollow in favour of his own 
 Alma Mater.
 
 STORMS WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 123 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 STORMS WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 
 
 " L'homme propose ; Dieu dispose." 
 
 French Proverb. 
 
 The rector's library was a handsome and 
 spacious semicircular room, fitted up with 
 bookcases of black oak, exquisitely carved, 
 and polished like ebony, containing from two 
 to three thousand volumes, the best editions 
 of the best works in the Greek, Latin, 
 Italian, French, and English languages, the 
 majority superbly bound, for books were the 
 only thing in which Mr. Spenser's personal 
 tastes were luxurious and expensive. He 
 was a bookish man, but not so much a glutton 
 as an epicure in books, and he held that when 
 a work was " glorious within," it was only fit 
 that the " clothing" should be rich in propor-
 
 124 MY UNCLE THE CUE ATE. 
 
 tion. A taste in bookbinding is essentially a 
 masculine one. No woman has a tincture of 
 it. Women read, and women write books, 
 and often beautiful books, but taste in binding 
 books they have none. It is one of the few 
 elegant things the sex has no gust for. The 
 binding of a robe or a bonnet they compre- 
 hend ; but the distinctions, proprieties, and 
 nicetiesofrussia, morocco, and vellum, — where 
 to gild and not to gild, where to be severe 
 and where to be splendid^ what authors and 
 what editions to dress in plain attire, wdiat to 
 clothe in richer garb, what to array imperially 
 in gold and purple, — not even your bookish 
 woman has a notion of. Many are, indeed, 
 of opinion that books look best, as ladies often 
 do themselves, en dishabille. Bookbinding 
 is twice an art ; it is more than the craft of 
 the tradesman, it is part of the study of the 
 scholar, for even in literature it is vain to 
 affect a total indifference to externals. A 
 library is a noble thino^ and a taste in books 
 is the politest of tastes. As we love them, 
 we love to embellish and exalt them ; the
 
 STORMS WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 125 
 
 fountains of our purest pleasures, it seems 
 but grateful to deck them with marble and 
 surround them with flowers. 
 
 The rector was a thoughtful, exact, carefal, 
 and, therefore, a slow writer, no pilferer from 
 Barrow or Massillon, nor one of your mechanical 
 preachers, who take what is called a skeleton 
 discourse, and stuff it with unconnected texts, 
 with the assistance of " Cruden's Concord- 
 ance." Mr. Spenser, indeed, took remarkable 
 pains with his sermons ; his congregation was 
 not a large one, but it consisted chiefly of the 
 lower classes^ to whom, as to children, it is 
 most important that instruction should be con- 
 veyed with that perfect clearness and simpli- 
 city, which in composition is the summit of art. 
 His curate, however, was of a different opi- 
 nion. Hercules Woodward thous^ht an e.v tem- 
 pore the proper thing for the Protestant shop- 
 keepers and policemen. He roared and bel- 
 lowed in the pulpit ; frightened and bullied 
 his congregation ; thumped things into them, 
 and thumped things out of them, and thumped 
 a great deal of dust out of the cushion into
 
 126 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 the bargain. He was a little addicted to 
 coarseness, too, in his language, particularly 
 when he made a personal attack upon Satan, 
 which he often did, or upon the Pope, which 
 he only ventured to do in Mr. Spenser's ab- 
 sence. But he was an earnest, good man, 
 not more resembling Luther, in the vehe- 
 mence of his manner, than Melancthon, in the 
 mildness and benignity that were under the 
 surface. 
 
 " Now," said the rector to himself, when 
 his brother-in-law had taken his leave, to 
 trudge back again to that sweet home, to 
 which the reader has already been introduced, 
 ** Now," said the rector, ''I shall sit down and 
 write my sermon." 
 
 Scarce was he seated in his green-leather 
 arm-chair before his library table, preparing 
 his mind for heavenly thoughts, and tuning 
 his tongue to express them in appropriate 
 language, when a rapid running and tramp- 
 ling overhead (my lady's chamber was over 
 the library) and a violent jangling of bells — 
 well-known signals of distress — called him
 
 STOKMS WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 127 
 
 upstairs abruptly. He was used to such 
 disturbances, and bore them only too stoically. 
 Can you imagine a woman at once hand- 
 some and ghastly ? Mrs. Spenser's features 
 were good ; the complexion actually death- 
 like ; her eyes were black, and brighter 
 than was necessary or agreeable. You 
 would not call her face emaciated, but it 
 was so exceedingly pale, or rather pallid, 
 that she looked more like a person escaped 
 from a cemetery than on the way to it. 
 There was, however,, no want of vitality 
 about her: just the reverse: she was only 
 too lively, but it was a liveliness the very 
 reverse of pleasant, the animation of selfish- 
 ness and irritability. A woman more full of 
 whims, whimsies, humours, crotchets, preju- 
 dices, envies, jealousies, paltrinesses, petti- 
 nesses, peevishnesses, narrownesses, and little 
 miseries, caprices, suspicions, and apprehen- 
 sions of all sorts, never existed ; and she was 
 ruthless in inflicting them on every one about 
 her, particularly, of course, upon her devoted 
 husband. Mrs. Spenser was considerate to 
 only one thing in the world, and that was a
 
 128 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 black-faced pug, who was lying at this moment 
 at her feet, coiled up in a ball, with a collar 
 of red velvet round his neck, embroidered 
 with the name of " Bijou,^' 
 
 " Calm yourself, Margaret, pray do," said 
 her husband, in a tone of earnest tenderness, 
 approaching the bed-side, where Rebecca, 
 her maid, looking frightened and fluttered, 
 was standing all alert, with opiates, salts, 
 tonics, and many more things than she could 
 well hold in her hands, not knowing what 
 might be first called for. Rebecca's face 
 could almost spare a few roses, and presented 
 a lively contrast to Mrs. Spenser's, which 
 resembled that of a bust in white marble, 
 wdth two real eyes of unearthly lustre glitter- 
 ing in it. 
 
 " Calm yourself, Margaret," repeated the 
 rector, " pray do not make yourself uneasy 
 about the chimneys ; they have been re- 
 cently examined by the diocesan architect ; 
 believe me they are perfectly secure." 
 
 " Secure, indeed !" she cried ; those unna- 
 tural eyes glancing back and forwards be- 
 tween the ceiling and the window, as if she
 
 STORMS WITHIN A^'D WITHOUT. 129 
 
 was in instant expectation of seeing the 
 chimney topple down, or Boreas making his 
 appearance in person. " Secure, indeed 1 
 as if any thing could be secure in such a ter- 
 rific storm !" 
 
 Then she asked whether there was such 
 another chmate on the globe, and said she 
 could stand any thing — any thing but storm ; 
 then she w^as confident the windoAvs would 
 be blown in the very next gust that came ; 
 after w^hich she affirmed that her head w^as 
 splitting, and applied her long white fingers, 
 not unlike icicles, to her temples, as if to 
 keep the pieces together ; and when her 
 hands brouo^ht a mass of her hair down from 
 underneath her night-cap, perhaps the luck- 
 less Rebecca did not come in for a little 
 hurricane to her own share for her negligent 
 pinning ! 
 
 " Perhaps, my dear, you would be better 
 up," resumed her husband, to make a diversion 
 in the maid's favour ; but instead of noticing 
 W'hat he said, she looked at her watch, and 
 inquired pettishly for Miss M'Crackcn. That 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 was the name of the nursery governess, not 
 a very harmonious one, it will be admitted, 
 but she was quite ready to part with it, and 
 what could any girl with an unmusical name 
 do more ? Rebecca ran for her, but Miss 
 M'Cracken was not to be found. 
 
 " Try the school-room," said the rector, 
 with a soupco7i of satire in the solemnity of 
 his tone, implying that the room in question 
 was not the most likely place to find the 
 governess in; though it was not to be en- 
 tirely omitted in a search for her. 
 
 It turned out that Lucy M'Cracken was at 
 her toilette. Mrs. Spenser could not bear to 
 have any one about her who was not at all 
 hours nicely, almost elegantly, dressed. Few 
 young women objected to her service on that 
 account; not Miss M'Cracken, certainly. 
 
 AVhile the governess was attiring, the 
 rector again suggested to his wife the expe- 
 pediency of rising, at the same time re- 
 peating his assurances that the chimneys were 
 as solid as any masonry could possibly be. 
 Mrs. Spenser seemed to be measuring the
 
 STORMS WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 131 
 
 ceiling with her wild black eyes, and marking 
 the precise spot where the chimney must 
 inevitably smash through it, if the gale con- 
 tinued to rage. It certainly did blow furi- 
 ously at the moment; close as the wood- 
 work of the windows was, they rattled at 
 every gust, and a tall ash in front of the 
 house, that in general could not be seen from 
 Mrs. Spenser's pillow, was more or less visi- 
 ble every minute, as it bowed under the 
 weight of the blast. 
 
 " Perhaps so," she answered, in a tone of 
 peevish acquiescence. " I'll get up and sit in 
 my dressing-room ; pray go down, Mr. Spenser, 
 while I dress, — no — stay — the exertion 
 would be too much for me — do you not think 
 you and Rebecca could push the bed over to 
 the other side of the room ? My poor Bijou 
 — he has been so restless all night — soijez 
 tranquiUe^ jxiuvre petif^ 
 
 Master and maid put their shoulders to it. 
 
 Bijou growling at them the while wickedly. 
 
 Rebecca was perhaps the robuster of the two, 
 
 being more in the habit of exercising her 
 
 k2
 
 132 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 arms than her master, who made no great use 
 of his, not even in the pulpit. 
 
 Before, however, they commenced moving 
 the bedstead, which was a massive one, 
 they should have thought of putting all im- 
 pediments out of the w^ay ; but they neglected 
 to do so, and the consequence was that they 
 overturned a small table, with all the drops, 
 salts, and tonics, a cup and saucer, a porcelain 
 candlestick, a small silver bell, some French 
 novels, Mrs. Spenser's watch, a china jug, 
 a jar of red currant-jelly and a wine-glass, 
 the simultaneous fall of which miscellaneous 
 articles made a handsome crash, you may 
 suppose. 
 
 Mrs. Spenser concluded it was the chimney 
 at last, in spite of the diocesan architect, and 
 sprang screaming out of bed with an agility 
 that was perfectly marvellous, dragging half 
 the bed-clothes after her; and worse, or rather 
 better than all, pitching her ill-conditioned 
 pug into the middle of the room, where he 
 barked and snarled like a little Cerberus. 
 
 Mr. Spenser ran round on one side and
 
 STORMS WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 133 
 
 Rebecca on the other — it was a scene that 
 Wilkie should have painted — the girls ran up 
 stairs, hearing the din, and Miss M'Cracken, 
 dressed a quatre cpingles^ followed by one of 
 the housemaids, with a sweeping-brush in her 
 hand, also rushed to the spot, to see what 
 calamities had happened, and lend their as- 
 sistance. 
 
 A glance would have told any body of 
 the least skill in divining character, who 
 saw Miss M^Cracken enter Mrs. Spenser's 
 bedroom that morning, that she was a person 
 of no little authority and consequence. She 
 "vvas under the middle stature, but made the 
 utmost of her height ; her figure was at once 
 neat and stout, and her dress set it off to the 
 best advantage. Handsome she was unques- 
 tionably, but disagreeably so ; at least many 
 people thought so. Her face was one of 
 those you can't object to, and yet don't quite 
 fancy ; it at once attracted and repelled you. 
 In short, it was evident she had a character 
 and a mind, while at the same time there was 
 something sinister that bespoke a mind better
 
 134 ]\rY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 stored with shrewd projects than good prin- 
 ciples. She had reached the mature and 
 stirring age of twenty-seven, and looked as if 
 she had commenced life early in her teens, 
 and seen and done as much as it was possible 
 to see and do in the time. 
 
 Every body except Miss Spenser gave 
 way to Miss M'Cracken. She called for 
 explanations, she issued orders, she inquired 
 for the children, she seemed disposed to box 
 Rebecca's ears, although she and Rebecca 
 were generally good friends enough. To the 
 rector alone she was respectful, but there was 
 somethino^ condescending* in her bearino^ even 
 to him. Arabella, who did not restrain her- 
 self, said in a low but sharp tone, that it 
 would be better for Miss M*Cracken not to 
 talk so much, but to pick up the broken 
 things. Lucy's colour mounted, and her eye 
 showed her resentment at this speech, but 
 she commanded her tongue perfectly. Re- 
 becca was instantly on her knees, picking up 
 the shattered glass and china ; Elizabeth 
 and the chambermaid assisted : it was too
 
 STORMS WITHIN AND AVITHOUT. 135 
 
 grovelling an office for Miss M*Crackcn, who 
 occupied herself helping Mrs. Spenser into 
 bed, and appeasing Bijou with Naples' bis- 
 cuits. It is to be presumed she thought these 
 latter employments more dignified. 
 
 Mr. Spenser was ridiculously out of his 
 sphere amidst all the petticoats, blankets, and 
 broken china, currant-jelly, and sal- volatile ; 
 he felt it, and took the opportunity of the 
 confusion to shp out of the room, picking the 
 feathers from his glossy black coat as he went 
 down stairs, and blaming himself internally 
 for being so weak as to humour his wife's 
 vagaries, a weakness, however, of which he 
 continued to be guilty to the end of the 
 chapter. His grand mistake was, forgetting 
 that he had other duties as well as his con- 
 jugal ones ; he should have locked himself 
 up in his study, if necessary stood a siege 
 there, and written his pastoral discourse, in 
 defiance of rain and wind, and all the nerves 
 and nonsense in the universe. 
 
 Mrs. Spenser continued very excited for 
 some time, unusually fidgety and exacting.
 
 136 ]MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 always wanting something, and changing her 
 mind before her faithful attendant could oret 
 it for her. Lucy took up her position near a 
 window, and applied herself to " Clarissa Har- 
 lowe," as well as she could, in the intervals of 
 her attendance at the bedside. Never once 
 did she exhibit the least temper, unpleasant 
 as it is to be disturbed reading, particularly 
 such a work as Lucy was engaged with ; on 
 the contrary, when the interest became very 
 absorbing, she seemed only to grow more 
 anxious for the comfort and repose of her 
 patient ; for she approached her on tip-toe, 
 with a small vial containing a black liquid, 
 and implored her to take a few^ drops of 
 laudanum on a lump of sugar. 
 
 *' How many w^ill you take, madam ?"' she 
 tenderly inquired, her voice as nicely pitched 
 to the tone of a sick room as if she had been 
 educated by Miss Martineau expressly on the 
 point. 
 
 " Give me twelve, or thirteen," said Mrs. 
 Spenser. 
 
 ** Twelve will be quite enough, ma'am,"
 
 STORMS WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 137 
 
 said Lucy, but she administered twenty, and 
 enjoyed Richardson's great work to the con- 
 tent of her heart. 
 
 At dinner that day Sydney was missing. 
 
 Mr. Spenser asked his daughter Elizabeth 
 whether she knew what had become of him. 
 
 " He rode over, I believe, to Castle Daw- 
 son," she replied, in a tone that conveyed 
 her displeasure at having no better account 
 to give of her brother. 
 
 Mr. Spenser merely remarked that it was 
 an unpleasant day for so long a ride. It was 
 one instance out of a thousand of the parental 
 nesrliofence which caused him so much un- 
 happiness hereafter; and yet Sydney was just 
 now, as w^e have seen, occupying his mind 
 more than he had ever done before, and more 
 than subjects of direct practical interest 
 usually did.
 
 138 IVIY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE NURSERY GOVERNESS. 
 
 " A young lady is anxious for an engagement as Nursery 
 Governess, or Companion. She is active, intelligent, amia- 
 ble, and confidential ; teaches English in all its branches, 
 French like a native, and tbe rudiments of Latin. Has no 
 objection to town, or country, or to the education of young 
 gentlemen. Would make herself generally useful. Salary 
 of some importance, and the family of a clergyman, or an in- 
 valid would be preferred. Address, L. M'C, Post Office, 
 Kensington." The Times, Aug. 3, 1830. 
 
 Lucy M'Gracken's ostensible employment 
 in the family was not her real one ; nominally 
 she was the preceptress of the younger chil- 
 dren ; she professed the rudiments of Latin, 
 and prepared young gentlemen not only for the 
 studies of Eton, but for its discipline also. But 
 her real and hond-fide occupation was "^ that of 
 sycophant to Mrs. Spenser. She had a fair 
 salary for the former^ but she made a better 
 thing of the latter, not only in the shape of 
 perquisites^ but what she valued more, influ-
 
 THE NUHSEHY GOVEENESS. 139 
 
 ence and position. Lucy had entered the 
 rector's household a mere nursery-governess, 
 bound by the terms of her engagement to do 
 several things less dignified than teaching 
 grammar and geography ; but she had gra- 
 dually and cleverly shuffled oiF every function 
 that was in any degree menial, and all that 
 remained was, to shake off her educational 
 duties altogether; an object which, about the 
 present time, she had very nearly succeeded in 
 accomphshing. A more ambitious or more 
 artful young woman never advertised in the 
 " Times" for a post in a nursery. Her grand 
 object was to make herself a lady^ and as that 
 was only to be done by captivating and marry- 
 ing a gentleman, she was always ready for a flir- 
 tation with any handsome young man who fell 
 in her way. Beside the face and figure we 
 have described, she had other qualities that 
 made her by no means an undesirable girl 
 to flirt with. She spoke French fluently, 
 sang well, and there was something ])iquant 
 in the alternate demurencss and vivacity 
 of her demeanour. Miss M^Cracken was
 
 140 ]VIY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 much too sagacious, to rely upon the ad- 
 vantages Nature had bestowed upon her. 
 She perfectly understood the value of accom- 
 plishments and manners, and had omitted no 
 opportunity of improving herself in both ways. 
 Her manners, indeed, were already easy and 
 graceful beyond her station ; if they were 
 embarrassed at all, it was not by the humble 
 opinion she had of herself, but more by the 
 trouble it gave her to disguise the high one. 
 As to her mind, the pains she took with it 
 would have deserved the highest praise, only 
 that much of the time its cultivation occu- 
 pied had been purloined from the discharge 
 of her duties ; she taught herself Italian 
 when she ouQ-ht to have been teachincr her 
 pupils Latin or English, and the books which 
 she recommended for their use were invari- 
 ably those which she desired to have for h^r 
 own mental improvement. In fact, she had 
 little, if any, of the organ of conscientious- 
 ness ; or, if she originally possessed a con- 
 science, she had contrived to reduce its voice 
 to an almost inaudible tick, which it is quite
 
 THE NURSERY GOVERNESS. 141 
 
 possible to do, if people will only resolutely 
 and patiently set about it. 
 
 When Lucy came first to Redcross, she 
 found Rebecca in the post of honour nearest to 
 Mrs. Spenser's person. But Rebecca was a poor 
 simple country-girl, without a notion above 
 her sphere of life, and the sorry line of her 
 duty. She was pliable and complaisant be- 
 cause she was obliging and good-natured, but 
 she had no turn for flattery, knack at in- 
 trigue, or talent for self advancement. Her 
 prudence began and ended wdth depositing 
 a few pounds in the Saving Bank of the vil- 
 lage ; she was born and bred a servant, and 
 a servant was destined to continue all her 
 days, while every thing about JNIiss 
 M*Cracken announced that if fortune had 
 not a higher sphere in store for her, she was 
 not the woman to sink with alacrity into a 
 lower one. Lucy (who indeed hated children) 
 soon conceived the idea that Rebecca would 
 answer extremely w^ell to superintend the fry 
 of the nursery, while she felt that it would 
 be more congenial to her own tastes and 
 talents to pass the greater part of her time
 
 142 -MY UNCLE THE CUE ATE. 
 
 in Mrs. Spenser's bed-chamber and boudoir, 
 acquiring lady-like ways of talking and 
 thinking, or doing nothing, and thus fitting 
 herself to move in the walk of life which 
 she had no doubt destiny had chalked out for 
 her, and which, at all events, she had chalked 
 out for herself. 
 
 The skill was consummate with which 
 Miss M'Cracken contrived to change places 
 with Rebecca. She began by making her- 
 self agreeable ; then she made herself use- 
 ful ; and she ended by making herself as indis- 
 pensable to Mrs, Spenser as her salts and 
 morphine. Nominally, however, she still 
 retained her original appointment ; a few hours 
 every day, generally in the morning, were 
 devoted to the young Spensers, during which, 
 by her severe rectitude and her despotic 
 government, she compensated herself in 
 some measure for the lax morality, and the 
 servile behaviour of the remainder of the day. 
 
 Lucy had contemplated at one time (not 
 long before the commencement of our story), 
 making a little conquest of Sydney Spenser. 
 She would gladly have put him on the list of
 
 THE NURSEEY GOVERNESS. 143 
 
 her pupils, and offered to read "Gil Bias" with 
 him ; or be his Italian mistress, if he would 
 prefer Petrarch's Sonnets. But Sydney had 
 the bad taste to scorn Lucy's sentimental 
 schooling ; he cared nothing for Petrarch, or 
 for Laura either ; the beauty of a bull-dog 
 was that which then had most power over 
 him, and he had more ear for an L'ish melody 
 than a Tuscan. In short, he was as repulsive 
 to Miss M*Cracken as St. Kevin was to Kath- 
 leen ; but his coldness she could have brooked 
 and forgiven, if he had only repelled her 
 advances without ridiculing them, and if he 
 had not gratuitously declared that Rebecca 
 was in his opinion a handsomer girl. Lucy 
 had no notion of being jealous, or quarrelling 
 with Rebecca on the subject; but she became 
 all at once a malignant though secret enemy 
 to Sydney. None of his irregularities es- 
 caped her inquisitorial eye, and she had 
 always a bad word for him whenever she could 
 vent her feelings in safety. 
 
 Next to Sydney she disliked Elizabeth. 
 She had no cause for it, only that Elizal)eth 
 showed a willingness to discharge the duties
 
 144 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 which the proper officer neglected, and that 
 her quiet dignity of manner kept the soi- 
 disant governess at a lowering and provoking 
 distance. Lucy had not half so much ill-will 
 to Arabella, who openly attacked her, and 
 sometimes gave her an opportunity for a 
 *' reply churlish," or " a counter-check quar- 
 relsome." The '' retort courteous" not often 
 passed between them. 
 
 Miss M^Cracken, in short, was one of those 
 people of whom there are many in the world, 
 who are liked by hardly anybody, yet ot 
 whom nobody can easily find any thing deci- 
 dedly bad to say. Mrs. Spenser, however^ 
 more than liked her^ and with very good 
 reason, for Lucy's main business from morn- 
 ing to night was to flatter and humour her ; 
 the latter being a much more arduous task 
 than the former, with so capricious and whim- 
 sical a woman. Lucy possessed the art of 
 always divining what her mistress wished her 
 to say, or not to say ; knew when to congra- 
 tulate her upon looking charming, or pronounce 
 her looking wretched, which was sometimes 
 the more agreeable compliment ] when to
 
 THE NURSERY GOVERNESS. 145 
 
 coincide with the doctors, when to differ with 
 them ; when to be mute as a mouse, when 
 to speak ; and what to say when she did speak. 
 To a selfish invahd such an ally was invalua- 
 ble. Lucy was always ready with the most 
 acceptable suggestions^ and of course it was 
 no concern of hers whether the rector could 
 well afford to act upon them or not ; she w^as 
 not his Chancellor of Exchequer ; her busi- 
 ness was to consult poor Mrs. Spenser's health 
 and gratification, and nobody could accuse 
 that lady of reckless extravagance, or of 
 thinking of herself to the exclusion of every 
 body, and every thing else, when the ideas 
 seemed to originate in the amiable thought- 
 fulness and inventive good-nature of the 
 governess. 
 
 Privations, discomforts, and indignities, 
 are the lot of hundreds of young women who 
 devote themselves, or are devoted by their 
 ruthless destiny, to that line of life which the 
 world in its wisdom (or at least a great portion 
 of it) continues to treat as one of the basest 
 of human employments — the education of in- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 fancy. But Miss M'Cracken was not the 
 girl to pat up with privations or indignities. 
 She knew how to feather her nest, and to 
 butter her bread on both sides, as they say 
 in Swift's "Polite Conversation." Not to 
 speak in proverbs, she possessed the art of 
 making herself snug wherever her lot cast 
 her; and there was scarcely a prettier room in 
 the parsonage than that which she had appro- 
 priated to herself. It was handsomely cur- 
 tained, warmly' carpeted, more than comfort- 
 ably furnished, and^ better than all, it was as 
 remote as the extent of the house permitted, 
 not only from the school-room, but from the 
 children's dormitory. In the house the Wood- 
 wards lived in, there was no chamber half so 
 well appointed, not even Carry's own, though 
 Hercules did his best to make that comfort- 
 able. 
 
 Miss M'Cracken's room had the advantage 
 of enjoying the overflow of luxuries and orna- 
 ments from Mrs. Spenser's. The rector's wife 
 was particularly whimsical and extravagant in 
 couches and chairs, and as her chamber could
 
 THE NUKSERY GOVERNESS. 147 
 
 not hold all the varieties her caprice had ac- 
 cumulated, when the inconvenience of a glut 
 was felt, the excess was carried elsewhere, and 
 Lucy was so obliging as to allow a portion of 
 it to be stowed in her own apartment. In 
 the same way she managed to decorate it 
 with a handsome French clock, a buhl cabinet, 
 a mosaic octagon table, and many other like 
 articles, which she wished perhaps to make 
 herself familiar with early in life, lest the 
 possession of them might embarrass or over- 
 excite her at a later period. But many little 
 things in the room and the greater part of 
 the books and prints were her own private 
 chattels. Miss M*Cracken was always ac- 
 quiring something, and never lost any thing 
 she acquired. She rolled through life like a 
 hedgehog through an orchard, gathering as 
 she went, and probably, as in the case of the 
 prickly and predatory animal, many things 
 stuck to her which were not properly her 
 own. Over the mantel-piece were hung, in 
 little gilt or maple-wood frames, engravings 
 of some of the most eminent Protestant rais- 
 l2
 
 148 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 sionaries, preachers, and theologians, inter- 
 spersed with portraits of several women of 
 celebrated piety, who were, of course, under- 
 stood to be the female models which Lucy 
 proposed for her study and imitation. 
 
 Need it be said that the books were of the 
 same spiritual character. There was a neat 
 little bookcase, well furnished with small 
 editions of the most popular and standard 
 religious works; a few belonged to Mr. 
 Spenser, but the majority had been either 
 bought by Lucy herself, or were presents 
 which she had received from time to time 
 from attached pupils or grateful mothers. 
 Mr. Woodward had given her at Christmas a 
 copy of Wilberforce's " View^ of Christianity," 
 and the rector had very lately presented her 
 with " Butler's Analogy,'' a proof of the high 
 opinion he entertained of the powers of her 
 understanding. It often gave him sincere 
 pleasure to find her deeply engaged in its 
 profound pages, while she kept w^atch and 
 ward at his wife's bedside ; for Lucy's novel- 
 reading was generally a clandestine pursuit.
 
 THE NURSERY GOVERNESS. 149 
 
 which, no doubt, gave an additional piquancy 
 to the scenes of Richardson and Sand. 
 
 Very little sleep sufficed Lucy herself, 
 particularly when she had such a book as 
 " Clarissa" to keep her eyes open. It was 
 well for Mrs. Spenser that the stock of novels 
 and romances in the house was limited, for 
 the volumes might have been counted by 
 the phials of morphine administered to her, 
 while Lucy devoured them. That night the 
 dose was doubled, partly because the winds 
 were so mutinous, and partly because Richard- 
 son was so absorbing. Long after all the 
 house was under canopies of chintz or dimity, 
 Lucy continued to sit up^ with her wax candle, 
 her lively little fire chirping in the grate, her 
 person fused into the swelling cushions of a 
 chair which was all cushions, her feet planted 
 on the fender, her elbow on the table, her 
 eyes riveted on '^ Clarissa," and taking no 
 notice whatever of either Hannah More, or 
 Mrs. Fry, who were both peering primly at 
 her out of their little frames.
 
 150 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Somebody tapped at the door ; she started, 
 though not at all superstitious, listened, threw 
 her handkerchief over the book, and said, 
 " Come in." It was Rebecca, who, kept 
 awake by the tempest, came to pass the 
 night with Lucy, either in her bed, or at her 
 fire-side. Lucy was charitable; drew over 
 another chair, nearly as easy as her own, 
 though made on another principle; planted 
 her shivering deputy in it; and replenished 
 the grate with sods, almost as sable, sohd, and 
 full of flame as Newcastle coal. There were 
 soon two pair of feet on the fender, but 
 there was a great difference between them ; 
 Lucy's were pretty, and wore silk stockings ; 
 Rebecca's were clothed in cotton, or worsted, 
 and deserved no better. 
 
 " You hear the storm here mighty little, 
 miss," said Rebecca, " it's mighty loud in 
 the nursery." 
 
 " It's because the wind happens to blow 
 from the west," said Lucy. 
 
 The fact was, that the wind blew from that
 
 THE NURSERY GOVERNESS. 151 
 
 point three hundred days out of the three 
 hundred and sixty-five, so that it was very 
 commodious to have a bed-room that was not 
 exposed to the west wind. 
 
 " What's a tempest, miss ?" asked the 
 deputy-governess, " though I'm sure I ought 
 to know, living in these parts, where it never 
 stops blowing all the year round." 
 
 Lucy smiled at the philosophical curiosity 
 of Rebecca, and luminously explained that 
 when the air was ao^itated, and tumbled thinofs 
 down, blew them about^ and turned every 
 thing topsy-turvy^ that was a tempest. 
 
 " And what's a hurricane ?" — was Rebecca's 
 next inquiry. 
 
 Lucy again explained^ and asked what 
 made her companion so inquisitive that 
 night. 
 
 " It was the children that were axing me, as 
 I was putting them to bed," said Rebecca, 
 and then she remarked how curious children 
 were. 
 
 " Don't encouraofc their curiositv too 
 much," said Lucy. " It's a great vice iu
 
 152 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 children to be always asking questions ; I 
 have corrected them for it more than once." 
 
 " Indeed, it's very troublesome, miss," re- 
 plied Kebecca, " and I find it so particularly 
 when I don't know what to answer them. 
 But how quiet mistress is to-night !" 
 
 *'It's the few drops of morphine I gave 
 her in her gruel." said Lucy. 
 
 *' It's a darling medicine," said Rebecca ; 
 " it does the nurse as much good as the sick 
 body.'^ 
 
 Lucy sighed tenderly, and said she could 
 sit up for ever with such a sweet patient as 
 Mrs. Spenser. Rebecca sighed responsively ; 
 and then Miss M'Cracken added that she 
 greatly feared poor Mrs. Spenser would never 
 get a natural night's sleep as long as she re- 
 mained in the country. 
 
 " She never will be asy, anyhow," said Re- 
 becca; "it stands to rayson." 
 
 *'She never will be well, Rebecca," said 
 Lucy, with sad solemnity. 
 
 This was the way the storm within doors 
 was brewed for the easy and unsuspicious
 
 THE NURSERY GOVERNESS. 153 
 
 rector. Miss JVrCracken's object was to get 
 up a cry in the house that Mrs. Spenser 
 would never get her health in the country. 
 As to herself, she always professed the 
 greatest aversion to town. 
 
 ** The Dublin doctors would do her a 
 power of good, I suppose, miss ?" 
 
 *' Of course they would." 
 
 "But they're very expensive, I'm tould, 
 miss, and won't cure any but rich people." 
 
 " And isn't Mr. Spenser as rich as 
 Croesus?" asked Lucy. "But even if he was 
 not, ought he to think of money when 
 the health of that dear sweet woman is in 
 question?" 
 
 " She's his wedded wife, at any rate," said 
 Rebecca, implying some dissent from the 
 flattering epithet Miss M'Cracken had ap- 
 plied to her mistress, but having a clear view 
 of the strength of matrimonial obligations, 
 as all women have. 
 
 " She is," said Lucy, with emphasis, " and 
 she deserves better than to be murdered by 
 the sea air, that never agreed with her, and
 
 154 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 those country doctors, that hav'n't as much 
 skill as my little finger." 
 
 The simile was not very disparaging to 
 the country doctors, for Lucy's fingers had a 
 great deal of skill in them. 
 
 " They do well enough for poor bodies," 
 said Rebecca; "but of course, miss, a lady 
 ought to have the best of doctors that's 
 goin'; it stands to rayson." 
 
 The clock struck one. 
 
 *' It's getting very late, Rebecca," said 
 Lucy ; " hadn't you better go back to your 
 room ?" 
 
 *' Let me sit here by the fire, miss; do you 
 go to bed, and I'll talk you to sleep, or I'll 
 hold my tongue, just as you please." 
 
 " I'm not sleepy myself," said Lucy. 
 
 *' Read me something," said Rebecca. 
 ' " Put some turf on the fire, and I will, 
 then/' answered Lucy, complaisantly. 
 
 " Shall I read you one of Mrs. Hannah 
 More's ^ Sacred Dramas ?' " 
 
 ** Just read me what you were reading for 
 yourself, miss," said Rebecca, perhaps di-
 
 THE NURSERY GOVERNESS. 155 
 
 vining that Miss M*^Cracken's nocturnal stu- 
 dies were none of the driest^ or spying a book 
 that looked more amusing than instructive 
 under the handkerchief. 
 
 " I was just looking," said Lucy, taken a 
 little aback, " into a work called * Clarissa 
 Harlowe ;' I suspect it's a novel ; but I thought 
 it right to know what it's about, in order to 
 forbid the children to open it, should it con- 
 tain any thing improper." 
 
 ** Well, it doesn't sound improper at all/' 
 said Rebecca ; " Clarissa is such a beautiful 
 name for a lady — " 
 
 — "That you think," added Lucy, ''her 
 story must be very interesting." 
 
 So saying, she resumed her book and took 
 up the story where she had left off herself, 
 without taking much trouble to put her com- 
 panion in possession of the previous part of 
 it. Nor, indeed, was there the slightest oc- 
 casion. Rebecca devoured every word with 
 a rapture she had never felt before, and the 
 book was never laid down until the flame of 
 the candle suddenly collapsed into the socket,
 
 156 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 and left the secret novel-readers in almost 
 total darkness. Lucy drew the curtains to 
 admit the gloomy grey of the morning, and 
 Rebecca, huddling her cloaks and shawls 
 about her, crept back by the same faint light 
 to the children's room.
 
 SUNDRY MATTERS. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 SUNDRY MATTERS. 
 
 " When that I was a httle tiny boy, 
 With hey-ho, the wind and the rain, 
 A fooHsh tiling was but a toy, 
 
 For the rain it raineth every day." 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 A STORM always kept the Woodwards, 
 too, in a state of alarm and excitement, 
 though not entirely upon their own account. 
 Mrs. Woodward was not the woman to fall 
 into paroxysms of selfish apprehension, whilst 
 billows mountain-high and fierce winds were 
 threatening perhaps hundreds of hapless ma- 
 riners with destruction within half a mile of 
 her ; and as to the curate, he was never so 
 great as when a furious gale was vexing the 
 coast and threatening to afford fearful occa-
 
 158 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 sions for the display of his humanity and 
 prowess. 
 
 Redcross was on the shore, and the win- 
 dows of the curate's house commanded a 
 view of the coast for an extent of many miles. 
 The house was far from being as good as so 
 good a man deserved to inhabit, or as solid as 
 its exposed situation required in a country so 
 subject to hurricanes. The chimneys were 
 so tall, and at the same time so slender, that 
 their standing was a standing miracle. In 
 that house, indeed, there was rattling of win- 
 dow-frames, and shattering of panes, and 
 creaking of ill-fitted doors, and whistling and 
 howling of wicked blasts through hole and 
 cranny, through ancient crack and modern 
 crevice. Indeed, so continually recurring 
 was the damage done by the wind, that re- 
 pairing it perfectly was out of the question ; 
 it would have taken more than i\Ir. Wood- 
 ward's income to have kept the glass in re- 
 pair, for at that period there was a heavy 
 duty upon that fragile article. The conse- 
 quence was, that there was scarcely an in-
 
 SUNDRY MATTERS . 159 
 
 tegral pane in the upper apartments of the 
 house ; and many had been shivered over and 
 over again, until it was wonderful how paste and 
 old copy-books kept the fragments together. 
 You might have traced the progress in writing 
 made by the little Woodwards from the first 
 rude pot-hooks, by inspecting the slips of 
 paper with which Hercules had managed to 
 put off, as long as possible, the reference to 
 the man of the diamond, which was inevitable 
 at last. But the wood- work was almost as 
 precarious as the glass, and it was no uncom- 
 mon incident for a violent gust to burst in a 
 window at one smash^ instead of taking the 
 trouble to demolish it by degrees. The 
 curate was then obliged to unite the trade of 
 the carpenter to the glazier's, and fortunately 
 he had a turn for mechanical operations, and 
 could even repair the brick-work a little, or 
 do a matter of slating, to prevent the wind 
 and the rain from becoming absolute masters 
 of the house, W'hile he was constrained to pay 
 the rent of it. Had he required cheering 
 while performing these humble offices, wliich 
 the poverty of his lot imposed upon him, his
 
 160 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 wife was there to cheer him, though she was 
 always averse to his labours on the roof, which 
 was very high and slanting, not to mention 
 that the ladder was somewhat rickety by 
 which her brave husband was wont to clamber 
 to his house-top. 
 
 In the gazebo called the Observatory you 
 may fancy what an uproar there was in such 
 weather as the present. The windows there 
 were boarded up with stout planks, like those 
 of Apsley House in political tempests^ but 
 even then it was any thing but a safe place, 
 for it was as obnoxious to the wind as a lisrht- 
 house, without being constructed in the same 
 substantial way. Still it commanded so wide 
 a view, that the curate used several times a 
 day to venture up to it to take a more ex- 
 tended survey of the coast than he could ob- 
 tain from any of the lower parts of the 
 house. 
 
 Upon the first day of the gale, a small 
 vessel had been seen in the offing, apparently 
 anxious to run into some of the numerous 
 creeks along the coast; but it was a lee- 
 shore, and Hercules, who was a pretty good
 
 SUNDRY ^lATTERS. 161 
 
 seaman, perfectly apprehended the difficulties 
 she must have to contend with in an attempt 
 of the kind in such ugly weather. 
 
 On a minute examination, Hercules had no 
 doubt she w^as a pleasure-boat; she was cer- 
 tainly not a fishing-smack, and w^as too small 
 either for merchandise or war. That entire 
 day she w^as seen beating about,, until to- 
 wards evening, when suddenly she disap- 
 peared, apparently behind a group of small 
 islands in the offing, one of which was the ro- 
 mantic rock of which the Spensers considered 
 themselves the suzerains. To send any re- 
 lief off to the distressed stranfjer was out of 
 tlie question ; it was possible, however, that 
 the storm might still drive her ashore, and in 
 that case her destruction w-as almost in- 
 evitable, although it w^as also possible that 
 timely aid might save the lives of her crew. 
 Every exertion that humanity could make to 
 provide against this contingency was made 
 by the brave and worthy clergyman ; and 
 Father Magrath, the Catholic priest of Red- 
 cross (with whom ]\Ir. Woodward, as well as 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 IVIY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the rector, lived on the most cordial terms, 
 notwithstanding both political and religious 
 differences), was fully as prompt and ener- 
 getic in doing all that charity dictated. 
 Parties of the country people were despatched 
 northwards and southwards along the cliffs, 
 with poles, ropes, lanterns, and whatever was 
 likely to prove serviceable, should the yacht 
 be driven on the beach. Father Magrath, a 
 bluff, benevolent man, went himself with one 
 of these parties, and Mr. Woodward led an- 
 other ; they heard a gun towards the close 
 of the evening, but saw nothing, and re- 
 turned to the village in the dead of night, in 
 the midst of the liowhng tempest, full of the 
 saddest apprehensions as to the fate of the 
 unknown craft. The next day, and the day 
 following, rumours of more than one wreck at 
 various points along the coast reached the in- 
 habitants of Redcross, and it was but too 
 probable that the yacht, if that Avere her cha- 
 racter, was one of the number. There was a 
 bare chance that, by some combination of for- 
 tunate circumstances turned to advantage by
 
 SUNDRY MATTERS. 163 
 
 very dexterous seamanship, she might have 
 found shelter in a particular cove on the 
 eastern side of the Spensers' island ; but it 
 was what the curate called a ''potentia re- 
 motissima." The odds were enormously against 
 the safety of any vessel situated as she was, 
 much more against one that was obviously a 
 stranger to the coast, and but ill prepared for 
 its peculiar dangers. Familiar as the Wood- 
 wards were with storms, and their disastrous 
 effects^ they were always thrown into confu- 
 sion by them. The domestic phenomena, always 
 singular, became at such times doubly curious 
 and striking. The curate sat down to his meals 
 in the dress of the pilot of a life-boat ; and 
 Carry, with a double complement of petti- 
 coats, cloaks, and shawls, looked vast enough 
 to be the mother of half her species, and almost 
 as anxious as if she had actually so large 
 a family. Ranging from room to room, to 
 patch up the windows as well as she could, 
 according as the wind shattered them, she 
 almost unconsciously huddled on every thing 
 wearable that came in her way, until she grew 
 u2
 
 164 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 into an actual mountain ; but, with all the 
 disadvantages of this prodigious dishabille, 
 and the disorder of her cap and her hair, she 
 was such a mountain as Mohammed would 
 have gladly seen approaching him, or gladly 
 have approached, if it had refused to answer 
 his call. Mrs. Woodward was a very different 
 woman in a hurricane from Mrs. Spenser ; 
 there is so wide a difference, even in its in- 
 fluence upon personal appearance, between 
 being uneasy for others, and uneasy for one's 
 self. The lines of the face are affected 
 in quite another manner ; the form of the 
 visage is changed differently altogether. It 
 would seem as if benevolence and selfish- 
 ness acted on two w'holly distinct sets of 
 nerves and muscles. 
 
 At the parsonage the gale abated consider- 
 ably, after blowing fiercely for a day and a 
 night ; but the rain served equally well to keep 
 Mrs. Spenser in her normal state of unami- 
 able excitement. She was no\v apprehensive 
 of the glebe-house being washed into the loch 
 by the flood, nor did she know^ any reason why
 
 SUNDEY MATTERS. 165 
 
 there should not be land-shps in Ireland as well 
 as in Switzerland; in short, there was no fate 
 so dreadful which might not be naturally ex- 
 pected, in such frightful weather, and such a 
 detestable country. Another year in Ireland, 
 however, Avould put an end to her sufferings ; 
 of that she was quite positive — but no matter, 
 of course, vvhat became of her. You might 
 stereotype the speeches of such a woman. 
 
 The rector had not ten minutes of tran- 
 quillity the livelong day. Hurry-skurry over- 
 head again ; running of women to and fro ; 
 bells ringing convulsively ; doors spasmodi- 
 cally opening and shutting ; Miss M*Cracken 
 callinof to Rebecca ; enormous fuss and hum- 
 bug, all about nothing in the world but that 
 the wind had cracked the corner of a pane 
 of glass, and the rain had made its way 
 through the tiny crevice, and trickled down 
 into the room, where it formed what the go- 
 verness poetically called "a sea" — a sea which 
 you could have drained with a tea-spoon. 
 What a consort this was for a country clergy- 
 man ! Mrs. Spenser was never quiet and
 
 16G :?.IY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 inoffensive except under the influence of mor- 
 phine, which it was almost to be regretted 
 that her prime minister did not give her in 
 larger doses. She was the wasp in her hus- 
 band's peach — the nettle in his garland. 
 
 It enraged the gentle but ardent Elizabeth 
 to see her father disturbed by such nonsense 
 in so reckless a manner. She was proud of his 
 preaching, and she admired his sermons all the 
 more, because, elaborate as they were, they 
 were not written with the sordid object of 
 establishing a character for pulpit eloquence, 
 and so advancino- their author in the church : 
 but simply with the pure and elevated purpose 
 of communicating the most important truths in 
 the manner he believed to be most impressive 
 and intelligible to the " people of his pasture 
 and the sheep of his fold." 
 
 Mrs. Spenser, on the contrary, took par- 
 ticular pleasure in molesting her husband when 
 she knew he was engaged in writing his ser- 
 mons ; she thought it was a shameful abuse 
 of his talents to exert them, as he did, in a 
 remote rural district, for peasants who had
 
 SUNDRY MATTERS. 167 
 
 merely souls to be saved, instead of reserving 
 them for the ears of bishops who had livings 
 to bestow, or viceroys with still higher re- 
 wards at their disposal. Miss M'Cracken 
 never returned from church, when the rector 
 preached, but she was sure to observe — 
 *' What a pity it was, ma'am, to throw away 
 such a beautiful discourse upon a little country 
 church !'' 
 
 The appetite for Richardson grew with 
 the feeding, and that night again Rebecca 
 took refuge in Lucy M^Cracken's cosy room, 
 from her own comparatively uncomfortable 
 and exposed one. There was of course the 
 usual gossip before the reading. Lucy had 
 noted Sydney's departure for Castle Dawson 
 the day before, and now she did not fail also 
 to remark the fact that this was the second 
 night and yet he was not returned. Upon 
 this subject she made a great many severe, 
 and some very just observations ; partly 
 levelled at the young man himself, and partly 
 at his flithcr. 
 
 " In such weather as this, Rebecca," she
 
 168 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 said, " to be galloping through the moun- 
 tains, and out of his father's house for two 
 nights running, without asking permission, 
 or even informing his family where he was 
 goinof." 
 
 Eebecca said it was very wrong. 
 
 " It is very sliocking r said Lucy (not 
 thinking Rebecca's word forcible enough) ; 
 and added, how very differently from Mrs. 
 Spenser would she act, if she were a parent, 
 and if she had a son, and so forth. Lucy, 
 indeed, would probably not have erred on the 
 side of gentleness. 
 
 " I'm told Master Sydney went over to 
 Castle Daw^son," whispered Rebecca. 
 
 ^' You may speak as loud as you like," 
 said Lucy, implying the strong measures she 
 had taken to quiet her dear mistress for the 
 night. She then said in answer to her crony's 
 remark, 
 
 " And he couldn't possibly go to a worse 
 place, if only half what I hear about it is 
 like the truth."
 
 SUNDRY MATTERS. 1G9 
 
 " It bears a bad name, true for you," said 
 the other girl, 
 
 "And so do the people that own it," said 
 Lucy. " It's no fit place for the son of a 
 gentleman and a clergyman to be seen at." 
 
 ** Mr. Dudley and Master Sydney are very 
 great, I hear," said Rebecca. 
 
 Miss M'Cracken spoke very harshly of 
 Sydney's friend, when her companion inter- 
 rupted her by asking w^hether she had ever 
 heard that he was paying attentions to Miss 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 This was a surprise to Lucy. It was not 
 often that any one had the start of her in do- 
 mestic intelligence. She expressed her 
 doubts whether Rebecca was correctly in- 
 formed, but in truth she was embarrassed 
 between her previous readiness to abuse jNIr. 
 Dawson, and a malign pleasure which she 
 instantly felt at the idea of Elizabeth having 
 an unworthy suitor, and, perhaps, making an 
 unworthy match. In this ill-natured j)er- 
 plexity she abruptly changed the subject
 
 170 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 by asking Eebecca had she ever been in 
 Dublin. 
 
 "No, miss ; I was onst in Londonderry," 
 said Rebecca, " to see the gates closed." 
 
 The governess smiled with real contempt, 
 but affected good-nature, and again asked her 
 friend if she would not like very much to go 
 to Dublin. 
 
 " Why, then, I would, miss," Rebecca 
 answered; "but it's not for the sake of the 
 doctors I'd care to be in it." 
 
 " No, I should think not," said Lucy, 
 laughing ; " neither you nor I want much 
 doctoring; but I know your tastes, Rebecca, 
 my dear, and I am positive you would be 
 much happier there than here ; it was that 
 made me think of it ; of course, my dear, we 
 must do our duty wherever it pleases Provi- 
 dence to place us." 
 
 Her voice was becomingly low and 
 serious as she delivered the devout part 
 of this little speech, and a well-drawn sigh 
 served for a peroration.
 
 SUNDRY MATTERS. 171 
 
 " Dublin is such a big- place, I'd be lost in 
 it," said Rebecca, paying much less attention 
 to Lucy's bit of divinity than to the worldly 
 part of her discourse. 
 
 " Oh, you would soon find your way," said 
 Lucy, " and you would find more than that, 
 Rebecca — " 
 
 "I suppose you mean sweethearts," said 
 Rebecca, giggling- 
 
 Lucy admitted that she did, and (protest- 
 ing her own unchangeable affection for rural 
 scenes) drew a most bewitching picture of the 
 Irish capital and the life that people lead 
 there, particularly girls in Rebecca's sphere 
 of life, who had no other employment from 
 morn to night (it would appear from Miss 
 M'Cracken's enchanting statement) but tea- 
 drinking, car-driving, play-going, and all 
 manner of fun and diversion. 
 
 "Did you ever see Donnybrook Fair, 
 miss ?" 
 
 Lucy had seen it, or said she had. " But 
 I won't attempt to describe it to you," she
 
 172 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 said, " for I couldn't ; and, besides, you 
 wouldn't sleep a wink to-night, if I did, for 
 dreaming of it." 
 
 Eebecca was mute with delight and won- 
 der. Lucy left the potion to work which she 
 had so adroitly administered to the girl's love 
 of novelty and pleasure, and resumed the 
 reading of the novel.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 173 
 
 EOOK III. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 
 
 " Next him was Feare, all arm'd from top to toe, 
 Yet thought himselfe not safe enough thereby, 
 But feard each shadow moving to or froe. 
 And his owne armes when glittering he did spy, 
 Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly ; 
 As ashes pale of hew, and winged heeld ; 
 And evermore on Daunger fixt his eye, 
 'Gainst whom he always bent a brasen shield. 
 Which his right iiand unarmed fearefully did wield." 
 
 Faery Queen. 
 
 While the rector and curate were holding 
 the dialogue on education recorded in a pre- 
 vious chapter, the handsome but headstrong 
 youth to whom it referred, in a costume 
 something between a sailor and a groom (not 
 unsuitcd, however, to tlie unruly state of the
 
 1 74 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 weather), was traversing a bieak mountain 
 road, and caring very little what decision 
 was come to on the academic question, hav- 
 ing probably made up his mind to follow the 
 bent of his humour, and enjoy what is called 
 hfe, whether his lot should be cast on the 
 banks of the LifFey, or those of the more re- 
 nowned Cam. 
 
 Not more than a quarter of a mile from his 
 father's gate, he picked up a companion, who 
 was no other than Mr. Randal Maguire, 
 commonly called Randy^ his father's proctor, 
 a very odd-looking old fellow, and with odd 
 features in his character as well as in his face. 
 Randal was going over to Castle Dawson, 
 also, partly in consequence of the intimation 
 he had received from Master Dudley that he 
 was prepared to settle the long pending arrear 
 of tithes^ and partly to collect the rent of a 
 small property belonging to an English gen- 
 tleman who had never seen it, and whose 
 name was all that Randv knew of him. 
 Randy was not himself the agent, but only 
 his deputy. The agent resided in Dublin,
 
 THE MOUNTAIN EIDE. 175 
 
 lounging about the clubs, being too fine a 
 man to collect rents in person, particularly 
 the rents of a small estate. 
 
 Maguire was a short, slender, elderly man, 
 with a feeble frame, but a wiry constitution, 
 always looking as if he had not many years 
 to live, but burying in succession nine- 
 tenths of those who had made the remark. 
 In business, he was scrupulously exact and 
 honest, in fact, in all respects an admirable 
 tithe-proctor, except that his tendency was 
 to apply the screw to the parishioners a little 
 too powerfully ; but this was a propensity 
 which in the service of a clergyman of Mr. 
 Spenser's character he was obliged to keep in 
 due restraint. Maguire's physiognomy was ex- 
 tremely queer; a small, withered face, undula- 
 ting with pock-marks, and ending with scarcely 
 any chin ; a pair of prying, decimating little 
 reddish-gray eyes; a miserable crop of scrubby 
 sandy whiskers ; and a sharp nose, which had 
 the extraordinary peculiarity of appearing 
 either very long or very short, according to 
 the position in which the spectator viewed
 
 176 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 it, for it projected horizontally, so as to seem 
 nothing at a front view, while seen in profile 
 it looked like a long spout of a jug, or a tea- 
 pot. This feature gave a peculiarly humorous 
 expression to his face, and, indeed, he was 
 considered a humorous little old fellow in the 
 country ; but a little humour goes a great way 
 in a thinly peopled mountain district. Ma- 
 guire had faults like other men ; he was very 
 garrulous, as timid as a hare, and a most inve- 
 terate card-player. The passion of the lower 
 orders of the Irish for cards has been noticed 
 by the old chroniclers ; Campion gives some 
 amusing instances of the extravagant lengths 
 to which it was indulged in his time by the 
 fellows who were called " carrows ;" and 
 though Maguire perhaps did not gamble 
 quite so desperately as those ancient unwor- 
 thies, he was keen enough in all conscience, 
 and never travelled without a greasy old dog- 
 eared copy of what the Puritans used to call 
 *' the devil's prayer-book" in one of his 
 pockets. 
 
 The cowardice of the little proctor made
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 177 
 
 liim always glad of a companion in liis jour- 
 neys through a wild and little-frequented 
 country ; but it was now particularly satis- 
 factory to him, for though the agitation 
 against tithes which prevailed in other parts 
 of Ireland about this time, had not yet 
 reached this remote district, symptoms of a 
 disposition to join it had made their appear- 
 ance, and the shadow of danger was enough 
 to unnerve Maguire'. Accordingly, he was 
 delighted to find that his line of march on 
 the morning in question coincided with that 
 of young Spenser, who, upon his part, was 
 not displeased to have Maguire for a fellow- 
 traveller ; not (you may suppose) for the 
 sake of any help in need to be expected 
 from him, but because his eccentricities, es- 
 pecially his open and avowed poltroonery, 
 were amusing, and he had endless tales of 
 the " hair-breadth perilous 'scapes," or more 
 fatal disasters of tithe-proctors in the southern 
 counties, where he always cordially con- 
 gratulated himself that liis own lot had not 
 been cast. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 "What would become of you, in times 
 like these. Randy, if my father were pro- 
 moted to a better living in Limerick or Tip- 
 perary ?" said Sydney, as they jogged along, 
 both indifferent to the rain which pelted 
 them, for the elements were the only thing 
 in nature that Maguire did not fear. 
 
 "By the powers. Master Sydney," said 
 the little dastardly old man, " I often thought 
 of that sam.e ; I don't think I'd flourish in 
 Tipperary at all, at all. The boys are divils, 
 I hear say, down there ; and as to maiming 
 or murthering a chap of my profession, 'faith, 
 they think it no morthall sin to slaughter 
 a minister himself" The proctor was in 
 the habit of finishing his sentences with 
 a noise something between a cough and a 
 laugh ; it was partly asthmatic, partly face- 
 tious. 
 
 "Well, this country, I hope, is quiet enough 
 to please you," said young Spenser. " At the 
 same time, they don't pay my father as 
 cheerfully in some parts of the parish as 
 they do in others ; isn't it so, Randy ?"
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 179 
 
 "By my troth, things are not as they 
 used to be, sartinly, Master Spenser," said 
 Randy. " I remember when the ministher 
 hadn^t to ask for his tithe twice ; and when 
 the farmers used to run after me on the high- 
 road. Now it's I that have to run after them ; 
 and some of thim's not very asy to catch. 
 I don't see the zale that I used to do ; of 
 coorse I'm alludin to the Cathohcs, and 
 some of the Presbyterian boys in parti- 
 cular." 
 
 " Some go so far as to say there's a storm 
 brewing against my father," said Sydney. 
 
 " It won't signify much, I'm thinking," said 
 the old man, " there's some agitation and 
 harranguin going on, I'm tould, in some 
 parts, but Father Magrath has his eye on the 
 chaps that's doing it, for he tould me as 
 much." 
 
 " Where are you bound to. Randy, tliis 
 beautiful summer day ?" asked Sydney, the 
 rain and wind almost taking his breath away 
 while he spoke. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 The old man's little decimating eyes twin- 
 kled witli extraordinary satisfaction, as he 
 replied, " I'm going the same coorse as your 
 own self, Master Sydney, for I presume 
 you are going over towards Castle Daw- 
 son ?' 
 
 " What are you going to do at Castle 
 Dawson, Randy?" 
 
 " Thin, I'm going to do what nobody has 
 done there for many a long day — I'm going 
 to receive money." 
 
 Sydney's countenance expressed his plea- 
 sure at this intelligence, for he was aware how 
 the pecuniary claims of his father against the 
 Dawsons had preijudiced Dudley in the eyes 
 of his stepmother, and he was glad to see 
 one obstacle removed to the reception of his 
 friend at the parsonage. 
 
 •* I didn't know whether I was standin on 
 my head or my heels," continued Randy, 
 " when I was sarved last night with a 
 notice, in Mr. Dudley's own hand-writing, to 
 go over some early day, and he'd settle
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 181 
 
 all demands in cash. By the mass, I 
 could hardly believe my eyes; and I Avon't 
 be cock-sure of the money until I have 
 it lodged in the ould pocket-book in the 
 the buzzom of my coat here." Kandy used 
 almost as much action in speaking as a 
 Frenchman, and clapped his little withered 
 hand on the place where he was in the habit 
 of carrying his sacred treasures. 
 
 " Is it a large sum ?" inquired Sydney. 
 
 " Seventy-six pounds seven shillings and 
 sixpence," answered the proctor. " But it's 
 more than the value of the money, Master 
 Spenser; it's the example it will set in the 
 country, where there's any thing going on 
 that's not correct. By my faith, people was 
 beginning to say that Mr. Dawson his own 
 self was disposed to be combinin, as they're 
 doing in other places." 
 
 " Combining!" exclaimed Sydney, angrily; 
 " what do you mean by combining ? — you 
 don't mean to say that my friend Dudk^y 
 Dawson, or his father cither, are suspected of
 
 182 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 any thing dishonourable, particularly towards 
 our family ?" 
 
 " I only tell you what I hear said," said 
 Maguire, coolly ; " but of coorse, when the 
 arrears is paid up, there'll be an end to all 
 such insinivations." 
 
 " Such insinuations," returned Sydney, 
 passionately, " are most impertinent, and I 
 repel them on the part of the Dawsons, and 
 Dudley in particular, with indignation." 
 
 " Be that as it may, Master Sydney, it's 
 my duty to your father's son to acquaint you 
 with what I hear and believe, that Master 
 Dudley has some queer people about him 
 just at the present time," said the old man, 
 pertinaciously ; using a liberty with Sydney, 
 on account of his youth, which perhaps he 
 would not have ventured to use with a man 
 of more advanced years, in the same station 
 of life. 
 
 '• We'll drop the subject, if you please," 
 said Sydney, imperiously. Randy submitted, 
 and soon after asked Sydney to sing him
 
 THE MOUNTAIN EIDE. 183 
 
 " The Boys of Kilkenny," — a song which 
 the old man particularly rejoiced in. 
 
 " Here goes, Randy ; but it's no easy matter 
 to sing with this wind in one's teeth." How- 
 ever, he managed a stanza or two, to the en- 
 tire satisfaction of his companion, who had 
 no idea that there was any better vocal 
 music in the world ; and indeed young Spen- 
 ser had a good tenor voice, and sung with 
 spirit and humour. 
 
 " Oh, the boys of Kilkenny are stout roving blades, 
 And if ever they meet with the nice little maids. 
 They kiss them, and coax them, and spend their money 
 
 free. 
 Oh, of all towns in Ireland, Kilkenny for me." 
 
 " The wind is too strono; for me. Were 
 you ever in Kilkenny, Eandy ?" 
 
 " Then, I never was. Master Sydney, but 
 I often hear talk of it as a mighty quare 
 place, with fire without smoke, and the 
 streets paved with marble." 
 
 " Shall we travel togetlier and see the 
 world, Randy?" 
 
 The rain was penetrating Randy's short 
 threadbare old bro^yn surtout, and the wind
 
 184 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 was almost doing the barber s duty on his 
 little Avrinkled face. His efforts to laugh were 
 laughable, as he answered, 
 
 " At all events, I'm growing too ould ta 
 be travellin and roamin such a day as this. 
 Master Sydney." 
 
 " If you're old, Eandy, you're tough ,'^ 
 said his companion. 
 
 " Yes ; I'm purty tough ; thank God for 
 it^" replied the proctor. 
 
 " How do you feel when you ride this 
 road alone ?" asked Sydney, who knew the 
 old man's chicken-heartedness perfectly. 
 
 " Och, thin, I don't feel at all warlike,'* 
 said Randy. 
 
 "It's a bleak road," said young Spenser. 
 
 It was so, indeed ; running through a suc- 
 cession of low brown hills, covered with a 
 stunted heath, of which a hundred acres 
 would scarce have afforded a brace of grouse 
 a decent competence. 
 
 " It's murtherin bleak," said Randy. 
 
 '' I'll give you another song, to keep up 
 your spirits," said Sydney, and he struck up
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 185 
 
 tlie once celebrated Ned Lysaglit's popular 
 melody — 
 
 " Oh, love is the soul of a neat Irishman, 
 He loves all that is lovely, loves all that he can, 
 With his sprig of shillelagh, &:c." 
 
 Just at this moment a sliarp turn brought 
 them to the ruins of what seemed to have 
 been, some centuries back^ a castle of consi- 
 derable strength and size. These ruins stood 
 close to the road, on an abrupt eminence, 
 presenting a very remarkable and picturesque 
 object, known in the country by the name of 
 the "Black Castle." 
 
 ^' A very convenient ambush, that," said 
 Sydney, pointing to the ruins, " for footpads, 
 if there were any in the country." 
 
 " Many's the time I've said that to my- 
 self/' said Randy. " I never pass them ruins 
 without shiverin and shudderin on the hottest 
 day of summer.'' 
 
 ''Now, Randy," said Sydney, suppressing 
 a smile, " suppose a highwayman, six feet 
 high, were to jump out of those ruins there 
 upon you, wdth a blunderbuss or a brace of
 
 186 IVIY UNCLE THE CURATE, 
 
 pistols, to-morrow or next day, when you 
 are returning with all the money in your 
 pocket, what would you do ? You'd make 
 a fight for my father's property, wouldn't 
 
 you ?" 
 
 " By the holy spider/' said Maguire, shrug- 
 ging his narrow shoulders and scrutinising 
 the ruins to which his companion pointed 
 with an eye full of comical alarm and sus- 
 picion, " I'd make as good a fight for your 
 father's property as I would for my own ; but 
 it's a runnin fight, and not a standin one, I'd 
 make for either the one or the other. I'm 
 not come of fightin people, Master Sydney." 
 
 " You wouldn't show the white feather 
 surely !" said Sydney, as if he had now for 
 the first time discovered what a craven the 
 proctor was. 
 
 " Then I'm afeard I would so, and a bunch 
 of them into the bargain, as big as the Prince 
 of Wales's plume," said Maguire, with his 
 little tittering cough. 
 
 "Now suppose any body were to pull 
 your nose, Eandy ?"
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 187 
 
 ^' I could spare a bit of it, Master Sydney,'' 
 and he laughed again in his peculiar way. 
 
 " Well," repHed Sydney, " here's what 
 will protect us both against all the highway- 
 men in Ireland," and he exhibited a case 
 of very beautiful double-barrelled pocket- 
 pistols, his last clandestine acquisition, and 
 the latest addition to the schedule of his 
 small debts. 
 
 Eandy admired the arms, but seemed very 
 well pleased when Sydney returned them 
 to the pocket expressly made for them in 
 the breast of his coat. 
 
 This and other chat of the same kind, 
 with now and then the stave of a comic 
 song, helped a little to beguile the tedious- 
 ness of a lonc^ ride across moor and moun- 
 tain ; so desolate a track that they passed but 
 one human habitation before they arrived 
 at Castle Dawson, itself the bleakest abode 
 that ever disheartened a resident proprietor 
 or justified an absentee. Sydney and the 
 proctor separated at the ruinous gate-house. 
 The latter proceeded to his usual lodging
 
 188 MY UXCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 at a small inn hard by ; tlie former trotted 
 up the neglected avenue which led to the 
 house. 
 
 It had been in Chancery for fifteen years ! 
 Is further description necessary ? Do you 
 not see its shattered windows, neglected roof, 
 dilapidated offices, green -white walls, hinge- 
 less doors, grass-grown walks, weed-cropped 
 gardens, the stones of the balustrades dislo- 
 cated as if by an earthquake, the premature 
 havoc of the axe amongst such poor timber 
 as there was^ and the silent clock in the 
 yard, announcing probably the self-same 
 hour which it announced on the day that 
 the bill was filed in the equity suit? 
 But, in its best days, before it fell into the 
 clutches of the ruthless power so vividly 
 typified by Rabelais in " Gripe-men-all, the 
 Arch-duke of the furred Law-Cats," Castle 
 Dawson was a lonely, savage place (the very 
 abomination of desolation), where the owners 
 resided sometimes of necessity, but where 
 nobody else ever willingly passed two nights 
 in succession. The process-servers demanded
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 189 
 
 double fees for serving a latitat or a sub- 
 poena there. It was close to the sea, amongst 
 hills that were barren without being pic- 
 turesque ; wretched crops of oats com- 
 posed its harvests, stunted cattle showed 
 the indigence of its pastures ; in fact, with 
 the exception of a few acres, the grounds 
 were absolutely good for nothing but snipe- 
 shooting, and the soil only fit for fuel. 
 The word " Castle " was an ostentatious 
 misnomer. The house was so called either 
 because there was nothing at all castel- 
 lated in its structure, or from the adjacent 
 relics of what had perhaps formerly been 
 some kind of fortress, which relics (only a 
 few walls, with an arched gateway) had 
 been incorporated into the offices, and now 
 formed in combination with them a rambling 
 extent of buildincfs in an advanced sta^'c of 
 architectural decay.
 
 190 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 
 
 " Panurge was a very gallant man of his person, only that 
 he was naturally subject to a kind of disease, which at that 
 time they called lack of monet/ ; yet, notwithstanding, he had 
 threescore and three tricks to help himself at his need ; of 
 which the most honourable and most ordinary was by the 
 way of filching ; for he was a quarrelsome fellow, a sharper, 
 drinker, royster, and a very dissolute and debauched fellow ; 
 otherwise, and in all matters else, the best man in the world. 
 And he was still contriving some plot, and devising mischief 
 against the Serjeants and the watch." 
 
 Rabelais. 
 
 The remote, dreary, and almost inaccessi- 
 ble situation of Castle Dawson rendered it 
 a most commodious retreat for a man of 
 Dawson's stamp, particularly wlien lie had 
 company witli liim whom he did not care to 
 acknowledge at the market-cross; for Ma- 
 guire's information was correct ; Dawson
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 191 
 
 Lad some guests in his house at the present 
 moment, whom (engaging as their manners 
 and conversation may have been) he was 
 far from desiring to introduce abruptly to 
 Sydney Spenser. Indeed he generally af- 
 fected strict domestic seclusion when he came 
 down to the country ; but the fact was, that 
 in such a district, particularly in wild wea- 
 ther, his house might have been filled with 
 the most notorious swindlers and black-len;s 
 in the empire, — he might have entertained 
 Joseph Ady and Ikey Solomons without 
 much risk of the fact being noticed in the 
 columns of the Morning Post^ or even in 
 the Dubhn newspapers. 
 
 On such a day as the one in question, the 
 chance of a visitor was not much greater 
 than if Dawson had lived on the top of the 
 highest peak in the neighbouring mountains, 
 or the stormiest island off the coast, and he 
 was consequently not a little, as well as not 
 very agreeably surprised, wlien Sydney 
 Spenser, after having tried several damp
 
 192 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 and dismal apartments without success, 
 at length hit on the right one, and found 
 him at dinner, with a distinguished com- 
 pany consisting of two guests, neither of 
 whom carried any very strong testimonials 
 of character in his countenance. 
 
 The entrance of young Spenser visibly 
 disconcerted Dawson. He sprang up and 
 vainly attempted to conceal his embarrass- 
 ment under the mask of a boisterous wel- 
 come, horse-laughter, and violent shaking of 
 hands. I do not well know how to de- 
 scribe Dawson. He had not a plebeian and 
 still less a patrician exterior. He looked as 
 if he ought to be a gentleman, and would 
 have called any body out that questioned 
 his title to that appellation, and yet he did 
 not look gentlemanlike, or like the habitual 
 companion of gentlemen. He was vain of 
 his person, and might have once had some 
 grounds for his conceit, but intemperance 
 had bloated and inflamed his face, and in- 
 jured his figure at the same time. He had
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 193 
 
 naturally good features, but dimmed with 
 passion ; the eye alone was originally a 
 bad one — sinister, double, and designing. He 
 dressed flashily, with bright colours, and 
 over-much velvet and jew^ellery ; strutted 
 when he walked, and talked with a Celto- 
 cockney accent, the tone of the society he 
 kept in England grafted on the brogue of his 
 Irish friends. 
 
 Dawson would more gladly have received 
 any other visitor that day than Sydney 
 Spenser. He had no wish to introduce him 
 to either of the gentlemen who w^ere then 
 enjoying the hospitalities of his decayed 
 house. One was a tall, gaunt, muscular 
 man of thirty-five, or forty, in a seedy half- 
 military blue frock, buttoned up to the 
 throat; a black silk stock, or cravat, over 
 which no shirt collar emerged; coarse gray 
 duck, and a very indifferent pair of not very 
 clean boots. When his host presented him 
 as " Major Lamb," he bow^d to Sydney in 
 a most imgainly fashion, and smiled in so 
 ghastly a manner that he could hardly have 
 
 VOL. L
 
 194 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 scowled more disagreeably. In fact, Major 
 Lamb looked very like a fellow who you 
 might suppose had been drummed out of 
 the guards, if he had ever been in his ma- 
 jesty's service at all^ even with the rank of 
 a serjeant-major. The other guest looked to 
 advantage by his side, and he stood in want 
 of a foil greatly. He was a pale emaciated 
 youth, who had evidently been living on the 
 capital of his health and marrow ; he had 
 an aspect at once melancholy and profligate, 
 and was attired in deep black, possibly 
 mourning for some near relation, whose heart 
 he had broken, and end accelerated, by 
 keeping such company as that of Major 
 Lamb and Mr. Dawson. 
 
 The first glance at these gentlemen re- 
 minded Sydney of Eandy Maguire's remark, 
 that " queer people" had been seen of late 
 in Dawson's society ; and perhaps Daw- 
 son perceived something like surprise and 
 uneasiness in his countenance, for, under 
 pretence of making him change portions of 
 his dress to which the rain had penetrated.
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 195 
 
 he carried him off through a labyrinth of 
 dilapidated corridors up to a bed-chamber, 
 where he accounted in a most satisfactory 
 manner for the presence of the questionable 
 people they had left behind them. 
 
 Sydney expressed his regret that he had 
 not found his friend alone, as he had reckoned 
 on. 
 
 " I am alone," replied Dawson ; " you don't 
 take those fellows for friends or guests of 
 mine ? — one is some sort of a surveyor or 
 valuator, under an order of the coorts, 
 and the other (the poor devil who looks 
 consumptive) is an artist from Dublin, down 
 here sketchiuG^ the coast — I met him near 
 this, and asked him to dine. I am under 
 the disagreeable necessity of entertaining 
 such people occasionally when I'm at home. 
 You needn't take the slightest notice of them. 
 As soon as dinner's over, they'll probably be 
 off to attend to their business, and then we'll 
 have a cosy evening, my boy." 
 
 " All right," said Sydney, whose faults 
 did not include suspicion, " only don't turn 
 o2
 
 196 ^lY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the poor devils out sucli an evening as tins on 
 my account." 
 
 " Give yourself no trouble about them," 
 said Dawson, " but change your boots — 
 here's a pair of tops of mine that will fit 
 you — and excuse me for a moment, while I 
 give directions to have your sheets aired." 
 
 Sydney pulled on the top-boots, and then 
 finding his blue jacket dam.p,put on a coat of 
 Dawson's, which he found flung on a chair. 
 While he was thus engaged, Dawson flew 
 back to the parlour, very considerately ac- 
 quainted his guests with the account he had 
 given of them, and prepared them for the 
 part it was necessary for them to act in con- 
 sequence. He then returned to the bed- 
 room, and reiterated his apologies for having 
 such low fellows at his table under any cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 "Never mind," replied Sydney; "we'll 
 get on very well, depend on it." 
 
 Dawson dropped the subject, and com- 
 menced admiring his flashy coat on his 
 friend's back. 
 
 " That hoonting-coat," he said, " fits you
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 197 
 
 as if it was made for you ; it's a little too 
 tight for me, so it's your s, my clear fellow, if 
 you fancy it." 
 
 " Thanks," said Sydney, coolly, and sur- 
 veying himself with great satisfaction in a 
 looking-glass. 
 
 The coat thus generously transferred and 
 as liberally accepted was a bright green one, 
 with massive silver buttons — one of the 
 smartest things imaginable — but it required 
 flash manners and green politics to match. 
 
 " You are surprised, I suppose," he re- 
 sumed, as they went down stairs, " to see 
 me on such a day as this ?" 
 
 " I'm deuced glad to see you ; it's a con- 
 founded relief to me. You're a darling 
 fellow for coming over in this way." 
 
 " The parsonage is so devilish dull in wet 
 weather," said Sydney. 
 
 '' You'll fmd it dull enough here, I'm 
 afraid," said Dawson. 
 
 "No, I shan't," said Sydney. "We'll 
 smoke, and we'll practise pistol-shooting at 
 the fire-screens in the long drawing-room; 
 we'll get on well enough."
 
 198 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " I hope you have a good appetite," said 
 Dawson, as they reached the parlour, " for 
 you'll have coarse fare, I can tell you ; — you 
 may suppose I don't treat valuators and 
 strolling artists to French cookery." 
 
 " I'm as hungry as a hawk," said young 
 Spenser. And so he was — hungry with 
 the hunger of youth^ exercise, and mountain 
 air; and hunger is more concerned about 
 the things on the table than critical upon 
 the company round it. 
 
 It was not the dinner for a man who was 
 at all fastidious; it required the piquant 
 sauce of a keen and a healthy ap)petite, but 
 with that zest it was excellent. There had 
 been a fish, but it had been disposed of. 
 There remained a corpulent boiled turkey; 
 a dish of mutton-chops, very brown and 
 unctuous; a ham garnished with quartered 
 heads of cabbages, and two great chargers of 
 potatoes — ample provision for a party of 
 four men, though never so pot-valiant. 
 
 Sydney did ample justice to the viands, 
 and so did the major with the mild surname,
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 199 
 
 SO little in harmony witli his personal appear- 
 ance. The young man in black (whose 
 name was Thomson) seemed to have no sto- 
 mach, except for the fiery port and sherry, 
 the only wines on the table. Dawson kept 
 politely winking at Sydney, as Messieurs 
 Lamb and Thomson evinced every now 
 and then their contempt for many of the 
 little conventionalities of polite society ; 
 while at the same time he proved his own 
 superior breeding, by clamorously inviting 
 Sydney to eat, and occasionally blurting out 
 some coarse inquiry about some member or 
 another of the Spenser family. As to the 
 surveyor and painter, he took little notice of 
 them, and that little in a very lofty and dis- 
 tant way. 
 
 The only male attendant was a red-headed 
 slovenly kerne, Terry by name^ with a coun- 
 tenance in which savagery and dullness 
 contended for pre-eminence. His dress was 
 a tarnished livery-coat, white turned up with 
 green, with red plush breeclies, made for 
 a fellow of twice tlie height ; and he had a 
 villanous trick of wriurdinn: his shoulders
 
 200 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 as he presented you a plate, or shuffled with 
 the wine round the table. A particularly un- 
 cannie and ill-favoured old woman, answer- 
 ing to one's idea of the hag of the robber s cave 
 in " Gil Blas,^' — and probably the cook, — 
 made her appearance at one of the doors more 
 than once during dinner, either to hand in a 
 dish or carry one away ; and now and then 
 there seemed to be an interchange of the 
 most virulent abuse between her and the 
 red-headed butler ; but it was in Irish, so 
 that its eloquence was lost upon all the com- 
 pany except perhaps Dawson himself, who 
 sometimes swore at the old woman, but took 
 no other step to forbid the colloquy. 
 
 Sydney was little of an observer of either 
 men or manners. Even when he had satis- 
 fied the desires of nature, he paid less atten- 
 tion to the company than he did to a lank 
 voracious greyhound that was pacing round 
 the table collecting scraps, and to a rifle of 
 Dawson's which stood in a corner of the 
 room. 
 
 There was one thing, and one thing only.
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 201 
 
 comfortable in the apartment. It was the 
 fire, which was jilorious. Tlie Court of 
 Chancery had exhausted every thing but the 
 bogs on the property, and a capacious grate 
 was filled with a mountain of turf, in a state 
 of triumphant conflagration. The ruddy 
 flame gilded the scanty and damaged furni- 
 ture (the work of the law-cats), and diff'used 
 aglow over the room, which made a young 
 man soon forget the deficiencies of carpets 
 and curtains, though accustomed to Axmin- 
 sters and chintzes. 
 
 The subdued mellow light was exactly the 
 sort of sombre yet warm illumination which 
 Dawson would have chosen to set ofl* his 
 professional guests to the best advantage, 
 since he could not well darken the parlour 
 altogether. 
 
 The removal of the cloth made an im- 
 provement ; for it was not spotless, anymore 
 than the reputations of some who sat round 
 it. But the next removal was better still: 
 for Messieurs Laml^ and Tliomson, having 
 finished their dinners, exclianged moody
 
 202 I\IY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 looks, and rising simultaneously, made un- 
 gainly obeisances, and left the room, whicli 
 certainly looked more respectable after their 
 departure. 
 
 " Hard work," said Sydney, commiserating 
 the lot of the artist, and the surveyor " under 
 the coorts." 
 
 " D — d hard," said Dawson, using the 
 strong word, to which young Spenser had 
 not yet accustomed his lips. But *Rome 
 was not built in a day,' Perhaps, in time, 
 Sydney will use strong words as flippantly 
 as his tutor." 
 
 Mr. Thomson and the surveyor, however, 
 were not such objects of pity as young 
 Spenser supposed ; they only adjourned to a 
 smaller room in a sequestered part of the 
 house, where they soon kindled a good fire 
 with more of the same capital fuel, and made 
 themselves extremely comfortable for the 
 rest of the evening, less by their colloquial 
 resources than by a bountiful provision of 
 that etherial liquor called mountain-dew, the 
 far-famed vintage of the Barony of Inni- 
 showen.
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 203 
 
 As soon as these worthies had retired, 
 said Dawson to his protegee and pupil, 
 
 " What will you drink, Sydney '?" 
 
 " No more wine," was Sydney's reply. 
 
 " Terry, the black bottle yonder !" Daw- 
 son called to his wild butler. 
 
 In a few minutes the cold mountain-dew 
 in a black bottle, and the steaming water 
 in a great jug, stood side by side upon the 
 table, flanked with a bowl of sugar and a 
 plate of lemons. 
 
 Sydney was just beginning to be familiar 
 with strong liquors as with strong language. 
 However, he had now the excuse of a long 
 wet ride, and probably the contents of the 
 black bottle were purer than those of the 
 decanters. He composed a large glass of 
 punch, and Dawson mingled another, " stilTer" 
 by some degrees, as the phrase goes with 
 punch- drinkers. 
 
 " Well, my boy !" cried the host, with 
 hearty emphasis, drawing his chair by one 
 and the same movement nearer both to his
 
 204 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 friend and the fire, and slapping young 
 Spenser on the knee. 
 
 " This is what I call comfort," was Syd- 
 ney's answer, adjusting his elbows on the 
 arms of his chair, and thrusting out his legs, 
 with the top-boots on, towards the blazing 
 fire. 
 
 " Shall we have a cigar, eh ?" 
 
 "Have 5 you got any of your famous Ha- 
 vannahs ?" 
 
 Dawson produced a red-leather case from 
 a side-pocket, and extracted a couple of 
 cigars, one of which he presented to his 
 friend, who made an allumette of the back of 
 a letter, and lighted first his own cigar, and 
 then Dawson's. 
 
 They puffed alternately, and alternately 
 looked at one another in silence, with the 
 mute eloquence of smokers. 
 
 Dawson was the first to speak ; lowering 
 his cigar, he said, 
 
 " I've got good news for you, Sydney ; — 
 prospects is brightening, my boy."
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 205 
 
 " I knew that before you told me," said 
 young Spenser. 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " Randy Maguire rode over with me." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Dawson ; and then 
 added, with a strong expression which need 
 not be repeated, " Sydney, my boy, it was 
 no fault of mine that the tithes due to your 
 father from this property were not settled 
 long ago." 
 
 "You need not tell me that," said 
 Sydney. 
 
 " There's no man living, Sydney, for 
 whom I have the same respect and admira- 
 tion for that I have for your father ; I swear 
 by his name, so I do. If he only knew 
 what a battle I had with creditors and law- 
 yers, and every body, to have the titlies set- 
 tled before any other claim against tlic 
 estate ! I was as firm as the Hill of Ilowth, 
 or I shouldn't liave the money to pay Randy 
 Maguire to-morrow morning." 
 
 " My father shall know how well you 
 liave acted," said Sydney.
 
 206 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " Don't say a word about it," said Daw- 
 son, " what's right is right ; I only did my 
 duty, and I want no reward, my boy, but 
 the testimony of an approving conscience ; — 
 so no more on that head. Sing me some- 
 thing sprightly, now ; — have you got any- 
 thiDg new ?" 
 
 Sydney sang a song that was once popular 
 at the banquets of the Irish volunteers, and 
 which Mr. Crofton Croker has given in his 
 collection, 
 
 " Love and whisky both 
 
 Rejoice an honest fellow," &c.,&c. 
 
 Dawson either was, or affected to be, in 
 ecstacies at Sydney's performance. It is scarcely 
 possible he could have been sincere, in declar- 
 ing, as he did it witli several oaths, that it far 
 surpassed any singing he had ever heard on 
 the London boards, though he had head Bra- 
 ham himself The effrontery is marvellous 
 with which some men can flatter others in the 
 grossest manner to their faces. But then there 
 are people on whom flattery can never be laid 
 too thick to be agreeable ; you may lay it on
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 207 
 
 them with trowels ; nay, you may shovel it 
 over them ; they can bear any weight of it ; 
 cartloads of encomium, mountains of compli- 
 ments, Pelion on Ossa, and Ossa on Olym- 
 pus. There are gross feeders, or there would 
 not be gross caterers. Dawson knew very 
 well the voracity of Sydney's appetite for 
 praise, but he had other w^ays of making 
 himself agreeable to his guest beside the 
 fox's trick of commending his voice. 
 
 " Now tell me," said he, after some little 
 pause ; " tell me something about yourself, — 
 have you paid the gunsmith in Letterkenny 
 the ten pounds for the fowling-piece ?" 
 
 " No," said Sydney, gloomily — Dawson 
 was now coming to the points that he was 
 most concerned about — " but he can wait 
 awhile longer — I'm more uneasy about what 
 I owe ijour 
 
 " Oh, not a word of that, my boy — light 
 another cigar — no matter if you can never 
 pay me ; it can stand over at any rate as long 
 as you like, but settle the other matter as 
 soon as you can, for the rogue was saying
 
 208 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the other day he'd apply to your father if it 
 wasn't arranged speedily. Small creditors is 
 such harpies." 
 
 "I see no way of paying it," said Syd- 
 ney, with much dejection, " except by ap- 
 plying to my father myself." 
 
 " Which I won't hear of your doing ; you 
 mustn't be annoying a literary man like him 
 about paltry money matters. I'll see what I 
 can do for you in a few days. It would be 
 pleasanter for you to owe nobody anything 
 but myself Between friends it's nothing ; 
 but it won't do for a clergyman's son to have 
 tradespeople running after and dunning him 
 for dirty little matters of ten pounds or so. 
 Is there anything else bothering you ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to say there is ; I owe your 
 tailor five guineas for that white bang-up 
 coat, and I owe Amby Hogg, in Eedcross, 
 nearly as much more for cigars and gun- 
 powder and sundries. Oh, and there's the 
 brass swivel for the cutter." 
 
 " How much did that come to ?" 
 
 " I don't exactly know ; not very much, I 
 suppose."
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 209 
 
 " Well, altogether it won't break us," said 
 DaAvson ; " don't make yourself uneasy about 
 the coat — I believe I have worn it as much 
 as you have — but Amby Hogg must get his 
 money, or some of it, for he's a griping 
 rascal, with a dozen hungry brats at his 
 heels, and, if he gets impatient, he'll go bad- 
 gering your uncle Woodward, who won't 
 think so little of five pounds as you and I 
 do. By-the-bye, it's a long time, Syd, since 
 you did your uncle for me." 
 
 By doing his uncle, Dawson did not mean 
 cheating him, but only taking him off, or 
 mimicking him, which Sydney could do 
 capitally. A very dangerous talent it is, 
 that of mimicry ; it makes enemies and no 
 friends ; and, ^ as it is commonly directed 
 against the gravest and worthiest characters, 
 those who exercise it freely come in time 
 to lose all respect for those high qualities 
 which they are in the habit of making sport 
 w^ith for their light companions. Sydney, 
 however, imitated his uncle's oddities to tlic 
 life; and on this occasion ]je gave an imita- 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 ]VIY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 tion of Hercules in the pulpit, which threw 
 Dawson into unaffected raptures. 
 
 " Another tumbler, Syd," he said, after ap- 
 plauding vehemently. 
 
 Sydney declined; he had already taken 
 two — the first time he had ever made so 
 deep a potation. " Dudley," he added, 
 warmly, " you are certainly the best fellow 
 and the best friend in the world." 
 
 " Nonsense, man, nonsense ; but what did 
 you do with Maguire ? — take just half a 
 tumbler more." 
 
 " He went to the inn," replied Sydney, 
 yielding to the sweet temptation, and nearly 
 filling a wine-glass from the black bottle, 
 while he hummed — 
 
 " Love and whisky's joys. 
 Let us gaily twist 'em ; 
 In the thread of life, 
 
 Faith, we can't resist 'em." 
 
 " Is Eandy as fond of cards as ever ?" 
 " That he is ; always carries his soiled old 
 
 pack about with him." 
 
 " Soiled as they are, I wish we had them; 
 
 I'd teach you ecarfe,^^
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 211 
 
 " Send Terry for tliem," said Sydney ; 
 '' shall I pull the bell ?" 
 
 " Do, if you can," said Dawson, laughing. 
 The bells of Castle Dawson had ceased to 
 ring some years back. 
 
 He proceeded himself to despatch the 
 messenger, and found Terry in the room to 
 which Messieurs Thomson and Lamb ab- 
 sconded so submissively after dinner. Terry 
 was lying supine in the middle of the floor, 
 not quite asleep, yet not exactly wide awake. 
 Thomson was snoring thunderously upon an 
 old sofa, or settle-bed ; Lamb was sitting 
 doggedly before the flickering and decaying 
 lire, his arms crossed, and his red chin re- 
 posing on them, looking surprisingly trucu- 
 lent for so tame a profession as that of a 
 surveyor and valuator. Behind him was a 
 small deal table, on which stood some glasses, 
 and what had, a few hours before, been a 
 bottle of whisky. 
 
 " What, now ?" demanded Lamb, gruffly. 
 
 " It's Terry I want," -said Dawson. ^' Get 
 up, you lazy good-for-nothing hound," and 
 p2
 
 212 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 suiting the act to the word, he gave the 
 recumbent domestic a kick in the ribs, so 
 violent, that it made him spring to his legs 
 with an actual howl of pain and astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 Having thus effectually roused him, he 
 gave him his commission and returned to 
 Sydney. 
 
 " Who's Maguire ?" asked Lamb, as Terry 
 was preparing to obey his orders. 
 
 "Eandy Maguire, the little ould nosey 
 procthor," said Terry. 
 
 " I'll go with you and make his acquaint- 
 ance," said Lambj seemingly captivated by 
 Terry's description of Maguire. 
 
 " Go without me, Mr. Lamb, honey," said 
 Terry, " Master Dudley has just kicked the 
 breath out of me, the d — I's own sweet 
 luck to him." 
 
 Lamb undertook to be Terry's deputy, 
 and rising from his seat, took down from a 
 peg in the wall a broad-leaved oil- skin hat, 
 such as pilots wear, clapped it down over 
 his eye-brows, wrapped himself in a huge
 
 CASTLE DAWSON. 213 
 
 camlet boat-cloak, and proceeded on liis 
 mission, having first, however, further pro- 
 vided himself witli an old umbrella, which 
 he found in the hall, and a lantern which the 
 beldame in the kitchen accommodated him 
 with. What an envoy to send to the poor 
 old man, who was as arrant a coward as 
 Acres, or Sir Andrew Aguecheek, " a cow- 
 ard, a devout coward, religious in it !"
 
 214 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 " What a god is gold, 
 That he is worshipped in a baser temple, 
 Than where swine feed ?" 
 
 TiMON OF Athens. 
 
 The inn where Magiiire proceeded to 
 " take his ease/' after parting with young 
 Spenser, was not much more of an inn than 
 Castle Dawson was of a castle. Eandj, 
 however, was in good luck, both as a col- 
 lector of rents and of tithes, for Mr. Brana- 
 gan, the inn-keeper, paid him a matter of a 
 few pounds that were due for a farm he 
 held in the neighbourhood, and two or three 
 other farmers^ who chanced to be weather- 
 bound there that evening, likewise availed 
 themselves of the opportunity to discharge
 
 MONEY. 215 
 
 their holdings and their consciences of 
 their debts to their landlord and the 
 church. 
 
 Eandy then sat down to his frugal supper. 
 He was a carnivorous little fellow, when he 
 was out collecting, and felt himself justified 
 in exceeding the ordinary bounds within 
 which poverty confined the ambition of his 
 palate. Kandy was nothing of an epicurean 
 in the primitive and vegetable sense of the 
 term ; he had no objection to a scrag of 
 mutton, or a shin of beef (the only joints 
 he had much knowledge of), but his chief 
 delight, as his chief experience, was in the 
 flesh of the unclean beast, amongst gammons, 
 and shanks of hams, particularly. He had 
 an extensive acquaintance with pig's faces, 
 and a pig's foot was one of his dainties. 
 Once in his life had he eaten of a leg of 
 pork, with the accompaniment of pease 
 pudding. It was in the rector's kitchen, and 
 the memorable day was registered by the 
 proctor " amongst the high-tides in the 
 calendar." This very evening, he discussed
 
 216 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 that leg of pork and pudding over again 
 ■vvitli Mr. Branagan, and no doubt the plea- 
 sures of memory sweetened the less delicate 
 meal which was now served up to him. 
 It was pork, but of what part was a mystery. 
 Eandy, however, was hungry, and asked 
 no questions^ but ate of it with as much re- 
 lish as if he had been a Turk, or a Jew, with 
 the sauce of prohibition to make it piquant. 
 
 Some of the people in the kitchen, know- 
 ing the old fellow's habits, proposed a game 
 of cards, while he sipped his grog, but 
 Eandy was wet and weary, and retired that 
 night sooner than he was wont to do. He 
 was anxious, too, to be alone w^ith his money. 
 Altogether, when he crept up to his little 
 chamber under the thatch, he had the gratifi- 
 cation of counting, smoothing, marking, and 
 otherwise manipulating a sum of between 
 eighty and a hundred pounds in notes of 
 nearly as many different banks, provincial 
 and metropolitan. 
 
 The passion for money was illustrated 
 strikingly and curiously in the character of
 
 MONEY. 217 
 
 the little tithe-proctor. Eaiidy was remune- 
 rated for his services with a fixed salary, 
 and he was scrupulously honest and punc- 
 tual in making over to his principals all 
 the sums he received ; but he delighted 
 inconceivably in the mere act of receiving. 
 The mere sight and touch of the money, 
 — the mere flapping of the wdngs of Plutus 
 passing ever so fleetly over him, gratified 
 his disinterested covetousness inordinately. 
 The uncleanest rag^ of a bank-note— the 
 filthiest dress that ever filthy lucre wore — 
 a tattered old note, which he was not even 
 to retain possession of, perhaps, for half a 
 day — thrilled with rapture his little yellow 
 palm, made his fingers quiver, and his eyes 
 dance and glitter. So far his avarice was 
 sensual, almost the only sensual luxury 
 the poor old man was acquainted with ; 
 yet at the same time, was there ever so pure 
 a form of the love of money ? For it was 
 not for himself he grasped it ; if he was 
 rapacious (and it was only the fear of Mr. 
 Spenser's displeasure that kept him from
 
 218 Mr UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 being a Yerres in his line) it was not with the 
 slightest view to his own profit, but simply out 
 of a strong affection for the sight of the paper 
 or the coin itself. Mammon had never a sin- 
 cerer worshipper. Mammon did little for 
 poor Maguire -, housed him poorly, clothed 
 him sparingly, put scarce a pound of flesh on 
 his bones, fed him grudgingly on herrings and 
 potatoes, varied only with eggs and rashers 
 of bacon, supplied his extraordinary length 
 of nose with only a penny-worth of snuff 
 weekly ; yet was the devout little old proc- 
 tor more loyal to his false god, than many a 
 Christian is to the true and bountiful divi- 
 nity who clothes him in soft raiment, lodges 
 him in a palace, and feeds him daintily thrice 
 a day. 
 
 No sooner had he climbed the steep narrow 
 stair-case, or more properly ladder, which 
 led to his familiar roost, than closing the 
 door ho squatted himself down on a rough- 
 hewn deal chair, over his twinklinoj farthins: 
 candle (a peeled rush dipped in the melted 
 fat of sheep) to reckon out his money, and
 
 MONEY. 219 
 
 perform the necessary little operations and 
 tendernesses towards it, previous to vesting 
 it respectfully in the old black-leather case, 
 which (as we have seen) he always carried in 
 a privy pocket wrought into the breast of his 
 coat, on the inner and left side, so as to be 
 as near his heart as possible. 
 
 One by one he took up the notes delicately 
 and reverently, as some great scholar and 
 editor in the Vatican might handle a frag- 
 ment of a lost decade of Livy discovered in 
 a state of extreme decay, dropping to pieces 
 like tinder. Then he very gently smoothed 
 down every piece of bank paper separately ; 
 no lady's maid ever handled a berthe of the 
 costliest point more daintily. "When every 
 dog-ear was removed, he took from an old 
 pouch, which was also one of his invariable 
 travelling companions^ a little short-necked 
 bottle of ink, and the stump of a pen, look- 
 ing as old as himself, and set about marking 
 the notes in order, which he did on the upper 
 left corner of each with the initials of his 
 own name in minute cramped characters,
 
 220 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 placing eacli as lie marked it straight before 
 him, one above another, so as to make a pile 
 which he mic^ht afterwards sit and contem- 
 plate to his soul's content. 
 
 He was on the point of completing this 
 labour of love, and was just putting the 
 hieroglyphics to the thirteenth note, when 
 there was a step on the creaking ladder, fol- 
 lowed ahnost immediately by a tap at the 
 little door, and Eandy said, " Come in ;" — 
 he had been expecting the maid of the inn, 
 a niece and namesake of his own, to come 
 and arrange his little bed for him, and so 
 certain was he that it was ]\Iaggy Maguire 
 who now entered, that he continued his 
 proctorly occupation without looking up from 
 the table. 
 
 Dudley Dawson's ill-looking messenger 
 stood glaring at him and his bank notes, with 
 eyes expressive of a kind of avarice very 
 different from that which constituted Eandy 's 
 ruling passion. The fellow's imagination 
 probably made the heap of paper look more 
 considerable than in fact it was. He stood
 
 MONEY. 221 
 
 glaring fixedly on the little proctor while he 
 marked the fourteenth and fifteenth note, 
 and it was probably the stillness of the room, 
 when he expected to hear Maggy bustling 
 about it, that first made him raise his head. 
 He would have shrieked, had he been less 
 terrified by the apparition that loomed on 
 him. The figure of Lamb was formidable 
 enough of itself, but the dark light of the 
 rush made it still more appalling, and the 
 fellow's head actually nearly touched the 
 ceiling, or the roof, for they w^ere identical. 
 Lamb addressed Kandy by name, in what he 
 perhaps considered an amicable tone, but his 
 blandest address was gruff and savage ; and 
 it so heightened the proctors alarm that 
 whatever reply he made, as he huddled up 
 his money, was perfectly inarticulate. 
 
 " It's not your bank-notes I'm come for, 
 Mr. Maguire," said Lamb, with a grim smile 
 at tlie old man's trepidation. 
 
 " Who are you ? — wliat do you want ?" 
 gibbered the proctor, recovering his speech, 
 and at the same moment crushing up all his
 
 222 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 paper into a wisp, and thrusting it into the 
 depths of his pocket. 
 
 Lamb smiled again in his sinister waj. 
 
 " I was sent," he said^ " by Master Dudley 
 Dawson — " 
 
 Directly the name was mentioned, Randy's 
 terror abated, and he saw his visitor in quite 
 another light. 
 
 " To settle the arrears," he cried, eagerly ; 
 and so excited was he at the prospect of re- 
 ceiving the money^ that, without waiting for 
 a reply, he garrulously proclaimed the 
 amount he expected to receive, not leaving 
 the truculent stranger time to mention what 
 his business really was, or to interrupt 
 Eandy's revelations, had he been disposed to 
 do so. 
 
 When he paused, expecting his grim 
 visitor to rain gold upon him, and learned 
 the trumpery matter about which he came, 
 and that he knew nothing about the arrears 
 until informed by himself, never was a cau- 
 tious little old man so confounded. 
 
 " Why didn't you say that before ?" he
 
 MONEY. 22 o 
 
 cried, with peevish vehemence, and pulhng 
 out his pack, he handed it to the demandant 
 with the utmost trepidation, anxious to be 
 reheved as soon as possible from a presence 
 so sinister, and feehng as if the very prox- 
 imity of a man of Lamb's appearance could 
 not but lessen the number of his bank- 
 notes. 
 
 Lamb bid him a surly good-night, as he 
 thrust the cards into his breast, and stum- 
 bled down the ladder to return to the castle. 
 Then little Mary Maguire came in for a bit 
 of a scolding. Kandy rated his niece 
 roundly for not having given him some 
 notice of the arrival of such an ugly cus- 
 tomer, particularly at a moment when he 
 was counting his money. 
 
 Mary could tell him nothing about Lamb, 
 and said that nobody in the house could 
 give him much more information ; all she 
 knew was that he had very lately made his 
 appearance in the country, and had been 
 observed prowling about the castle and 
 neighbourhood. Maguire's thoughts (natu-
 
 224 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 turally enough, considering what his vocation 
 was) w^ere all more or less connected with 
 the impost which it was his duty to collect ; 
 and every thing about Lamb's appearance 
 suggested and encouraged a suspicion that 
 he was some low itinerant incendiary, Tvho 
 had arrived in this hitherto peaceable district 
 to organise the same system of violent resist- 
 ance to tithes, which prevailed so extensively 
 in other parts of the island. Then, on the 
 other hand, he appeared to be in the service 
 or employment of Dawson, who w^as going 
 himself to give the very next day so signal 
 a proof of his own determination to support 
 the law and the rights of the clergy. Ma- 
 guire did not w^ell know what to think, and 
 (after again arranging and fondling his 
 notes) he went to bed in a state of perplex- 
 ity that made him dream of a great many 
 fearful thino^s, belonmno- more to the me- 
 ridian of Thurles than the quiet parish of 
 Redcross. Perhaps his supper of pork had 
 something to do with it. 
 
 It was an improving night to Sydney
 
 MONEY. 225 
 
 Spenser, for he learned that important 
 branch of useful knowledge and polite edu- 
 cation, — the game of ccarte. After play- 
 ing for upwards of an hour, Dawson or- 
 dered the grilled remains of the turkey to be 
 served up. Sydney smoked another cigar, 
 made another libation of the etherial dew, 
 and then felt nearly as drowsy as if he had 
 taken so much " poppy or niandragora." 
 So soundly did he sleep that night that he 
 knew nothing of what went on in the house 
 and had no notion the next morning that all 
 its inmates had not been as quiet and well- 
 behaved as himself. It was late when he came 
 down, but Dawson was still later, so that 
 it was just one o'clock when they rose from 
 breakfast, neither having made a meal 
 worth a place in history. Sydney proposed 
 to adjourn with the pistols to the long 
 drawing-room, which was the regular shoot- 
 ing-gallery at Castle Dawson. 
 
 " Business before pleasure, my boy," said 
 his exemplary friend, " let us first step down 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 to the inn, pay Mr. Maguire a morning 
 visit, and settle our little account with 
 him. He may, perhaps, be anxious to re- 
 turn home." 
 
 " Very well," said Spenser. 
 
 They put on their rough coats and water- 
 proof hats, and trudged down the miry, 
 grass-grown avenue, Dawson pointing out 
 every moment some improvement he was on 
 the point of making, a new approach to the 
 house, a belt of wood to be planted, an un- 
 sightly wall to be pulled down, or masked 
 with ivy. 
 
 They found Maguire on the tenter-hooks 
 of expectation, nervous and fidgety to an 
 extreme. He had been wondering for several 
 hours that he had not been summoned to the 
 castle, and had his receipt ready drawn on 
 the proper stamp, only leaving blanks for 
 the date and his own signature. He thought 
 the happy moment would never come when 
 he should receive the long pending arrears, 
 and when he descried Dawson and Sydney
 
 MONEY. 227 
 
 approaching, lie would have jumped for joy, 
 only that he was so old and rheumatic. 
 
 " Good morning to you, Mr. Maguire," 
 said Dawson, in his loud hearty way^ grasping 
 the proctor by the hand. 
 
 " Good-morrow, Randy," said Sydney. 
 
 " Good-morrow, kindly to your honours 
 both," said Maguire, consolidating his ac- 
 knowledsrments. 
 
 " Well, Maguire, have you any objection 
 to receive a little money this morning ?" 
 asked Dawson, with a wink at Sydney. 
 
 " No, your honour, nor never had," said 
 Randy, with his little laugh. 
 
 " Let us to business, then," said Dawson. 
 
 Maguire led the way up to the little dor- 
 mitory, where he had the small deal table 
 (scrupulously washed that morning by his 
 niece) in readiness with all things needful for 
 the transaction of business. It scarcely oc- 
 cupied five minutes, but there may be enor- 
 mous bliss as well as enormous suiTering in 
 live minutes. 
 
 q2
 
 228 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 First, down on the table in golden concert 
 chinked six and thirty sovereigns, looking red 
 and almost hot from the mint : had the gold 
 been made into an instrument of music, and 
 had a seraph played on it, the harmony would 
 not have been so sweet to the ear of Ma^^uire. 
 After the chime of the precious metal came 
 the crackling of forty pounds in crisp and 
 maiden paper of the Bank of Ireland, and it 
 would have been hard to determine whether 
 the chink of the bullion, or the sound of the 
 notes were the more melodious. Every pas- 
 sion has its music ; love the lute, glory the 
 trumpet, avarice the ringing of coin and the 
 rustle of precious paper. Had Dawson been 
 an Orpheus, or a Mozart, he could not 
 have so ravished the ear of old Kandy 
 Magjuire. 
 
 " When do you return, Eandy ?" asked 
 young Spenser, as he was leaving the room. 
 
 '^ This afternoon, if the weather takes up," 
 replied Kandy, "but in the course of to- 
 morrow at all events."
 
 MONEY. 229 
 
 *' Perhaps we may travel together again," 
 said Sydney; but Dawson put his veto on 
 that proposition in the most positive man- 
 ner, not without more than one very unne- 
 cessary allusion to the other world and a 
 certain warm province of it. 
 
 Well, if business put pleasure down in the 
 morning, the latter, en revanche^ engrossed 
 the rest of the day all to itself As to Daw- 
 son, he seemed almost delirious with excite- 
 ment. His spirits almost crushed Sydney's. 
 The fire-screens were riddled with pistol- 
 bullets ; they played cards and backgammon ; 
 they sparred, they leaped, they lunched, and 
 Dawson took a good deal of wine at lun- 
 cheon. Then, for about half-an-hour, Daw- 
 son disappeared, and Sydney occupied him- 
 self in the interval with trying on various 
 articles of Dawson's gay and miscellaneous 
 wardrobe. When Dawson re-appeared, they 
 had a bout of fencing, after which they 
 smoked a couple of cigars each ; then Sydney 
 shot at a rook on a Scotch fir from one of
 
 230 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the parlour windows with his friend's rifle, 
 and frightened the soUtary bird without 
 hurting him, and then — it was near 
 dinner. 
 
 A dismal day it was out of doors, and 
 little less bleak within. The rain fell with 
 a melancholy pertinacity, only checked by 
 the sweeping wind. Nothing was visible 
 from the windows of Sydney's room but a 
 wilderness of brown heath and a waste of 
 surly w^aters. The waves howled sorrow- 
 fully along the craggy beach, and thundered 
 in its w^ave-worn hollows, some of which, 
 from the closeness of the roar, seemed to un- 
 dermine the house itself. The only question 
 was, whether the sights or the sounds Avere 
 the most hideous at Castle Dawson. The 
 evening, however, would probably have 
 passed heavily enough, had it been like the 
 preceding one, a tete-a~tete^ or a teat-a-teat, 
 as Mr. Dawson pronounced it. But the de- 
 jected artist re-appeared at dinner, and Daw- 
 son's ao;ent and man of business, as he called
 
 MONEY. 231 
 
 Mm, a certain Mr. Sharkey, a " special 
 attorney," well known in his profession, 
 arrived unexpectedly from Dublin. This 
 made a pretty quartette; and after dining, 
 and much smoking and punch-drinking, 
 cards were proposed again, and the game 
 was whist. 
 
 At first, Dawson and Mr. Sharkey 
 would only play for amusement, but at 
 Sydney's instance (though he knew almost 
 nothing of the game) they commenced play- 
 ing sixpenny points. The second rubber 
 the points were shillings. It ended (nobody 
 remembered at whose suggestion) in playing 
 for crowns, and at one o'clock in the morn- 
 ing Sydney rose, having won upwards of ten 
 pounds from the pretended artist. 
 
 Then there was another fiery supper ; 
 more grilled bones, more cigars, more punch ; 
 much slang, cock-pit anecdote, and profane 
 swearing. The attorney punned, and re- 
 peated his own waggeries at sessions; Daw- 
 son vapoured about public spirit; Sydney
 
 232 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 sang bad songs and mimicked good men ; 
 and the artist showed a marvellous know- 
 ledge of low London life, as if he was the 
 Hogarth of Bethnal-green, or the Wilkie of 
 St. Giles's. Then more cigars, more punch, 
 and to-bed without family prayers. 
 
 So ended the second day of Sydney's visit. 
 The third was a broken one, for Dawson and 
 Sharkey were called away by sudden busi- 
 ness to the county town ; Sydney proposed 
 to accompany them ; and, as they rode 
 through the village, they found Randy Ma- 
 guire mounting his little brown hack at 
 the inn-door, to wend his lonely way back 
 to Redcross, full of apprehensions and pre- 
 sentiments of danger; and in point of fact, 
 although he did his best to argue himself out 
 of his fears, there was only too much ground 
 for entertaining them. At an early hour 
 that morninf]^ he had observed two men, 
 whose appearance he disliked, taking the 
 same road he had himself to travel; one of 
 them bore a stronc^ resemblance to his ac-
 
 MONEY. 283 
 
 quaintance of tlie previous evening, vv'hicli 
 made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable, 
 notwithstandino; his knowledo-e that he was 
 a person in Dawson's service. 
 
 Dawson and Sydney wished the poor little 
 collector a good morning and a safe home, as 
 they passed him, which he returned with 
 such a mournful benediction, and so wistful 
 a look at young Spenser, that the latter could 
 not refrain from lino'erino; a moment behind, 
 to cheer up the old man, and to express his 
 regret that it was not in his power to ride 
 home with him, which he well knew was 
 what Maojuire wanted. 
 
 " It's only bekase I have so much money 
 about me, Master Sydney," he said, in a very 
 low voice, as if afraid that the very pony 
 should hear the word that had such magic 
 in it. 
 
 Sydney had a misgiving tliat it was wrong 
 to leave the proctor to travel alone under 
 sucli circumstances, but he liad promised to 
 accompany Dawson, so lie contented himself
 
 234 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 with again guaranteeing tlie perfect safety 
 of the route, and rode forward after his 
 friend. Dawson and Sharkey were both 
 very unsociable ; Dawson neither talked 
 himself, nor seemed to wish Sydney to talk 
 to him ; he was moody, and seemed to be 
 brooding on sbme painful and harassing sub- 
 ject. Sydney good-naturedly thought it was, 
 perhaps, the general state of the country that 
 was disturbing him ; or that he was ponder- 
 ing deeply on the responsibilities of a member 
 of parliament. At length, however, it oc- 
 curred to him that it was just possible Daw- 
 son might have private business to transact 
 at the place he was going to, and that he 
 would prefer proceeding there unaccom- 
 panied by him ; so, after about two hours' ride, 
 without the exchange of as many sentences, 
 Sydney pleaded the continuance of a head- 
 ache, with which he had set out, and said he 
 would" return to Castle Dawson. Dudley 
 made no opposition, and they separated; 
 but Sydney changed his mind on gaining
 
 MONEY. 235 
 
 the village, betliouglit himself of poor Ma- 
 guire whom he had before deserted, and not 
 questioning but that he would overtake him 
 in the course of the day, instead of going 
 back to his friend's dreary house, he turned 
 his horse's head towards Eedcross, and was 
 soon in the heart of the mountains. He 
 might easily have overtaken the tardy ill- 
 mounted old proctor, but his horse lost a 
 shoe, so that he was under the necessity of 
 performing the greater part of the journey 
 on foot. 
 
 At one moment he was almost on the 
 point of resmning his original intention, 
 for on putting his hand into the pocket where 
 he kept the case of pistols which he had 
 lately been displaying to Maguire, he found 
 only one of them in its place. This sur- 
 prised and vexed him, and he would cer- 
 tainly have returned in search of the missing 
 one, had his steed been in travelling order. 
 As it was, he proceeded on his way home- 
 wards, soon forgetting his loss, and aAvakcn-
 
 236 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 ing the echoes of the lonely brown mountains 
 
 •with — 
 
 " Bryan O'Linn had no breeches to wear, 
 
 So he bought him a sheepskin, and made him a pair. 
 
 With the skinny side out, and the woolly side in, 
 The warmer for that, said Bryan O'Linn.'' 
 
 But now and then he puzzled himself, think- 
 ing how the pistol could have been abstracted 
 from the pocket, and repeatedly during that 
 long solitary ride did he recollect, with un- 
 pleasant feelings, the faces he had seen 
 under his friend's roof, and even at his 
 table.
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 
 
 " Light thickens ; and the crow 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood : 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
 While night's black agents to their prey do rouse." 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 It is necessary now that the reader should 
 be informed of the thincrs which were done in 
 Dawson's house on the first night of Sydney 
 Spenser's visit, — while he slumbered as deep 
 as a watchman of the old municipal regime, 
 under the combined influence of the moun- 
 tain air and the mountain dew. AYc need 
 scarcely say that neither was Mr. Tliomson 
 an artist, or the gentleman called Major 
 Lamb a surveyor or valuator. They were 
 profligate acquaintances and instruments of
 
 238 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Master Dudley's ; and tli3y were now at 
 Castle Dawson for a special purpose, not un- 
 connected with the proceedings in Chancery, 
 but one which the Chancellor would have 
 by no means ^pproved^ had an opportunity 
 been afforded him of giving his judgment 
 upon it. 
 
 We must premise that the Dawson property 
 (originally a large one) had been created 
 by Dudley's great-grandfather, in a manner 
 not very uncommon at the period, namely, 
 by a career of successful smuggling, for 
 which the wildness of the coast, and the 
 close proximity of the house to it, afforded 
 every conceivable facility. Such at least 
 was the popular belief in the country, and 
 the story was heightened as usual with cir- 
 cumstances of a still more darinsf and cri- 
 minal nature ; some people going so far as 
 to say that frauds upon the excise were only 
 one source of profit to the founder of the 
 family, who would sometimes evince his 
 hospitality to merchantmen by inviting 
 them on shore, almost under his own
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 239 
 
 windows, witli lights put up expressly by 
 himself, and with no expence to the public, 
 at places where the Trinity Board had neg- 
 lected to erect them. However, all sud- 
 denly raised fortunes are obnoxious to some 
 scandal or another of this kind ; certain it 
 was, that in the space of a few years, old 
 Mr. Dawson, from a poor became a very rich 
 man ; and the glitter of wealth, according to 
 custom, soon blinded people's eyes to the 
 means by which it was amassed, and enabled 
 its possessor to take a place in society com- 
 mensurate with his fortune. He purchased 
 land, and with the proprietorship of acres, 
 assumed the air of state and importance 
 which acres alone bestow ; money, once 
 made, did every thing for him ; he married a 
 lady of good family, who added to his estate ; 
 he boucfht a seat in that notorious den of 
 thieves, the Irish House of Commons, which 
 some pleasant politicians are so eager to re- 
 establisli ; — he even discovered that his oavu 
 family was an ancient and distinguished one, 
 and spent a few thousand pounds in collecting
 
 240 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 at sales and auctions in both countries a 
 gallery of portraits (some by eminent pain- 
 ters), which served as well to represent his 
 grandfathers and grandmothers, as if they 
 had been painted expressly to commemorate 
 their features. 
 
 The story ran, that this enterprising gen- 
 tleman selected his grandfathers by their 
 noses ; and whenever he saw or heard of a 
 portrait with what was called " the Daw- 
 son nose," which was somewhat cocked 
 up like himself, he purchased, or gave an 
 order to have it secured for him ; and when 
 the picture reached Castle Dawson, it was 
 styled an admiral, a general, an ambassador, 
 or a lord-mayor, accordinn; to the costume in 
 which the figure chanced to be dressed. 
 There were some busts, too, amongst the 
 family memorials thus oddly collected ; and 
 amongst the number were tvro which (if you 
 believed your own eyes as well as Mr. Daw- 
 son's account of them) established, beyond a 
 doubt, that not only was Mirabeau one of 
 the family, but that it traced its origin and 
 nose to Socrates himself.
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 241 
 
 The majority of pictures in the Dawson 
 gallery were, as may be imagined, of an 
 order of art not much above sign-painting; 
 but there were some portraits of more value 
 than was generally suspected: there were 
 two Vandykes, two Lelys, one by Keynolds, 
 and another supposed to be a Kembrandt. 
 There was also a group of characters by 
 Rubens, including a beauty of enormous de- 
 velopment, who might have better passed for 
 Mrs. Woodward's great-grandmother than Mr. 
 Dawson's, only for the decisive circumstance 
 of the nez retrousse. The whole collection, 
 however, was soon to be brought to the 
 hammer, under an order of a Master in 
 Chancery, who, though an old master him- 
 self, knew nothing about the old masters of 
 the pencil, and had given no particular 
 directions for the valuation of the pictures 
 by competent judges, nor for their safe cus- 
 tody previous to the sale. Under these cir- 
 cumstances, the idea had occurred to the fer- 
 tile mind of Sydney Spenser's friend, to turn 
 to his own account the valuable part of the 
 
 VOL. L R
 
 242 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 gallery, substituting for it a corresponding 
 quantity of trash, picked up at the old curi- 
 osity shops, at the rate of a guinea a portrait. 
 There was also an opportunity for practising 
 the same little artifice with respect to a few 
 hundred pounds' worth of books, which had 
 been collected by his ancestor, merely on 
 the principle that a great house ought to 
 have something like a library, and that the 
 books ought, at all events, to be superbly 
 bound. Expense had not been spared, so 
 that the books were not only in rich bind- 
 ings (now indeed damaged by damp and 
 neglect), but some of them rare copies 
 of the works of standard authors ; includincr. 
 for example, a splendid quarto edition of 
 Moliere, with finely executed engravings, 
 which had cost forty guineas, and would 
 now, probably, produce a larger sum. The 
 books to be abstracted were, as well as the 
 pictures, to have their places supplied at a 
 moderate cost ; and the business which 
 Dudley Dawson had just now in hand, 
 assisted by Messieurs Lamb and Thomson,
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 243 
 
 was to remove this property clandestinely 
 from the house of his father, and transport it 
 to London, to be there disposed of with the 
 privacy suited to a transaction of so delicate 
 a nature. 
 
 No sooner had Dawson assured himself, 
 by applying his ear to the key-hole of Syd- 
 ney's bed-room door, that his young friend 
 slept profoundly, than he proceeded, with a 
 dim lamp in his hand, to the apartment where 
 his auxiliaries had sequestered themselves, 
 and rousing them from their repose (for it is 
 a mistake to think that rogues don't sleep as 
 well as honest men), summoned them to the 
 work of the night. 
 
 " Now, boys," he said, in a low deep voice, 
 " silence and activity ! Follow me !" 
 
 The miscreants obeyed, shrugging their 
 shoulders, and knocking against one another, 
 and against the furniture, the room was so 
 gloomy, for there was no* light but from the 
 one flickering lamp. Terry had nothing on 
 but his shirt, and his red plush breeches, and 
 was scarcely able to walk, from the eflccts of 
 R 2
 
 244 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 the kick he had received from his mild young 
 master in the early part of the evening. 
 
 They crept through the passages, not 
 making half the noise which the wind did, 
 whistling through the chinks of the wains- 
 cots, and the shattered panes of glass, and 
 slamming distant doors, with that parti- 
 cularly melancholy sound, which writers 
 of ghost-stories make such good use of. 
 At the head of a stair-case Dawson 
 paused a moment, and held the lamp up to 
 two pictures which hung there. One was 
 the Rembrandt ; it was expeditiously un- 
 fixed from the wall by the major and Terry, 
 when Dawson took it out of their hands, 
 and carried it down stairs himself, for greater 
 security. In the hall were several of his 
 cock-nosed ancestors, but their descendant 
 treated them with supreme contempt, and 
 passed on to the large dining-parlour, which 
 was not that where Sydney had been enter- 
 tained. In this room were the marble 
 busts already mentioned, and the rest of the 
 pictures of value ; they were taken down 
 with marvellous celerity, and packed, with
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 245 
 
 their frames, in wooden cases, which had 
 been provided for them, Dawson looking 
 very sharp to protect the faces of his pre- 
 tended forefathers from beino; scratched in 
 the process. The room where the books 
 were was contiguous, and there also stood 
 several strong boxes made expressly to hold 
 those which had previously been selected for 
 embezzlement. The packing of the books 
 occupied more time than the pictures : there 
 were in all four boxes full, and Dawson did 
 this part of the work almost exclusively him- 
 self, having probably made himself ac- 
 quainted with the knack the booksellers 
 have of packing daintily, so as to prevent 
 collision with Russia, or a brush with Mo- 
 rocco. "When he came to the splendid 
 edition of Moliere, he hesitated for an in- 
 stant, and then set it aside ; his assistants 
 concluded that the book was of little worth, 
 but the fact was, that Dawson reserved it for 
 a judicious present to Mr. Spenser, to Avhose 
 library lie fancied it would be a desirable 
 addition.
 
 246 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 The boxes required nailing, but that oper- 
 ation was postponed, out of consideration 
 for Sydney, whose sleep might have been 
 disturbed by it. 
 
 Now came the most trying part of the 
 business. Dawson and Lamb being the 
 strongest of the party, undertook the weighty 
 porterage of one of the boxes of books; 
 Thomson and Terry carried a case with the 
 pictures ; and then it was that the peculiar 
 subterraneous contrivances of Castle Daw- 
 son were once more turned to use, and in a 
 manner quite in keeping with their original 
 destination. They were all strong men, 
 except Mr. Thomson, or they could not 
 have done what they did that night. Daw- 
 son and Lamb went foremost, with the lamp 
 on the top of the box, and having crossed 
 the hall, they descended a short stair-case 
 which led to the kitchens, and other apart- 
 ments on the basement story. Few people 
 knew that there was any lower excavation 
 than this, save such as rats or mice might 
 have made to burrow in. Lamb and Thorn-
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 247 
 
 son fancied they were going to deposit the 
 booty in some of the ordinary vaults or cel- 
 lars with which all houses are provided ; 
 and in fact it was at the wine-cellar they first 
 halted with their loads. 
 
 Hoarse, protracted, and gradually increas- 
 ing sounds, accompanied with something 
 like the splash of waves at stated intervals 
 upon a pebbly beach, were now mournfully 
 audible. Dawson unlocked the door with 
 a thick, short, rusty key. The mournful 
 noise, and the sullen splash, became more 
 distinct. 
 
 It was a spacious desolate vault, with 
 a multitude of compartments; the most of 
 them were quite vacant ; the pleasant, pro- 
 fligate fellows, and jovial jobbers of fifty 
 years since had drunk them dry ; only a few 
 bins were partially stocked, and but one 
 could be said to be well furnished with wine. 
 The wine, however, was not the present 
 object. The boxes were set down ; Daw- 
 son scraped away with liis feet the tliick 
 coating of clay and saw-dust, with wliich
 
 248 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 the floor was covered, and presently a trap- 
 door was disclosed to view. It was secured 
 only by a bolt, and when the bolt was drawn, 
 the door opened downwards; you saAV a 
 ladder descending to unknown depths, and 
 now were fully satisfied that it was the sea 
 itself whose dashing immediately under your 
 feet had for some time been audible. When 
 Thomson, who bore the lamp, lowered it 
 into the opening to examine the rounds of 
 the ladder, the light, faint as it was, probed 
 the obscurity of the cavern, and was visibly 
 reflected in flickering gleams, either by the 
 gushing tide itself, or the bright wet shells 
 and pebbles which the water, retiring vrith 
 a long-drawn sigh, left behind it. 
 
 Not much art, but a good deal of toil, had 
 been required to construct this secret com- 
 munication with the ocean. A deep fissure 
 in the cliflJs, broad enough to admit a small 
 boat at time of high-water, had been ex- 
 tended by the operation of blasting, so as to 
 form something like a subterraneous canal, 
 or the horizontal shaft of a mine, termi-
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 249 
 
 nating directly beneath the vault where 
 these lawless men were now peering down 
 into it. 
 
 Terry was sent down in advance, and 
 scarcely was the splash of his feet heard 
 amon<T;st the wet shinf^les when he raised a 
 howl and an execration, as if Cerberus had 
 bitten him with his three sets of flmc^s at 
 once. It was not Cerberus, but a huge 
 lobster, which had lost no time in attacking 
 the midnight invader of his retreat. Terry's 
 brogues were none of the slightest, but the 
 angry shcil-fish cut one of them clean 
 through, and it was not until after a battle of 
 some minutes that the superior animal, howl- 
 ing and blaspheming all the time like a 
 demon, succeeded in extricating himself from 
 the .inferior. Indeed, except that the ele- 
 ment was water and not fire, the entire scene 
 was infernal enough ; below was the caitiff 
 in red plush struggling with the crustaceous 
 monster ; while over-head, straining their 
 eye-balls througli the trap to see wliat was 
 going on, were tlie faces of Dawson and his
 
 250 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 knavish companions ; Dawson railing and 
 cursing at liis unlucky vassal, and menacing 
 him with horsewhips ; Lamb witnessing 
 Terry's tortures with the mute and grim de- 
 light of an amateur executioner; and Thom- 
 son, with his unalterable look of sad and ex- 
 hausted turpitude, perhaps the most fiendish 
 expression of all. 
 
 A boat was secured to a staple in the rock 
 at about an arm's length from the foot of the 
 ladder. It was brought directly under the 
 trap, and the boxes were lowered with ropes 
 into it, Dawson and Lamb placing them so 
 as to let them slide down the ladder, and 
 Terry guiding them below, until they were 
 safely lodged in the hull of the boat. Three 
 times did these sons of night go back and 
 forwards between the cellar and the great 
 dining-room, until all the boxes and cases 
 were thus mysteriously secreted, preparatory 
 to their being removed to another receptacle 
 known to Dawson, where they were to be 
 shipped off to England at a convenient op- 
 portunity. At every return to the cellar.
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 251 
 
 the leader in this piece of midnight villany 
 knocked off the neck of a bottle of wine with 
 the key of the cellar, to cheer and. refresh 
 his comrades, who stood indeed much in 
 want of refreshment, for the job tried the 
 sinews of the party, if it did not sting their 
 consciences. The least guilty was Terry, for 
 he acted merely as a loyal retainer of the 
 Dawson family, and had nothing but kicks 
 for his reward and the cruel squeeze which 
 the fish gave him. Lamb and Thomson 
 were mercenary accomplices, and had been 
 brought over specially from London to assist 
 in this transaction ; not that Dawson could 
 not have found lawless fellows like them 
 nearer home, but that he was already mixed 
 up with them in more than one dark aflair, 
 and did not choose to extend unnecessarily 
 the circle of his vicious connexions. 
 
 It was daylight, but a dim, drizzling 
 morning, when the business was finished, 
 and the four emerged from the basement- 
 story, looking like a low dissolute crew 
 tumblinc: out of a tavern in Bethnal-green,
 
 252 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 after a debaucli and a boxing-match. Lamb 
 had cut his hp at his last draught from the 
 broken bottle, and his face was not only be- 
 grimed with dust, but dabbled with blood, 
 as if he had been at a murder. Thomson 
 and the wretched Terry threw themselves 
 on the naked stone, and the latter was in- 
 stantly asleep. Dawson crept up to the 
 room where Sydney lay, and assured himself 
 that the seal of repose was still unbroken on 
 his eye-lids. Then he descended, and took 
 Lamb aside into a villanous yard, where an 
 old hound was howling in a dilapidated 
 kennel, to give him further directions res- 
 pecting the embezzled property. 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Dawson," said Lamb, 
 after Dawson had concluded, '^ all that shall 
 be done; and now let me tell you, that both 
 Thomson and myself are of opinion that this 
 job is well worth another hundred pounds." 
 
 " A ■ hundred fiddlesticks," said Dawson ; 
 " you shall have what we agreed on — not a 
 farthino^ less, and not a farthing more." 
 
 "We must have another hundred," re-
 
 NOCTURNAL DOINGS. 253 
 
 joined the major. We'll not sail for London 
 without the money." 
 
 " I wish you may get it," said Dawson, 
 with an irritated laugh. " Come, Lamb, I'll 
 stand no such nonsense ; do your duty, and 
 I'll do mine ; we ought to know one another 
 well enough by this time." Then he cursed 
 the old hound in the shed, venting on the 
 brute the rancorous feeling excited by his 
 rapacious companion. 
 
 " I know you well enough, Mr. Dawson." 
 
 "And I know you. Lamb; so no more 
 balderdash. We bargained for fifty pounds 
 and your travelling expenses, and a bargain 
 is a bargain." 
 
 The hound continued to whine, and the 
 noise, combined with the whistling; of the 
 Avind and the bellowing of the waves, made 
 it difficult enough to carry on a conversa- 
 tion. Dawson snatched up a branch of a 
 tree that lay at his feet, and, flying at the 
 dog, beat it savagely, in a kind of pa- 
 renthesis. 
 
 " It's a bargain with only one side to it,
 
 254 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 from this moment," said Lamb, looking 
 diabolical. 
 
 So did Dawson after his barbarity to the 
 old dog, but he commanded his temper with 
 the human brute, and said, in a voice com- 
 paratively soothing, 
 
 " Keep yourself cool, Lamb, and listen to 
 me. I could just as easily pay you ten 
 thousand pounds down at this moment, as 
 the hundred you talk of The fifty for you 
 is ready; twenty in hard cash, and my note 
 of hand for the remainder. It was no easy 
 matter, under existing circumstances, to raise 
 even the twenty ; but it was a point of 
 honour with me to settle partly in cash for 
 this night's job, so I raised the money." 
 
 But Lamb was not mollified by this 
 speech. 
 
 " And is it also a point of honour with 
 you 4:0 pay seventy-six pounds seven shil- 
 lings and sixpence to Mr. Maguire, the 
 tithe-proctor, to-morrow morning ?" he asked, 
 with a fiendish grin. 
 
 Dawson's face, red at all times, grew crim-
 
 NOCTURNAIi DOINGS. 255 
 
 son with surprise and rage ; then it turned 
 to a Hvid purple, as he demanded what 
 Lamb meant by his question. 
 
 " I mean just what I say," rephed the 
 major. " Is it a point of honour with you to 
 pay a rascally proctor, when you can't settle 
 an honest account with a friend ? — that's a 
 plain question, Mr. Dawson." 
 
 " What the fiend is it to you," cried 
 the other, "what I pay Mr. Maguire or 
 any body else, or whether it is tithe or 
 not ?" 
 
 " Just this, Mr. Dudley Dawson — that if 
 there's money for the parson, there's money 
 for hard-working men like us; — our's is the 
 prior claim." 
 
 " We'll see," retorted Dawson, fiercely and 
 doggedly. 
 
 " We will," echoed Lamb, in the same de- 
 termined way. 
 
 "If another guinea would save you and 
 that consumptive varlet snoring in the hall 
 from Tyburn, or a worse place, you should 
 not have it from me," cried Dawson.
 
 256 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Lamb was silent for one moment — it was 
 a moment of rapid, deep, and atrocious me- 
 ditation. 
 
 " Mark what I say," he said, in a hoarse, 
 resolute growl, approaching his companion 
 as he spoke, and thrusting his ill-favoured 
 and bleeding face close to his ear, " if w^e 
 don't get something handsome out of you, 
 we'll manage to get it out of Mr. Maguire," 
 
 Dawson regarded him with an eye of 
 fierce scrutiny, and demanded what he 
 meant. 
 
 " Coax it out of him," said Lamb, with his 
 atrocious smile ; and then added, in a whis- 
 per between his teeth, " it wouldn't be a 
 much worse job than w^e have just been 
 doing, Mr. Dawson." 
 
 Dawson's countenance assumed an ex- 
 pression difficult to understand. It was not 
 approval of Lamb's suggestion, and still less 
 w^as it horror at it. Perhaps he thought it 
 not worth an observation. However, no 
 more was said. Lamb seemed to abandon 
 his attempt to extort more money from his
 
 NOCTUENAL DOINGS. 257 
 
 employer, who seemed, upon his side, glad 
 to have the conference over ; and indeed 
 they both wanted some repose after such an 
 extraordinary amount of physical exertion. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 258 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 BOOK lY. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 THE ELOOD. 
 
 " There is sure another flood toward, and 
 This couple is coming to the ark." 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Retuen we now to the parsonage, wliicli 
 we left witli a hurricane blowing, but with 
 very little idea that it was destined to blow 
 one of the rector's daughters a husband. It 
 is pleasant to go back to the haunts of civilis- 
 ation after passing a couple of days at Castle 
 Dawson, and it is agreeable also to mix the 
 proceedings of grim ill-favoiu'ed men with 
 the doings of women like Arabella and Eh- 
 zabeth Spenser. 
 
 We have mentioned the rudely constructed
 
 THE FLOOD. 259 
 
 wooden bridge across the upper and narrow 
 part of the estuary, at a distance of some two 
 or three miles from the residence of the Spen- 
 sers. For ordinarily rough weather this 
 structure was sufficiently firm ; but it proved 
 unequal to withstand the violence of the 
 storm that now raged, with the additional 
 strain of an enormously increased volume of 
 water, partly .produced by three days' in- 
 cessant rain in the mountains, partly by the 
 influx from the ocean under the action of a 
 furious west- wind. About five o'clock in the 
 afternoon, on the third day of the storm, the 
 bridge gave way, and in a very few minutes 
 scarce a plank remained to show where it 
 had once stood. 
 
 The shooting-lodge of Mr. Spenser's friend, 
 Lord Bonham, was situated about five miles to 
 the north of the parsonage, in the heart of the 
 mountains, an extremely beautiful wild spot, 
 to which the Spensers sometimes made ex- 
 cursions and pic-nic parties with the Wood- 
 wards and other neighbours. There was, at 
 the time we speak of, but one practicable 
 
 s2
 
 260 ]\IY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 and that a very circuitous route, between the 
 lodo;e and the villaire of Redcross, and this 
 depended upon the wooden bridge, and was 
 totally interrupted by its destruction. Two 
 gentlemen, one well mounted and attended 
 by a servant, with a good horse under him 
 likewise, the other riding a stout black 
 pony (one of the same breed as Mr. Wood- 
 ward's), were the first to discover, to their 
 extreme inconvenience and distress, the havoc 
 occasioned by the flood. The party was 
 coming from the lodge, and proceeding south- 
 wards^ intending to dine at a house in the 
 neighbourhood of Redcross, and remain 
 there until the weather should clear up. 
 They had had a long, rough ride, and had 
 been comfortini:^ themselves for the last half 
 hour by talking of the good table, and the 
 excellent bottle of wine, they expected at the 
 house where they proposed to bait for the 
 evening. The rider of the black pony was 
 Lord Bonham's agent, a fat, short, round, 
 red-faced, fidgety little man, with a white 
 hat, a heavy brown coat, and a shawl like a 
 woman's wrapped round his throat, burying
 
 THE FLOOD. 261 
 
 half of his amusing physiognomy. He looked, 
 however (as far as the play of his featmx^s 
 were visible), excessively agitated and dis- 
 mayed, on reaching the place where the 
 bridge, to his personal knowledge, had stood 
 only the day before. Surprise seemed to have 
 deprived him of the power of speech, but 
 his companion (a tall man, under thirty, 
 with a showy figure, and gentleman-like 
 appearance, though his air was a little 
 arrogant), exclaimed in a dry, high-pitched 
 voice, 
 
 " I say, Trundle, where's the bridge ? — I 
 see no bridge, Trundle." 
 
 "Nor I, Colonel Dabzac," replied the 
 gentleman addressed, looking comically dis- 
 mal, and gazing ruefully on the surging and 
 triumphing waters, ^' all I knov^ is that it was 
 there at six o'clock yesterday, or avc should 
 not be on this side now ; it's an extremely 
 ugly business, that I can tell you, colonel." 
 
 " What's to be done ? that's the question. 
 Trundle, you know the country — I don't 
 — are you sure we are at the right point ? 
 Is there another road ?"
 
 262 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " No road that I am acquainted witli but 
 this — no other road to Kedcross." 
 
 " We must swim for it, I suppose," said 
 the colonel. 
 
 " One thing' is certain," said the other, 
 " we shall not reach our friends in time for 
 dinner, to-day ; I doubt, indeed, if we shall 
 dine at all, wdthout returning to the lodge." 
 
 "Which I positively won't do, Mr. 
 Trundle." 
 
 " Then, colonel, we have no alternative 
 but to turn to the riolit and s:o to Mr. 
 Spenser's." 
 
 "That — Whig parson!" — the reader will 
 excuse us for not recording the epithet used 
 by the colonel. 
 
 " Then we must either go back all the way 
 to Bonham Lodge, or stay here all night. 
 — The parson has got two handsome 
 daughters, I can tell you that, colonel." 
 
 " Has he a good cook ? — that's more to 
 the point," replied the other ; " however, 
 any port in a storm — en avant^ Mr. Trundle ; 
 it's getting late ; we had better ride hard, 
 or we'll come in for the cold shoulder."
 
 THE FLOOD. 263 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, the colonel 
 set off at a fast trot, and the pony that 
 Trundle rode did its best to go at the same 
 pace, very much to the grievance of his 
 pursy rider, who had not been so long on 
 horseback for several years, and was already 
 uncomfortable enough in his saddle, beside 
 being very embarrassed by a huge roll he was 
 carrying, like a map or survey ; and in point 
 of fact it was one. Fain would he have re- 
 monstrated with his hardier comrade, but the 
 blustering wind, which blew right in his 
 teeth, took away his breath, or prevented 
 the complaints which he tried to gasp forth, 
 from reaching; the colonel's ear. It was all 
 in vain to pull in the obstinate pony ; poor 
 Trundle^ sadly embarrassed by his enormous 
 map, tugged hard at the reins to restrain a 
 speed so adverse to his personal case, but 
 the beast had the spirit of competition 
 which the man wanted, and seemed perfectly 
 to understand the gestures of Dabzac, Avho 
 looked back over his shoulder at intervals 
 to see that his friend was not losing gi'ound.
 
 264 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 The colonel, however, was obliged to 
 slacken his pace before long, owing to the 
 steepness and roughness of the road, if road 
 it might be called. This enabled Trundle, 
 or rather the pony, to rejoin him; and then 
 it was highly diverting to observe the little 
 round man's physiognomy, as he received the 
 compliments of his companion upon his ad- 
 mirable seat (the sorest subject Dabzac could 
 have hit on), and the merits of an animal, 
 whose only demerit in the eyes of his owner 
 ■was the stubborn speed at which he insisted 
 on going. The pause was but momentary ; 
 the road grew level again, and the colonel, 
 intent on his dinner, pushed forward, the 
 pony again accepting the challenge, and Mr. 
 Trundle in vain endeavourin2f to call atten- 
 tion to the beauties of the stormy sunset, and 
 its effects upon the ruins of the Black Castle, 
 at which they were now arrived. No man 
 living cared less for sunsets, or ruins, or any 
 thing picturesque and romantic than he did ; 
 but he thought to induce his impetuous 
 friend to slacken his pace a little, either not
 
 THE FLOOD. 265 
 
 knowing or not reflecting that Dabzac was 
 quite as little sensitive to the charms of 
 scenery as he was himself. 
 
 Arabella and Elizabeth Spenser were 
 standing at a window in the library, com- 
 templating the weather-beaten shrubs and 
 down-trod roses, when the two horsemen, such 
 contrasts in all respects, came trotting up to 
 the parsonage, drenched with rain, and be- 
 spattered with all the various soils of the 
 country, so that an agricultural chemist could 
 have inferred the rural produce of Donegal 
 from an observation of the state of their 
 boots. Such arrivals create a lively sensa- 
 tion at quiet glebe houses, particularly in such 
 dreary weather. The person of the colonel 
 was not unknown to Arabella^ for she re- 
 membered having once danced with him at 
 a country ball. Both girls, however, recog- 
 nised Mr. Trundle instantly, even under the 
 cumbrous disguise of his huge l)rown coat, 
 and the cotton shawl that enveloped his 
 face. A groan escaped from Elizabetli, 
 which of itself was suflicicnt to intimate that
 
 266 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 a more agreeable guest could easily have 
 presented himself. One likes to hear a pretty 
 woman groan, when it is not the expression 
 of actual pain or misery. Elizabeth Spenser 
 groaned charmingly. Why she groaned now 
 will appear very shortly. 
 
 Mr. Spenser, who was sitting with his 
 wife, recognised Dabzac directly he saw him, 
 and there Avere not many men in Ireland 
 whom he would not have more willingly 
 received into his house, for Dabzac belonged 
 to a class for whom, both socially and politi- 
 cally, the rector, having strong Whig preju- 
 dices, entertained a decided dislike, the 
 high Tory magnates of Ulster, who, at the 
 period of our story, had not had their crests 
 lowered by the repeated victories of the 
 demagogue, and the triumphs of the po- 
 pular cause. Such social prejudices, some- 
 times even amounting to antipathies, were 
 prevalent in Ireland at the time we speak 
 of ; they were the growth of laws and 
 systems which, with a few exceptions, have 
 been wisely abandoned, and were themselves
 
 THE FLOOD. 267 
 
 irresistible arguments for the abandonment 
 of them. 
 
 Mr. Spenser, indeed, had not much reason 
 to be pleased with either of the gentlemen 
 who took refuge under his roof that tem- 
 pestuous evening. Mr. Trundle, though not 
 formidable in the way the colonel was, was, 
 perhaps, the more formidable of the two. 
 The little round red-faced man was one of 
 the numerous troublesome, self-opinionated, 
 but well-meaning personages, who, at the 
 period of our story, had their heads stuffed 
 with projects of all kinds for the improve- 
 ment of Ireland,, and could talk of no- 
 thing but the crotchet uppermost at the 
 moment, utterly disregarding fitness of time 
 or place, or the tastes and temper of the 
 company. Now it was the reclaiming of 
 bogs ; now the draining of lakes ; now 
 mines ; now canals ; now a scheme of colo- 
 nisation ; " everything in turn and notliing 
 long ;" but the plan of the moment was 
 always, of course, the only plan to save tlie 
 the country. As to Mr. Trundle, he had
 
 268 3\IY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 only just abandoned a desperate undertaking 
 against the great bog of Allen, and was now 
 enthusiastically engaged in a terrible design 
 against Loch Foyle and Loch S willy ; mad 
 on the subject himself, and driving every 
 body mad who had the misfortune to en- 
 counter him. 
 
 The reader will now easily comprehend 
 why Elizabeth Spenser groaned when she 
 saw this gentleman approach the parsonage, 
 with the huge roll in his hand, of which she 
 guessed the nature only too correctly. The 
 groan, indeed, was more on her fathers 
 account than her own. The never-failin^: 
 placidity and benevolence of Mr. Spenser 
 particularly exposed him to bores of every 
 kind, just as a jar of honey attracts wasps, 
 or a sugar-bowl on a sunny breakfast-table 
 gathers all the buzzing and droning things 
 in the room about it. 
 
 Mr.- Trundle introduced his friend the 
 colonel, and Mr. Spenser and his daughters 
 received them with a gracious hospitality 
 which made Dabzac instantly feel that he
 
 THE FLOOD. 2G9 
 
 •was the guest of people of refinement, whe- 
 ther of the rio'ht sort or not. The colonel's 
 servant had carried a small portmanteau, 
 containino; a chanf]je of clothes and a dress- 
 ing-case, but the agent was utterly unpro- 
 vided, so that Mr. Spenser had to accommo- 
 date him with one of his own black suits, in 
 which, when he re-appeared in the drawing- 
 room, he cut a singular figure ; the skirts of 
 the coat sweeping the floor, while the tight- 
 ness of the body gave it almost the strin- 
 gency of a straight waistcoat, an article of 
 dress (by the way) which many thought 
 that Mr. Trundle should have been provided 
 with long ago. While Colonel Dabzac was 
 indulging a sort of dull, dry facetiousness he 
 had, at the expense of his travelling com- 
 panion, dinner was announced ; and then 
 the struggles and fidgetings of the little agent, 
 in the act of presenting his arm to Elizabeth, 
 were so ludicrous, that it was with no small 
 difficulty she concealed from him how much 
 he amused her.
 
 270 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYin. 
 
 IMPROVEMENT OF IRELAND. 
 
 " Dogberry. Truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious 
 as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all on your 
 worship. 
 
 " Leonato. All thy tediousness on me ! — ha ! 
 
 " Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 
 it is." 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 It was a momentous occurrence in the lives 
 of both Miss Spenser and Colonel Dabzac, 
 the carrying away of that wooden bridge. 
 The colonel was too busy, however, losing 
 his appetite to lose his heart that day to any 
 lady in the land. But Arabella, from the 
 first (although perhaps nobody noticed it), 
 regarded him with an eye of favour ; and it 
 was not for JNIr. Trundle that she came down 
 to dinner, dressed with more than usual care
 
 IMPROVEMENT OP IRELAND. 271 
 
 and elegance. Slie liked his height, his 
 whiskers, his name, his fortune ; she had no 
 objection either to his pomposity or his 
 politics ; and of all things, she liked his title 
 of colonel. 
 
 However, he was a colonel little more 
 than nominally, or figuratively, for he Avas 
 not an officer in the king's army, but only a 
 lieutenant-colonel in the Londonderry militia, 
 a corps which he had never seen, and which 
 had probably 'only an existence on paper, just 
 enough to allow some twenty or thirty 
 country gentlemen to give themselves ridicu- 
 lous martial airs, and swagger in scarlet coats 
 at a Lord-Lieutenant's levees. 
 
 As to Arabella, she was just the girl to 
 captivate a man like Dabzac, whose heart, 
 like her own, Avas a mere animal organ : 
 whose tastes, like hers, were intrinsically 
 vulgar; and whose eye, like hers also, was 
 one of those that are fascinated more by an 
 epaulette, or a livery, than by the most glo- 
 rious prospect in nature. 
 
 Miss Spenser, indeed, possessed every
 
 272 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 charm that could make a woman attractive 
 to an unintellectual, unsentimental man. 
 There was, in fact, only one thing against 
 her ; — she was the dauo:hter of a Whior 
 parson ! 
 
 Mr. Spenser was a Whig, and a zealous 
 one ; but his politics and his profession were 
 kept totally apart. He never attended poli- 
 tical meetings, and scrupulously abstained 
 from the remotest reference to political 
 events, questions, or principles, either in his 
 sermons, or in his pastoral intercourse with 
 his parishioners ; but he was not without 
 the natural wish to propagate his opinions, 
 and he did so quietly with his pen, some- 
 times in a pamphlet, sometimes in the Edin- 
 burgh Review^ or some other liberal perio- 
 dical. These productions, of course, were 
 anonymous, but known to be his in the lite- 
 rary and political circles. Occasionally, 
 however, he amused himself with essay- 
 writing upon lighter subjects, and his desk 
 contained many pleasant papers, or fragments 
 of papers, which he would now and then
 
 IMPROVEMENT OF IRELAND. 273 
 
 read for the entertainment of his dauo^hters, 
 or a few of his friends. As to allowing; 
 politics to interfere with the kindly relations 
 of private life, it was utterly foreign to Mr. 
 Spenser's character ; and the best proof of 
 this was the fact that his curate and brother- 
 in-law, Mr. Woodward, was the most resolute 
 anti-Catholic in all Ireland, the most re- 
 doubted champion of Protestant ascendcincy 
 in church and state, and yet they lived 
 (for it Avas equally creditable to both) on 
 terms of the most cordial and brotherly affec- 
 tion, having a good-humoured battle occa- 
 sionally about Mr. O'Connell's proceedings, 
 or one of Lord Plunket's speeches, but the 
 same hearty good friends after the engagement 
 as before it. Still, there were certain people 
 who would not or could not differ tempe- 
 rately and politely with a man of the rector's 
 liberal views — people who asserted what they 
 called their Protestant principles in an into- 
 lerant domineering way that was most offen- 
 sive to Mr. Spenser; and the Dabzac family, 
 and their connexions, were of the number. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 MY UNCLE THE CTJRATE. 
 
 When he' met these people in society, he 
 studiously avoided collision with their pre- 
 judices ; he knew how useless it is to reason 
 with passion and self-interest, and he never 
 attempted it ; but he had no objection to 
 argue a little with a man like Woodward, 
 who, though a bigot on a few points, was 
 a bluff, conscientious, and most good-natured 
 one. 
 
 Probably Dabzac expected that the Whig 
 parson would talk nothing but Whiggery all 
 day long; if so, he was agreeably disap- 
 pointed, for Mr. Spenser never once quoted 
 the Edinburgh Revieiv, or mentioned the 
 name of Charles James Fox ; nay more, 
 Dabzac might have been under his roof for 
 a month, and never have heard a syllable 
 from him upon any of those subjects, or 
 upon politics at all, except in the most gene- 
 ral way, or respecting some point upon which 
 politicians of all creeds were pretty nearly of 
 the same opinion ; and even in such a case, 
 lightly and almost playfully, without the least 
 approach to vehemence or argumentation.
 
 IMPROVEMENT OF IRELAND. 275 
 
 Then, bad as Mr. Spenser's Whiggery may 
 have been, his wine was good, and Colonel 
 Dabzac was enough of a hberal to drink and 
 enjoy a bottle of old claret, although bought 
 from a Catholic wine-merchant, beside being 
 the produce of a Catholic country. 
 
 But, indeed, as to that day's conversation, 
 neither Mr. Spenser nor Colonel Dabzac had 
 much share in it, for the ardent Mr. Trundle, 
 albeit not very easy after his ride, and any 
 thing but comfortable in the rector's coat, 
 soon engrossed all the talk to himself; and, of 
 course, his theme was the improvement of 
 Ireland, for he had only the one arrow in his 
 quiver. Mr. Trundle was the most zealous, 
 indefatigable, benevolent busy-body in the 
 world ; as in shape he was not unlike a hum- 
 ming top, so the tone of his voice was not 
 unlike the sound of that monotonous toy, 
 when it spins on the nursery-floor. Before 
 he finished his soup, the " hideous hum" com- 
 menced; it was all about a meeting ever so 
 great that was to be held somewhere the fol- 
 lowing week, for the purpose of considering 
 T 2
 
 276 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 his magnificent scheme for a ship-canal be- 
 tween Loch Foyle and Loch Swilly, as the 
 basis of a wonderful system of inland navi- 
 gation, absolutely essential to the prosperity 
 of Ireland ; indeed the only chance she had 
 of escaping " everlasting redemption," as 
 Dogberry says. 
 
 " I must prevail on you," he said, in a 
 tone of voice amusingly insinuating, with 
 occasionally a forcible-feeble emphasis on 
 his words, " to sign our monster petition, 
 at all events, Mr. Spenser, and our ad- 
 dress to the Grown — the most important 
 document that was ever drawn up in Ire- 
 land — I drew it up myself — strong but mo- 
 derate — I am always for moderation but 1 
 speak out — all we want from the govern- 
 ment is thirty millions sterling — we don't 
 ask more, and we won't take one farthing 
 less. And I must have the ladies, too. I 
 can't do without the ladies. The ladies must 
 join us. A long pull, a strong pull, and 
 a pull altogether, as I said the other day in 
 Derry, — I did, indeed, Miss Spenser."
 
 IMPROVEMENT OF IRELAND. 277 
 
 Elizabeth endeavoured to express, by her 
 looks, her admiration of Mr. Trundle's elo- 
 quence at Deny; encouraged by the smile, 
 the humming-top instantly resumed. 
 
 " It will brinsj back our absentees — it will 
 give employment to tvjo millions of our poor 
 suffering countrymen — nothing else will ever 
 do it. I don't want organic changes. I don't 
 want revolution — I told them so at Derry. 
 I only want tliirty millions sterling, for the 
 improvement of our inland navigation. Now, 
 Mr. Spenser, won't you support me?" 
 
 " Thirty millions is a great deal of money," 
 said Mr. Spenser, very much at a loss what 
 to reply. 
 
 " A mere trifle. What signifies thirty 
 millions, or sixty, to the British Treasury ? 
 And so I took leave to tell the Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer in a letter I addressed to him 
 last year, to get a little assistance for our 
 General-Lake-Drainage Company. I want 
 the nobility and gentry of Ireland to put 
 their heads together and get something for 
 my unhappy country. Is that unreasonable, 
 Mr. Spenser ?"
 
 278 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " I would ratlier see them put their hands 
 tocrether and do somethinsj for her," said Mr. 
 Spenser^ very quietly. 
 
 " We are too poor to do any thing for our- 
 selves ; we must get the sinews of war from 
 John Bull ; we must get the thirty millions. 
 Only give me the thirty millions/' persisted 
 Mr. Trundle, as persuasively as if Mr. Spenser 
 had the money in his pocket for him at the 
 moment. 
 
 " Irish independence would do much more 
 for the country than English money," said 
 Mr. Spenser, but said it to himself — he was 
 afraid to utter so bold a proposition above 
 his breath, for fear of exciting Dabzac, who 
 was a fair representative of that class of Irish 
 landlords, who only " put their heads toge- 
 ther " to devise the means of evadino^ their 
 duties, and only use their hands to dip them 
 into English pockets. 
 
 How charmingly the remainder of the 
 evening passed, we leave the reader to con- 
 ceive. Miss Spenser, indeed, and Colonel 
 Dabzac seemed to have some ao;reeable chat ; 
 but the rector and his second dauohter had
 
 improve:ment of Ireland. 279 
 
 not one moment's respite from Mr. Trundle, 
 and his thousand and one projects — canals, 
 bogs, fisheries, colonies, and small-loan funds ; 
 quotations from his letters and pamphlets ; 
 abstracts of his speeches, petitions, and cor- 
 respondence with London and Dublin offi- 
 cials ; for he was the plague alike of the 
 Treasury in London and the Castle in Dub- 
 lin, and had made more than one Irish 
 Secretary think seriously of resigning his 
 office. 
 
 Providentially at length the colonel, being 
 very much fatigued, gave unequivocal symp- 
 toms of somnolency, so that Mr. Spenser had 
 an opportunity of suggesting an early move 
 bed-wards, which accordingly took place, 
 after an exchange of the usual drowsy 
 civilities. 
 
 " Oh, papa," cried Elizabeth, when her 
 father returned to the drawing-room, after 
 havinc: conducted his quests to their cham- 
 bers, " what will become of us, if the weather 
 does not soon mend ? My poor papa ! — and 
 you to preach on Sunday !"
 
 280 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " The bridge ouglit to have stood just ten 
 minutes longer," said Mr. Spenser, with 
 Christian resignation. 
 
 The girls kissed their father and retired ; 
 Elizabeth meditating how to take the whole 
 weight of Mr. Trundle on her own shoul- 
 ders the next day, or at least diminish the 
 burden to her father as much as possible. 
 As the girls passed the little round agent's 
 door, they distinctly heard him humming to 
 himself about Loch Swilly, for want of some 
 body else to hum to. It was (as Mr. Spenser 
 observed the next day) a capital illustration 
 of that bitter curse of Thersites — " Thyself 
 upon thyself!"
 
 THE ROBBERY. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE ROBBERY. 
 
 " Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents by flood and field." 
 
 Othello. 
 
 At eleven o'clock that night the par- 
 sonage was profoundly still, all its inmates 
 (except Lucy and Rebecca, still reading 
 " Clarissa") either sleeping or retired to their 
 beds, and courting repose, if not enjoying it. 
 The gale v/as abated, but the rain came 
 down in only more impetuous torrents. Half 
 an horn" later, Mr. Spenser, who was a light 
 sleeper (probably having been cured by his 
 wife of the habit of deep slumber), was 
 awakened by sounds very unusual at such 
 an hour — the tramping of horses' feet, human 
 voices, and then the sharp ringing of a belL
 
 282 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 His first idea was, that this untimely hubbub 
 was occasioned by the return of his son, and 
 under this impression he made no movement 
 to rise. The domestics had evidently been 
 roused, for he Could distinguish the unlock- 
 ing and unbolting of the house-door, and in- 
 stantly afterwards heard the same voices 
 again, but louder and more distinct. In a 
 few seconds there was a quick step on the 
 stairs, and a tap at the door of his bed-room. 
 He jumped up, and found a half-dressed ser- 
 vant with a lantern, who, in a state of ex- 
 citement, with a countenance pale with 
 alarm, informed him that the arrivals were Mr. 
 Woodward and Mr. Maguire, the tithe-proc- 
 tor, and that the latter had been robbed and 
 half-murdered. 
 
 With an exclamation of astonishment and 
 horror, Mr. Spenser threw on his dressing- 
 gown, and rushed down stairs^ where he 
 found that part of the story was only too 
 true; the worst part, however^ being happily 
 so much exaggerated, that there was the 
 little old man himself to tell his tale, only
 
 THE ROBBEKY. 283 
 
 not yet recovered enough from his fright to 
 relate his adventures very correctly. How- 
 ever, tliere he was, to vouch for the fact of 
 his having been robbed ; and there was the 
 athletic curate at his side, to verify the state- 
 ment. Both were in a melancholy pickle, 
 between rain and mire, though only the 
 proctor had sustained any personal injury, 
 and that was nothing affecting life or limb. 
 
 Maguire had been attacked by footpads, 
 and the scene of the outrage had been the 
 Black Castle, the spot which he had so 
 often in his life passed in safety, but never 
 without some apprehension or presentiment 
 of danger. There it was that Kandy Ma- 
 guire, returning from Castle Dawson, and 
 urcfinor his little hack as fast as he could 
 make it trot, past a locality so black and 
 ominous, was set upon, flung from his saddle, 
 rolled upon the road, and robbed of the old 
 black-leather pocket-book, containing all his 
 bank-notes, and also of the little bag in 
 which he had bestowed the thirty new sove- 
 reigns in which Mr. Dawson had paid him
 
 284 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 part of the arrears. This was nearly all 
 Maguire knew about the matter ; the state 
 of his clothes bore unquestionable testimony 
 to a liberal rollino^ in the loose yellow soil 
 of the country, but a scratch on the temple, 
 with one or two not very seriou*S bruises on 
 the ribs, were the extent of his bodily da- 
 mages. Oddly enough, his nose escaped scot- 
 free, though it seemed to project from his 
 face, as it were expressly to bear the brunt 
 of whatever blows or dam aires were iroins;. 
 We have now to explain how the curate 
 came to be involved in the events of a night, 
 which in the regular course of events, he 
 ought to have passed in his own house like 
 a peaceable man and a good husband. 
 He had been in the hills durino^ the morninGT, 
 on an expedition of charity, half pastoral, 
 half medical, to visit the mother of one of 
 his servants, an aged widow, who had been 
 suffering with a rheumatism almost as old as 
 herself To gain the spot in the mountains 
 where the poor woman lived, he had been 
 obliged to cross the wooden bridgre, which he
 
 THE ROBBERY. 285 
 
 reckoned upon regaining at about live o'clock ; 
 and from thence a short hour, with those 
 seven-leagued boots of his, would bring him 
 to the " dulce domum." He arrived at the 
 bridge, or rather the place wdiere the bridge 
 was not, about half-an-hour later than Co- 
 lonel Dabzac and Mr. Trundle, and found 
 himself, of course, in exactly the same 
 perplexity. He must either return to the 
 parsonage, abandoning the notion of reach- 
 ing home that night, or try a shallow place 
 higher up, which Mr. Trundle had not 
 thought of, and which might chance to be 
 still passable without much hazard, as enor- 
 mous blocks of stone had been placed there 
 for such travellers on foot as were nimble 
 enough to jump over the ugly watery chasms 
 between them. His homeward yearnings, 
 always vigorous, made him choose the latter 
 course, but when he gained the point where 
 he hoped to cross, not a stone was to be seen ; 
 the water swelled and roared over the 
 highest and hugest of the blocks, leaving him 
 no alternative but to direct his steps (now 
 not quite so brisk as before) all the weary
 
 286 IMY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 way to the house of his brother-in-laAV. It 
 was indeed a severe march in such rain, 
 accoutred so heavily as he was, with a club 
 like that of his namesake, and a coat pro- 
 bably as ponderous as the skin of the Nemean 
 lion. But the greatest weight was the 
 weight on his mind, thinking what Carry 
 would be suffering. The watery moon 
 yielded a dim and uncertain light, but the 
 curate^ accustomed to nocturnal walking, 
 could see the objects before and around him 
 distinctly enough to discover any thing un- 
 usual, or suspicious, should any thing be 
 stirrino; which oudit not to be stirrinoj 
 at the place and season. The ruins, owing 
 to the winding of the road, were not visible 
 luitil he came quite close to them. A 
 sharp tiu-n disclosed them suddenly to his 
 view, and two objects immediately arrested 
 Woodward's attention ; one was a faint 
 twinkling light through an orifice or loop- 
 hole in the dilapidated building ; the other 
 a figure on horseback, about fifty yards in 
 advance of him on the road, apparently just
 
 THE ROBBERY. 287 
 
 emerging from the shadow of the ruins. 
 The next instant two fellows sprang out of 
 them, rushed at the man on horseback, who 
 rolled on the road, with one of his assailants 
 over him. Woodward had no doubt about 
 the character of the transaction. He rushed 
 forward, brandishing his cudgel, and had 
 the gratification of saluting one of the mis- 
 creants with so hearty a thwack, that the 
 stick was fractured by the blow, and per- 
 haps the bones it encountered were not more 
 fortunate. That was matter for conjecture, 
 for the fellow escaped into the ruins notwith- 
 standing, and Hercules, instead of pursuing 
 him, ran shouting to the aid of the assaulted 
 traveller. Damaged as his club was, it 
 would probably have given a second proof 
 of its strength and toughness upon the person 
 of the other footpad, had he waited the 
 curate's onslaught ; which, however, he did 
 not, but effected his retreat to the same 
 asylum with his comrade, only to another 
 corner of it. The first impulse of the brave 
 clergyman was to pursue ; but a moment's
 
 288 MY- UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 reflection convinced him of the rashness of 
 doing so, weaponless as he was, while the 
 robbers were probably provided with fire- 
 arms, although, as yet, they had not thought 
 proper to use them. When he first stooped 
 down over the prostrate man, he concluded 
 he was on the point of death, he moaned and 
 gasped in so grievous a manner. Hercides 
 elevated his head, and turnino; it so as to let 
 such light as there was fall on the face, was 
 equally distressed and astonished to ascertain 
 (which he did at once by the features, par- 
 ticularly the nose, which was unmistakeable) 
 that it was the tithe-proctor. Although the 
 poor old fellow was more frightened than 
 hurt, it took the curate a considerable time 
 before he could get him on his legs, and 
 quiet the agitation of his nerves, which 
 shook so, that you could almost hear them 
 vibrate. Woodward often said that he 
 never in his life saw any thing so humor- 
 ously tragical as the face of Maguire, when, 
 thrusting his hand convulsively into an in- 
 side pocket, he discovered that he had saved
 
 THE ROBBERY. 289 
 
 his life but lost his treasure. He fell back 
 on the road in extremity of mental agony, 
 and would probably have lain there till 
 morning, had not the curate reminded him 
 that the bandits were probably still within a 
 stone's throw^ and might possibly renew 
 their attack. This succeeded; — the little 
 proctor suffered his gigantic champion to 
 raise him to his legs ; at some short distance 
 they found the horse quietly nibbling the 
 short mountain-grass, as if nothing extra- 
 ordinary had occurred ; Mr. Woodward 
 helped Maguire to mount, and they ulti- 
 mately gained the parsonage in the manner 
 already described. 
 
 Mr. Spenser, after listening in mute aston- 
 ishment to all these painful details, con- 
 ducted Hercules to a spare bed-room on the 
 ground floor, and the servants took charge 
 of the maltreated and still quaking proctor. 
 Hercules (fairly exhausted by tlie incredible 
 toils of the day) slept powerfully, as he did 
 every thing, though still disturbed by think- 
 ing of his wife's anxieties, and all tlie un- 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 pleasant events of the niglit. The loss of so 
 large a sum of money was too grave a matter 
 to Mr. Spenser not to affect his repose very 
 seriously. In strictness, it was true that his 
 proctor (or his security) was liable to make 
 good the sum lost ; but the idea of enforcing 
 his strict rights under such circumstances 
 never occurred to the benevolent rector ; 
 and it would probably not have been very 
 easy to enforce them, had be been so harshly 
 disposed, the proctor being a very poor man, 
 and his security a still poorer one ! But 
 there were other reasons stronger than the 
 pecuniary ones that made Mr. Spenser feel 
 extremely uncomfortable, in consequence of 
 what had occurred. 
 
 At an early hour the following morning 
 Hercules rose, literally " a giant refreshed," 
 and made his way to the bed-side of his 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 " This is a bad affair, Val," said the cu- 
 rate. 
 
 " Very bad indeed," said the rector, rais- 
 ing himself on his elbow. " It is not alto-
 
 THE EOBBERY. 291 
 
 gether the loss, although I shall feel that too, 
 but to think of a crime like this being com- 
 mitted in our peaceful neighbourhood, a 
 quiet pastoral parish like this !" 
 
 " I know this country longer than you do, 
 Val," said Woodward, " and my father knew 
 it before me. The robbery of last night is 
 probably the only outrage of the kind that 
 has been perpetrated for the last hundred 
 years, not only in this parish, but in this 
 barony. Indeed, it is the first case I ever 
 heard of in all Ireland, of a tithe proctor 
 being robbed. They cut off their ears and 
 noses, and make them eat their applotments, 
 but they never rob them." 
 
 " Mrs. Spenser will never consent to live 
 here after this," said the rector, despond- 
 ingly ; now touching the point that agitated 
 him most, and paying little attention to the 
 curate's resume of the attentions usually paid 
 to proctors. 
 
 " Fudge !" said the curate. " Fudge !" 
 
 " I know her better than you do," said 
 Mr. Spenser. 
 
 u2
 
 292 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " Keep it secret, then," said Hercules. 
 
 " A very good suggestion/' said the rector. 
 " I shall act upon it." 
 
 Concealment seemed not very difficult, as 
 it was still early, and only one servant had 
 been roused by the nocturnal disturbance. 
 As to Maguire, he was still in his bed, and 
 not likely very soon to leave it. 
 
 " Let us go to him," said Mr. Spenser ; 
 " he may stand in need of some of your 
 medical skill. I only cure the soul ; you 
 cure both soul and body, Hercules." 
 
 " I'm a great hand at a bruise," replied 
 Woodward, "• and I have treated a simple 
 fracture before now, — but if there's any 
 thing worse, I'll leave it to Wilkins." 
 
 Between his robbery and his rheumatism, 
 his bandaged forehead and his bizarre nose, 
 his short cough and his deep groans, there 
 was never such an odd patient as little Randy 
 Maguire ; and the oddity of the patient was 
 well matched by the oddity of the doctor. 
 The rector forgot his losses in the diverting 
 contemplation of his curate and his proctor.
 
 THE KOBBERY. 293 
 
 as tlie former, with his great hand, mani- 
 pulated the other from head to foot, in search 
 of breakages, and Eandy squeaked, and in 
 vain remonstrated, under the tentative pro- 
 cess. 
 
 " No fractures," said Hercules, at length, 
 desisting from his painful investigation, '^ but 
 a good many bruises." 
 
 " I should think so," said the rector 
 gravely, and no doubt implying that it 
 could not well be otherwise, after the squeez- 
 ing poor Randy had undergone in the vice 
 of the curate's fist. 
 
 When his pains subsided a little, Maguire 
 gave a prolix account of his adventures ; 
 but he concealed almost the only particulars 
 which could have afforded a clue to the 
 discovery of the criminals, being unwilling 
 to mention the pack of cards, as his inveterate 
 gambling propensities had frequently brought 
 down upon him the censure of both the cler- 
 gymen, particularly the curate, a lecture 
 from whom was a serious affair. Besides,
 
 294 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Randy could not have told tlie whole truth 
 on the subject, without involving Sydney, in 
 some degree, as well as himself, which the 
 proctor thought would neither be discreet 
 nor handsome. He mentioned, however, the 
 fact (of which the rector had not been aware 
 before), that Sydney had been his companion 
 on his journey to Castle Dawson, and bit- 
 terly lamented that he had not had the ad- 
 vantage of his protection on his return also. 
 The rector expressed the same regret, and 
 with a wonderful display of parental solici- 
 tude, put some questions to Maguire respect- 
 ing his son, which the old man answered to 
 the best of his knowledge. 
 
 Sydney was at that moment in the house, 
 and in his bed, having returned about day- 
 break, without the cognizance of any of the 
 family, save Lucy and Rebecca, the latter of 
 whom observed him entering his chamber, 
 as she was stealing back to her own, after 
 the niojht's readino- was over. 
 
 "Let us now go to breakfast,'' said Mr. 
 Spenser to his brother-in-law. Hercules
 
 THE ROBBERY. 295 
 
 obeyed witli alacrity ; but, before he left the 
 room, lie directed the servant who was in 
 attendance to apply some brown paper, 
 steeped in brandy, to the proctor's temples. 
 
 " He will probably roar like a bull," said 
 the curate, "but never mind — apply the 
 paper."
 
 296 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BREAKFAST. 
 
 " The love of woman is a tricksy spirit, 
 As full of arts and wiles as hate itself, 
 Deep plots to please, or subtle schemes to save us, 
 Still practising some kindly stratagem, 
 Or setting some fond snare." 
 
 New Play. 
 
 Rain, rain, still rain — we are in for an- 
 other day of it, beyond all question. It 
 certainly did rain enormously in these 
 Donegal mountains, and at the parsonage 
 particularly, when it set about it. The very 
 trout in the streams got too much of it. 
 Down it came, doggedly, and wickedly, in a 
 forest of small water-spouts, as if the At- 
 lantic were hung up in the air to give the 
 island a douche-bath. Three drops of the 
 Redcross rain was enough to wet a middle-
 
 BREAKFAST. 297 
 
 sized man to the skin. The country-people 
 were proud of it, as people always find 
 something to be proud of — even tlieir faults, 
 or their misfortunes, sooner than be proud 
 of nothinfT. 
 
 o 
 
 Think of another day of Mr. Trundle, his 
 ship-canal, Loch Swilly, and the thirty mil- 
 lions ! Mr. Spenser, indeed, had now suffi- 
 cient to distract his mind without Mr. Trun- 
 dle and the improvement of Ireland. Of 
 this, however, his daughter Elizabeth knew 
 nothing ; so she came down to breakfast that 
 mornino; full of a notable artifice to deliver 
 her father from the fangs of his tormentor, 
 who was already diligently studying his 
 map to prepare himself to re-commence with 
 effect the assault of the preceding evening. 
 
 '' Mr. Trundle," she said, motioning liim 
 to sit beside her on a sofa at some distance 
 from the table (probably the first time any 
 lady so fair ever gave him such an invita- 
 tion), " I want you to do me a very great 
 favour J — but first, now, pray tell me candidly, 
 shall you be very busy this morning ?"
 
 298 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Miss Spenser," cried the 
 little round man, in ecstacies, the more 
 pleased at being thus accosted, as it was so 
 new to him, '' I am your humble servant 
 for the whole day, — dispose of me as you 
 please, — entirely at your service, and only 
 too happy." 
 
 *' Well, then, my dear sir," she continued, 
 in the same very serious tone, " I'll tell you 
 what you must do for me, if it is not too un- 
 reasonable, — you must give me a full account 
 of your plan for establishing Small Loan 
 Funds" — [the little black eyes of the agent 
 here actually danced with glee] — " in con- 
 nection with reading societies and lending 
 libraries" — [here he jumped about] ; "and 
 that is not all — I am going to be still more 
 exacting — you must draw out a plan ex- 
 pressly for myself, suited to the peculiar cir- 
 cumstances of this parish and neighbour- 
 hood,, for it is really full time to have some- 
 thing of the kind here, and with your help 
 — you, who are so great an authority — " 
 
 "I flatter myself," cried lh\ Trundle,
 
 BREAKFAST. 299 
 
 visibly swelling with consequence, and 
 radiant with delight, looking like a tri- 
 umphant cock-robin, " I do flatter myself I 
 am an authority upon Small Loan Funds. 
 Who was the first man that called public at- 
 tention to the subject of Loan Funds ? 
 Humble me. Who was the first that ever 
 established a Small Loan Fund in Ireland ? 
 Humble me. Who — " 
 
 He might have gone on for ever with this 
 process of self-catechising, had not Elizabeth 
 interrupted him by moving towards the 
 breakfast- table, saying, while she winsomely 
 took his arm-, " Now remember, Mr. Trun- 
 dle^ you are all mine for the entire morn- 
 ing ;" to which she internally added, " Now 
 papa will be able to write his sermon." 
 
 Both the girls were much surprised when 
 Mr. Woodward entered the breakfast-room 
 with their father; but the accident to the 
 bridge, and the vagrant habits of their uncle 
 (the result of his enormous activity in the 
 discharge of his duties), suflicicntly accounted 
 for his unexpected re-appearance.
 
 300 ]\IY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Arabella seized an early opportunity of 
 explaining to Colonel Dabzac that her uncle 
 the curate was only her uncle by marriage. 
 Elizabeth (far from being ashamed of a man 
 who was an honour not only to the church 
 but to human nature) paid him, as usual, 
 every kind attention, supplied him Hberally 
 with tea, placed the sugar-bowl within his 
 reach, and privately ordered a couple of 
 turkey-eggs to be boiled for him, which, 
 however, did not discourage that mighty 
 breakfast-eater from also paying his ad- 
 dresses energetically to the pickled salmon 
 and cold meats on the sideboard. 
 
 Dabzac was amused at the extent of the 
 curate's devastation, but still more by seeing 
 a tray with coffee, a quantity of toast, an 
 egg, butter, marmalade, and a wing of a 
 fowl, sent up to Mrs. Spenser, who was so 
 great an invalid that she could not make her 
 appearance. Rebecca was scarcely able to 
 support the weight of the tray. 
 
 '' I need not ask how Maor is this mom- 
 
 o 
 
 ing," said Mr. Woodward to the rector, who
 
 BREAKFAST. 301 
 
 smiled, and said that Mrs. Spenser had got 
 a tolerably good night, and hoped in the 
 course of the day to have the pleasure of 
 receiving Colonel Dabzac and Mr. Trundle. 
 
 There was not much conversation, and 
 the little that took place was not on an 
 agreeable subject^ for it related to Mr. Daw- 
 son. The curate's inquiries for Sydney led 
 to the mention of that gentleman, and 
 Colonel Dabzac, Avho had heard a report 
 that he was likely to be returned to parlia- 
 ment for the borough of Rottenham, on the 
 ultra-radical interest, spoke of him with a 
 severity against which the curate thought 
 himself bound to protest, though nobody 
 present was more opposed to Dawson's poli- 
 tics than he was. 
 
 " He signed my Address to the Crown for 
 the thirty millions," said Mr. Trundle, " so I 
 ought to give him a good word, but I fear 
 he is runninf]r through the remains of tlic 
 property very fast." 
 
 " There's not much left to run through," 
 said the colonel.
 
 02 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 The curate made a remark to tlae effect 
 that Dawson's embarrassments were not all 
 of his own creation. 
 
 " My uncle/' said Arabella, sneeringlj, 
 "thinks Mr. Dawson nothing less than an 
 angel, because he once saved a boy from 
 being; drowned in Loch Erne." 
 
 " No, Miss Arabella, I do not think him 
 an angel," rejoined Hercules, somewhat 
 too vehemently, " I have not so high an 
 opinion of any person of my acquaintance, 
 whether a gentleman or a lady; but I do say 
 that the man who saves the hfe of another 
 at the risk of his own is a fine brave 
 fellow." 
 
 " But it does not prove him a loyal man 
 or a good Protestant/' said Dabzac, coming 
 to Miss Spenser's aid. 
 
 " Nor did I say that either, though I be- 
 lieve the majority of fine brave fellows are 
 both," said Hercules, with quite too much 
 energy for private life, though it would have 
 done very well at a vestry. 
 
 Mr. Spenser smiled, but though he dis-
 
 BREAKFAST. 303 
 
 sented from his curate's last proposition lie 
 made no remark upon it. 
 
 " When we have drained Loch Erne, as I 
 propose," said Mr. Trundle, — 
 
 " No more people will be drowned 
 there," said Dabzac, finishing the sentence 
 for him. 
 
 "Mr. Trundle has got a new argument 
 for his project," said Mr. Spenser, gravely 
 smiling (every body else laughed) at the 
 little agent's ingenuity in turning the con- 
 versation into his favourite channel. How- 
 ever, he was soon cut short by the general 
 rising from the table, when the self-sacri- 
 ficing Elizabeth instantly pounced on him, as 
 if he was the greatest prize in the world, 
 and carried him off to the hall, there to have 
 him " all to herself^' for three or four mise- 
 rable hours. 
 
 Mr. Spenser and Mr. Woodward retired 
 to the library to consult together further 
 upon the steps to be taken in consequence of 
 the events of the night; so that Miss Spenser
 
 301 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 and Colonel Dabzac had the field all to 
 themselves for amusing or instructive con- 
 versation, for flirting, or love-making, at 
 their discretion, or indiscretion, as the case 
 might be.
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 
 
 " Light-winged toys of feathered Cupid." 
 
 Othello. 
 
 You may say what you will of moon- 
 lights, and twilights, and sun-set hours, and 
 summer evenings, for the occupation of love- 
 making, but there is no time, or season, half 
 so propitious for the purpose as a desperate 
 wet day in a country house. If, under such 
 circumstances, there is anybody to make love 
 to, you must make it out of self-defence ; 
 simply because you have nothing else to do, 
 unless you go to bed, or commit felo-de-se. 
 See how Dabzac was situated ! His host 
 was in his library, at his private business ; 
 Elizabeth and her privy counsellor were trans- 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 MY UXCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 acting their own affairs ; there was no other 
 resource but chattinii, lauc^hinsr, and flirtino^ 
 with Miss Spenser, and it was by no means a 
 disagreeable alternative, particularly as the 
 colonel could hot but see that she had every 
 disposition to chat, laugh, and flirt with him. 
 You may say, why did not the colonel take 
 a book, and sit down and read it in a cor- 
 ner, or on his back on a sofa. Now, woidd 
 that have been exactly quite polite, unless 
 the lady did the same thing, which in this 
 case the lady did not do? But the idea of 
 a lieutenant-colonel of the Londonderry Mi- 
 litia reading ! The probability is that Dab- 
 zac had never read a book in his life — at 
 least since he left college ; no, not even a 
 trumpery three-volume novel from a circu- 
 lating library. He never thought of reading ; 
 he scarcely knew there was such a mode of 
 passing, or killing time ; he would scarcely 
 have thou2;ht of takim^ a book, had he been 
 sentenced to solitary imprisonment for life in 
 the Vatican or Bodleian. No, he had posi- 
 tively no resource but flirtation. Now flir- 
 tation is not love-makino^, but it is a iiood in-
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 307 
 
 troduction to it. It is the skirmishing of the 
 light troops, before the heavy brigades come 
 up, and the action commences. They flirted 
 sitting and standing, and walking up and down 
 the room, sometimes round and round a con- 
 servatory, Avhich communicated with th e draw- 
 ing-room. There was not a chair, couch, sofa, 
 stool, any thing that could be sat on, or 
 lounged on, which they did not chat and flirt 
 on. They chatted of balls in Derry, and 
 balls in Dublin; about the Rotunda, and the 
 Castle, about diamonds, trains, feathers and 
 lappets ; then about horses and carriages, of all 
 kinds and colours, subjects in which Arabella 
 was knowing to a degree that astonished and 
 captivated her gallant companion, who was 
 only eloquent on such a theme as a hunter, or 
 a curricle. Then they played back-gammon 
 for a fit. Tired of back-gammon, they 
 talked again, and by this time the colonel 
 was beginning to think Arabella very pretty, 
 and her hand particularly beautiful ; he had 
 seen a great deal of it during the back- 
 gammon. The next thing was a discussion 
 X 2
 
 308 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 on liveries. The Dabzac colours were white 
 and scarlet, which Miss Spenser approved of 
 highly. Then, passing the piano, she ran 
 her white fingers coquettishly up and down 
 the keys, and the colonel insisted on having 
 one of the French chansons, which she sang 
 so agreeably. 
 
 It was just the soul-less music to charm an 
 empty man, and it had its effect decidedly 
 in heightening flirtation into love-making. 
 But what next? — there was still half-an-hour 
 before luncheon. In a corner, on a pile of 
 music-books and newspapers, Dabzac spied 
 a battle-dore, but the shuttle-cock was not 
 to be found — there was a chase and a rum- 
 mage for it under the newspapers and music- 
 books, and at length the shuttle-cock turned 
 up, and very prettily did Ai'abella toss the 
 feathered emblem of frivolity to and fro with 
 her admiring play-fellow. It had only flown 
 back and forwards twice and thrice, when 
 there was a flash of light through the room 
 — was it lightning? No, — it was the sun 
 himself ! Arabella flew to a window, and 
 saw, with a delight only known to those
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 309 
 
 who have been cooped up for a week in a 
 country-house, a clear rent in the clouds, 
 through which the cheery flash had issued, 
 with several still larger chasms near it, re- 
 vealing the deep blue firmament, and pro- 
 claiming that the storm was over. 
 
 With still livelier joy, you may well 
 imagine, were the same glad phenomena 
 observed almost at the same moment by 
 Elizabeth in the hall. Figure to yourself a 
 dove escaping from the talons of a kite. 
 Just so did Elizabeth spring from the side 
 of Mr. Trundle to join her sister in the por- 
 tico, where the warmth and dryness of the 
 air assured them that the breaking up of 
 the clouds was not merely partial or tempo- 
 rary, but a positive guarantee for a charming 
 afternoon. A ride was proposed by Miss 
 Spenser, and heartily seconded by Colonel 
 Dabzac. Both were vain of their horseman- 
 ship, and each ambitious to shine in tlic 
 other's eyes. Elizabeth acquiesced, even 
 though it was to separate her from Mv. 
 Trundle, who never rode for pleasure, and as
 
 310 -MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 seldom as he could upon business either. 
 The horses were ordered, and the girls 
 went to put en their equestrian dresses. 
 Mr. Trundle had agreed with Dabzac that 
 they were not to protract their stay at the 
 parsonage after the first appearance of fine 
 weather ; and he looked annoyed, and a 
 little suspicious, when the colonel intimated 
 his intention to continue Mr. Spenser's guest 
 until after Sunday. 
 
 ^' The state of the roads, my dear fellow 
 — recollect the state of the roads." 
 
 " I fear it is the state of something else," 
 said little Trundle, laughing and giving the 
 colonel a poke in the side. 
 
 " Never fear," said Dabzac, turning away. 
 " All safe in that region ; but Miss Spenser 
 is a deuced fine girl, it can't be denied." 
 
 " But she is the daughter, you know, of a 
 d — d Whig parson," said Trundle. 
 
 " And pray, Mr. Trundle, how have you 
 passed the morning yourself?" asked the 
 colonel. "Perhaps you thought nobody 
 remarked ?/owr doings ?"
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 311 
 
 " Come, come, colonel, that's too good — 
 that won't do — as if you don't know very 
 well what our tete-a-tete was about." 
 
 " If it was not about love," said the colonel, 
 cruelly, as he left the room to put on his 
 sjours, " it must have been about Loch 
 SwiUy." 
 
 Mr. Woodward, being a living barometer, 
 had foreseen the improvement in the weather 
 an hour before the change actually took 
 place, and (provided Avith a new cudgel, in 
 the place of that which he had broken on the 
 pate or the ribs of the footpad) had started 
 once more for Redcross. His conjugal affec- 
 tions were as staunch and orthodox as his re- 
 ligious opinions, and were always urging him 
 homewards, while his rather latitudinarian 
 philanthropy and benevolence impelled him 
 to all points of the compass. Anxious, in- 
 deed, to appease his wife's solicitude, he luid 
 despatched a bare-footed envoy, at break 
 of day, to assure her of his return that even- 
 ing, Deo volente^ without fail -, and he was
 
 312 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 already three good miles from the parsonage, 
 when the horses were brouc^ht to the door. 
 
 Mr. Spenser, fond of exercise on horse- 
 back, jaded with confinement, and uneasy 
 and dispirited by what had occurred, was 
 easily prevailed on to ride with his daugh- 
 ters. However, he paid his wife a visit 
 before he mounted his horse, and had the 
 satisfaction of leaving her heartily dining on 
 a fried sole and a boiled chicken, though 
 she assured him her appetite was entirely 
 a morbid and nervous one — in fact, one of 
 the worst symptoms of her case. 
 
 You know nothing of highland glories, if 
 you only see them in calm and sunshine. It 
 is in the coming on and the passing off of 
 showers, and clouds, and tempests, that the 
 magnificence of the mountains is revealed. 
 It still continued a little blustry, but not so 
 much as to prevent the party from enjoying 
 their ride extremely. Their route was su- 
 perb, one which, gradually climbing the 
 heights over the estuary, commanded the
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 313 
 
 scenery on the opposite side, and ultimately 
 led to the verge of the cliffs over the ocean, 
 whose agitation after so heavy a gale was 
 always a spectacle of singular grandeur. The 
 gradual uprolling of the mistSj as the sun 
 exhaled, or the breeze chased them, and 
 the continual coming forth of one object 
 after another, crags, trees, ruins, on the face 
 of the hills, until only the tops remained, 
 turbaned with white vapours, in wavy folds, 
 sometimes transparent like gauze, charmed 
 Mr. Spenser and Elizabeth, but were not 
 much attended to by Arabella and her co- 
 lonel. Here and there the vapours were 
 obstinate, and clung with lazy tenacity alike 
 to the bottom of the cliffs and the loftiest 
 peaks, while the intermediate region was 
 perfectly free. 
 
 " Not unlike what takes place," said the 
 rector, " with respect to prejudice, which is 
 the mist of the understanding ; — tlie middle 
 classes are usually emancipated from them 
 first ; their hold is mucli stronger at the 
 base and in the high places of society."
 
 314 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 " But, papa," said the bright girl on her 
 prancing pony, " it is only a question of time 
 and patience with mists of both kinds : 
 the sun has only to shine a Httle longer, and 
 the Avind to assist him ; then all will be clear 
 from top to bottom. Look — the head of 
 Knocknagoonagh is now quite uncovered." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mr. Spenser, fond of fol- 
 lowing out such little analogies, "the triumph 
 of truth and of free discussion — the sun and 
 the wind — is eventually certain, and we 
 must be patient, as you say ; but it must not 
 be the patience of inactivity or indifference, 
 but the patience of virtuous perseverance, 
 waging a perpetual, but tolerant and good- 
 humoured conflict with bigotry and error." 
 
 Arabella and Mr. Dabzac were canterino; 
 on before, the road just here admitting of 
 that agreeable pace. She rode well and 
 looked particularly handsome and distin- 
 guished on her pretty brown jennet. The 
 broad-brimmed round beaver hat became her 
 extremely ; her complexion was freshened 
 by the air and motion, and the disorder into
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 315 
 
 whicli the puffs of wind threw her kixuriant 
 hair, greatly improved its effect and beauty. 
 Her passionate love of riding, and her fear- 
 lessness on horseback, gave her features more 
 than usual animation. In short, Arabella 
 Spenser was never seen to such advantage 
 as in equestrian exercise, and Dabzac, alter- 
 nately ambling or cantering at her side, never 
 once recollected that after all she was the 
 daughter of a liberal parson, the character 
 which of all others he and his clique most 
 abhorred. But what cares Cupid for political 
 distinctions, he whose glory it is to confound 
 every thing human^ the high with the low, 
 the rich with the poor, the brilliant with 
 the dull, the virtuous with the unworthy, 
 nay, even the lovely with the ill-favoured ; 
 not even respecting beauty itself, licentious 
 leveller that he is, the only thorough-paced 
 apostle of tgaiite. It is little to him to 
 mingle the blood of Whig and Tory, to get 
 up a match between a Spenser and Dabzac. 
 
 But to many an eye (though there was 
 no eye that day to regard her witli galkxn-
 
 316 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 try), Elizabeth, on her humbler steed, in 
 her straw bonnet, coarse in material but 
 graceful in form, would have been far more 
 piquante. She was not so fond of riding 
 as of walking, and preferred a mountain pony 
 to a showy horse like her sister's ; still she 
 carried herself well, not with the Amazonian 
 air of Arabella, but with an easy, fearless, 
 lady-like seat notwithstanding. The breeze 
 brought out her rich colour also, and blew 
 the curls of dark-brown hair about her 
 shoulders, and sometimes into her eyes, 
 making her bite her lip in pretty vexation, 
 and often raise the whip-hand, without slack- 
 ening her smart pace, to keep the rebel locks 
 in subjection. 
 
 On they rode gaily, making for the summit 
 that commanded the Atlantic, sometimes all 
 abreast, sometimes in detachments, as w4ien 
 they started, while once or twice, just for a 
 few moments, the girls were side by side, 
 Mr. Spenser and his guest conversing to- 
 gether in advance of them. Mr. Spenser 
 was not as animated and fluent as usual, and
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSEMANSHIP. 317 
 
 Dabzac preserved the same air of grim cold 
 civility, whicli he never laid aside in his in- 
 tercourse with men, unless, perhaps, in the 
 tumult of political conviviality, a dinner on 
 the 12th of July, or a revel on the 5th of 
 November. The rector liked him less and 
 less every moment of their acquaintance, 
 little dreaming that his daughter's feelings 
 were of so very opposite a nature. When 
 men of intellect and wit are damped and 
 chilled by dull or uncongenial company, 
 their conversation is apt to sink into a mere 
 
 common-place, which, from any lips but their 
 
 * 
 
 own, would excite their contempt and ridi 
 cule. Mr. Spenser began soon to be sensible 
 that he was talking not only down to the 
 colonel's mark, but even below it. The 
 consciousness of this was uncomfortable, and 
 it was a great relief to him when Arabella 
 again joined Dabzac in a canter, and he 
 was left once more with his younger 
 daughter. 
 
 They soon reached a point that com-
 
 318 IMY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 manded a near and wide vie vv of the ocean, and, 
 having enjoyed for some minutes the magnifi- 
 cent spectacle of its agitation after the late 
 storm, they turned their horses' heads home- 
 wards. Nothing occurred of importance during 
 the ride, except that Arabella invited Colonel 
 Dabzac to join them in a pic-nic party to the 
 island already mentioned, proposing the fol- 
 lowing Monday for the expedition. Eliza- 
 beth was pleased at the prospect of re- 
 suming the island-scheme in her brother's 
 absence, which promised to secure her 
 against the intrusion of his friend Dawson ; 
 and Mr. Spenser never opposed any pro- 
 position upon which his daughters were 
 agreed. Chatting of the necessary arrange- 
 ments for the voyage of pleasure, they 
 reached the parsonage, which they found in 
 a state of confusion nearly as bad as that 
 in which they had left the Atlantic. The 
 secret of the robbery had been ill kept; it 
 had reached Mrs. Spenser's ears with twenty 
 frightful exaggerations; her husband found
 
 COURTSHIP AND HORSE]\L\NSIIir. 319 
 
 lier in the state that Tabitha Bramble calls 
 " asterisks;" and Rebecca (at her wit's ends) 
 informed him that a groom had been sent for 
 Doctor Wilkins.
 
 320 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HOW THE SECRET WAS KEPT. 
 
 *' You would pluck out the heart of my mystery." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 It was idle to think that a thing of the 
 kind could possibly be kept secret very long, 
 one of the servants being privy to it, and 
 Eandy Maguire, the chief actor, or rather 
 sufferer in the transaction, being the most gar- 
 rulous of men, at the most garrulous stage of 
 life, and actually under Mr. Spenser's roof, con- 
 fined to his bed with the effects of the outrage. 
 But it was not Eandy who broke faith with 
 the rector. In fact, it was Mr. Woodward's 
 careless directions to Cox, the butler, to 
 steep some brown paper in brandy, and 
 clap it on Randy's broken head, it was that
 
 now TPIE SECRET WAS KEPT. 3*21 
 
 made all the mischief. Tlie poor little 
 proctor did roar like a bull, exactly as the 
 curate had anticipated, the moment the 
 smarting application touched him; and it un- 
 luckily happened that Eebecca was passing 
 at the instant, on her way to the kitchen to 
 make a toast for her mistress to take with 
 her glass of Madeira. Now, Kebecca had 
 the vice of curiosity (a vice in a lady's-maid, 
 though so admirable a quality in a philoso- 
 pher), to counterbalance, perhaps, the virtue 
 of patience, which she possessed in so high 
 a degree ; so she first tried to open the door, 
 and failing in that (the cautious Mr. Cox 
 having bolted it inside) she popped down 
 her head to the key-hole, and was very much 
 surprised, you may think, to see an old man 
 in bed, writhing and bellowing in the hands 
 of the butler, who was plastering his temples 
 with something that seemed more piquant 
 than was agreeable. Rebecca, of course, 
 did not wait to be caught peeping, but went 
 down to the kitchen, determined to get a full 
 explanation from Cox, who was her declared 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 lover, at the earliest opportunity. The op- 
 portunity was not far olF. As she returned 
 up-stairs with the toast, Cox was just coming 
 out of the room, having done his best to 
 carry out Mr. Woodward's directions. 
 
 "What ails Mr. Mag;uire ?" said Re- 
 becca. 
 
 "Why, what should ail him," said Cox, 
 " but that he's sleepy and fatigated after his 
 long jaunt, and has got his old rheumatis 
 that he has had as lono- as I've known him." 
 
 " And has he the rheumatis in his fore- 
 head ?" said the maid, looking very sly. 
 
 " No, he hasn't," said Cox, " why should 
 he ?" 
 
 " Because you were putting a blister on it 
 a minute ago," replied Rebecca. 
 
 " A blisther on it !" repeated Cox. 
 
 " Yes^ and you needn't deny it, Mr. Cox, 
 for I seen you with these eyes." 
 
 " Then your eyes were where they 
 shouldn't have been," said the detected ope- 
 rator. 
 
 "Never mind," said Rebecca, "but tell 
 me all about it this instant."
 
 HOW THE SECRET WAS KEPT. 323 
 
 " I would if I could," said Cox, soothingly, 
 " but it's a secret." 
 
 " Don't let mistress's toast get cold." said 
 Rebecca, stamping her foot. 
 
 " Go along up with it, then," said the 
 butler. 
 
 " Not till you tell me the secret, if the 
 toast was to grow as cold as a lump of ice." 
 
 " It's a secret, I tell you." 
 
 " Much you know about keeping secrets," 
 said Rebecca, " and, at all events, two can 
 keep a secret better than one." 
 
 " Well, then, I don't like keeping a secret 
 from you, Rebecca." 
 
 ^'Don'tthen, Mr. Cox." 
 
 A little sentimental bargain was then 
 struck, upon consideration of which Cox 
 covenanted to betray the confidence reposed 
 in him. The enoja^^ement to break faith was 
 better respected than the engagement to keep 
 it, and Rebecca ran up to Mrs. Spenser's 
 room, with the toast somewhat cold, but so 
 full of the story of the Black Castle, that 
 whatever scolding she got made very slight 
 y2
 
 324 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 impression on her. A tale of less harrowing 
 import, she might have ventured' to commu- 
 nicate herself ; but she was an humble girl, 
 and felt that the robbery of her master's 
 proctor was an event that demanded an 
 historian of higher mark. Escaping from 
 her mistress, she flew to Miss M^Cracken. 
 You may suppose the story was coloured 
 blood- red by the time it reached Mrs. Spen- 
 ser's ear. It was, in fact, another tale of 
 the forty thieves, all but the jars and the 
 suet. 
 
 Mrs. Spenser recalled all she had been 
 hearino; for several months of the insurrec- 
 tionary state of the southern counties, con- 
 cluded that the sanguinary warfare against 
 the rights of the church had at length bro- 
 ken out in Donegal, and eventually (being 
 well assisted,) vforked herself into the hys- 
 terical state in wdiich her husband found her 
 on his return from riding. Perhaps there 
 was no ringing of bells, and running to and 
 fro wdtli salts and tonics^ and aromatic 
 vinegar !
 
 HOW THE SECRET WAS KEPT. 325 
 
 It was in vain the rector tried to quiet 
 3ier nerves and her apprehensions. She was 
 a woman utterly without self-command at 
 any time, incapable of reasoning or being 
 reasoned with; and besides, her husband's 
 abortive attempt to conceal the occurrence 
 from her, naturally made her incredulous 
 now, when he tried to undo the effects of 
 Miss M'Cracken's exaggerations, and reduce 
 the affair to its proper level. 
 
 In the midst of all the hubbub, Sydney 
 re-appeared. He had arrived indeed, as we 
 have already stated, at an early hour in the 
 morning (having pressed close on the heels 
 of the unfortunate proctor), but being ex- 
 tremely fatigued, had retired instantly to 
 his room, and to bed, where he would pro- 
 bably have lain till dinner-time, had not the 
 confusion in the house prematurely roused 
 him. Perhaps the first warm interest he 
 ever took in the aflliirs of the family was 
 upon this occasion. He felt exceedingly for 
 poor Maguire, and was now seriously angry 
 with himself for having parted company -with
 
 326 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the old man on the previous morning, when 
 he stood so particularly in need of a pro- 
 tector. 
 
 Eandy went over the whole story again, 
 not concealing from youug Spenser what he 
 had concealed from his father, namely, how 
 he had been surprised counting the bank 
 notes by the fellow who had been sent for 
 the cards, and how he had also unguardedly 
 disclosed to the same individual that his 
 business at Castle Dawson was to receive the 
 arrears of tithes. 
 
 " There's nothing in that/' said Sydney ; 
 "the fellow you mean was Mr. Dawson's 
 servant." 
 
 " He looked as if he never see'd a bank- 
 note in all his born days before," said 
 Eandy. 
 
 " Possibly he never did," said Sydney ; 
 '' but are you positive nobody else saw the 
 money, or where you put it ?" 
 
 *' Nobody else knew nothing about it more 
 than the child unborn," answered Maguire, 
 " except your own self, Master Sydney, and
 
 HOW THE SECRET WAS KEPT. 327 
 
 my bit of a niece, poor Maggy MaguirG,at the 
 inn, and she didn't see the beautifid yellow 
 boys, and the illigant new Bank of Ireland 
 notes, only the tattered ould provincials." 
 
 " Maggy didn't rob yon, at any rate," said 
 Sydney. 
 
 " Whoever did it was a cute chap," said 
 Maguire, " howsomdever he got his intelli- 
 gence, for he never went through the ce- 
 remony of axing Avhere I kep the money, 
 but in with his fist into the right place at 
 onst, as if it was his own pocket the thief 
 was ransackin." 
 
 " That's an important circumstance," said 
 Sydney; "but now, Eandy, I must leave 
 you. Take care of yourself, and to-morrow, 
 or next day, you'll be as well as ever you 
 were." 
 
 " Oh, it's all over with me on this side of 
 the grave," grunted the old man; but he had 
 been uttering the same grunt for the last ten 
 years, so Sydney paid it very little attention. 
 
 Leaving Maguire's room, the first person 
 he met with was his sister Elizabeth, who
 
 328 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 had not yet taken off her riding- dress. 
 Sydney was dressed in the gay green coat 
 which Dawson had made him a present of. 
 Elizabeth did not ask him how he came by 
 it, for she knew only too well. In the 
 gentlest possible way, however, she reproved 
 her brother for having so abruptly left home, 
 and so long absented himself from it. She 
 never mentioned Dawson's name, but Syd- 
 ney knew that she aimed at him, and he 
 eulogised his friend more warmly than ever. 
 He was armed now with the fact that the 
 Dawsons had fully discharged their pecuniary 
 obligations to his father; and to that, of 
 course, Elizabeth had no answer to make, 
 only she thought it strange that a man should 
 be made so much of because he paid a just 
 debt of very old standing ; and she intimated 
 this opinion distinctly. 
 
 " No," cried her brother, " it was no debt 
 of Dudley's at all ; — it was his father's debt, 
 not his; his conduct is the most honourable 
 that was ever heard of ; but you and Ara- 
 bella are prejudiced against him, and for no
 
 HOW THE SECRET WAS KEPT. 329 
 
 reason in the world but that he smokes a 
 cigar now and then^ and wears a green coat." 
 
 "For which reason, I suppose," inter- 
 rupted Elizabeth, archly, " he has transferred 
 his green coat to you." 
 
 " What if he has ?" rejoined her unman- 
 nered brother, almost fiercely. 
 
 " Only this," said Ehzabeth, with spirit, 
 " that both Arabella and I like to see you 
 dressed like a gentleman — not like IMr. 
 Dawson." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Sydney. 
 
 " And the companion of gentlemen," added 
 his sister, with energy. 
 
 '' I am not going to consult you in the 
 choice of my companions," cried the petu- 
 lant young man, raising his voice ; " but 
 Dudley will be a member of Parliament in 
 the course of a week or two, and then, per- 
 haps, you will change your tune." 
 
 " The last piece of elegance from Castle 
 Dawson !" cried Elizabeth; and gloAv^ing 
 with vexation, she turned contemptuously 
 away from her infatuated and rude brother,
 
 330 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 murmuring audibly as she went, — " A mem- 
 ber of Parliament, indeed, — will that make 
 him a gentleman ?" 
 
 Sydney went chafing to his own room, 
 where with the passion that youth of his 
 temperament has for fire-arms and ammuni- 
 tion, he first employed himself in cleaning 
 his gun and remaining pistol, polishing the 
 barrels, and seeing that he was well provided 
 with caps and with ball-cartridges. Then 
 he wrote and despatched a letter to Dawson, 
 to acquaint him with what had occurred, 
 and request him to come over to the parson- 
 age at his earliest convenience, and bring the 
 pistol with him, which would no doubt be 
 found in the room where Sydney had slept, 
 or in the drawing-room where they had 
 amused themselves riddling the fire-screens. 
 This done, the young man made a more 
 careful toilette than usual (partly in honour 
 of Colonel Dabzac, and partly to avoid 
 Elizabeth's displeasure), and went down to 
 dinner. 
 
 A dull, distracted dinner it was ; the whole
 
 HOW THE SECRET WAS KEPT. 331 
 
 evening indeed was a wretched one. Mr. 
 Spenser was unable to pay the ordinary 
 attentions to his guests, and Mr. Trundle 
 had no one to listen for five minutes con- 
 secutively to his projects. All was at sixes 
 and sevens ; nothing but running up-stairs 
 and down-stairs ; ordering and counter-or- 
 dering, mixing draughts, preparing baths, 
 and charging stone-bottles with hot-water. 
 Every quarter of an hour some new crotchet 
 got possession of Mrs. Spenser's noddle, and 
 at last she sent for her husband, and in- 
 sisted on his sending to the nearest police- 
 station, and getting an armed party to gar- 
 rison the parsonage. Mr. Spenser, reminded 
 of "Hamilton's Bawn," suspected shrewdly 
 that either Miss M'Cracken or Kebecca had 
 suggested this idea; a dashing green serjcant 
 would be such an aojeeable addition to the 
 company in the servants' hall. But there 
 was no use in remonstrance — the rector 
 was compelled to sit down, and in his wife's 
 presence write to the police-officer in com- 
 mand (with whom he was acquainted)
 
 332 ]VIY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 requesting the loan of a couple of his m^n 
 for a night or two. The request was granted 
 (the county being in fact so notoriously 
 tranquil that it mattered little how the police 
 were distributed), and before it was dark, 
 three tall handsome fellows in dark green 
 uniforms, with glittering muskets on their 
 shoulders, and short swords by their sides, 
 were marched into the rectory; and well- 
 pleased they were to get into such snug 
 quarters, for they had a capital supper with 
 the domestics, good w^arm beds to mount 
 guard in, and such fun and flirtation with 
 the house-maids that the noise of the merri- 
 ment occasionally reached the library and the 
 tea-table. 
 
 Miss M'Cracken, of course, scorned the 
 festivities of the kitchen, above which, 
 indeed, her manners as well as her education 
 raised her; but Rebecca, as soon as she had 
 bundled the young Spensers to bed, which 
 she did as fast as the processes of untrouser- 
 ing and unfrocking could be accomplished, 
 hastened to join the rest of the household in
 
 HOW THE SECRET WAS KEPT. 333 
 
 entertaining the constabulary, and made her- 
 self extremely agreeable to every one but 
 Mr. Cox, who thouglit she might just as 
 well have remained in the nursery darning 
 stockings, or with Lucy reading " Clarissa." 
 
 The police, however, did not satisfy Mrs. 
 Spenser. She must have the lower windows 
 of the house blocked up and barricaded ; 
 the carpenter must be sent for without a 
 moment's delay. To this Mr. Spenser good- 
 humouredly demurred, observing that with 
 three armed policemen, and a lieutenant- 
 colonel to head them, all danger was out of 
 the question; but the moment his back was 
 turned, his wife sent for the artificer in wood, 
 (who lived hard by the glebe), on her own 
 responsibility, and actually had an interview 
 with him at the side of her bed, and in- 
 structed him to put the lower part of the 
 house into as complete a state of defence as 
 possible. 
 
 The circle round the tea-table were not 
 a little astonished and diverted when the 
 village Vauban tapped at the door of the
 
 334 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 library, and asked permission to enter and 
 commence the fortifications. However, it 
 was absolutely necessary to give Mr. Chip 
 something to do, that the noise of his hammer 
 should resound through the house, and ac- 
 cordingly Mr. Spenser took him into the back 
 hall and set him to make a large wooden case 
 for a parcel of books which he was going 
 to send up to Dubhn to be bound. When 
 the carpenter sent in his bill some time after- 
 wards, one of the items ran thus — " for for- 
 tifications, including a box for books, seven- 
 shillings and six-pence."
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 335 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 
 
 Sydney did not expect to receive an 
 answer from his friend for some days, but 
 lie received a reply the following morning by 
 the hands of his own messenger, who found 
 Dawson at home. 
 
 Dawson's letter was only too cordial and 
 energetic. The robbery astonished him more 
 than any thing that had ever happened in 
 the country, and he pledged himself to strain 
 every nerve, and spare neither fatigue nor 
 expense, to drag tlie perpetrators of this 
 sacrilegious and abominable crime to light. 
 The sacrilege was what Dawson thought so 
 especially atrocious. 
 
 He would drive over to the parsonage im-
 
 336 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 mediately, for in sucli a case the loss of a 
 moment might be irreparable. Nor was this 
 all ; he proceeded to express a hope that, 
 should the loss of so considerable a sum hap- 
 pen to be the slightest immediate inconveni- 
 ence to Sydney's father, he would not forget 
 that he had a friend at Castle Dawson, who, 
 wdiile he had a shilling in his pocket, would 
 only be too proud and too happy to accom- 
 modate him. 
 
 Such was the tenor of the letter, more 
 remarkable for its warmth than its delicacy, 
 particularly the offer of accommodation, but 
 it was written on the spur of the moment, 
 and at all events not likely to find a very 
 severe critic in Sydney Spenser. 
 
 Dawson kept his word (as he always did 
 religiously, when it suited his purposes) and 
 arrived the next day at the parsonage in 
 a curricle, drawn by a pair of showy grays, 
 an equipage intended, no doubt, to make a 
 lively impression on Elizabeth Spenser, but 
 which only succeeded in dazzling ]Miss 
 M^Cracken and Rebecca. Sydney was
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 337 
 
 anxious about his pistol, but Dawson re- 
 ported that it had not been found, 
 
 '' Is it possible," said Sydney, " that by mis- 
 take that surveyor or the strolling artist — " 
 
 Dawson laughed unpleasantly at the sug- 
 gestion, but thought it unlikely that any 
 such mistake had occurred. Sydney left 
 him to dress for dinner. 
 
 Not a word of intimation had either Mr. 
 Spenser or his daughters received of this un- 
 welcome addition to their circle. You may 
 imagine how great was the surprise and dis- 
 pleasure of the girls, when, entering the 
 drawing-room, they found Mr. Dudley Daw- 
 son amongst the guests. There was another 
 increase to their party in the person of Mr. 
 Oliver, the rector of a neighbouring parish, 
 a profoundly grave man, who spoke ex- 
 tremely little, and only to draw other people 
 out, particularly Mr. Spenser, whom he en- 
 thusiastically admired. When he heard any 
 thing that particularly surprised, or amused 
 him, his eye expressed it by a peculiar twin- 
 kle, but he seldom opened his lips w^hen the 
 company exceeded three or four people. 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 338 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 I must try to paint Dawson again, as he 
 appeared on the present occasion, accoutred, 
 it is to be supposed, rather to kill ladies 
 than catch thieves. Take one of those 
 stuffy, pigeon-breasted lay-figures, on whose 
 backs the tailors of Cheapside and the Strand 
 advertise their " fashionable attire ;" clothe it 
 in one of their flashiest blue coats with 
 blazing gilt buttons, and let the coat hide as 
 little as possible of a white satin waistcoat, 
 flowered with enormous peonies ; let the 
 trousers be the glossiest black, disclosing at 
 the feet silk stockings of a fiery flesh colour, 
 the toes concealed by a square inch of var- 
 nished leather, the only visible portion of 
 w^hat is presumed to be a shoe ; stud the 
 all-too-beruffled shirt Avith three massive dia- 
 monds, probably not from Golconda ; then 
 whisker your figure at the hair-dresser's next 
 door to the tailor who supplied the coat ; 
 perfume it with musk, or essence of lavender; 
 feed it at the oyster-shops and Haymarket 
 restaurants^ until the cheeks become red and 
 bloated ; carbuncle the fingers with rings 
 and the nose with brandy-and-water ; then
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 3 39 
 
 inflate it with prodigious self-conceit ; ani- 
 mate it with a spirit of Brummagem patri- 
 otism, — any desperate nonsense will do for a 
 political creed, any slang dictionary will fur- 
 nish a vocabulary, — there is Dawson for you, 
 as he approached with a strut and a wriggle to 
 pay his homage to the fair Spensers, the elder 
 of whom, certainly, returned his salute with 
 as much contumelious disregard as a clever 
 actress with long study could throw into a 
 glance and a curtsey. The younger, who 
 most disliked him, testified her aversion less, 
 and the coxcomb had the egregious folly to 
 construe in his own favour the mere well- 
 bred suppression of Elizabeth's repugnance. 
 
 The table-talk was not the most interest- 
 ing : there was talk, but no conversation. 
 Those who cannot even talk are too small a 
 minority ; and Dawson was not one of them. 
 He talked loud and big ; making laborious 
 efforts to appear at his case, while manifestly 
 out of his element in refined society, and 
 also betraying by the incoherence of his ob- 
 servations and the excitement of his manner, 
 a pre-occupation of mind, not uncommon, 
 z2
 
 340 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 indeed, in men living from hand to mouth, 
 and heirs apparent to estates in chancery. 
 As to the robbery, Dawson talked more feel- 
 ingly than if he had been robbed himself ; 
 he spoke of blowing up the Black Castle with 
 gunpowder, and agreed with Sydney to ran- 
 sack it the next day armed " from top to 
 toe." He was of great service to Colonel 
 Dabzac in the eyes of the rector and his 
 second daughter. Dabzac, though only a 
 stiff, grim, vacant, well-dressed nobody, was 
 a gentleman in appearance as well as posi- 
 tion ; he was no adventurer, or roue ; his 
 knowledge and love of horses was that of a 
 squire, not of a black-leg; and^ besides, he 
 w^as disposed to taciturnity, an excellent gift 
 in men who have no bank to draw upon for 
 pleasant discourse. He looked to great ad- 
 vantage beside the presuming, swaggering, 
 restless Dawson, who, if he had only had 
 the tact to sit still in his chair, and hold his 
 tongue, would have been only one half as 
 disagreeable as he actually was. Even Mr. 
 Trundle rose in estimation from the same 
 cause ; better loan-funds and Loch Swilly
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 341 
 
 to all eternity than Dawson's gross polite- 
 ness, heartless cordiality, and the continual 
 effort to conciliate, which had only the eiFect 
 of thoroughly disgusting every body. Mr. 
 Spenser was not the man to have such a 
 guest at his table ; he neither knew how to 
 silence, or how to talk to him. He would 
 fain have shunned politics, but the conversa- 
 tion became political in spite of him. Daw- 
 son began by admitting that the Repeal of 
 the Union was all gammon ; that good mea- 
 sures were all the Eepealers wanted, and 
 when asked why they raised that exciting 
 and dangerous cry, if their real object Avas only 
 to carry some minor points, he made a very 
 lame attempt to shuffle out of the difficulty ; 
 said that the more people asked the more 
 they got, and compared it to the practice of 
 lawyers who lay the damages in an action at 
 twenty thousand pounds, when they only 
 expect, and would be perfectly content with 
 a verdict for perhaps a fortieth of the sum. 
 Mr. Spenser shook his head, and then Daw- 
 son protested that he did not mean to justify 
 the principle ; on the contrary, he admitted
 
 342 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 it to be highly objectionable ; he was always 
 himself an advocate for plain-dealing, and 
 would be one to the end of the chapter. 
 
 Mr. Oliver's eye twinkled more than once 
 during this speech of Master Dudley's. 
 
 The Church having been mentioned, 
 Dawson pronounced a high-flown eulogy 
 upon that institution to captivate Mr. Spen- 
 ser, who would not have said half so much 
 himself in praise of it. Observing that he 
 had over-done this a little, he declared that 
 the Church had monstrous abuses, not a 
 doubt of it, — it was monstrous that any 
 Christian Church should cost the nation two 
 millions per annum. Here the eye of Oliver 
 twinkled more than before. 
 
 *' Two millions, Mr. Dawson !" said ]\Ir. 
 Spenser, smiling. 
 
 " Scarcely a fourth of the sum," said 
 Colonel Dabzac, with dry asperity, and not 
 so much looking at the person whose obser- 
 vation he noticed. 
 
 Then Dawson drew in his horns, and 
 showed his perfect willingness to estimate 
 the wealth of the Church at any figure the
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 343 
 
 company thought reasonable ; after which he 
 added, that if every clergyman in the estab- 
 lishment was only one-tenth part as charita- 
 ble and exemplary in every relation of life, 
 public and private, as the rector of the parish 
 of Redcross, " far from thinking two millions 
 a-year a single farthing too much, he would 
 vote with all his heart to quadruple the sum." 
 
 Mr. Spenser could not but say that he was 
 much flattered by this speech, offensively 
 impertinent as it was. 
 
 " I only say what everybody in the world 
 will swear to," proceeded Dawson, still more 
 brazenly, " and what's more, Mr. Spenser, if 
 the parish was polled this moment, you'd be 
 the biggest bishop in Ireland to-morrow 
 morning by universal suffrage." 
 
 You may fancy how this effusion made 
 the eye of the silent parson quiver with merry 
 meaning. 
 
 " Not the biggest," said Mr. Spenser, try- 
 ing to smile at what revolted him so tlio- 
 roughly, and devoutly wishing that Dawson 
 had continued a tithe-defliulter, since tlic set- 
 tlement had made him (tlie rector) nothing
 
 344 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 the richer, while the non-payment had the 
 effect of keeping at a distance a man, whose 
 style of conversation, like his style of living-, 
 was so very discordant from that of civilised 
 people. 
 
 Dawson rose from his wine only too soon. 
 This was a piece of affectation like the rest 
 of his behaviour. 
 
 The conversation after he retired naturally 
 turned upon modesty^ and the rector said 
 " he feared it would be found that the 
 assumption of modesty thrives better in the 
 world than the genuine quality itself As- 
 surance in the mask of humility carries all 
 before it. It is in life," he added, " as in 
 jumping ; you must fall back in order to 
 spring forward, but you must be careful not 
 to fall back too far. Backwardness overdone 
 may be as fatal as excessive forwardness. 
 There is an art in this as in every thing else." 
 
 " You would seem to give a Machiavellian 
 turn," said Mr. Oliver, " to the divine pre- 
 cept, as if we were directed to take the lower 
 seats, in order that the host should desire us 
 to go up higher." This was a long speech
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 345 
 
 for Mr. Oliver, and took up a considerable 
 time, for he spoke with the utmost gravity 
 and deliberation, as if pronouncing judgment 
 in a case of life and death. 
 
 " The words do in strictness bear that 
 meaning," said Mr. Spenser, " but it is only 
 one of many cases where worldly wisdom 
 coincides with heavenly. The man of the 
 world succeeds best by conforming to the 
 line of Christian conduct. The precept you 
 quote hits the true mean between self-exal- 
 tation and undue self-abasement. We are 
 commanded to take the lower seats, but still 
 among the guests, not to go down below the 
 salt." 
 
 " There is not much occasion," said Dab- 
 zac, "to preach the danger of excessive 
 modesty in this country." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the rector, " yet I 
 know no people wlio, speaking of them 
 nationally, are so deficient in the virtue or 
 faculty of accurate self-measurement, — who 
 are so distrustful of their own strcngtli 
 when they are really strong, and so apt to 
 be over-confident exactly when they onglit
 
 346 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 to be humble. I know no country where 
 there is so much spurious modesty and at 
 the same time so much ill-acted assurance ; 
 where the man who is conscious of supe- 
 riority is so absurdly backward to assert it, 
 and where men of no mark make such ludi- 
 crous efforts to seem of consequence." 
 
 " How is it to be explained ?" said Mr. 
 Oliver. 
 
 " I should have to write the history of 
 Ireland to answer you," said the rector. 
 
 " No man could do that better," said Mr. 
 Oliver with his great solemnity, " I wish 
 you would undertake the work." 
 
 " I have neither industry, nor I fear, con- 
 science enough for such an imdertaking," 
 replied the rector, smiling. " ' There goes 
 a great deal of conscience to the writing of 
 a history,' as Brown observes truly in the 
 Religio Medici.'" 
 
 " There ought to go," said Oliver, couch- 
 ing his remark in the fewest possible words. 
 
 " I feel," continued Mr. Spenser, " that, 
 like Hume, I should fmd it too troublesome 
 to rise from my sofa to hunt for an authority ;
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 347 
 
 or, like Yertot, when lie wrote bis history 
 of the Knights of Malta, and received the 
 valuable information about the siege, after 
 he had composed the account of it with 
 scarce any materials. ' Mafoi, mon siege est 
 faitl said the easy Frenchman. The facts 
 came too late !" 
 
 Oliver smiled gravely, and repeated his 
 opinion that a history of Ireland by his 
 friend would be a most desirable accession to 
 literature. 
 
 " I wrote one history," said Mr. Spenser, 
 " and I do not think I shall ever write an- 
 other." 
 
 " What was that ?" said Mr. Oliver. 
 
 "A history of Higgle dy-Piggledy," said 
 the rector. " You shall have it to read, if 
 you think it worth your while ; I'll give it 
 to you in the course of the evening, and you 
 may put it in your pocket, or in the fire." 
 
 Oliver's face beamed with delight. They 
 rose and followed Mr. Dawson to the tea- 
 table. Had you seen Dawson enter the 
 drawing-room that evening, you would 
 have perceived how little accustomed he
 
 348 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 was to siicli apartments. He threw himself 
 down on the chair nearest to where Ehza- 
 beth was sittinix, and (mitio^ating; his stable- 
 yard tones as much as he could) commenced 
 by repeating the gross piece of flattery about 
 the bishopric which he had delivered him- 
 self of in the dining-room ; adding, that her 
 father was the most charming man he had 
 ever known, and what a pity it was such a 
 man should be banished to a country parish 
 in the wildest part of Ireland. Then he 
 spoke of Sydney as the finest, noblest, 
 cleverest, handsomest, most promising fellow 
 in the world, and said magnificent things 
 about friendship, like a Pylades talking of 
 an Orestes. His next move was to ask 
 Elizabeth whether she did not sinsr ; when 
 she replied in the negative, he felt certain 
 that she was at least an instrumental musi- 
 cian, and hoped she would play something, 
 which was, of course, respectfully declined. 
 Then he reconnoitred with his eye-glass tlie 
 inch of patent-leather at the points of his 
 shoes, and talked of dances and balls ; mak- 
 ing such hash of his wills and shalls, woulds
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 349 
 
 and coulds ; sucli perpetual use of tlie words 
 elegant, splendid, tremendous, and thrilling ; 
 and now and then, also, on the very point 
 of rapping out an adjuration, arresting him- 
 self so seasonably at the "by," — that Elizabeth 
 was a little amused, though much annoyed, 
 by his conversation. However, she was 
 happy to escape to Mr. Oliver and the 
 tea-table, and she kept Dawson at an im- 
 measurable distance for the rest of the even- 
 ing. Though not very thin-skinned, he 
 could not but feel that he was not eminently 
 successful in the drawing-room ; but he 
 had vanity enough to support him imder 
 still greater discouragements : nay, he formed 
 that very night, for the first time, a dehbe- 
 rate scheme for the conquest of EHzabcth 
 Spenser, far less, however, by gaining her 
 affections (of which, indeed, lie could have 
 had but a slender hope) than by the use of 
 influences and instrumentalities much more 
 at his command than the art of captivating 
 the heart of an amiable woman. 
 
 Dawson professed himself a passionate 
 admirer and worshipper of beauty. Had he
 
 350 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 been so in reality, lie would not have been 
 the gross sensualist that he was. " There is 
 no more potent antidote," says Schlegel, " to 
 low sensuality, than the adoration of beauty ; 
 but there are souls to whom even a vestal 
 is not holy." 
 
 He had the shrewdness not to attempt 
 again upon that occasion to break through 
 the rampart of formality and coldness behind 
 which the resolute girl entrenched her- 
 self; he had even the skill to assume a 
 distant but profoundly respectful manner to- 
 wards her, permitting Colonel Dabzac and 
 even Mr. Trundle to perform little acts of 
 attention which he might have performed 
 himself without the imputation of forward- 
 ness. 
 
 But if he wanted admirers in the drawing^- 
 room, he was more successful elsewhere. 
 More than once in the course of the evening; 
 Eebecca crept to the door, and found oppor- 
 tunities for peeping in and feasting her eyes 
 upon the white satin waistcoat, strewed with 
 red peonies, and the dazzling toes of Mr. 
 Dawson's shoes. She gave such a report of
 
 DAWSON IN SOCIETY. 351 
 
 his splendour to Lucy, that it was with diffi- 
 culty the latter controlled her inclination to 
 slip down and enjoy the same spectacle in 
 the same clandestine way ; but it was against 
 her system to demean herself without a suf- 
 ficient motive, so she not only restrained her 
 curiosity, but lectured Rebecca for peeping, 
 and told her sharply that she would have 
 been better employed teaching the children 
 their catechism, or putting them to bed. Re- 
 becca took the latter part of the hint with- 
 out delay, and then hastened to the kitchen, 
 where she enraged Mr. Cox exceedingly, by 
 dancing a jig before supper with one of the 
 policemen. 
 
 Mr. Dawson certainly did exhibit amazing 
 vigour in the rector's service the following- 
 day ; he started with young Spenser and 
 one of the police-constables in quest of the 
 robbers at daybreak, provided v/itli arms of 
 various kinds, a hamper of provisions, and a 
 powerful and ferocious bull-dog, to whose 
 society Sydney was not a little partial, and 
 of whose exploits he had wonderful things 
 to tell.
 
 352 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Sydney was active and brave. The 
 prospect of a raid through the hills was just 
 the thing to excite to the highest pitch a 
 boy of his turbulent disposition, and who 
 plumed himself so much on his animal 
 strength. However^ nothing came of that 
 day's expedition ; Sydney wanted to explore 
 the Black Castle^ but his comrade thought 
 it would be mere waste of time to do so, so 
 they contented themselves with scouring the 
 country between the parsonage and Castle 
 Dawson, diverging here and there into the 
 wild glens to the right and left of the road, 
 but not getting a shot the live-long day at 
 any thing more important than a hare.
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-FIGGLEDY. 353 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MR. Spenser's account of the island of 
 
 HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 
 
 ** In the Commonwealth I would by contraries 
 Execute all things, for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
 Letters should not be known ; no use of service ; 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil, 
 No occupation ; all men idle, all, 
 And women too." The Tempest. 
 
 The grave Mr. Oliver, enthusiastic about 
 every thing that Mr. Spenser said, or did, 
 thought he would never be permitted to 
 retire soon enough, so anxious was he to 
 peruse the paper which the rector put into 
 his hands on the night recorded in the fore- 
 going chapter. Putting on his spectacles 
 and his rohe-de-cliamhre, and establishing 
 himself in a great chair with his feet on the 
 fender he read as follows. 
 
 VOL. I. 2 a
 
 354 MY UNCLE THE CUEATE. 
 
 " Higgledy-Piggledy is an island in 96 deg. 
 min. sec. south longitude, and 396 deg. 
 70 min. 3 sec. Avest latitude, as laid down in 
 the maps of the Swiss Admiralty, from the ac- 
 curate surveys of the Great Chartists. Its 
 place on the globe is almost the antipodes of 
 the InsulcE FortunatcB. Strabo has not men- 
 tioned it, probably, because he was ignorant 
 of its existence ; and the silence of Malte- 
 Brun in later times may plausibly be ac- 
 counted for upon the same hypothesis. 
 
 " The island is so called from the Higgledies, 
 who constitute the smaller and wealthier 
 part of its population, and the Piggledies, 
 who constitute the greater and poorer por- 
 tion. The Pio^o'ledies as^ain derive their 
 name probably from 'pig,' either because 
 that animal abounds amongst them, or be- 
 cause in its character and general habits it 
 resembles them very strikingly. In fact, it 
 is a common saying that there is nothing so 
 like a Piggledyman as a pig, and nothing so 
 like a pig as a Piggledyman. 
 
 " The country is divided into four pro- 
 vinces, called Bluster, Punstir, Spunster, and
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 355 
 
 Donaught. Fuiistir is the finest and most re- 
 markable ; what a pleasant land it is, you 
 may conclude from its appellation ; the Pig- 
 gledies have it nearly all to themselves, and it 
 includes the celebrated and eccentric district 
 or shire of Topsiturvia, where, in peaceable 
 times, the people are always in insurrection, 
 but, when rebellion is afoot, they are actual 
 models of good behaviour. Spunster^ the 
 northern part of the island, is the province 
 where the Higgledies are found chiefly. Many 
 of them are as gay fellows as the Topsi- 
 turvians themselves ; but others are as orderly 
 and shabby as any population can be, — low 
 industrious creatures, who work for their 
 bread, generally at weaving, or spinning, 
 whence comes probably the name of the 
 province. 
 
 " The metropolis of Higgledy-Piggledy is the 
 great city of Hubbub, in the neighbourhood 
 of which is held annually, about the time of 
 the summer solstice, the elegant festival of 
 Brokenhcad, corresponding to the Olympic 
 games amongst the barbarous Greeks. 
 
 " The Piggledies lodge for economy in the 
 2 a2
 
 356 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 sties erected for their swine, and they live 
 upon a certain root, which they are so 
 passionately fond of, that they prefer the 
 risk of starvation to propagating any other. 
 Although a certain mixture of blue and 
 yellow is the colour of the nation, they can- 
 not abide it in crops, and a Piggledyman will 
 cultivate even nettles and ragweed rather 
 than turnips or mangold-wurzel. There 
 is corn grown in many places, — wheat, be- 
 cause the climate is singularly unfit for it, 
 and oats and barley, not to make the vulgar 
 article of bread, but for the wiser and nobler 
 purpose of extracting from these grains a 
 certain liquor, which has a marvellous effect 
 on the eyes, making the drinker see objects 
 twice over, so that all the blessings of Pro- 
 vidence seem doubled, and man is, of course, 
 doubly grateful and twice happy. 
 
 " The ancient constitution of Higgledy- 
 Piggiedy was a Mixed Anarchy, a form of 
 government on which De Lolme is strangely 
 silent, and of which Locke says nothing. 
 But it was a glorious constitution notwith- 
 standing, and, if not ' the envy of surround-
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 357 
 
 ing nations,' it might certainly have been 
 said to be ' one of the wonders of the 
 world.' At all events, the Higgledy-Piggle- 
 didians enjoyed under it for many a century 
 a degree of happy confusion, such as no 
 other country in the world has ever been 
 blessed with; and as it promoted all the 
 great objects of misrule and merriment, their 
 devotion to it is not very difficult to under- 
 stand. 
 
 " Up to the beginning of the present cen- 
 tury, the island had a sort of a legislature 
 of its own, not extremely unlike the British 
 Parliament in form, called the National 
 Harem- Scarem. Marvellous things are re- 
 corded of the Harem- Scarem of Higgledy- 
 Piggledy, which the Higgledies kept all to 
 themselves, with all its profits and honours, 
 in order that the Piggledies, by their efforts 
 to get into it also, might never want a motive 
 to keep the country in its normal state of 
 uproar and disorder. At length a more 
 powcrfid neighbouring' state, the White- 
 landers, envious of the prosperity of the 
 people of Higgledy-Piggledy in the posses-
 
 358 ^lY UNCLE TIIE CURATE. 
 
 sion of this inestimable domestic treasure, 
 determined to rob them of it, and actually 
 committed the robbery about the beginning 
 of the present century To the Higgledies 
 this was perhaps a serious blow, but the 
 Piggledies might have been expected to have 
 rather rejoiced than grieved at it. The con- 
 trary, however, took place. The Piggledies 
 have been howling like maniacs from that 
 day to this for the restoration of their native 
 Harem- Scarem, an assembly into which they 
 were never suffered to put their snouts ; and 
 although they cannot justly complain that 
 the stronger state has inflicted many good 
 laws, or afflicted them with much good 
 government, yet nothing will content them 
 but to have the mismanao^ement of their 
 own affairs in their own hands, the indefea- 
 sible right of self-misrule^ or (as their dema- 
 gogues sometimes express it) — ' Higgledy- 
 Piggledy for the Higgledy-Piggledijmen P 
 
 " There are two codes of laws in the island, 
 one the dullest system imaginable, diametri- 
 cally opposed to public opinion, at least, to 
 the public opinion of the Piggledies, the
 
 other called the code of Topsiturvia, the 
 work of an illustrious native of that part of 
 the island, who may be considered as the 
 Numa^ the Zoroaster, or the Moses of Hig- 
 gledy-Piggledy. 
 
 " The courts hy which this admirable code 
 is administered are held, like the Areopagus 
 of old, by night, or in the dark ; nothing 
 can be simpler, cheaper, or more expeditious 
 than their processes ; they bring justice to 
 every Higgledy gentlem.an's hall-door ; in 
 fact every thing is done by the plaintiff him- 
 self ; he is prosecutor, witness, judge, jury, 
 and executioner, by which it is inconceivable 
 what a saving; is effected both of time and 
 money ; and so uninfluenced by personal 
 feelings are those august tribunals, that even 
 after judgment in capital cases, tlie tra- 
 verser is allowed to appear by his attorney 
 or agent, and is shot, or otherwise executed 
 by jwoxy. 
 
 "Whenever the Piggledies have the power, 
 they proceed against the Iliggledies (who 
 are generally the nominal lords of the soil), 
 according to Topsiturvian law. On the
 
 360 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 other hand, the Higgledies, when they have 
 the advantage, take care to cite the Piggle- 
 dies before their own judges, and try them 
 by their own formal, tedious, and ruinously 
 expensive system'. However, when the ob- 
 ject is to regain possession of the soil, the 
 processes of Higgledy justice are rapid 
 enough in all conscience, nearly as swift and 
 mortal as those of the other code. 
 
 " One of the strano;est thins^s connected with 
 the state of the law in the island is a system 
 they have, by which the bulk of the soil is 
 vested in a high legal functionary, corres- 
 ponding with our Chancellor. In fact, the 
 entire island may be said to be ' in Chan- 
 cery,' and the general state of tillage is 
 exactly what might be anticipated from such 
 a droll arrangement, for, except the process 
 of draining^ what branch of agriculture can 
 any court, either of Law or Equity, have a 
 practical acquaintance with ? 
 
 " There are two religions in the island, the 
 Piggledy religion established in fact, and 
 the Higgledy religion established in law ; the 
 opposition of law to fact beinir an admirable
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 361 
 
 provision for keeping the country in that 
 highly comic and convulsive state, without 
 which it would not be Avorth livino; in. In- 
 deed they draw largely upon their religious 
 institutions for what they consider the prime 
 comfort of existence ; and in this they are 
 highly to be commended, inasmuch as reli- 
 gion, no doubt, ought to constitute the hap- 
 piness of every people. The great temple, 
 or state pagoda of the island, only frequented 
 by the Higgledies, though supported at the 
 cost and charges of the Piggledy-men, is a gor- 
 geous and astonishing pile ; it stands on the 
 edge of an awful precipice, and is in the 
 singular form of a cone, or sugar-loaf, turned 
 upside-down, the broad summit representing 
 its ample possessions, the small point in con- 
 tact with the earth being perhaps emble- 
 matic of the small fraction of the commu- 
 nity which enjoys its benefits. Nothing can 
 be more terrific, seen at a distance, than 
 this strangest of edifices tliat the hand of 
 man ever raised. Foreigners who visit the 
 island shudder to think of such a dangerous 
 pile overhanging them and threatening to
 
 362 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 topple on their heads every moment. But 
 this state of unstable and perilous equili- 
 brium is what charms the people themselves, 
 and particularly the Piggledies, who might 
 long since have reversed the fabric and placed 
 it on its base, had such been their will and 
 pleasure. As to the Higgledies, their zeal 
 in defence of the sacred structure is perfectly 
 natural, for they must take it as it is, or 
 forego its advantages altogether. They are 
 always iidgetty about its safety, and keep a 
 vast army on foot ready at a moment's warn- 
 ing to surround the building and prop it up 
 with their lances and spears. 
 
 " The vernacular language of the country is 
 a sort of dialect between his^h Bluster and 
 common Rigmarole. It is so highly figurative 
 that it is found to be almost impossible to 
 state facts, or convey simple truth in it. The 
 accent is also a mixed one, something be- 
 tween a roar and a whine, which makes it 
 excellent either to bullv or bei? in. You 
 may fancy what a Babel the isle is, particu- 
 larly in the chief cities, where the most no- 
 torious whiners and bawlers conefreijate.
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 363 
 
 "Besides Hubbub, the metropolis, there are 
 other important towns, for instance Eiotville 
 on the mighty river Trash, and Hocus-Pocus 
 on tlie banks of the Drivel. In every town 
 there is a crreat chamber, or senate-house, 
 called Balderdash Hall, and the loudest and 
 longest speaker is the Demosthenes of the 
 place. The principal subject of discussion is 
 always the restoration of the Harem-Scarem; 
 but when strangers demand of the Piggledies, 
 what the Harem-Scarem did for them when 
 they had it, or what they expect it would 
 do for them, if they had it again, not an 
 orator of them all has a word to answer ; 
 but so much the worse for the interrogator^ 
 for he is sure to be bespattered with mire 
 from head to heel, and runs a serious risk of 
 being flung bodily into the Trash, or the 
 Drivel. 
 
 " Being a proud and haughty people — most 
 of them descended from kings, and not a 
 man of them who is not a gentleman born — 
 they generally despise trade. In their cities 
 you will see but few cheese-mongers, or fish- 
 mongers ; but some branches of industiy
 
 364 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 find more favour Avitli them ; there are 
 enough of news-mongers and grievance-mon- 
 gers, these occupations not being deemed dis- 
 paraging to their gentility, on which no 
 people ];)lume themselves so much. You are 
 not to suppose, however, that there are no 
 degenerate, low-minded creatures amongst 
 them, who use their heads for thinking, and 
 their hands for working, more than their 
 tongues for talking. There are several such 
 perverse, poor-spirited people, sprinkled over 
 the island, but they are in a wretched mi- 
 nority, and are despised, as they deserve to be, 
 pretending to be better than their neighbours, 
 and not having the patriotism to conform to 
 the genius and character of the country. 
 
 " So thoroughly averse to commerce is 
 Higgledy-Piggiedy in general, that the most 
 popular cry in the island is for the total de- 
 struction of the only branch of commerce 
 open to them, the exportation of tlieir OAvn 
 superfluous food, for they raise food in 
 enormous quantities, the soil being as fer- 
 tile as any in the world. Nothing en- 
 rages the orators at Balderdash Hall more
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 365 
 
 than the spectacle of a drove of pigs going 
 to market, or a sack of corn sold to a foreign 
 merchant. They insist upon cramming the 
 farmers with their own bacon, and would 
 throw the corn into the Drivel sooner than 
 see it exported abroad. Nor is this school 
 of political economy confined to the Piggledy 
 provinces. Many of the Higgledies take the 
 same wise views of the interests of the pub- 
 lic. Indeed, this is one of the few points 
 upon which the orators of both races concur 
 in opinion, but as their agreement in this 
 respect tends to promote the general happy 
 confusion, it must be regarded as a fortu- 
 nate circumstance ; and the great pity is, 
 that both parties have not their old Ilarem- 
 Scarem back again, that they might have to 
 say, that, for once, they acted cordially to- 
 gether, and ruined their country in concert. 
 
 " It ought to be mentioned that the Higgle- 
 dies of Hubbub have a hall of their own, like 
 their poor fellow-citizens. It is a vast round 
 building, which perhaps accounts for the fre- 
 quency with which Iligglcdy debaters argue 
 in a circle. The prevailing mendicant turn
 
 366 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 of all classes, Higgledies as well as Piggle- 
 dies, will sufficiently explain another of their 
 logical characteristics, namely the habit of 
 begging the question. In short, the round 
 building we speak of is named with justice 
 the Temple of Twaddle. Faction, Fanaticism, 
 and Fashion preside there in turns, and there 
 the general congresses of all the States in 
 Noodledom are holden annually, about the 
 time of the vernal equinox. 
 
 " At Balderdash Hall is to be seen one of 
 the greatest curiosities in the whole country, 
 an enormous engine (said to be of forty- 
 ass power) for keeping the island constantly 
 in hot water. The hot water, however, is 
 not for the purpose of bathing or ablution, for 
 there are no public baths, and cleanliness is 
 not one of the besetting virtues of the people. 
 It is a political and social institution altoge- 
 ther, and has hitherto worked admirably, to the 
 o^reat credit and content of the enoineers. 
 
 "There is a famous Castle in Hubbub, 
 for the possession of which the Higgledies 
 and Piggledies are for ever squabbling, and 
 in truth it seems of no great use except as
 
 THE ISLAOT) OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 367 
 
 a bone of contention between them. The 
 Castle itself is in the possession of the White- 
 landers, the same people who formerly plun- 
 dered the island of that wise and virtuous 
 legislature which was once its glory. The 
 Whitelanders commit the fortress from time to 
 time to the custody of some great giant, who is 
 occasionally, but not often^ a wizard also. The 
 giants of Hubbub Castle had such indifferent 
 characters in former days, that one of the 
 wits of Higgledy-Piggledy is reported to 
 have said that their deeds ought to be found 
 recorded in the history of Rapin(e). How- 
 ever, the more giant-like the giant, he pleases 
 the people the better, for he keeps the fun 
 stirring which they love so dearly. When he 
 is more wizard than giant, wise as well as 
 strong, he is not so popular by half Either 
 the Higgledies, the Piggledies, or both com- 
 bined, arc sure to assail and besiege him, 
 while he has no support from any quarter, but 
 from the good-for-nothing and shabby minority 
 already mentioned, who, being capable of in- 
 dustry (the greatest vice in a citizen), are 
 equally prone, of course, to be loyal, which
 
 368 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 in Higgledy - Piggledy is considered the 
 greatest vice in a subject. 
 
 " The state of education in the island is one 
 of transition, and measures arc now in pro- 
 gress, which threaten the best interests 
 of Ignorance with ruin, if the mind of the 
 country is not awakened in time to so awful 
 a danger. How great the danger is may be 
 judged from the unquestionable truth that 
 Higgledy-Piggledy educated would be Hig- 
 gledy-Piggledy no longer. However, the 
 sprightly feuds of the two races will probably 
 prevent the poison from spreading with extra- 
 vagant rapidity, so as to save the island from 
 any thing like a deluge of enlightenment, or 
 at least afford time for the construction of an 
 ark. 
 
 *' Nothing, indeed, can be more presump- 
 tuous than the attempt to instruct the Hig- 
 gledy-Piggledidians, as if they did not, or 
 could not, instruct themselves ; the fact being 
 that they have one of the completest systems 
 of public instruction in the world. 
 
 " Of all things, no traveller should omit to 
 visit their Polytechnic School. I found (when
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 369 
 
 I inspected it) a professor of mathematics 
 teaching a great many curious things, which 
 had bearings on other subjects as well as on 
 algebra and geometry. He taught, for in- 
 stance, that a crooked line is the shortest 
 between two points ; that enormous social 
 virtue resides in sixes and sevens; that 
 researches after impossible quantities is one 
 of the noblest pursuits that a Piggledy or 
 a Higgledy can engage in ; that the most 
 interesting spiral is the common cork-screw; 
 but of all things, he took the greatest pains 
 to explain and apply the principle of the 
 inverted cone, which he contended was the 
 very type of stability, naturally dwelling on it 
 the most, as, in fact, it is the fundamental 
 idea of the Higgledy-Piggledy constitution. 
 
 '• Passing into the hall of Ethics, the chair 
 of morality was filled by a learned doctor, who 
 was just then developing some curious views 
 on the subject of meum and titiim^ to which 
 he stated that ho had been led by analytical 
 reasoning from the religious institutions of 
 the island. * Assuming,' he said, ' our great 
 
 VOL. I. 2 b
 
 370 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 conical temple (with the renown of which 
 the whole earth is filled) to be in reality, 
 as it is professedly, a moral and religious 
 fabric, it follows that the endowments it pos- 
 sesses cannot have had any origin but a 
 strictly moral one ; now that those endow- 
 ments were forcibly taken by the Higgledies 
 from the Piggledies, merely because the former 
 were stronger at the time, and had a fancy 
 for the pious property of their neighbours, is 
 beyond controversy. It, therefore, cannot be 
 immoral (he argued), in any case, to deprive 
 people forcibly (nor, of course, fraudulently) 
 of any thing they possess that you happen to 
 covet, for if such an action were criminal at 
 all, it could not but be criminal in the highest 
 degree in a case where religious uses are in 
 question^ for there it would not be a simple 
 robbery, but one aggravated by the profane 
 dedication of the spoil to heaven.' It was im- 
 possible not to be forcibly struck by a train of 
 reasoning, which sent away a large ethical class 
 thoroughly convinced that the immorality of 
 rifling a pocket was nothing more heinous
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 371 
 
 than the process by which the great inverted 
 cone came by its property. 
 
 " The school of oratory is held at the fish- 
 market. Indeed, whatever Httle encourage- 
 ment the exhaustless fisheries of the island 
 receive is to be attributed to the immemorial 
 connexion between dealing in fish and dealing 
 in foul language. The very professors of 
 rhetoric at Hubbub and other places are fish- 
 wives. One of them has reduced the art of 
 scolding to a system, and given it to the 
 w^orld in a treatise called ' The New De Ora- 
 tore.' I was formally introduced to this 
 lady, and picked up some curious information 
 from her. Amongst other things she told me 
 that the word harangue was derived from the 
 French hareng^ a herring ; and that it 
 was not for the purpose of shouting with peb- 
 bles in his mouth, that Demosthenes was 
 accustomed to frequent the beach, but to in- 
 vigorate and enrich his style by listening to the 
 invectives of the poissardes of Athens. For 
 the same reason, she added, eloquence liad 
 always flourished most in maritime states, and 
 2b2
 
 372 IVIY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 most of all in islands ; witness Rhodes in an- 
 cient times (where the Romans sent their 
 sons for those advantages of marine instruc- 
 tion which the inland position of the imperial 
 city did not afford); and in the present day, 
 Higgledy-Piggledy itself, where orators so 
 abound, that the only difficulty is to find a 
 man who is not one. 
 
 "Passing through an obscure quarter of the 
 city, after leaving the fish-market, I was sur- 
 prised to observe a modest building dedicated 
 (as an inscription announced) to Industry 
 and Independence. It proved to be a sort of 
 academical institution. Curious to hear how^ 
 far a lecturer would presume to go upon 
 subjects so distasteful to the bulk of the 
 community, I entered, and opening the door 
 of a chamber where I w^as told the business 
 of the school was going on, saw a professor 
 deliverino^ from his chair a most elaborate and 
 interesting — soliloquy. Pleased at having at 
 length an auditor, if not an auditory, he was 
 proceeding with considerable increase of ani- 
 mation, when the shouts of an infuriated mul-
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 373 
 
 titude were heard distinctly, and in a few mo- 
 ments the institute was beleaguered by a 
 rabble of Piggledies, hot from Balderdash 
 Hall, who with furious noises and gestures 
 expressed their resolution to pull the edifice 
 down, and tear the unfortunate professor of 
 industry piece-meal. How I escaped I never 
 distinctly understood, but the lecturer was 
 not so lucky, for he fell into the hands of the 
 mob. In vain he protested that he was only 
 a professor^ — that he had never practised 
 what he taught, — that in his heart he despised 
 both industry and independence as much as 
 any man could do, and that as to his lectures, 
 it was impossible they could do much mischief, 
 inasmuch as he had uniformly delivered them 
 to empty benches. The crowed was not to be 
 appeased ; a variety of frightful deaths was 
 proposed, and I learned afterwards that he 
 only escaped ending his days in some ap])al- 
 ling way by the humane suggestion of one of 
 the bystanders, who cried out that the fellow 
 was a madman, and that a whip and a 
 straight- waistcoat were the proper treatment 
 for him.
 
 374 MY UNCLE THE CUKATE. 
 
 "Going some while afterwards to visit one 
 of the hospitals for lunatics in Topsiturvia, I 
 saw my poor professor there, amongst the other 
 maniacs and idiots. This lunatic institution 
 is one of the greatest curiosities in the coun- 
 try, for all those things which elsewhere in 
 the world are looked on as the characteristics 
 of a sound mind, are regarded in Higgledy- 
 Piggledy as evidences of an incurably dis- 
 ordered one. In the next cell to the frantic 
 professor of industrial philosophy was an 
 insane political economist, who had protested 
 against a project for the exclusive use of 
 Higgledy-Piggledy manufactures. ' When 
 Higgledy-Piggledy cloth is as good and as 
 cheap as the cloth of other countries,' — this 
 was his argument — ' it will be time enough 
 to buy a coat of it.' The doctrine procured 
 the poor wretch a Higgledy-Piggledy waist- 
 coat, which, however, was not so tight but 
 that he managed to amuse himself, in the 
 usual manner of Tom-o'-Bedlams, by scrib- 
 bling the walls of his cell with a bit of 
 coal, an employment at which I found him 
 busily engaged ; and being curious to see
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-riGGLEDY. 670 
 
 what the scrawl was, I examined it, and found 
 it consisted of scraps from authors as mad as 
 himself, named Smith, Malthus, and llicardo. 
 In the next cell was a crazy agriculturist, who 
 had announced the doctrine of rotation of crops, 
 and drivelled upon draining, until at length a 
 commission of lunacy was issued against him. 
 The keepers Avould allow him nothing but 
 potatoes, but I threw him a few Swedish 
 turnips, which seemed for the time to make 
 him very happy, and he 'babbled of green' 
 crops as long as I remained near him. The 
 next wretched bein^ that I met with seemed 
 so profoundly melancholy, that I could not 
 refrain from asking him what folly he had 
 committed to bring him into such dismal com- 
 pany. 
 
 " ' I denied,' rephed the idiot, * that the 
 Piggledies were the hnest peasantry in the 
 world, — I said that they had their faults, like 
 other people.' 
 
 " * But you do not say so still ?' I asked 
 him in a tone of profound commiseration. 
 
 ** He mumbled a reply in the affirmative
 
 376 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 and turned mopingly away to confer with the 
 mad agriculturist, who charitably shared his 
 turnips w^ith him. ' Them's a pair of the 
 incurables,' growled the keeper, a tall, savage 
 Topsiturvian, who then took me into a ward 
 where I saw a variety of singular cases, in- 
 cluding one of a grocer, who insisted on 
 placing his sugar-loaves on the broad end, to 
 keep them from falling, and an astronomer 
 who adhered to the Copernican system, in 
 opposition to the received opinion of the 
 island that the sun goes round the earth, and 
 the earth round the moon, a celestial arrange- 
 ment which would certainly be in perfect ac- 
 cordance with the institutions of Higgledy- 
 Piggledy. 
 
 " Shocked and distressed at those sad spec- 
 tacles of mental imbecility, I left the asylum 
 with much more satisfaction than I entered 
 it. It was such a comfort to be with the 
 sane people once more. 
 
 "Amono^st them I observed a wasfsfoner 
 yoking his cart before his horse; — several 
 farmers were shearing their pigs, and great
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 377 
 
 was the cry and little the wool, as usual; — 
 a Piggledy ostler was carefully locking a 
 stable-door, while a Piggledy thief was rid'ng 
 off with the horse; — some industrious old 
 women were making silk purses out of sows' 
 ears; — a wife was burning her candle at both 
 ends; — Old Piggledy was throwing the house 
 out of the windows, and Young Piggledy was 
 flinging his loaf into the kennel, and scamper- 
 ing after a rainbow. Failing to catch the 
 airy glory, the boy commenced bawding 
 lustily, and fell into a fury of childish passion, 
 whereupon his mother, instead of correcting, 
 appeased him by setting him to blow bubbles, 
 the only use made of soap and water by the 
 great majority of these fantastic islanders. 
 
 "The natural history of this country is well 
 worth attention. Its zoology is rich and 
 curious. The sloth there attains a gigantic 
 size, and, notwithstanding its habits of torpor, 
 commits e^reater ravages than wolves and 
 tigers in other countries. The common jack- 
 ass abounds, chiefly in the precincts of the 
 cities and the neiirhbourhood of Balderdash
 
 378 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 Hall, where it is not easy to distinguish its 
 braying from that of the politicians and eco- 
 nomists. There are wolves in sheeps' cloth- 
 ing to be met with in many parts, and it is 
 odd that bears are not more numerous, for the 
 island has the strongest possible resemblance 
 to a bear-garden. 
 
 '' Amongst birds, the wild goose is promi- 
 nent. The chase of it constitutes one of the 
 favourite amusements of all classes. There 
 are numerous owls, too ; and the Higgledy 
 grandees provide ruins liberally for them, by 
 expelling the poor Higgledies, and demolish- 
 ing their habitations. But the bird that is 
 most plentiful is the gull, and though the 
 kites and cormorants devour them in great 
 quantities, they seem never reduced in num- 
 ber.* The insect and reptile tribes swarm; 
 the working bee is indeed rare, and one spe- 
 cies of flea is also deficient — namely, the 
 industrious variety. 
 
 " Fish is extremely plentiful, and not more 
 
 * In Latin, the lams communis. It is observable that 
 Larry (evidently from lams) is one of the commonest names 
 amongst the Piggledies.
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDr. 379 
 
 plentiful than excellent ; so much so, that it is 
 universally abjured by the people as an article 
 of food. They will perish of hunger sooner 
 than eat fish, and, to strengthen this aversion, 
 their priesthood enjoins the eating of fish as 
 a religious penance. You may conceive how 
 light the yoke of a religion is where the mor- 
 tifications are to dine on turbot and John 
 Dorys; but there is no end to the eccen- 
 tricities and comicalities of this strange 
 people. 
 
 " Higgledy-piggledy is the country for me- 
 teors. The chief employment of its natives 
 is running through their bogs after Will o' 
 the Wisp, Jack o' the Lantern, and other 
 ignes fatui, 
 
 " Veo^etation flourishes. The countrv would 
 be a garden, only that the taste of the people 
 is for wildernesses. A richer field to go sim- 
 pling in does not exist in the world. In Top- 
 siturvia, and most parts of Funstir and Do- 
 naught, the herbs that flourish most arc 
 wormwood, rag-weed, monk's-hood, and the 
 wild variety of Justice, generally found in the
 
 380 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 crops of hemp. But the same districts are 
 also fertile in numerous other plants, such as 
 docks, nettles, tares, brambles, considered 
 weeds in most countries, but by the Piggle- 
 dies cultivated with almost as much attention 
 as is elsewhere bestowed upon the gifts of 
 Ceres. There are but few bays and laurels 
 in the island, and those few are but little cul- 
 tivated. The soil seems totally unfit for the 
 olive ; attempts have been made to domesti- 
 cate it, but hitherto without success. 
 
 Higgledy-Piggledy has produced some 
 great men, but it is not the dehght of that 
 singular island to erect statues to Genius, or 
 monuments to Pubhc Virtue. In revenge, 
 however, they honour Little Men exceedingly. 
 In some parts are to be seen colossal statues 
 of Mediocrity, and the Temple of Faction 
 there corresponds with the temples raised in 
 other nations to Fame and Pubhc Spirit. Li- 
 terature is of no account whatever. Men of 
 letters are as much despised at Hubbub, as 
 they are honoured and courted in other ca- 
 pitals.
 
 THE ISLAND OF HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY. 381 
 
 "The national music is the Hurdy-Gurdy. 
 That instrument is sculptured on their coins, 
 and its melody is supposed to inspire the 
 population with that national Hicjfjledy-Pifi- 
 gledy spirit to which they are, no doubt, as 
 much indebted for their wild institutions, as 
 England is to the spirit of liberty for her 
 tame ones. 
 
 " Sore puzzled is the chronicler of this bi- 
 zarre commonwealth to determine what is most 
 curious in such a profusion of natural and arti- 
 ficial curiosities. Upon the whole, I am dis- 
 posed to admire nothing more than the little 
 eating that satisfies the bulk of the inhabitants. 
 They are as indifferent to the loaves as they 
 are to the fishes, and content themselves (as 
 we have seen) with a few roots, requiring little 
 culture, and constituting a not more wretched 
 than precarious subsistence for the people. 
 The art of cooking is not much more known 
 and practised than the art of embroidering or 
 sculpture. Yet, to crown all, there is a state 
 kitchen, kept up at prodigious cost, with cooks 
 and arch-cooks, not only to the unspeakable
 
 382 MY UNCLE THE CURATE. 
 
 comfort of the Higgledies, who are amazing 
 gourmands, as well as passionately fond of 
 ruling the roast, but (what would be incredible, 
 if related of any other nation in the world) 
 apparently to the no less contentment of the 
 Piggledies, who have not so much as a bone 
 to pick, or even the crumbs that fall from the 
 State table." 
 
 END OF VOL L 
 
 C. VrillTIKG, BEAUrORT nOUSE, STRAND.