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 HONOR O'HARA. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LoKDOy : 
 
 Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New- Street- Square.
 
 //y^. 
 
 HONOR O'HARA. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 BY 
 
 MISS A. M. PORTER 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE HUNGARIAN BROTHERS, 
 
 " THE RECLUSE OF NORWAY," 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 O when shall I regain my orbit of peace and glory !" 
 
 Er8KINE's Internal Evidence, Sfc. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 
 
 PATERNOSTEll-EOW. 
 1826.
 
 82.5, 
 
 V. I 
 
 CD 
 
 CO 
 
 PREFATORY NOTICR 
 
 "^ Ere the Reader proceed to the perusal 
 ^ of the following volumes, he is requested 
 <^ to prepare himself for a perceptible dif- 
 ference in their character : a difference 
 observable, perhaps, as much in the strain 
 of their thought, as in the style by which 
 it is expressed. 
 :\ "^Yjij j|. ^g ^ sufficient apology to say, 
 ^ that rather more than the first volume 
 -^ was written directly after the whole story 
 was planned, three years ago; — that it 
 ^x was laid aside, in consequence of tem- 
 porary loss of sight, and not resumed 
 ^: until last winter, before the end of which, 
 it was entirely completed ? 
 
 ^
 
 VI PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 So long an interval could not fail of 
 producing such changes in the mind and 
 feelings of the Writer, as might be ex- 
 pected to ensue from witnessing, or ex- 
 periencing, certain changes in the current 
 of her own, or of other dear persons' lives. 
 Thus, she is aware, that the careless tone 
 of her commencement, is altered to a 
 much graver one in many succeeding 
 parts ; and that she has suffered one or 
 two characters to slip from her hands with 
 very little colouring, merely because she 
 found her own spirits less calculated to 
 finish them highly, than when they were 
 first sketched. The Writer confesses that 
 her inclination points to what is serious, 
 perhaps saddening, in composition ; but 
 friends had so repeatedly urged her to 
 try a lighter style, that she was induced 
 to make the attempt. 
 
 Doubtful of her qualification to em- 
 body the fashionable manners of the day 
 we are now living in, or to give the
 
 PREFATORY NOTICE. VU 
 
 amusing idioms of its peculiar dialect 
 with elegance and fidelity, she has deemed 
 it prudent to throw her story back to a 
 period of which few of her readers are 
 likely to retain such vivid recollections, 
 as would render inaccuracy of dates, or 
 of fleeting modes, a matter of moment. 
 She is not, however, conscious of having 
 erred in the period allotted to any public 
 event; having always resorted to the 
 Annual Register for certain information. 
 Such as it is, this Novel is now submitted 
 to the Public, with the assurance, that if, 
 in attempting to pourtray ordinary life 
 with a livelier pen than she had employed 
 in tracing the humble history of Jeannie 
 Halliday, the Writer shall be found to 
 liave failed in interesting or amusing, she 
 will then lay it aside altogether, and re- 
 sume that of romantic fiction. 
 
 EsHER, August, 1826.
 
 ERRATA IN VOL. I. 
 
 Page 24. line 6. from bottom, /or is read are. 
 
 49. line 1 1 . from bottom, f(^ dark read back. 
 
 100. line 3. for who no knew read who knew no. 
 
 165. line 8. for covered read formed. 
 
 324. line 7. Jbr usal read perusal.
 
 HONOR O'HARA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 At the upper end of a straggling village, 
 hanging on a steep hill's side, in the 
 North of England, stood an old tumble- 
 down rectory : its walls had once been 
 white- washed ; but, like a dirty fair face, 
 only looked more unseemly, from sundry 
 patches of lime staring here and there, 
 through gaps in its crust of weather- 
 stains. 
 
 In times past, a waving mixture of 
 ivies and jessamines, had increased the 
 picturesqueness of its gable-ends, and 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 HONOR o'haRA. 
 
 clustering chimnies ; but these vegetable 
 hangings having a trick of harbouring 
 birds and insects, a certain ruler in the 
 mansion, tore away, with a strong hand, 
 the ivy and jessamine of twenty years' 
 growth. So now, the sole remaining tes- 
 timonial of former ornament, was but 
 the root of the ivy ; which being of great 
 thickness, and sawed to the ground, 
 served as an occasional standing place 
 for a broken- spouted watering-pot ; which 
 oflener lay covered with dirt, as well as 
 bruises, (a most unsightly spectacle,) just 
 under the parlour window. 
 
 Close by this degraded spot, a worm- 
 eaten gate swinging on one hinge, and kept 
 fast by a bit of rope passed through a hole 
 and slung over a nail, oper^d into a for- 
 lorn space, once known by the name of 
 the garden, now jointly occupied by pigs 
 and potatoes. The stumps of two or 
 three decayed apple-trees, and the stem 
 of one living wine-sour plum, appeared 
 above the potatoe tops, and served for 
 rubbing-posts to the hogs ; but, saving 
 these wretched memorials of better days,
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 3 
 
 not a shrub, not a flower remained, to 
 mark 
 
 " Where a garden had been." 
 
 To the left of this delectable spot lay 
 a little plashy CJose, called the farmyard ; 
 where a stable, a pigsty, a dunghill, 
 and heaps of puddly straw^ were all 
 huddled together into so many floating 
 islands, divided by different channels of 
 wet and mire. A few draggle-tailed 
 fowls, — ** a toothless mastiff bitch," — a 
 lean Alderney cow, — a wall-eyed cart- 
 horse,, and thirteen pigs, (when they 
 chose to transfer their fragrant persons 
 from the garden to the sty,) made up 
 the complement of living furniture in 
 the farmyard. 
 
 The house had nobler inhabitants. These 
 consisted of Mr. Meredith the incumbent, 
 his wife, his niece, a great gaunt woman 
 of all-work, an Irish nurse, and a lank- 
 haired footboy, not undeserving the 
 very coarsest name for seedlings of his 
 class. Mrs. Meredith (who would ven- 
 ture to deny her precedence?) was in 
 B 2
 
 HONOR o'hARA, 
 
 truth a most formidable personage ; being 
 a lady without either temper, sense, or 
 breeding. For eighteen years it had 
 been her laudable practice to pass through 
 the whole of her house twenty times 
 every day, carrying all before her like 
 a whirlwind ; scaring men, women, 
 children, dogs, and cats, into the first 
 hole they could find shelter in. Doubt- 
 less she did it on the principle of 
 purifying the moral atmosphere of the 
 Rectory. 
 
 Be that as it may, banging of doors, 
 rattling up and pulling down of windows, 
 clattering of sundry culinary vessels, 
 squalls of luckless household animals, 
 squabbles with itinerant venders or men- 
 ders of useful commodities ; bawling, 
 calling, scolding, slapping — such was 
 the full chorus of domestic discords 
 which had regularly followed Mrs. Mere- 
 dith's issue from the nuptial couch, every 
 morning during seventeen years, eleven 
 months, and two weeks. Mr. Meredith's 
 honey-moon having had but half a face. 
 
 Through the whole of the ordinary
 
 HONOR o'hAKA. 
 
 day, this hurricane blew with the con- 
 stancy of a trade-wind, during which 
 time Mrs. Meredith went slopping about 
 in a dingy gown and flap-eared cap ; but 
 on the signal of a visitor, or by the even- 
 ing, the fierce drab changed into a smart 
 woman, all smiles and servility ; seated at 
 the card-table of a bettermost neighbour, 
 or presiding over her own tea and toast, 
 surrounded by misses in muslins, matrons 
 in discoloured silks, and spinstersin scour- 
 ed satins. Mrs. Meredith had indeed so 
 becoming a company face to put on with 
 her company gown, that had it not been 
 for eaves-droppers and servants, she would 
 have passed current, (at least amongst 
 new acquaintance,) for a good-humoured, 
 uneducated woman ; but with the last 
 visitor, her last smile duly disappeared, 
 and she was rude Boreas again. So 
 relentless in truth, was the scythe, or 
 flail of her insufferable temper, that it 
 mowed down and scattered all before it, 
 and seemed in a fan* way, therefore, of 
 leaving her nothing to scold at last. 
 However, against this direful calamity 
 B 3
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 she was fortunately provided with a vic- 
 tim for hfe — that victun was her hus- 
 band. He, poor gentleman, had a sor- 
 rowful trick of sighing at intervals ; and 
 a sigh from him was ever the precursor 
 of a storm from her. At that unlucky 
 signal Mrs. Meredith was ready with 
 her fiercest bolt. This was sure to fall 
 in the shape of biting reproaches for his 
 indifference to her value as a chaste wife, 
 and skilful manager — of cevisiin casli7igS' 
 up of former obligations from her kin- 
 dred ; and of her own especial grace, in 
 accepting tlie forsaken swain of the 
 scornful Bell Foster, — of violent invec- 
 tives against that proud beauty, and 
 broad hints that she had not taken her- 
 self off with the captain of dragoons, 
 until it was high time. 
 
 The meek- spirited Mr. Meredith could 
 sit quietly under the storm whilst it only 
 buffetted himself; but whenever it beat 
 upon the fair living form, or too proba- 
 bly the ashes of that misguided young 
 creature to whom his heart had once been 
 devoted, he was no longer master of
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 7 
 
 himself, and a brimming eye and quiver- 
 ing lip ever accompanied the hasty ac- 
 tion with which he started from his 
 chair, and quitted the apartment. 
 
 Mr. Meredith would have honoured a 
 better fate ; for he had a tender heart, a 
 yielding temper, tolerable talents, and 
 much better principles. He passed 
 amongst his servants and immediate 
 neighbours for a very learned man ; be- 
 cause having no attraction to his parlour, 
 he lived principally in his study. There, 
 he rather dozed over books of research, 
 in melancholy indolence, than buckled 
 to their pith and argument with any 
 vigour of intellect akin to their own. 
 His first affections having been disap- 
 pointed, and the narrow circle he then 
 moved in, as curate merely of EdenfelJ, 
 fiirnishing no other creature fitted to 
 cope with the image of the really charm- 
 ing girl he worshipped two or three years 
 in respectful silence, Mr. Meredith went 
 on from twenty-five till thirty-seven with- 
 out feeling a new attachment, or dreaming 
 of matrimony. 
 
 B 4
 
 Unluckily the widow of an unsuccess- 
 ful ship-owner lived near the parsonage, 
 and she had one black-eyed daughter, 
 with a smart person, and a profusion of 
 smarter pertnesses, to say when she chose 
 to make the agreeable , a part she always 
 chose to play before the young rector. 
 The mother's hearty presents were soon 
 as liberally bestowed, nay kindly thrust 
 upon Mr. Meredith, as the daughter's 
 flippant attentions. An uncle of Miss 
 Simpson's, a plain shrewd yeoman, al- 
 ways maintained that marriage was the 
 duty of every man ; and her aunt, a 
 withered spinster, dolefully deprecated 
 for her dear Emmy, the sad fate of a 
 poor lone woman like herself. 
 
 Mr. Meredith was troubled by the as- 
 sertions and arguments of the uncle ; he 
 was distressed at the aunt's piteous repre- 
 sentations ; he was besides a good-natured, 
 self-slighting man, and he beheved him- 
 self greatly bound to this family, inferior 
 as they were. The uncle had always 
 been at hand to assist him in the sore 
 season of tythe-gathering j the maiden
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 9 
 
 aunt was ever ready to descend from her 
 little aery at the grocer's, for the cha- 
 ritable purpose of saving their reverend 
 friend the waste of half a yard in a web 
 of cloth ; her careful shears set all pil- 
 fering or rash- handed maidens at defiance. 
 Mrs. Simpson, the really worthy mother, 
 had always a cold goose pye, or a large 
 plain cake at the service of the rectory, 
 when its larder was taken by surprize ; 
 she knew what good Mr. Meredith liked 
 at table, so she could exactly suit his 
 taste, in all her little Christmas and Mid- 
 summer offerings. Her daughter put 
 the last touches to these obligations, 
 by looking down on the ground, when 
 her uncle exhorted his Christian teacher 
 to marry ; looking up to Heaven, as her 
 aunt bemoaned her singlehood ; stitching 
 the wristbands of the shirts so thriftily 
 cut out; and notably honouring her 
 mother's assurance, that all the given 
 dainties were done under Emmy's eye, 
 by ever shewing herself ** cumbered with 
 much serving." 
 
 B 5
 
 10 HONOR o'hARA, 
 
 Thus beleaguered by a whole family, 
 without a single diversion being made in 
 his favour by any of the surrounding 
 gentry, (for he had shunned them, during 
 his ill-starred affection for Bell Foster,) 
 Mr. Meredith might not, after all, perhaps 
 have fallen to the enemy, had it not 
 been for an unforeseen stroke, which 
 carried him at once. Mrs. Simpson was 
 seized with paralysis : when she reco- 
 vered the use of speech, aware that she 
 must die, she intreated her good friend's 
 prayers by her bedside. After devout- 
 ly joining in those prayers, she took 
 the opportunity of unburthening her 
 mind to him upon every subject. With 
 real simpleness and genuine anxiety 
 for an only child's welfare, she reminded 
 the good bachelor of her many neigh- 
 bourly offices to him, adding, that she 
 hoped thoughts of these would make 
 him kind to her poor girl, after she was 
 gone. She ventured to add, that if ever 
 he turned his mind to a wife, she hoped 
 he would think of Emmy, who barring a 
 little quickness of temper, would make
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 11 
 
 tie most discreet, managing, pains-taking 
 wife in the country, and would be just 
 the woman for him, who was always let- 
 ting himself be imposed upon. 
 
 Mr. Meredith had not a word to de- 
 fend himself with : a fearful array of really 
 kind offices were marshalled against him. 
 Completely discomfited, he suffered Mrs. 
 Simpson to triumph. The artless, fer- 
 vent, ** God be praised ! O God bless 
 you, dear sir," of the poor mother, went 
 to Meredith's heart ; and assuring her 
 he would try to make her daughter 
 happy, he squeezed the shaking hand, 
 then grasping his with more familiar 
 kindness, and calling in the sobbing Miss 
 Emmy, repeated the assurance to her, 
 and received her joyful vows of affection 
 and duty in return. 
 
 Mrs. Simpson died — Mr. Meredith 
 married. Emulous to deserve the cha- 
 racter given her by her mother, the bride 
 began betimes to exercise her talent : 
 
 " For her mind 
 Shaped goodliest rules of discipline," 
 
 B 6
 
 12 
 
 such as Mr. Soiithey tells us, led the hero- 
 ine of one of his Botany Bay eclogues 
 
 " Only to whip two prentices to death." 
 
 Emulous also of praise, she harangued 
 so fluently, and frequently, upon the 
 duties and difliculties of a good manager, 
 that our ignorant divine felt persuaded, 
 a housewife was synonimous with a scold; 
 that nothing valuable in this sublunary 
 sphere was to be got at, except he con- 
 sented to snatch it out of briars and 
 thorns. Thus, if his wife's tongue kept 
 servants on the alert, awed tradesmen 
 into moderate charges, and so restrained 
 his annual expenditure between the 
 banks of a narrow income, he had no 
 right to complain. 
 
 By degrees, however, Mr. Meredith 
 discovered that his wife's oratory was 
 all '* noise and fury, signifying nothing :" 
 that his stomach was not indemnified for 
 the stunning of his ears; that he could 
 not balance a good table against a bad 
 companion; nor a clean house against 
 an illiterate wife : that his habitation was
 
 13 
 
 absolutely dirtier, and more disorderly 
 than any man's in the parish ; that he 
 had always the worst trades-people, the 
 worst provisions, and the worst servants 
 possible ; that his bills were large, his 
 comforts small ; and, that while his Better 
 half was dragooning servants and la- 
 bourers into performing impossibilities, 
 the right, and the useful, and the prac- 
 ticable w^ere neglected. 
 
 Thus his garden-gate had remained 
 without other fastening, than the bit 
 of rope mentioned heretofore, merely 
 because Mrs. Meredith haggled every 
 day with the blacksmith, about sixpence 
 in the agreement for putting on a hasp ; 
 and the garden itself was stripped of 
 fruits and flow^ers, and laid down in pota- 
 toes, because it had once been plundered 
 by a set of unlucky boys. 
 
 Poor Mr. Meredith saw his little com- 
 forts and few pleasures laid waste, one 
 by one ; he loved a garden, though he 
 rarely worked in it ; and he beheld the 
 ruin of his, with a sorrowful eye. But 
 Mr, Meredith, like many married men,
 
 14 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 preferred peace to a garden. Once, in- 
 deed, he ventured to lament this priva- 
 tion : " Why, my dear," retorted his 
 wife, smartly, " you told us, in your ser- 
 mon, the other day, that the whole world 
 is a garden — go and walk out into the 
 fields, and take your pleasure now." 
 
 This was said with the flippant air of 
 former times ; and in those days our un- 
 suspecting divine would have fancied it 
 merely cheerful raillery : unhappily, he 
 was now better informed; but he had 
 passed under the yoke. 
 
 Mr. Meredith still gave his wife credit 
 for the best intentions, and the greatest 
 ^activity in household government — for 
 ' was she ever at rest ? was she not always 
 on her foot, up stairs and down stairs, 
 breaking-in upon his sermon-writing or 
 his reveries, with eternal complaints of 
 servants, and demands for interference 
 with trades people, with whom, by the 
 way, she never suffered him to interfere ? 
 Surely, so much anxiety to make up by 
 savingness the deficiency of her own 
 fortune, was a proof of gratitude and 
 11
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 15 
 
 principle, with which he ought to be 
 pleased? and by this measure her hus- 
 band judged her. Unobserving man! 
 lie never enquired how she came by the 
 variety of bonnets, caps, and gowns, 
 which were proudly paraded before her 
 lessen' neighbours at church, and in tea- 
 parties. For this display, Mrs. Meredith, 
 in fact, bartered every thing ; here was 
 the aim and end of her management. 
 She contrived to pay the largest miUiner's 
 and mantua-maker's bills incurred in 
 tlie village, withoCit presenting them to 
 her husband. How^ she did it, I leave 
 such ladies to answer who can hash up 
 a family dinner, and a smart head-gear, 
 out of the same shallow purse at the 
 same instant. 
 
 Perhaps this insatiable thirst for pos- 
 sessing fine clothes, may account for 
 some of the dilapidations of Mr. Me- 
 redith's habitation. There was in truth 
 only one apartment in the rectory which 
 could boast of neatness and comfort : and 
 that was the little south room in one of 
 the gables, inhabited by Honor O'Hara.
 
 16 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 There that young lady had contrived 
 to amass a few books, and a few scarce 
 plants ; to cover the faded grey paper 
 with prints framed on it by broad and 
 narrow lines of Indian ink, neatly drawn 
 round them by her own hand ; to keep 
 the dimity curtains of her tent-bed, and 
 her single large window always white ; 
 and seated at a table spread with work, 
 books, and sketches, escape from the 
 noise and disorder of the rooms below. 
 
 Upon this little stronghold Mrs. Me- 
 redith for some time made the most des- 
 perate assaults ; determined to dislodge 
 its youthful inhabitant from what she mis- 
 named '* her fine lady*s idling place.'' 
 But Honoria defended herself with so 
 much spirit, resolution, and good hu- 
 mour, that the assailant was always beaten 
 back with loss. 
 
 Finding neither sap nor storm of any 
 avail, the virago at length abandoned 
 the attempt. 
 
 She did w^ell ; for who may hope to 
 conquer a person whose temper is as in- 
 vincible as their resolution ? Miss O'Hara
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 17 
 
 was never to be plagued or scolded into 
 ilLhumour ; and she attached herself so 
 strongly to every thing animate or inani- 
 mate, which pleased her at all, that some- 
 thing more powerful than a raihng tongue 
 was necessary to make her resign lier 
 property in the large casemented window, 
 whence she had habitually looked now 
 for two years, at trees and hills, asso- 
 ciated with some pensive or agreeable 
 train of ideas. 
 
 The view seen from this favourite win- 
 dow was, in reality, charming of itself: 
 it consisted of a range of romantic hills, 
 backed by the lofty Cheviots; discovering 
 in their recesses, little glens, where wreaths 
 of smoke and cheerful sounds rising above 
 the tufted trees, told of cottages and 
 contented labour. 
 
 At the foot of these hills ran the river 
 Eden, (not the Eden of Cumberland, 
 and perhaps too obscure a stream to be 
 found in any map), but a stream so clear, 
 that every pebble of its bed might be seen 
 through its wave. 
 
 Rushing amongst steep banks, fringed
 
 18 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 with birch groves, and occasionally 
 broken into falls, it hurried away with 
 a sparkhng velocity, which carried the 
 fancy along with it. The height on 
 which the village stood, forming part of 
 its north-eastern bank, the window of 
 Honoria's room commanded great part of 
 the river's course ; and in moonlight 
 nights she was accustomed to sit there, 
 enjoying the moonshine, and the sound 
 of bells ringing from some village church 
 at a distance : or, perhaps, listening to 
 the humbler chime of a passing waggon. 
 
 In spring, the wind, when it blew 
 off the hills, came laden with the smell 
 of violets ; and in summer, with that of 
 heath-blossoms, and the wilding rose. 
 
 Honoria never could resist their sweet 
 breathings — she used to carry her book 
 or her work there to the rectory mea- 
 dows, and seated on the soft green turf, 
 bask in the sunshine. Sometimes little 
 children were her companions, for whom 
 she delighted to make daisy necklaces : 
 oftener, only her uncle's sheep and the 
 dog.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 19 
 
 In her idler moods she lay listening to 
 the echoes with which the hills were 
 full; pleased with their gradations; by 
 turn amused or soothed by the different 
 sounds they repeated. Sometimes deU- 
 vering herself up to that sweet vague of 
 thought, as Madame de Stael would have 
 called it, which for all minds of sensi- 
 bility ends so surely in sadness. 
 
 What woman's heart is there that 
 does not feel, or remember to have felt, 
 such sadness, gathering round their dark- 
 ening thoughts like mist on the green 
 hill's side ? — it is a melancholy without 
 object ; yet it overwhelms the soul while 
 it lasts, with a feehng of misery which 
 is deemed, perhaps is, prophetic of future 
 sorrows — it is peculiar to that otherwise 
 blissful season, early youth. 
 
 And is there a young heart that does 
 not know by experience an emotion as 
 undefinable, though of a different nature? 
 a vague joy — an eagerness of expect- 
 ation of we know not what, which quick- 
 ens the current in our veins, gives 
 animation to every thought, every move-
 
 20 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 ment, and seems to rise as spontaneously 
 in our hearts as tlie spring flowers do 
 from the earth ; it comes on us with the 
 sunshine and the shower, the song of the 
 birds, and the scent of the violet : it 
 often withers in us with the summer rose, 
 or the leaves of autumn. 
 
 But who was Honor O'Hara? The 
 orphan niece of Mr. Meredith : his only 
 sister had married an Irish officer — she 
 died in giving Honoria birth ; the regi- 
 ment was quartered in Ireland when this 
 sad event took place, and the motherless 
 babe w^as committed to the kindness of 
 Major O'Hara's aunt. Honoria remained 
 with her, till death (which meanwhile 
 robbed her of her father) removed the 
 good old maiden from earth ; and Ho- 
 noria w^as then left with sixteen hundred 
 pounds in the funds, and abundance of 
 Irish pride in her heart. The orphan of 
 his sister naturally fell now to tlie share 
 of the Reverend Mr. Meredith, his 
 richer brother being married and resident 
 in India ; and as Honoria's little fortune 
 could supply her with pocket money,
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 21 
 
 clothe herself, and pay the wages and 
 board of the faithful nurse who would 
 not be separated from her, even his kind- 
 less wife could not oppose her reception 
 under the roof of her husband. The 
 orphan had now been their inmate two 
 years. 
 
 Honoria was just at that April-time of 
 life, and of that April temper which vi- 
 brates between smiles and tears ; a ro- 
 mantic heart and a gay humour ! which 
 was to predominate in the woman, 
 events alone could decide. At seventeen 
 she was a curious mixture of giddiness 
 and sensibility — of proud notions and 
 active humility. 
 
 Mrs. Ally 0*Hara, by whom the child 
 had been brought up, had lived near a 
 small garrison town on the north coast 
 of Ireland ; she was of the best Hibernian 
 blood — and the pension by which she 
 was maintained in dignified superiority 
 over her neighbours, had been earned by 
 the honourable services of Mrs. Ally's 
 father as head of- a great public office. 
 Though their family property was all
 
 22 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 wasted, its shade haunted the memories 
 of many in Ballygarry ; keeping up the 
 respect due to persons who had once 
 owned all the land between Lochcoin 
 and Knocklade. Mrs. Ally O'Hara was 
 therefore the great lady of Ballygarry ; 
 her grand-niece become at fifteen its 
 great beauty — and as Honoria had been 
 made her aunt's companion from infancy, 
 she was soon the principal personage both 
 at home and abroad. 
 
 Mrs. Ally had gala days, in which 
 officers of army and navy, besides a few 
 young men indigenous to the soil, flou- 
 rished conspicuously — and as Mrs. Ally 
 was always to be considered the great 
 lady, and as it was worth the pretty Irish 
 girls' while, to purchase their darling 
 idols — agreeable Military — they did not 
 scruple complimenting the aunt upon 
 her condescension, and the niece upon 
 her beauty ; — and this they did so often, 
 and so ably, that the young orphan in- 
 sensibly grew to think as highly of her 
 family consequence as of her sparkHng 
 eyes.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. QS 
 
 Honoria really was charming — and 
 being then at that childish age which pri- 
 vileges men in telling her she is so, the 
 young red and blue coats were not slow 
 in availing themselves of this privilege — 
 and the fond nurse and admiring foster- 
 sister were perpetually repeating what 
 was said of the beautiful Miss Honoria's 
 ** flower of a face." Never was poor 
 girl, therefore, in a fairer way of being 
 made a coquette. 
 
 From this evil, however, she was 
 preserved, by extravagant notions of her 
 importance as a descendant of kings : 
 to be omnipotent, by means of her 
 beauty, was a secondary sort of triumph. 
 She was, besides, fortified against such 
 an ignoble propensity as flirting, by cer- 
 tain, perhaps fantastic, notions of not 
 merely loving only once during the most 
 prolonged life, but doing it with a de- 
 licacy which would make it impossible 
 for her to receive an instant's gratification 
 from any man's attentions, except those of 
 the one beloved. Thus, she came from 
 Ireland with all the ease-bestowing con-
 
 24i HONOR 
 
 sciousness of beauty, without its frequent 
 concomitant, thirst for conquest. The 
 beautiful Honor 0*Hara, as she was 
 styled in Ballygarry, was not however 
 strictly worthy of that title ; hers was 
 that kind of face in which the light, the 
 roses, the picturesque varying of coun- 
 tenance and complexion peculiar to un- 
 broken youth, passed admirably for 
 beauty. Her features were softly moulded, 
 and in harmony with each other : that 
 was all their merit. There was, how- 
 ever, a wild brightness in her large black 
 eyes — a glitter on her teeth — and a 
 peachy richness in the colouring of her 
 cheek, which the gipsey darkness of her 
 clear smooth skin seemed intended to 
 heighten in effect. A painter, certainly, 
 would not have called her beautiful : 
 though he might have given his best pic- 
 ture for the privilege of making what is 
 termed studies of her, 
 
 Honoria's figure, too, was charming — 
 
 habituated in her own careless country, 
 
 to that happy indifference about dress, 
 
 which remote from slovenliness, leaves 
 
 13
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 25 
 
 the figure to its own easy form and 
 motion — while, other ladies w^ere laced 
 within an inch of their lives, unable 
 to bend in any other fashion than that 
 of a jointed doll, she was seen sway- 
 ing about like a young larch, as the 
 breezes of youth and gaiety impelled. 
 Nature indeed had so exquisitely defined 
 the swell and slenderness of the slight 
 waist, and rounded form, that no cover- 
 ing, however ill-made, could disguise 
 their proportions, — none enhance their 
 loveliness. 
 
 Honoria was singularly graceful ; pos- 
 sibly from the very freedom of dress 
 and movement just described. She never 
 thought how^ she was looking when met 
 in a fresh morning, running over the 
 hills with her hat half blown off her 
 head, all her locks scattered, and her 
 cloak escaping from her laughing struggle 
 to keep it folded round her. She never 
 thought it might look in-elegant when she 
 sat down on some three-legged stool at 
 the foot of a village Goody, — her elbow 
 on her knees, — her hand crushing half 
 
 VOL. 1. c
 
 26 HONOR o'hARA, 
 
 the ringlets of her hair over one side 
 of her glowing face, — and while loosen- 
 ing the knotted handkerchief from her 
 throat, gazing up in the face of her com- 
 panion, asking some favourite legend of 
 the Cheviots. 
 
 She never thought how she was look- 
 ing at those times ; and yet more than 
 once, her figure, thus accidentally seen 
 by wandering sons of genius, was trans- 
 ferred to the sketch-book of the painter, 
 and the tablets of the poet. 
 
 By some craft or mystery, known only 
 to herself, our heroine had the extra- 
 ordinary power of giving new ejcpression 
 to old clothes. If she tied a certain 
 large straw hat closely down with a silk 
 handkerchief, she might have gone to a 
 masquerade as a gipsy, — if she allowed 
 the same hat to stand wide, with stream- 
 ers of ribbon, and a few wild flowers 
 twined round its low crown, she was a 
 shepherdess, — cast the hat off and she 
 was a quaker in her close lawn cap, — 
 put that away, and twist the long ring- 
 lets of her forehead with the rest of her
 
 HONOR o'hARA. ^ 
 
 hair, and the finely shaped head, the ex- 
 pressive brow, and the large lifted eye, 
 made her a Sappho. 
 
 After this detail of her natural ad. 
 vantages, it is mortifying to give the 
 sorry catalogue of her accomplishments. 
 
 Honoria had a genius for drawing : 
 that is, she sketched rapidly and freely 
 the forms of trees, old buildings, cattle, 
 children, in short whatever picturesque 
 group or object caught her attention ; 
 but she knew nothing of working them 
 up into lady-like, or workman-Hke draw- 
 ings, fit for display. She sang as wood- 
 larks do, sweetly, wildly, — her taste 
 was born of her sensibility, — her tones 
 were rich and downy, and had a certain 
 pathos in them, which deepened the tender 
 sadness of Scottish melodies, and those 
 of her native land. She could also ac- 
 company herself in a self-taught way 
 upon the Irish harp. 
 
 Beyond this accomplishment Honoria 
 
 went not. She could dance, it is true, 
 
 and dance gaily, gracefully, — for she 
 
 had a fine ear, a light heart, and yet 
 
 c 2
 
 S8 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 lighter foot ; but she knew only the few 
 steps necessary to carry an unambitious 
 person safely down that interminable ave- 
 nue, a country dance, (which, like all 
 other avenues, by the way, is out of 
 fashion,) and might more easily have 
 outran a deer than executed the minuet 
 de la cour, or a French quadrille. 
 
 She could, however, work like Arachne, 
 arrange nosegays like Glycerium, make 
 cakes and comfits like Mrs. Glasse, and 
 dress herself at an instant's warning, for 
 a ball, out of a few ribbons. She told 
 ghost stories better than any body : she 
 had always some little comic or touching 
 anecdote to tell after her tour among the 
 cotters, or some amusing sally ready to 
 answer the bantering of a lively com- 
 panion. She was always in good humour, 
 though not always in good spirits. She 
 gossipped with the aged poor, played 
 with their grandchildren, patted their 
 curs, fondled their kittens, helped them 
 with a little money when they were 
 pinched to pay a doctor's bill ; and nei- 
 ther playing the inquisitor into their con-
 
 29 
 
 cerns nor their consciences ; neither 
 wearying them with lectures, nor pamper- 
 ing them with ahus ; bettered the hearts 
 she was warming towards herself. 
 
 In winter she helped the hobbling sex- 
 ton to decorate the church with Christ- 
 mas ; and never before were sprigs of 
 box and branches of holly stuck with so 
 much effect. On Mayday she assisted 
 the children in making their garlands ; 
 dressed their little heads and bosoms with 
 ribbons and flowers ; nay, provided many 
 of the flowers herself. Honoria could 
 not live without a garden ; and finding 
 only a wilderness bearing that name at 
 the rectory, she expended a trifling sum, 
 and employed a very indigent old man, in 
 creating one on her favourite hill's side. 
 Her uncle allowed her to steal a bit of 
 ground from his meadow there, and she 
 in return supplied his study table with 
 the common flowers of every season. 
 Thus she pleased herself) and employed 
 a person deemed past his work. 
 
 Honoria lived before Bell and Lancas- 
 ter were talked of; and I must confess she 
 c 3
 
 30 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 had not the genius to strike out any thing 
 hke their systems. Every one must in 
 some degree go along with the stream of 
 their times : so Honoria hving at a period 
 in which the education bestowed upon the 
 lower classes was even low^er than the 
 remuneration given for their labour, con- 
 tented herself with doing them every kind 
 office in her power j inventing little modes 
 of employment for boys and girls, quite 
 big enough for mischief, though not for 
 ordinary hard work; checking them 
 firmly in every evil propensity discovered 
 by the frequent opportunities this afforded 
 her of developing their faults ; encourag- 
 ing them to mutual friendliness, activity, 
 himianity, and cleanliness, by her own 
 example, and by substantial tokens of 
 affectionate approval. 
 
 Her own habits were incitements to 
 industry : she w^as rarely seen, even out 
 of doors, doing nothing. If she were not 
 weeding or planting in her garden, she 
 was studying French grammar in the 
 hollow trunk of a broken oak tree over- 
 grown with ivy and wild flow^ers, which
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 31 
 
 she had cleared of rubbish and used as 
 an arbour ; or she was leaning on the 
 mossy slope of the hill's brow with her 
 knitting. Such was the activity of her 
 mind, nay, we will add, its sincere desire 
 of being useful, that she never spent half 
 an hour with a sick or infirm cottager 
 without asking for some bit of work to be 
 doing for them meanwhile. 
 
 Half Honoria's virtues, at present, how- 
 ever, were simple instincts, yet they had 
 beneficial effects ; some of her failings, 
 even, blundered out real good. The proud 
 delicacy of her own character made her 
 sensitive for the similar feeling she fan- 
 cied in others ; she therefore frequently 
 created wants for herself, only that she 
 might employ a poor neighbour, and so 
 make him earn the shilling which she 
 would otherwise have given. Insensibly 
 this had fruits : the poorest cotters ac- 
 quired the habit of thinking alms a dis- 
 grace; and never heard their children 
 begging halfpence for showing the road, 
 or opening a gate, without rebuking them 
 into shame. Honoria was truly loved by 
 c 4
 
 32 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 the whole labouring and menial class : 
 her little passing joke, or soothing word, 
 immediately after one of her aunt's do- 
 mestic whirlwinds, frequently banished 
 from a servant's mind its sudden purpose 
 of staying no longer with such a vixen as 
 Madam Meredith. 
 
 One of the greatest gainers at Eden- 
 fell by the importation of our lively Irish 
 girl was Honoria's uncle. He had got 
 some one to powder his few dark hairs 
 and bald head ; fold up his cassocks ; 
 keep him in neatly trimmed bands ; un- 
 dog's-ear the books he was too apt to 
 disfigure by that careless fashion ; mend 
 his pens ; stitch his sermons j red-up his 
 room (as the Scotch call putting things 
 in order) ; and bring a flower for the 
 button-hole of his coat every summer 
 morning. More than this, he had now 
 a person able and willing to throw herself 
 between him and the hottest fire of his 
 lady's wrath. In the season of domestic 
 storm (which generally raged highest 
 upon washing days) Honoria was ever in 
 the way to fly down from her quiet aery,
 
 HONOR o'hara. 33 
 
 at the first angry sounds of her aunt's 
 voice, and by some opportune question 
 attract the Hghtning to her own head ; 
 affording her meek relative opportunity to 
 secure the shelter of his study. After this 
 she was just as cheerfully ready to force 
 his smile by a grave story of Banshees ; 
 or to engage him to forget his hapless 
 lot, by talking with him on the most in- 
 teresting of all subjects, our hopes in a 
 happier world. There were choice mo- 
 ments in which he would tell, and she 
 would listen to, the pathetic tale of the 
 lovely Bell Foster's cruelty, and subse- 
 quent shame. At these times, tears were 
 shed between them : for the first love of 
 Mr. Meredith's youth had never been 
 displaced in his solitary heart by any 
 tenderness for the wife he would have 
 loved had she deserved it; and Honoria's 
 prejudices were all in favour of inextin- 
 guishable passions. Thus the uncle and 
 niece grew into confidence and affection; 
 and the former soon found, that with 
 one kind being to soothe him under the 
 c 5
 
 34 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 inflictions of a kindless one, he might yet 
 enjoy much of rational comfort. It can- 
 not be said that he added greatly to his 
 niece's stock of worldly wisdom. 
 
 Edenfell did not boast many gentry 
 amongst its inhabitants: what there were, 
 how^ever, were unanimous in their liking 
 for a young creature, whose constant 
 freshness of spirits, and good-humour, 
 enlivened every body; revived the decay- 
 ing ; and gave an impulse to every plan 
 of innocent diversion. 
 
 Honoria had her admirers in this set ; 
 (not to mention the young clodhoppers who 
 gazed and worshipped from behind their 
 ploughs as she passed,) a squire or two; 
 the young tutor at His Grace of — 's ; 
 and every luckless officer sent recruiting 
 within two hours' march of the rectory. 
 These she neither shunned nor encou- 
 raged, simply disregarding them ; for, 
 alas ! she fancied herself (as I beheve 
 most young ladies do on the threshold of 
 this world's masquerade,) destined for 
 some transcendent somebody, whose por-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. S6 
 
 trait she found in every poetical hero, 
 and for whose appearance she was daily 
 watching. 
 
 In Ireland, poor Honoria had been 
 her great-aunt's reader ; and the stately 
 Mrs. Ally relished no books except an- 
 tique romances, and the poetry of Eli- 
 zabeth's day. Novels she disdained. 
 Honoria quickly imbibed a taste in sym- 
 pathy with the uncorrupted and inex- 
 perienced season of girlhood ; and as she 
 learned to like those works best, which 
 draw the most extravagant pictures of 
 human perfection and mortal love; as 
 she had no judicious friend to correct 
 the mistakes of her imagination ; her 
 head was soon stuffed with all sorts of 
 erroneous notions and wild expectations. 
 
 Luckily for Honoria, she had a sharper 
 appetite for reading, than her grand- 
 aunt. The library of her grandfather 
 furnished books of different qualities ; 
 which, though they did not give her an 
 insight into the modes and manners of 
 the acting world, helped her to some 
 knowledge of our mixed nature and 
 c 6
 
 36 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 future accountableness ; and gave to her 
 intuitive admiration of excellence, the 
 dignity of principle. 
 
 It was, however, still only upon the 
 sublime virtues that Honoria deigned to 
 fix the eyes which had thus early accus- 
 tomed themselves to look on Spenser's 
 Redcross Knight, and Sydney's Pyro- 
 cles, as living men. And as none of her 
 Edenfell neighbours had ever been known 
 to cast themselves from a precipice, or 
 mount a scaffold, or harangue at the 
 stake in honour of freedom or friendship, 
 she overlooked their quiet worth, and 
 put them long aside, as inoffensive poor 
 creatures. 
 
 Most of the inhabitants in and about 
 Edenfell were, indeed, nothing' better 
 than commmon useful dowlass : but there 
 were a few exceptions, if Honoria would 
 have allowed herself to think so. 
 
 The first of these, Mrs. Preston, lived 
 a short walk from the village : her pretty 
 residence, which had once been a farm- 
 house, ought to have had such a creature 
 as Honor O'Hara to grace it ; for it was
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 37 
 
 picturesquely placed amongst green 
 banks and lofty trees ; and, being built 
 on the site of an extensive abbey, had 
 many beautiful portions of the ruin re- 
 maining near it, to tempt romantic in- 
 clination to wander and muse by moon- 
 light. 
 
 The front of the house was nearly as 
 completely covered with ivy, as the 
 standing arches of the abbey ; so that 
 in all seasons it looked like a bower. It 
 hung on the lower slope of the fell j and 
 as it was looked up to from the river 
 side, the bright space of emerald green 
 it stood on, with its darker boundaries 
 of nut-trees and tall evergreens, were 
 always pleasing to be seen glittering in 
 the sunshine or the moonlight. 
 
 The mistress of Hazeldean was the 
 widow of an eminent physician who 
 practised in the county, and took the 
 resolution of marrying her, from witness- 
 ing her exemplary and cheering attend- 
 ance, of two years' continuance, upon a 
 peevish bedridden aunt. The pretty 
 Mary's blooming face, perfect guileless-
 
 88 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 ness, and natural propriety of thought 
 and manner, finished the conquest of his 
 pride or prudence ; and at fifty, Dr. 
 Preston married a young woman of three 
 and twenty, the daughter of a substantial 
 yeoman, only a yeoman ! He left her a 
 widow, ten years afterwards, with two 
 children, and an easy income. 
 
 Mrs. Preston, at sixty, was as single- 
 hearted, as guileless, as confiding in all 
 her fellow-creatures, as she had been at 
 fifteen. She was also as much inclined 
 to kindness and cheerfulness. She still 
 saw persons and events through the same 
 blessed medium, a contented disposition : 
 the evils of life she still took as matters 
 of course, its agreeable passages as calls 
 for glad thankfulness ; and the recital of 
 a misfortune, the detail of a noble action, 
 a generous sentiment, or one of Honor 
 O'Hara's melancholy ballads, nay, even 
 the repetition of stories familiar to her 
 childhood, w^ould still float her bright 
 brown eyes with tears. 
 
 Sweet w^as the smile ever accompany- 
 ing that overflow J for it was the smile
 
 HONOR o'hara. 39 
 
 of a heart full of goodness ; unconscious 
 of its own worth ; humbly, happily, re- 
 ferring all human excellence to its right- 
 ful bestower, that gracious Being who 
 moulds our hearts at will. 
 
 Dear and fondly-remembered friend 
 of my earliest years ! thou whose re- 
 verenced image my hand has uncon- 
 sciously attempted to trace in this ideal 
 portrait, accept the poor tribute ! Thou 
 hast long been gone down to the dust, 
 with all thy charms of countenance and 
 voice : thy virtues, thy blessedness, thy 
 usefulness, are no more in this world ; 
 but they are living in the memory of 
 those who had the happiness of wit- 
 nessing them ; and they may have sown 
 the seed, perhaps, of much that is estim- 
 able in their lives ! 
 
 Mrs. Preston loved and indulged young 
 people ; and most of the young men and 
 young women who gathered round her 
 plentiful tea-table, making her little con- 
 fidences, or raising her easily raised laugh, 
 had been parts of the joyous group of 
 girls and boys which were duly invited
 
 40 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 every Christmas, Twelfth Night, and 
 Easter Monday, to romping and feasting 
 at Mrs. Preston's j thus she was looked 
 on by them all as a sort of third parent. 
 Honor O'Hara called her their Sunday 
 mother, in contradistinction to those 
 every-day ones, who are under the un- 
 fortunate necessity of not letting their 
 children's lives be all one holiday of ease 
 and pleasure. 
 
 From the sort of women her daughters 
 had turned out, it might be supposed 
 that Mrs. Preston's indulgent benevo- 
 lence of character was not sufficiently 
 balanced by vigorous intellect : this was 
 not the case ; it merely happened, that 
 distrusting her own ability to teach or 
 see properly taught what she had never 
 learned, she consented to send them to a 
 boarding-school in Yorkshire, to be under 
 the eye of their father's sister, the wife 
 of a barrister there j and this lady being 
 a silly pretender to accomplishments and 
 society of which she knew scarcely any 
 thing, they returned from their seven 
 years' schooling, and their twice as many
 
 41 
 
 months holidays at her house, just such 
 Misses as might be expected. The Miss 
 Prestons were very scantily allowanced 
 in understanding from the first. Mrs. 
 Fillagree's school and Mrs. Blagdon's co- 
 teries consumed their whole stock of 
 common sense. They were, however, 
 good girls, inheriting their mother's kind- 
 liness of nature, without her loveable 
 simplicity. Miss Dulcy's ambition had 
 been fired by one of the teachers at 
 Don caster, who WTote verses and lived 
 on visions ; she aimed, therefore, at the 
 sentimental. Miss Dulcy talked like a 
 book, in phrases absolutely unknown to 
 common conversation. There were no 
 such vulgar words in her vocabulary as 
 crying, thinking, walking, talking ; every 
 body wept, or ruminated, or strayed, or 
 discoursed, with her. If she asked a 
 person to sit down, she hoped they would 
 occupy a chair. Miss Dulcy copied out 
 the elegiac stanzas and sonnets from 
 newspapers and magazines \ she painted 
 allegorical screens and devices on sou- 
 venirs; she collected the autographs
 
 42 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 of poetasters and Blue-stockings; she 
 haunted churchyards in pursuit of epi- 
 taphs; and she rehgiously beheved in 
 the mortal existence of Goethe's Werter. 
 
 To have seen Goethe himself, or any 
 other sentimental lion, Miss Dulcy would 
 cheerfully have undertaken a pilgrimage 
 through England: but she lived before 
 lions were to be seen in our streets, as 
 they now are, in flocks, like sheep ; when 
 every family of any taste or fashion has 
 their own especial lion ; every agreeable 
 woman her lion ; following them as do- 
 cilely and affectionately as that of An- 
 drocles did his preserver. 
 
 And now I must be permitted to 
 congratulate this noble order of qua- 
 drupeds upon the great revolution which 
 has taken place in public opinion con- 
 cerning their nature and habits. Fear of 
 lions is now become more ridiculous than 
 the fear of ghosts ; distaste to them, "eery 
 had taste indeed! They are no longer 
 considered savage and unsocial, devour- 
 ers and destroyers, issuing from dens of 
 dirt and desolation; but civil, tameable
 
 HONOR o'hara, 43 
 
 creatures, possessing wit enough to have 
 decent shelters and laws for themselves. 
 The next step will be their general ad- 
 mission into all the blessings and privi- 
 leges of those happy domestic animals 
 who pur or stretch at their ease by the 
 parlour fire, whilst the poor lion is ex- 
 hibiting. 
 
 Such a consummation is devoutly to 
 be wished; for even the slandered cat 
 never has been more vilified than has 
 this king of beasts. 
 
 To return to the family at Hazeldean, 
 Miss Bella's mania ran in a different 
 channel. She pretended to perfection in 
 Vusage du monde, upon the strength of 
 having gone once to Harrowgate with 
 her Doncaster aunt, and boarded three 
 weeks in the same house with two ba- 
 ronets' widows, and a viscount's ninth 
 unmarried sister. She affected to be in 
 the secrets of all the fashionable world j 
 nay, to have a second-sight of every 
 important event about to befall them. 
 Nothing extraordinary happened to a 
 coronetted individual that she did not,
 
 44 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 on the explosion of the wonder, remind 
 her neighbours of certain unintelligible 
 whispers, sighs, and smiles of hers just 
 before it became public. She often re- 
 tailed paragraphs from the modish pages 
 of the day, so embellished as to pass for 
 parts of epistolary confidences to herself. 
 She presided over all guessers at those 
 mysterious allusions and provoking blanks 
 after initials in which such newspapers 
 abound. She was ever the first to lower 
 or raise the various parts of her dress 
 according to the latest fashion recorded 
 in magazines ; and by the unwearied use 
 of the cabalistic words, '* horrid ! vulgar ! 
 Gothic! voted detestable!" kej)t the whole 
 little village in awe. 
 
 If Miss Bella Preston once pronounced 
 a head-dress " a has-heen^^^ though it 
 made the wearer look like a milliner's 
 angel, it was cast from its high place ; 
 and if she pronounced a man " un-pre- 
 sent able i'^ it was too probable that she 
 shamed some girl out of an existing 
 affection for him, — certain, that she pre- 
 vented him from ever inspiring another
 
 HONOR o'hara. 45 
 
 within the jurisdiction of her sovereignty. 
 Every person is said to have some quaUty 
 or acquirement upon which they secretly 
 pride themselves, and are lauded by 
 others : Miss Bella's self-idolatry had 
 for its object her felicitous memory of 
 certain French phrases to which she used 
 to listen at Harrowgate with admiring 
 emulation, regretting bitterly having 
 never tried at school to do more than 
 read her French lessons over her stupid 
 governess's shoulder. By some fatal im- 
 perfection either of her ear or her organs 
 of speech. Miss Bella failed in pro- 
 nouncing these phrases with an accuracy 
 at all equal to the fidelity with which she 
 remembered them ; nay, I grieve to own, 
 she sometimes displaced the adjective so 
 as to produce serious consequences to all 
 such of her hearers as were capable of 
 relishing the ridiculous, and incapable of 
 concealing it. The solemnity of know- 
 ledge with which Miss Bella uttered her 
 blunders was irresistible. 
 
 Yet abating mistakes and trifles like 
 these, the Misses Preston were good-hu-
 
 46 HONOR o'hara, 
 
 moured, warm-hearted women, without a 
 spark of envy in their dispositions, or a 
 drop of vinegar in their tempers : they 
 were not ill-looking either ; but, un- 
 luckily, nature had made a gross mistake 
 in the allotment of their persons ; for it 
 was the fashion to be en bon point, and 
 Miss Bella was thin ; and it was senti- 
 mental to be slender, and Miss Dulcy 
 was fatter than one of those shapely 
 animals whose unctuous bodies furnish 
 nourishment for human hair, and adver- 
 tisements for newspapers : however, the 
 one sister lived in the hope of waxing, 
 and the other of wasting, and their friends 
 took care never to tell them the unsa- 
 voury truth that neither of them altered 
 a hair's breadth. 
 
 Hazeldean was the only house belong- 
 ing to Edenfell where the higher and infe- 
 rior order of county gentry might meet oc- 
 casionally: but Mrs. Preston had the good 
 sense not to attempt forcing prejudices, 
 or the removal of those landmarks of 
 society, without which this world would 
 be a scene of far greater contention, vio-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 47 
 
 lence, wrong, insult, at best confusion, 
 than it is at present. She sorted her 
 company well ; matching their habits and 
 breeding : and if inharmonious persons 
 met by chance during a morning visit, 
 she managed them with equal regard to 
 the feelings of each ; never taking the 
 least offence if a stiff old squire took his 
 leave on the announcement of Mr. Chap- 
 lain of New Lodge. 
 
 Mrs. Preston remembered she was a 
 yeoman's daughter ; she was frankly 
 social, therefore, with those of her ac- 
 quaintance who, rising into gentry by dint 
 of money made and freeholds purchased, 
 were treated civilly by the ancient lords 
 of the soi], yet steadily kept at a distance. 
 As the eccentric clever Dr. Preston's 
 wife, and since as his widow, she visited, 
 and was visited by all, except the high 
 nobility of the county ; her house, con- 
 sequently, was the neutral ground upon 
 which both parties met, and met amicably. 
 At her house Honor O'Hara had made 
 most of her multifarious conquests. 
 
 The next place in point of attraction
 
 48 
 
 to Hazeldean (before it in consequence) 
 was Arthur's Court : a venerable man- 
 sion covering a great extent of ground ; 
 having a large front, widely extended 
 wings, and an endless train of useless 
 offices. 
 
 A stately portico, with the family arms 
 above it, finely cut in stone, surmounted 
 by peaceful emblems, and martial tro- 
 phies, gave dignity to its appearance. 
 The entrance was at the extremity of 
 one of the wings, to which a broad and 
 branching avenue of enormous walnut 
 trees conducted from the ordinary road. 
 
 In days past the great size of the 
 house was excellently balanced by the 
 dimensions of the park, of which it 
 formed the central point ; its offices were 
 then filled with servants and retainers, 
 and its many stables and many stalls 
 crowded with the horses of men-at-arms. 
 
 Both stables and offices had now few 
 tenants ; and chief part of what was the 
 park, being turned into sundry money- 
 returning pastures and arables, the house 
 itself stood at the extremity of what re-
 
 HONOR o'hara. 49, 
 
 mained unploughed or unclovered, and 
 was said, therefore, to have a very fine 
 lawn in its front. 
 
 Behind it sloped the gardens ; spacious 
 still, old fashioned, abundant in fruits, 
 flowers, clipped trees, curious arbours, 
 marble basins, and tritons spouting wa- 
 ter from conchs. The gardens them- 
 selves, lying much below the house, were 
 entirely overlooked by the windows of 
 the back apartments, and were descended 
 into by a noble flight of stone steps from 
 a terrace running the whole lengtli of the 
 house. 
 
 The long line of deep embayed win- 
 dows which the dark front of Arthur's 
 Court presented, was exactly matched 
 by the formal lines of posts and chains 
 festooning each side of this spacious 
 walk : yet that formality was not dis- 
 pleasing ; taste having originally planted 
 honeysuckles by the side of every post, 
 and time having wreathed their flowers 
 with no ungraceful hand amongst the 
 heavy carvings of the wood and the 
 links of the iron. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 The windows, too, had their ornaments, 
 in the rich stained glass of which they 
 were composed. Facing the north-west, at 
 the hour of sunset they became glorious 
 to those without, while throwing many a 
 mellow hue upon the thoughts as well 
 as faces of those within. 
 
 In this part of the mansion was the 
 picture-gallery ; a stately avenue of all 
 the beauties, warriors, statesmen, spend- 
 thrifts, and spinsters, who had borne the 
 name of Fitz Arthur from the time of the 
 Conquest to the coming in of the Hano- 
 verian race. This was the only avenue 
 belonging to the family, (except the 
 fruitful walnut-tree one,) which the axe 
 had spared, and the hammer failed to make 
 havoc with. The present possessor of 
 this fine old seat was the representative 
 of a very ancient and honourable family, 
 \»hose wealth had been gradually dimi~ 
 nishing for the last two centuries : the rea- 
 son was obvious ; they neither made nor 
 saved money ; they married, principally, 
 from motives of affection ; they had 
 large families ; they were given to hos-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 51 
 
 pitality, and a system of indulgence to 
 tenants ; they were, besides, unluckily 
 addicted in all political squabbles to 
 espouse the weakest side. Perhaps upon 
 the same principle with which a man 
 coming unawares into a brawl, instinct- 
 ively lifts his arm in defence of the per- 
 son likeliest to be worsted. 
 
 Thus the Fitz Arthurs had suffered in 
 life and limb and property for Charles the 
 First, and James the Second ; nay, had 
 even contrived to get a share of damage 
 in the misguided enterprise of the Duke 
 of Monmouth : a horse suspected to have 
 been furnished to the princely fugitive 
 from the field of Culloden by one of the 
 young sons, (a volunteer in the royal 
 army,) cost his father a fair manor and 
 goodly fishery to a crown lawyer. Sir 
 Everard Fitz Arthur, the present Baronet, 
 did not degenerate from many of the 
 virtues, nor escape some of the failings 
 of his ancestors : he was notoriously the 
 kindest-hearted man in the county; for 
 he let his servants cheat him, his trades- 
 people impose upon him, vagrants molest 
 
 D S
 
 62 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 Mm, homeless animals quarter themselves 
 upon his demesnes, tenants remain in 
 arrear, &c. ; he was unwearied in neigh- 
 bourly acts of hospitality and liberality f 
 nay, he had bailed half the extravagant 
 young men out of " durance vile,^' sim- 
 ply because they were neighbours' sons, 
 and perhaps paid their debts afterwards, 
 lest they should be expelled college. 
 
 Having lately become surety for a 
 government collector, and been obliged 
 to pay five thousand pounds for the fel- 
 low's baseness, he was now professedly 
 living on a retrenching system, vowing 
 he w^ould henceforth think of paying no 
 debts, save his own. 
 
 Sir Everard had been twice married : 
 his first lady left only two sons, children 
 of six and seven years ; the eldest a fine, 
 open-hearted young man, lived to the 
 age of three-and-twenty, and w^as then 
 prematurely cut off by imprudently at- 
 tempting to ford a river unusually swollen 
 by heavy rains. 
 
 The second son, now heir to the title 
 and estate, was an officer of cavalry, and
 
 HONOR o'hara. 58 
 
 being in India with his regiment upon 
 active service when the news arrived of 
 his sadly-acquired consequence, did not 
 deem it right in a soldier to ask leave of 
 absence, or to effect an exchange into 
 some regiment at home : he remained 
 abroad, waiting a termination of hosti- 
 lities. Sir Everard's offspring by ** his 
 second venture," as the old genealogies 
 spell and designate a second marriage, 
 were more numerous : but a few years 
 gradually strewed them, and finally their 
 mother, on the same earth with his first 
 wife and first born ; and there now re- 
 mained only a poor, feeble, yet inter- 
 esting boy of fourteen, who, in conse- 
 quence of an accident during childhood, 
 was sickly and helpless ; and a school-boy 
 of twelve. 
 
 A maiden lady, distantly related to Sir 
 Everard, kept his house, and acquitted 
 herself laudably in all the offices of pro- 
 viding for and helping company at the 
 good Baronet's table. So admirably was 
 she fitted for this purpose, and so dis- 
 creetly did she rate man's estimate of the 
 D 3
 
 54 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 real delightfulness of a woman's conver- 
 sation when past fifty, that she was never 
 heard to utter more voice than was 
 necessary to inquire, what gentlemen 
 would be helped to at dinner ? whether 
 they preferred green to black tea at break- 
 fast? and to employ with precision the 
 needful technical terms at a game of 
 whist. It is a work of supererogation to 
 add, that she was never heard to scold, 
 even though the constant object of the 
 school-boy Fitz Arthur's mischief ; than 
 whom a more provoking, overbearing, 
 mischievous wight never existed. 
 
 Delaval Fitz Arthur, Sir Everard's heir, 
 had entered the army with well-founded 
 expectations of rapid promotion, by means 
 of his family wealth and influence ; yet 
 was he now, at the age of five-and- twenty, 
 only a captain of dragoons. His troop 
 was earned by the skill and intrepidity 
 with which he conducted a difficult attack 
 upon one of Tippoo Saib's important 
 posts, in the Ghauts of the Mysore. Ade- 
 quate sums for the purchase of such a 
 commission at a much earlier period in
 
 HONOR o'hARA. $$ 
 
 the young officer's military history had 
 been lodged more than once by Sir 
 Everard in the hands of his agent ; but 
 the money always found a different de- 
 stination ; and Delaval was either too 
 delicate, or too high-minded, or too duti- 
 ful, to remonstrate. His father, like 
 most men of boundless good nature, and 
 circumscribed intellect, living in the 
 habit of benefiting every human creature 
 except the very one whom he loved 
 most, and who best deserved his kindness. 
 Atthe period of the collector's defalcation, 
 while Sir Everard was groaning over his 
 own unwise confidence, his unconscious 
 son was making the best of his way to 
 England, with a desperate liver complaint 
 to balance against the joy of returning 
 home. His return, indeed, was the con- 
 sequence of this complaint^ for the war 
 was not ended; and, just landed from 
 Bengal after an absence of eight years, 
 he was negociating for a majority in a 
 regiment come home in the same fleet, 
 when the news of his father's pecuniary 
 
 D 4f
 
 56 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 misfortune and sudden retrenchments was 
 accidentally told him at Falmouth by a 
 relation. He wrote immediately to his 
 agent to stop all proceedings about the 
 exchange, generously resigned 'his own 
 wishes, and hurried to Edenfell, to ap- 
 propriate the legacy of two thousand 
 pounds left him by a superior officer to 
 the restoration of some of his father's 
 hastily-abandoned comforts. 
 
 The expected return of Captain Fitz 
 Arthur, whom all the elder inhabitants of 
 Edenfell remembered as a child and 
 youth with particular affection, was an 
 epoch in the history of the village, and, 
 as such, formed a frequent theme of dis- 
 course. Sir Everard himself loved to 
 dwell upon it, and he talked incessantly 
 of this excellent son, without the ordi- 
 nary fear of repetitions, that of wearying 
 his hearers. On these occasions, he never 
 failed conducting his auditors into the 
 gallery at Arthur's Court, to exhibit 
 Delaval's picture, done when a boy of 
 eleven j ever accompanying the exhi-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 57 
 
 bition by the pathetic exclamation of, 
 ** O that my poor boy may be like this 
 now !" 
 
 Honor O'Hara, to whom this picture 
 was often er shown than to any one else, 
 never looked on it without secretly think- 
 ing it represented the most ill-favoured, 
 glum school-boy, that ever sulked through 
 a sitting. 
 
 A sitting, however, it was obvious poor 
 Delaval had not been indulged in. It 
 was painted standing, and standing in 
 what the itinerant artist called a natural 
 poster. This posture was so unnaturaly 
 that the boy was actually obliged to be 
 held up by a servant, during the whole 
 execution of himself and his picture. 
 
 The figure stood, indeed, with its legs 
 across, leaning upon a huge paper kite,- 
 to which it threatened total destruction,^ 
 maugre the limner's ingenious device 
 for preserving the equilibrium, by sticking 
 one arm a-kimbo on the hip. 
 
 The costume of poor Delaval was quite 
 worthy of the commemorating pencil, 
 being a shapeless suit, intended to fii 
 D 5
 
 58 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 the body and limbs, and so produce the 
 effect of a naked, drab-coloured child : 
 but failing of that notable purpose, yet 
 not wide enough for folds ; being withal 
 provided with lines of braided work, 
 reaching at due distances from the chin 
 to the extremity of a waist cunningly ex- 
 tended by the tailor, (of course for the 
 sake of having a greater quantum of stuff 
 to charge for,) gave the whole figure more 
 the semblance of a ladder than that of a 
 human body. 
 
 To DelavaPs hair nature had been 
 liberal, and on the real boy it waved 
 from his brow and round his neck in rich 
 and comely clusters : the artist, meritori- 
 ously anxious to evince gratitude for 
 patronage, had elongated this waving 
 hair far below the shoulders, so that it now 
 hung in two straight lines parallel with 
 the cheeks, till it reached the breast; 
 where suddenly taking a preposterous 
 fancy of curling, it bushed forth into an 
 absolute cape, leaving the non-descript 
 face within, to be mistaken for some ani- 
 mal between an owl and a lap-dog.
 
 59 
 
 Upon the face itself the artist had ex- 
 hausted the secrets of his art : he was 
 professedly of the school of Guido, being 
 chaste and severe. 
 
 His intentions were faultless — his 
 pencil faithless ; so that under his hand 
 even the youthful flesh of a child resem- 
 bled pewter more than pearls. True to 
 this principle of severity, the boy's fea- 
 tures were rendered with relentless ex- 
 actness y and as they were then in that 
 unpruned state which nature's finger 
 sometimes leads into regularity of beauty, 
 sometimes cherishes into luxuriant ex- 
 pression, divested now of their juvenile 
 glow, and given in shades of pea-green 
 and light slate-colour, the whole face 
 stood staring with a pair of eyes like 
 bottled gooseberries — the very Qf^gy of 
 rueful ugliness. 
 
 Sir Everard's eye for painting was as 
 incapable of education as some ears are 
 for music : — he literally could not dis- 
 tinguish between a Raphael and a sign- 
 post ; though he possessed some rare spe- 
 cimens of that divine master in his eating- 
 D 6
 
 60 HONOR o'hAKA. 
 
 hail : his easy good nature made him a 
 most persuadable person -, he was, there- 
 fore, persuaded, at the time, to believe in 
 the likeness of this daub ; and since then 
 had daily gazed on the memorial of an 
 absent son till the perfidious copy sup- 
 planted the original in his memory. 
 
 '' There's my Delaval !" would he ex- 
 claim, with an air of satisfaction, eveiy 
 time he showed this base counterfeit to 
 a stranger ; and immediately associating 
 every well-known perfection with that 
 son's image, never reflected that by- 
 standers saw in it only a lubberly lad. 
 
 *' Well ! he is a good creature I dare 
 say," Honoria would smile and say to 
 herself at such times ; " but he's hide- 
 ously plain." 
 
 The arrival of Cap tain Fitz Arthur gave 
 her little reason to alter her opinion, 
 though he was not in the least like his 
 portrait. His features were far better — 
 his complexion much worse ; he was half 
 dead with biliousness and sea-sickness, 
 and he was moreover worn to a shadow. 
 There was nothing, in short, to redeem
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 61 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur for an instant in her 
 mind, except a pair of large, deep-blue 
 eyes, (marvellously shaded with long 
 dark lashes,) the soft expression of which 
 often threw over his sallow countenance 
 almost the charm of beauty. Having 
 thus favoured my fair readers with the 
 glimpse of a well-born lover for my he- 
 roine, (for, unless her eyes miss fire most 
 unaccountably, Honor O'Hara must hit 
 a man placed in Delaval Fitz Arthur's 
 situation,) I will now take the liberty of 
 stepping back to complete my tour of 
 the immediate neighbourhood. 
 
 ** In an opposite direction to Arthur's 
 Court, full five miles from Edenfell-end, 
 stand the handsome house and grounds 
 (as the Road-book expresses it,) of 
 Samuel Shafto, Esq. M. P., skirting the 
 celebrated park and chase of Raven shaw, 
 the seat of the Right Hon. Earl Wear- 
 mouth." The last-named place describes 
 itself: a nobleman's mansion, with all 
 its appurtenances of woods and manors, 
 rooks and deer; now rarely visited by 
 its owner, a man in the meridian of life.
 
 62 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 holding a high station in the ministry, 
 consequently obliged to live nearly al- 
 ways in or about London. 
 
 The other place was a thorough modern 
 mansion ; with a white front ; French 
 windows; verandahs; green blinds: orange 
 trees in tubs, and exotics in china pots, 
 crowding up the space just before the 
 entrance ; invisible fences ; conserva- 
 tories ; pineries ; graperies ; an ice-house ; 
 a show-dairy ; all contained within two 
 circles : the first comprising a lawn with 
 its well-assorted shrubbery; the second a 
 wider sweep of young plantations destined 
 to grow up into a most perfect place ^ 
 duly dotted with clumps, and environed, 
 according to the best rules of art, by a 
 belt of orderly firs. 
 
 The owner of this mansion, though he 
 sat in parliament, and might be expected 
 to carry some talent thither, either 
 had none to carry, or wore it within him, 
 as the Miss Primroses did each her 
 guinea in her pocket, without spending 
 it : or imagining that, as he came in only 
 for a borough, he might be excused
 
 HONOR o'hara. 63 
 
 thinking as well as speaking amongst the 
 more dignified personages representing 
 counties, or sitting there in virtue of 
 ministerial offices, — whatever influenced 
 him, influenced Mr. Shafto was, to sit still 
 and say nothing, let what would be going 
 on : he had, however, one virtue — con- 
 spicuous attachment to the representative 
 of his King, whoever he might be, at the 
 head of affairs. Mr. Shafto always voted 
 for the Crown ; never regarding who 
 came and asked his vote. He was much 
 too magnanimous to show the least re- 
 sentment, much too respectful to feel the 
 least dissatisfaction, at the dismissal of his 
 dearest friend from a place of public 
 trust y thus he always stood, though 
 hosts fell around him. 
 
 The rent-roll of the Shafto estate did 
 not exceed 5000/. per annum : this thirty 
 or forty years ago, in a northern county, 
 would have been sufficient for a very 
 handsome style of living ; but Mrs. Shafto 
 found it too small (even with some secret 
 additions,) for the appearance she deemed 
 it proper to make 5 and choosing to be
 
 64 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 thought the wife of a man of 10,000/. a 
 year, gave herself the full consequence of 
 such a reputation, at the expense of sub- 
 stantial ease. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto had five daughters to 
 marry, and one younger son to make 
 great friends for — her eldest of course 
 was to have the estate. She calculated 
 the enormous expense of country-house- 
 keeping after the old fashion of general 
 invitations, abundant dinners, flowing 
 wines : the possible advantage from it 
 was slender in comparison with every se- 
 cond winter spent in London, in a show- 
 house, with equipage and liveries fit for 
 the Ring in Hyde Park, a box at the 
 Opera, balls, and fashionable dress. She 
 took her partie. Mrs. Shafto became 
 suddenly exceedingly fine ; introduced 
 the town style (as she chose to term it) 
 amongst her simpler neighbours ; fainted 
 at the sight of plain joints even on her 
 side-table ; denounced all *< plenteous 
 boards ;" gave only small, elegant dinners 
 of French cookery ; turned pale if she 
 saw a young lady drink any liquid
 
 stronger than iced-water, or heard any 
 one ask twice for any thing save vege- 
 tables ; insisted upon her husband's aboli- 
 tion of the old custom of sitting after 
 dinner, when the ladies were withdrawn, 
 longer than ten minutes : and so com- 
 pletely established the system of starv- 
 ation in her house, (adroitly coupling 
 it with a notion of elegance,) that her 
 very servants melted away without com- 
 plaint, for the sake of serving so elegant 
 a mistress ; and her three eldest daugh- 
 ters in their trapesey Grecian dresses, with 
 long genteel faces, and vastly fashionable 
 bending figures, were not inaptly cari- 
 catured as three willows, with the title of 
 the Shades painted below them. 
 
 A gallant wit of their acquaintance 
 having interlined the word Elysian be- 
 tween the article and the noun, the ca- 
 ricature turned into a compliment ; and 
 the Miss Shaftos, known as the Elysian 
 Shades, rose into consequence with 
 the Newspapers, and Kensington-Garden 
 haunters, for a whole season of opera 
 and park going.
 
 66 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 Proud of this notoriety of the second 
 table, the three sister shades returned to 
 Shafto Park more insupportably disdain- 
 ful and supercilious than ever. Import- 
 ing to Northumberland the new fashion 
 of short waists and adhesive drapery, 
 each believed herself the Lady C — C — 
 of the county J and because their skins 
 were like lime, their eyes a sort of water 
 colour, they dared to class them with the 
 breathing, beaming, sparkling alabaster 
 of complexion, the almost purple light 
 of those goddess-like eyes which we still 
 see kindling and glowing in their painted 
 resemblances. Upon that form of a 
 Venus, shaded only by 07ie graceful robe, 
 the eye might glance with admiration ; 
 but on those of the spiky Miss Shaftos, 
 so unattired, to glance, was to poniard 
 yourself. 
 
 During the period of these ladies' last 
 visit to London, Honor O'Hara had 
 arrived from Ireland. As their mamma 
 did not admit the vulgar Mrs. Meredith 
 into her visiting-book (and who can 
 wonder at that !) it is not marvellous
 
 67 
 
 that our heroine's very existence was 
 unknown or unnoticed by any of them, 
 till about twelve months after her settle- 
 ment at Edenfell ; when it suited Mrs. 
 Shafto to wTite an exceedingly civil note 
 (for Mrs. Shaflo did all lady-like things 
 in a lady-like manner) to their clergy- 
 man's wife, requesting permission to 
 have the occasional use of a room at the 
 rectory, to accommodate Signor Vocal- 
 lino, who was about to pass six weeks at 
 his Grace of 's, and had kindly con- 
 sented to her earnest entreaty that he 
 would give the Miss Shaftos a lesson 
 twice a week, provided they met him 
 half way. Edenfell just lay at the right 
 point : so to the rectory it was agreed 
 the Misses were to repair every Wednes- 
 day and Saturday, to squall in •oncert 
 with the Signor, and stun the good 
 minister while writing his sermon. 
 
 The first morning appointed for these 
 ladies' appearance was somewhat pleasure- 
 ably expected by Honoria. She was barely 
 sixteen then, and she felt the want of ac- 
 quaintance better suited to her taste and
 
 68 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 early habits than the untalented, half- 
 rustic Miss Prestons, and others of the 
 second order of gentry. She naturally 
 reckoned securely upon intimacy (at least 
 with herself) succeeding to obligation on 
 one side, and accommodation on the other. 
 It could not enter into the head of an 
 O'Hara, that she, the grand-daughter 
 of an English country-gentleman, the 
 daughter of an Irish one, bearing a com- 
 mission in his Majesty's service — the 
 niece, too, of a minister of our Established 
 Church — saying nothing of her uncle in 
 a high station abroad — could be consi- 
 dered as quite below the Miss Shaftos, 
 who had but a country-gentleman for 
 their father. 
 
 Honoria had been as much accustomed 
 to pla}#the great lady of the place at 
 Bally-Garry as they were at Edenfell ; 
 therefore, though she certainly felt humi- 
 liated, and disconcerted, and almost fret- 
 ted, whenever she glanced at the dirt 
 and disorder of all without and all within 
 her present residence, the handsome, 
 orderly house of her great-aunt Mrs,
 
 HO^OR 0*HARA. 69 
 
 Ally, with its fair appointments of jaunt- 
 ing-car and well-clad serving men, rose 
 in agreeable vision before her, and spoke 
 of a home, in times past, as respectable, 
 if not as fine, as Shaflo Place. 
 
 At all events, Mrs. Meredith, upon 
 whom the odium of vulgar sluttishness 
 must fall, was no blood to her. Hetty 
 Macready, the indignant Hetty Mac- 
 ready, reminded her of this every day ; 
 finishing her hot-mouthed declaration, 
 that " she 'would spake her mind to her 
 own child, let Miss Honor frown ever 
 so !" with these memorable words of 
 true Irish transition from anger to fond- 
 ness : " So you may hold up your head, 
 jewel, anyhow, still ; and sorrow on 
 them says there's a fairer face in the 
 county ! Didn't you suck Hetty Mac- 
 ready's milk ? and who shall say black's 
 the white of a Macready's eye ? And is 
 it the O'Haras, dear, that arn't thought 
 the good company all over the world ?" 
 
 Honoria believed they *were the good 
 company as religiously as her foster- 
 mother did J and she held out her hand
 
 70 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 with a smile of tender pardon to the self- 
 privileged follower who incurred her dis- 
 pleasure by uttering an opinion of her 
 uncle's wife. 
 
 Hetty took and fondled the little soft 
 hand with her hands of horn, and her 
 lips still red, but thin as scarlet thread. 
 *< And you'll be giving this dilicat hand, 
 darling, to the handsomest man that ever 
 wore shamrock ! and we'll be after going 
 back to our jewel of a country ! Och, 
 and it's Ireland all the world over ! and 
 the Irishman with his free heart and 
 gen'rous hand ! Blessings on the sowl of 
 my country — England's a pig-sty to 
 it!" 
 
 To this assertion Honoria could not 
 assent: she recollected the failings of 
 her country, with its virtues and its 
 delightfulness ; and she could never for- 
 get her first emotion upon entering the 
 cotters' houses in Northumberland; see- 
 ing their little homesteads of stall or stye, 
 hen^iotise and pUtch of garden ; and ob- 
 serving their beautifully- whitened hearths 
 r^&nd fire-places (white as the snows on the
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 71 
 
 Cheviots) whence the smoke flew lightly 
 away through conducting chimnies. 
 
 Pleasing Hetty Macready as well as 
 she was able with her answer, she quitted 
 her, on seeing the Shafto carriage driving 
 up to the door. 
 
 The young ladies and their mamma 
 encountered Mrs. Meredith doing the 
 honours of their entrance, as they were 
 proceeding, with lifted petticoats and 
 carefully-picked steps, through the front 
 court. Many civil speeches, and much 
 obligeds — many ** My good madam, how 
 sorry we are to incommode," &c., reach- 
 ed the ear of Honoria, as she stood, half- 
 expectant and half-welcoming, on the 
 threshold of the opened parlour-door: 
 but not a word of reply to her aunt's 
 servile entreaty that Mrs. Shafto would 
 do her the great honour of stepping into 
 her parlour, and taking some refresh- 
 ment ; at the same moment naming her 
 husband's niece, rather from the con- 
 fusion occasioned by her awful sense of 
 what she was soliciting, than from a wish 
 of bringing Honoria forward.
 
 72 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 " Pass on, my loves ]" cried the mother, 
 as her daughters, coldly bowing, and hur- 
 rying past Miss O'Hara, paused one well- 
 bred instant, that they might not take 
 precedence of their instructress in eti- 
 quette. The young ladies gladly obeyed, 
 not, however, without an insolent glance 
 back at Honoria, whose richly-dark face 
 glowed up with a full flush of self-re- 
 spect. 
 
 ''Worthy Mr. Meredith's niece, you 
 say !" repeated Mrs. Shafto, with perfect 
 condescension ; " a pretty countenance 
 — a very pretty countenance ! You will 
 not be suffered to keep her long with you, 
 Mrs. Meredith : I see some vastly well- 
 looking young men about our neighbour- 
 hood here that are most likely of your ac- 
 quaintance. Chaplin's sons, for instance. 
 I do assure you," (here the lady oblig- 
 ingly made a feint of lowering her voice) 
 *< Mr. Shafto speaks so highly of Chap- 
 lin's fidelity and honesty, in spite of the 
 large fortune he is making under him and 
 Sir Thomas Sykes, that I sliould be par- 
 ticularly glad to hear some time hence
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 73 
 
 of one of his sons proposing for Miss 
 O'Meara ; but I must go and look after 
 my own daughters;" and away gUded 
 the courtly and ghastly Mrs. Shafto, 
 meaning at that time to make the most 
 delightful impression of graceful manner 
 and wondrous condescension upon the 
 obscure girl at the Rectory. Honoria 
 \vas still standing ; every drop of her 
 proud Irish blood in her face, and her 
 heart throbbing, as if to break its way 
 through her bodice. — Never had she 
 felt anger, — towering anger before : but 
 this was the heart's anger ; the strongest, 
 the most enduring of all. 
 
 When a naturally sweet disposition is 
 made thoroughly indignant, the feeling 
 is stronger, indeed, and more lasting than 
 in persons of fiery temperament : bursts 
 of violence being a sort of chimney, by 
 which the dark vapours escape; and 
 where these are not, the vapours gather 
 and blacken, till they fill the small tene- 
 ment that lodges them. 
 
 A6 Mrs. Meredith turned round with 
 a boasting exclamation of the great Lady's 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 HONOR o'hARA, 
 
 uncommon kindness and gratifying ob- 
 servations, (for Mrs. Meredith had her 
 private views in consequence of such 
 kindness and such praise,) Honoria put- 
 ting up her hp with a scorn which be- 
 came her youth ; *« Miss O'Meara ! and 
 hoping I will marry the son of her hus- 
 band's steward! — O this big little heart!" 
 laying her hand upon her hard-heaving 
 side. 
 
 " Steward, indeed I" began Mrs. Me- 
 redith, but Honoria's tongue, for once, 
 was too nimble for her. Exclaiming, " I 
 must have a run after my good-humour !** 
 with the bound of a fawn, but a different 
 sparkle in her imperious eyes, she jumped 
 over a low window into a meadow behind 
 tlie house; and was soon on the other 
 side of the river, and along the hills, as if 
 '< chasing the young roe." 
 
 The chase was successful ; she came 
 back long before their early tea hour, 
 with her hat stuck full of corn flowers, 
 her hands full of grasses of various sorts, 
 (and I know few bouquets more beautiful, 
 except it be the first spring-leaves of
 
 ttONOR o'hARA. 75 
 
 plants,) and her features regilded by 
 smiles. It must be owned, however, that 
 resentment of the affront put upon her 
 by Mrs. Shafto's condescension, and her 
 daughter's insolence, was still at her heart: 
 and determining to show these ladies how 
 little she valued their notice, she never 
 appeared afterwards, when they came to 
 meet their Italian ; and stoutly refused 
 going with Mrs. Meredith to view a din- 
 ner-service of very fine china, which the 
 great Lady of the place politely thought 
 it just possible Mrs. Meredith might like 
 to see, being made after the pattern of one 
 
 ordered by H. R. H. the Duke of • 
 
 The details of this visit disgusted Ho- 
 noria more than ever; she found that 
 the housekeeper of Shafto Place had not 
 only done the honours of the china, but of 
 the phantom of a luncheon, which was 
 to indemnify Mrs. Meredith for her two 
 o'clock dinner. Mrs. Shafto had friends 
 staying in the house, so she was only able 
 to glide in for ^ve minutes, just to see, 
 she said, that Mrs. Meredith was taken 
 care of. Most condescendingly did she 
 
 E a
 
 76 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 dedine either eating or sitting down^ 
 nioi-ing about all the time, yet b^giug 
 Mrs* Meredith to go on refreshing her- 
 self; in short, demonstrating, by every 
 well-bred means in her power, that she 
 did not consider her guest fit company 
 for a person of her consequence. 
 
 This noble entertainment, given imme- 
 diately upon the departure of Signer ^'o- 
 caUino firom the North, was understood 
 and meant to strike out, by one capital 
 stroke, the Misses Shafto's debt for accom- 
 modation. But Mrs. Meredith managed 
 so dexterously to show how willingly she 
 would ** sell her birthright for a nvcs? of 
 pottage,'* and how easily Mrs. > :.o 
 might purchase the privilege of speaking 
 of her with that sort of contumely with 
 which those people are mentioned who 
 are needy or mean-spirited enough to 
 live upon petty fiivours, — that certain ar- 
 langements were entered into between 
 these high contracting powers ; which vir-, 
 tually bound the one to supply the Rec- 
 tory with dairy produce and billet- wood 
 during the twelve calendar months ; and
 
 HONOR o'haRA. 77 
 
 the other, to the practice of continual 
 eulogiums on, and subserviency to, the 
 Lady of the Place. 
 
 By this means, Mrs. Shafto so exactly 
 defined the line of separation between 
 them as acquaintances, that she hoped 
 it would be impossible for any one to 
 think of bringing forward any young 
 woman connected with so low a person. 
 Honor O'Hara, therefore, must fall back 
 into that obscurity, from which she could 
 perceive her appearance and manners 
 w^ere now bringing her. It would be of 
 little avail to the innocent girl, that she 
 was herself well-born and well-bred, if she 
 were always coupled in idea with her 
 uncle's under-bred, servile-spirited wife. 
 Mrs. Shafto, therefore, became ostenta- 
 tiously punctual and particular in her use- 
 ful presents. Mrs. Meredith having in 
 this way achieved her point of securing 
 a greater surplus of money from house- 
 keeping for the purchase of furbelows, 
 and quite contented with a lofty recog- 
 nition every Sunday at church from the 
 ladies of the Place, persisted in speaking 
 E 3
 
 78 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 of them every where with a fulsomeness of 
 encomium, and an exaggeration of their 
 high condition in society, truly humbling 
 and disgusting to Honoria. 
 
 Not that Honoria was so unjust (even 
 though bribed to some little failure of the 
 kind, by her own near interest in the 
 matter) as to think Mrs. Shaflo ought to 
 have visited Mrs. Meredith. She felt 
 that her uncle's wife had not one claim 
 to the notice of well-bred, well-educated 
 persons in any station of life ; she thought 
 that not one even of her own breeding, 
 could seek her society from any hope of 
 pleasure in it. What, then, was to autho- 
 rise her in expecting it from the lady of 
 a Member of Parliament? She did not 
 expect it — she could not wish it : and 
 if Mrs. Shafto and her daughters had 
 persevered in their former sweeping 
 curtsy at church, or wherever else they 
 might encounter her and her aunt, they 
 would never have incurred her resent- 
 ment. But she felt that there is an 
 honest and a dishonest traffic in our civil 
 intercourse with each other, as well as in 
 our bargain and sale, transactions; and
 
 Honor o'hara. 7d 
 
 that unless Mrs. Shaflo had purposed re- 
 ceiving a service from the wife of Mr. 
 Meredith, as the civility of one gentle- 
 woman to another, she should not have 
 put such an affront upon his respectable 
 character and sacred function, as that of 
 employing his wife like a menial, and re- 
 warding her like one, with a condescend- 
 ing word, and the wages of a few pounds 
 of butter. 
 
 The Shaftos and the Fitz Arthurs be- 
 ing distantly related, Honoria more than 
 once stumbled upon them in her visits to 
 Arthur's Court, just before its heir ar- 
 rived : but she could be as mortifying as 
 the Misses Shafto themselves, when she 
 thought a person deserved mortification 
 at her hands : and at those times, a curt- 
 sy of well-bred distance, the calm look 
 of perfect non- acquaintance, succeeded 
 by all the charms of her own playful 
 tones and countenance, as she turned 
 with affectionate familiarity to the open- 
 hearted Baronet; these were her sharpest 
 weapons, and they pierced in proportion 
 to their polish. 
 
 E 4
 
 80 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 . At such times, the Misses Shafto pro- 
 nounced her "impertinent," with half- 
 shut Hps ; their mother declaring in a 
 low voice to Mrs. Fothergill, that " she 
 was the most extraordinary young woman 
 she had ever met with ! Such total igno- 
 rance of what was due to superiors, she 
 could not have imagined in any thing 
 civilized ! she must deprecate the dread- 
 ful revolutionary principle so evidently 
 spreading through all classes ! it became 
 more and more the duty of every well- 
 educated person of a certain condition in 
 life, to keep down the inferior people! it 
 was unwise — really it was worse than 
 unwise, (she feared she must say,) in 
 their cousin Sir Everard, to permit an 
 under-born and under-bred girl like this 
 Miss O'Hara (Mrs. Shafto never forgot 
 a name when it was important to be ac- 
 curate,) to address him with such saucy 
 freedom. She really could not compre- 
 hend where the girl could have seen any 
 thing like that manner of hers, now 
 caressante^ now moqueuse, now tendrey 
 with which she contrived to give herself
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 81 
 
 the air of having lived with people of a 
 certain set. At all events, it did not be- 
 come her to assume such an air." 
 
 In fact, Mrs. Shafto might have added, 
 that she thought it was extremely im- 
 pertinent in any obscure clergyman's 
 niece to be prettier and more agreeable 
 than the daughters of a man of 10,000/, 
 a year. 
 
 The Misses Shafto themselves had dis- 
 covered not only Honoria's glow of 
 freshness and beauty, but the magical 
 effect of her manner. They could have 
 envied the flashings of that ever-varying 
 diamond! — yet while watching its bright 
 play, and wondering why they did not 
 dazzle and delight like her, they were 
 too stupid to find out, that to shine, we 
 must be solid: and that without a centre 
 of good sense and good feeling, attempted 
 sportiveness is but impertinence, wit ill- 
 nature ! 
 
 Miss Shafto was just at the age when 
 
 women who have been educated solely 
 
 with a view to establishing themselves, 
 
 are peculiarly apt to start at the very 
 
 E 5
 
 S5C HONOR X)'HARA.T 
 
 shadow of a new competitor for admir- 
 ation. Miss Shafto was six and twenty : 
 she was actually come to that age, which, 
 when she was fifteen, nay, till she entered 
 the precincts of twenty-one, she had 
 always openly denounced as the period 
 at which ended the youth of woman ; at 
 which began the dreadful era of old- 
 maidism. She often remembered now, 
 with more vexation than real remorse, how 
 invariably she had blazoned the twenty- 
 fifth birthday of every single woman 
 in their neighbourhood : how many bril- 
 liant things had been said by herself, and 
 by the very agreeable men, to whom she 
 was thus displaying her lively talent and 
 her great good-nature. Every biting sar- 
 casm uttered by these charming men, 
 upon young ladies un pen passee ; upon 
 their dexterous choice of pink ribbons, 
 instead of lilac and apple-green ; upon 
 their exceedingly assiduous, and most 
 particularly amiable endeavours to make 
 the agreeable, &c. — all these enchanting 
 pleasantries, were now as sweet to Miss 
 Shafto's remembrance, as the caustic ink
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 8S 
 
 of a northern reviewer is to the luckless 
 author whose work he is bespattering. 
 She heard her own tauntings in every care- 
 less remark which hit the subject by 
 chance. She believed the insult inten- 
 tional ; and she never saw a group of 
 just-come-oiits, laughing together, that 
 she did not suppose her singlehood the 
 cause of their merriment. The only re* 
 venge she had in her power, was that of 
 picking a quarrel with every match made 
 in the county. Not a marriage took 
 place which Miss Shafto did not bene- 
 volently bemoan : the bridegroom always 
 had a fault ; lie was so plain ! or so silly ! 
 or so ill-mannered ! or he was a mere 
 fortune-hunter ! or he was so much too 
 old, or so much too young, for the lady 
 he made a wife ! in short, it was as clear 
 as noonday, that Miss Shafto would not 
 have married hun ! 
 
 Still, however, intending to enter the 
 happy state with some one, she saw the 
 necessity of dressing exactly like her 
 sisters of twenty and twenty-one, who 
 were out ; and resolutely keeping back 
 E 6
 
 84 HONOR o'hara* 
 
 those of seventeen and eighteen, who 
 were yet in the school-room. Mrs. 
 Shafto was beginning to be seriously 
 uneasy on the subject of her elder 
 daughters' establishments : all her plans 
 in their favour had failed. She had re- 
 gularly paid court to the country gen- 
 tlemen, till Miss Matilda, the youngest 
 of the three, had been seen by them 
 during two years. Nothing coming of 
 it, she gave the country up as a losing 
 game 5 and immediately resolved upon 
 making a great effort in London. 
 
 With the most meritorious wish of as- 
 sisting their mother, the daughters had 
 no talent for getting themselves off her 
 hands : she saw this ; and knew, there- 
 fore, that the only chance of success was 
 a large theatre like the capital, where 
 well-dressed puppets may be skilfully 
 played, and no one discover the moving 
 wires or directing hand. Sisters dressed 
 alike generally produce a good effect : 
 at least they attract momentary attention. 
 The Misses Shafto gowns, therefore, were 
 always fac-similes. Unfortunately the
 
 HONOR o'hara. 85 
 
 wearers themselves were as alike in 
 shape, complexion, and features ; so that 
 there was some danger of their never 
 being wooed except as a corporate body. 
 Men talked of them in the lump, as those 
 nice-looking girls, iho^e fashionable young 
 "women; but never individualized them. 
 There was, however, a real difference 
 between them ; and an eye as sharp as 
 that of the practised shepherd, who 
 knows every sheep's face in his flock, 
 would have discovered at a glance, that 
 Miss Shafto looked sullen and sarcastic ; 
 Miss Augusta sharp and spiteful j Miss 
 Matilda purely stupid. 
 
 Miss Shafto' s, barring its revolting 
 expression, was the best face ; Miss 
 Augusta's, saving its leanness, the best 
 proportioned figure ; and Miss Matilda's, 
 except for their unmeaningness, the best- 
 coloured eyes. 
 
 Of Miss Matilda's settlement in mar- 
 riage, Mrs. Shafto secretly entertained 
 the strongest hopes: she was blessedly 
 stupid; comfortably silent; delightfully 
 easy to shove about into any place, opi-
 
 S6 HONOR o'hARA* 
 
 nion, dress, liking, or unliking, her mo- 
 ther chose her to fill, adopt, wear, enter- 
 tain, or dismiss. She had been twice in 
 love already, by Mrs. Shaflo's express 
 desire. 
 
 Her first fire burnt for the youngest 
 brother of Lord Wearmouth, a youth of 
 eighteen, who came for six weeks' shooting 
 on the moors at Ravenshaw. Their near 
 neighbourhood, his youth, his solitude, 
 the circumstance of this being his first 
 escape from a tutor's house, the happy 
 chances which somehow threw Miss Ma- 
 tilda daily in his way during his rambles, 
 were all solid grounds of expectation : it is 
 true, he would rarely give up his savage 
 freedom, and dine like a civilized man at 
 Shafto Place ; yet, it was hoped this very 
 savage love of liberty, might induce him 
 to prefer a wife of his own choosing, to 
 one perhaps recommended hereafter by 
 his elder brother. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto was always in preparation 
 for her daughter's elopement. But Mr. 
 Charles Barrington's heart was smit 
 witli a different passion ; he panted for
 
 HONOR o'hara. 87 
 
 glory : he sought and found both that 
 and death at the same moment. He fell 
 in Holland with a pair of colours in the 
 hand Mrs. Shafto ever afterwards in- 
 sinuated, had been plighted to her poor 
 girl. 
 
 The young lady's second flame was for 
 an old bachelor. But though she gave 
 up dancing for cribbage ; and the study 
 of botany for the art of cookery ; the 
 ungrateful Sir John ended her courtship 
 by his marriage with his house-keeper. 
 With this mortifying disappointment had 
 terminated Mrs. Shafto's plans upon the 
 country ; her future plots had London for 
 their theatre ; though she did not neglect 
 meanwhile, any noble game that might 
 by chance be seen taking its flight across 
 Northumberland. 
 
 Matters were in this state with the 
 family at the Place, when Captain Fitz 
 Arthur arrived at Arthur's Court.
 
 88 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 For the first few weeks after his arrival 
 Captain Fitz xlrthur mixed httle with the 
 society round Edenfell ; and when he 
 did so, his extreme ill health, and occupied 
 mind, (for his whole soul was intent upon 
 getting his father out of his pecuniary 
 difficulties,) made him no striking addi- 
 tion to a dinner table, no ornament to a 
 tea-party ; and certainly enabled him to 
 perform very awkwardly, any part in those 
 merry gipsy ings (as they are termed, j 
 which carry all the youthful population 
 of rural neighbourhoods, on foot, in car- 
 riages, in caravans, to dance somewhere 
 on the grass, (no matter where, so it be 
 b,ut from home,) or leaves them searching 
 nuts or strawberries among the woods. 
 
 Captain Fitz xlrthur had quitted the 
 paternal roof at seventeen : after an ab- 
 sence of eight years, he returned to his 
 home. Every thing belonging to that home
 
 HONOR o'hara. 89 
 
 was fresh in his memory, and dear to his 
 heart ; but many were gone that used to 
 render it cheerftd : and though he loved 
 his father, he felt that there was much of 
 Sir Everard*s character which he must 
 learn, ere he could contribute to the 
 happiness of those dependent upon him. 
 
 The graves of his brother, of his little 
 sisters, of his step-mother herself, were 
 melancholy substitutes for the play-fellow 
 of his boyish years, for the kind woman 
 who had treated him with maternal ten- 
 derness, and for the pretty innocents 
 whom he had left smiling in their mo- 
 ther's arms. He passed the churchyard 
 in whicli they lay, with a swelling heart, 
 and gusliing eyes ; he was alone in the 
 chaise (his servant having ridden for- 
 ward to apprize the family); and throwing 
 himself back into the corner of it, after 
 one earnest gaze over the low wall of the 
 burying ground, he shed his unwitnessed 
 tears in freedom. 
 
 The whole drive from Edenfeli was 
 fraught with softening associations. It 
 cost him many a sigh 5 and after the first
 
 90 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 evening, Arthur's Court cost him many 
 more. 
 
 Trees that had been the friends of 
 his childhood ; some old oaks that he 
 reverenced as though they were all so 
 many Adams and Abrahams, were va* 
 nished along with him that had played 
 under their shade, and *' their place 
 would know them no more." One great 
 avenue of elms was at that moment lying 
 on the earth, like a routed army of giants : 
 the young soldier passed between their 
 regular lines, with a feeling something 
 similar to that w^ith which he moved over 
 battle-fields, when their noise and strife 
 were done. He looked to the right an(J 
 left ; trees of noble growth, in their very 
 prime of age, were lying with all their 
 green boughs and branches on them, as 
 he had seen many a brave companion lie 
 on the plains of India: he paused to mora- 
 lize for a moment, over the fallen habitation 
 of many a rook and raven, fallen with the 
 tree they lodged in. At that instant the 
 heavy sound of the woodman's axe was 
 heard 5 — it was heard again, and again,
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 91 
 
 and again ; the next moment came the 
 crash — the fall — the long echoing of the 
 heavy boughs ; another elm was fallen ! 
 Fitz Arthur hurried on. 
 
 He turned in another direction to a 
 part of the demesne which bore the name 
 of the abbey. It was a large grove of re- 
 markably fine limes, planted by that very 
 ancestor who suffered for assisting Charles 
 Edward. Its stately rows of double 
 trees, with their high intermingling tops, 
 and spreading branches below, bore a 
 striking resemblance to the aisles of Go- 
 thic churches ; and in moonlight nights, 
 Delaval Fitz Arthur had often lingered 
 there, when a boy, to hearken to the 
 wind pealing among their high tops like 
 the sound of an organ soaring along the 
 arches of a cathedral. What w^as his 
 delight to find this grove had been 
 spared ! yet certain marks on the prin- 
 cipal trees proved them destined to the 
 axe. 
 
 An ordinary heir might have felt in- 
 dignation at this threatened havoc with 
 property which must eventually belong
 
 92 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 to himself; and have felt inclmed to 
 question, if not its legality, its equity : 
 but I must do Captain Fitz Arthur the 
 justice to allow, that his generous heart 
 wa^ sensible only to a pang of sorrow 
 for the necessities which had brought 
 his father to this, and which he now 
 feared, for the first time, were of un- 
 accountable magnitude. At this mo- 
 ment, therefore, he took the resolution 
 of enquiring, with all the respect and 
 tenderness of a son, into the nature and 
 extent of his father's incumbrances : he 
 did so soon afterwards ; and he found 
 them, as he feared, numerous, harassing, 
 and painfully burthensome. 
 
 Sir Everard had gone on increasing 
 his need of an enlarging income, by every 
 year giving, or lending, or letting him- 
 self be robbed of large sums ; never al- 
 tering his stile of house-keeping, or the 
 old family customs of keeping foxhounds 
 and harriers ; driving six horses ; giving 
 annual dinners to clubs, corporations, 
 tenants, and colliers ; doing all this, 
 without either raising his rents by the
 
 HONOR o'hara. 93 
 
 usual summary process, or by the right 
 and just one of bettering the lands from 
 which they were to be produced. To 
 pay his regular Christmas bills in the 
 same good old fashion, became every 
 year of course more difficult. So lands 
 were mortgaged, woods cut down, lu- 
 crative fisheries and coal pits let on long 
 leases at low rents, for the sake of a high 
 premium laid down at the instant. Since 
 the death of his last wife, Sir Everard's 
 ruin had been rapid : she, like his first 
 lady, had judiciously influenced his will, 
 and restrained his profusely liberal dis- 
 position. Mrs. Fothergill had neither 
 the right, the ability, nor the privilege 
 of doing more than superintending his 
 house : she managed her limited depart- 
 ment according to the most approved 
 rules of handsome house-keeping ; and 
 Sir Everard always giving her the money 
 necessary for every day's expenditure, 
 afforded her no reason for interfering with 
 his other disbursements. 
 
 Left alone, therefore, with his own 
 thoughtless kindness of heart, and in-
 
 94 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 different quality of head, the well-mean- 
 ing Baronet found himself at last unable 
 to raise the five thousand pounds required 
 to pay the collector's forfeited fine, unless 
 he submitted to the most degrading im- 
 position from a money-lender. He, 
 therefore, took the spirited resolution of 
 cutting down timber to twice the amount 
 permitted him every ten years by the laws 
 of the estate ; providing against the pro- 
 bable contingency of his death before the 
 return of the second ten years, by en- 
 cumbering a small property in Cumber- 
 land, (meant for his invalid son Hylton,) 
 with the acquittal of the debt thus con- 
 tracted to his heir. 
 
 This expedient, together with the in- 
 adequate, yet grievous and amiable sacii- 
 fice of all his own personal luxuries ; such 
 as an old Swiss valet, a stud of beautiful 
 hunters, the six state coach-horses, his 
 annual visit to Scarborough, an aviary of 
 curious birds, and a most expensive corres- 
 pondence with Messrs. Root and Branch, 
 the florists near London ; — these were 
 all poor Sir Everard's modes of redeem- 
 19
 
 HONOR o'hara. 95 
 
 ing large estates, and restoring familj 
 dignity. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur read his father's 
 character quickly ; he loved its goodness, 
 honoured the integrity of his purposes, 
 and pitied without reprobating the la- 
 mentable weakness of his disposition. 
 He foresaw, that in this very easiness of 
 nature, he should find a sure means of 
 working the desired reformation in his 
 habits; and satisfied of this, he had more 
 spirits to study the mystery of Sir Everard's 
 extreme embarrassment. 
 
 Fitz Arthur suspected roguery or scan- 
 dalous neglect somewhere, in addition to 
 the Baronet's profusion ; and he found 
 it in the conduct of a steward appointed 
 on the death of their former faithful 
 one. 
 
 This man was not wilfully dishonest, 
 but he was virtually so, by neglecting his 
 master's rights, receiving a great salary 
 for doing little, and gaining popularity by 
 a pompous display of influence over his 
 employer. Thus he was always able 
 to appear in the high character of a
 
 96 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 patron amongst the tenantry and work- 
 people, by obtaining for them all the 
 unreasonable demands or reductions they 
 chose to clamour for. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur's first act of dele- 
 gated power was to discharge this steward. 
 His next, to commence an immediate re- 
 formation in the expenditure at Arthur's 
 Court. 
 
 In one capital article Captain Fitz 
 Arthur differed from most reformists ; he 
 applied himself solely to the practicable, 
 and he struck first and hardest at the 
 giants of the forest. He cashiered at once, 
 all the useless, impertinent, drunken 
 hangers-on of the kennel and stables; 
 and not only advertised the gentlemen of 
 the Fitz Arthur hunt, that there would be 
 no more hunting under that title, but ad- 
 vertised the hounds themselves for sale. 
 
 Of course, a pack of enemies, as clamor- 
 ous and more furious than the dogs they 
 lamented, were instantly full cry after 
 his good name. Fitz Arthur went on, as 
 though he heard them not. The kennel 
 and the stables emptied of expensive 
 ^0
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 97 
 
 tenants, Fitz Arthur saw himself enabled 
 to re-instate four of the six coach horses, 
 and to restore the Swiss valet. The first 
 were dear to his father's heart rather than 
 his pride ; the Baronet almost identifying 
 such state with the memory of his father : 
 the other was necessary to his comfort, 
 for Wilhelm had served his master thirty 
 years, and had originally won his claim 
 to preference over every later servant, 
 by nursing Sir Everard abroad through a 
 contagious fever of peculiar malignity. 
 Sir Everard had dismissed him upon a 
 pension,^ because he thought the appear- 
 ance of a valet, was wrong in one under 
 embarrassed circumstances. 
 
 With the concurrence of Mrs. Fother- 
 gill, our anxious reformist curtailed the 
 number of courses and dishes at the family 
 table ; but he suffered the great baskets 
 of cut bread, and the deep flagons of 
 home-brewed, to stand as usual in the 
 porch of the servants' entrance, for way- 
 farers and errand carriers. The huge 
 yule clogs at Christmas in the servants' 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 98 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 hall and kitchen were laid on with 
 yet greater plenty : meat, coals, and 
 blankets were as bounteously bestowed 
 as ever upon the aged poor. Not a 
 single labourer was discharged, nor any 
 one's wages lowered. — Yet, with all this 
 humane consideration. Captain Fitz Arthur 
 could not escape obloquy. 
 
 For some time his name was another 
 title for a degenerate, mean-spirited, pe- 
 nurious fellow, whom all the county 
 ought to unite against and send to Co- 
 ventry. Four or five roguish servants, 
 quickly dismissed by him, and one or two 
 cheating colliery agents threatened with 
 public disgrace, joined their under-breath 
 voices to the more open-mouthed set of 
 jovial middle-aged and spendthrift young 
 men, who were accustomed to live at free 
 quarters upon Sir Everard, by favor of 
 their privilege, as members of his hunt. 
 
 For awhile, therefore, the vo.v popuU 
 was all against poor Delaval : but by de- 
 grees its murmurs died away, and were 
 finally lost in a rising swell of honest re- 
 cantation, and warm esteem.
 
 HONOR o'hara. 99 
 
 The poorer order found the heir of 
 Arthur's Court considerate and helpful 
 to them ; the niiddUng class found him 
 liberal, just, and exact; the rich and the 
 worthless alone saw him regardless of 
 their peculiar accommodation. Yet Chris- 
 tianly courteous to all, by degrees his 
 social character rose with his moral one, 
 into estimation. Having removed a heavy 
 load from his father, by the sacrifice of 
 his own immediate advantage, Delaval's 
 health gradually returned with the ease 
 of his spirit ; and the animating, ami- 
 able disposition of the boy, so kindly 
 remembered at Edenfell, was again re- 
 cognised in the war-practised soldier. 
 
 A vein of pleasantry, not amounting 
 to wit or humour, nor ever debased by 
 ridicule, enabled him to give life to the 
 every-day topics of every-day society, 
 without exciting envy, or creating offence. 
 He amused without alarming; and pleased 
 every one, more than they were con- 
 scious of at the time, because he sincerely 
 wished to see every one pleased. 
 F ^
 
 I»00 HONOR O^HARA. 
 
 The genteel inhabitants immediately 
 in and about Edenfell, principally con- 
 sisted of persons whoja© knew more of the 
 world than was to be learned from a few 
 books, and a little conversation within 
 the limits of their own circle : simple, 
 worthy, housewifely wom^n ; and men", 
 without that enlargement of mind, and 
 those refinements of taste which are in- 
 sensibly acquired by the most moderate 
 capacities, when favoured by liberal inter- 
 course with mankind. The attempt at 
 interesting such persons in abstract spe- 
 culations or graceful discussions of **^ the 
 vast^ the wonderful', the wild," "would 
 have been folly : the individual who had 
 attempted it might have delivered an 
 oration, but he could not reasonably have 
 expected any interchange of ideas. Cap- 
 tain Fitz Arthur benevolently stooping to 
 their level, contentedly left them to ima- 
 gine him not a whit wiser than them- 
 selves. His best acquirements and his pe- 
 culiar sentiments he reserved for the few 
 that would take the trouble to dive for 
 themj or for those whose talents and
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 101 
 
 sentiments unconsciously elicited his. 
 Content with being beloved, he never 
 dreamt of making himself admired. 
 
 Beyond the first two miles round Eden- 
 fell he found society better suited to his 
 former habits. His high character as a 
 gentleman and a soldier gave him the 
 entree of all the first houses in the county; 
 so that whenever he chose to refresh his 
 mind with more pohshed manners and 
 more intellectual conversation than were 
 to be found in his native village, he was 
 
 certain of enjoying them at Castle, 
 
 or at the Dean of 's, &c. 
 
 In his intercourse with the gentler sex, 
 Captain Fitz Arthur was too open and ho- 
 nourable, and observing, to make the ob- 
 vious conquest of any woman except of 
 her whom he might wish to inspire with a 
 reciprocal attachment. Tliere were few 
 unattached women within the round of 
 his Indian or English connections, wiio, 
 after six months' familiar acquaintance, 
 would have refused Captain Fitz Arthur's 
 hand, or denied their whole heart to him, 
 had he previously given them his: yet 
 F 3
 
 102 
 
 not one beauty was known to have died 
 for him -, nor was it whispered about 
 that any such individual was in a fair 
 way of doing so. This, simply, because 
 he was above the criminal weakness of 
 gratifying vanity at the price of a virtuous 
 woman's peace. 
 
 To some sort of men their virtues are 
 sanctified and holy traitors. Even so it was 
 with Captain Fitz Arthur. This honour- 
 able conduct towards a sex which had 
 particular attractions for one of his do- 
 mestic and fondly-inchned disposition, 
 did him disservice with the only one 
 he wished seriously to interest. Honor 
 O'Hara (who I warned my readers would 
 make sure work with his affections) was 
 at the age of believing in first-sight love ; 
 and her earliest studies having taught 
 her that it was impossible for a man to 
 merit one woman's heart who had not 
 previously broken the hearts (though 
 quite unintentionally) of half a score 
 others ; and having never heard even 
 the rumour of such a fatality pursuing 
 Captain Fitz Arthur, had long ago put
 
 103 
 
 him hors de combat from the field of 
 rivalry for her favour. She had, besides, 
 so completely settled him as a fright^ 
 from his picture, and his first appearance 
 under the fangs of a jaundice, that al- 
 though he became, in the course of ^nq 
 months after his return, quite well, and 
 almost handsome, she persisted in think- 
 ing and speaking of him as merely gentle- 
 man-like. 
 
 To his generous spirit, clear judgment, 
 steady principles, and tenderness of 
 nature (after a while) she did ample jus- 
 tice; yet almost unknown to herself: 
 for though gradual acquaintance with 
 these qualities in him, gave his opinions 
 a weight with her, his approbation a 
 value, and his disapproval an awfulness, 
 which caused her just as much solicitude 
 for his regard as was more than sufficient 
 to secure for herself the stronger ex-, 
 elusive sentiment, of which he soon 
 began to feel the force and the su- 
 premacy, unluckily she was revolted by 
 the first character she heard given of 
 F 4
 
 104 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 him, before he allowed himself time t<5 
 mix with the general neighbourhood. In 
 spite of her better sense she was affected 
 by the repetitions of sundry meddling, 
 self-seeking mischief-makers, who went 
 from house to house enumerating the 
 changes made at Arthur's Court by the 
 heir ; and representing each as effected 
 against the inward wish of its half- de- 
 posed master. So piteous were these 
 lamentations over the worthy Baronet's 
 privations, that for a short time Honoria 
 looked upon Sir Everard as another King 
 Lear, with one monstrous child instead 
 of tw^o. Happy circumstances, however, 
 first weakened, and then triumphed over 
 this cruel calumny. 
 
 Honoria had been in the habit of going 
 often to Arthur's Court, ostensibly to 
 visit Mrs. Fothergill, but in reality to 
 delight Sir Everard and his invalid son 
 with her cheerfulness. She ceased to 
 do this so frequently when once a for- 
 midable Captain of Dragoons was added 
 to the small party. Yet dinner invitations
 
 HONOR o'hARA* 105 
 
 were given to, and accepted by, Mr. aad 
 Mrs. Meredith, and their niece, of course, 
 accompanied them. 
 
 There, while Sir Everard was discussing 
 poHtics of church or county with Mr. 
 Meredith, and the latter' s guarded better 
 half was enacting the civil and soft-speak- 
 ing to the rarely-speaking Mrs. Fother- 
 gill, Honoria would sit by the invalid 
 Hylton, devoting herself to entertain, to 
 help, to listen to him ; while Captain Fitz 
 Arthur, dividing his obvious attentions 
 equally amongst all, was unconsciously 
 marking his thought's incessant occu- 
 pation about one alone, by always fancy- 
 ing Miss O'Hara spoke, or Miss O'Hara 
 was spoken of, or Miss O'Hara was need^ 
 ing something, whenever any thing was 
 said, or referred to, or required by an- 
 other. 
 
 In one of those corner conversations 
 with Hylton, Honoria heard, with pleased 
 surprize, though as a profound secret, 
 that one of Captain Fitz Arthur's first acts 
 on his return, had been to procure the 
 advice of a medical man, celebrated for 
 F 5
 
 106 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 his knowledge of such complaints as had 
 followed Hylton's early accident ; and 
 that in consequence of his advice, the 
 patient boy was already sensible of a 
 material improvement in his general 
 health. 
 
 ** I know it must have cost dear De- 
 la val a great deal of money," whispered 
 
 Hylton, " for Dr. C was obliged to 
 
 come from Edinburgh to see me ; and 
 though he staid only six hours, there was 
 all the expences of his travelling, and his 
 great, great fee beside. You know he 
 must have lost so many smaller fees, that 
 Delaval must have given him fifty, or 
 perhaps a hundred guineas to make it 
 up : he only joked when I asked him 
 what he gave, and said I had no business 
 to enquire what he paid for the present 
 he chose to make me on my birth- day, 
 for it was my birth- day 5 so he put one 
 of the prescriptions into my hand, and 
 kissed me, and bid God bless me, and 
 ran away. Do you know. Miss O'Hara, 
 I saw he was just as ready to cry as I 
 
 was.*'
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 107 
 
 ** Well, it was very good, and very 
 right, and what he ought to do !" Honoria 
 observed, pleased, without astonishment, 
 " every good brother would have done 
 the same ; don't actually deify yours, my 
 sweet Hylly.'' «* Oh, but there is no 
 brother half so good and kind as mine,'* 
 resumed her young companion. " De- 
 iaval is so noble upon proper occasions I 
 He'll give his last farthing to any one in 
 want, though he w^on't allow anybody to 
 waste money, or to cheat him and papa. 
 For a person he loves, I do believe he'd 
 sell himself to do them good." 
 
 The emotion with which the grateful 
 boy spoke, prevented his proceeding with 
 more proofs of his elder brother's true 
 liberality ; but Honoria had heard enough 
 to convince her that Captain Fitz Arthur 
 deserved a very different character from 
 what current report gave him just then ; 
 and Mrs. Preston's warm commendations 
 upon every part of his conduct, completed 
 her conviction of his worth. 
 
 In his boyish days. Captain Fitz Arthur 
 F 6
 
 108 HONOR O^HARA. 
 
 had been one of the happiest of the juve- 
 nile set who used to play blind-manV 
 buff, and eat mince-pies at Hazeldean ; 
 he loved Mrs. Preston when he was a 
 boy for he knew not what ; now, that he 
 had traversed half the world, he could 
 give ample reasons for his continued af- 
 fection towards this amiable woman. 
 
 It was that simplicity without simple- 
 ness ; that admiration of excellence with- 
 out envy or discontent ; that freshness 
 of every benevolent opinion, and that uii- 
 wearied practice of every friendly office, 
 which, at sixty, proclaimed the heart to 
 be still sixteen. It was this happy na- 
 ture, which being originally placed in 
 the situation best fitted for its growth, 
 and sheltered afterwards by a gracious 
 Providence from every event which might 
 either shake or sully it, was green and 
 gladsome to the sight, bounteous of good 
 to the soul. Such a character, seemingly 
 of humble claims to notice, was rare, 
 however ; and could not be appreciated 
 until a person h^d made a much longer
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 109 
 
 tour amongst their fellow creatures than 
 any one at Edenfell had done, Captain 
 Fitz Arthur excepted. 
 
 Immediately after his return, Captain 
 Fitz Arthur found his way almost daily to 
 Hazeldean ; where he used to have plea- 
 sure in talking over old times with Mrs. 
 Preston, telling her little histories of 
 India and military life, and acquiring 
 from her rational remarks, or kindly con- 
 fidences, the means of serving her or 
 others. 
 
 There of course he met our heroine 
 not unfrequently, (for she was always 
 Mrs. Preston's guest when her daughters 
 were absent together,) and he was as 
 ready as herself to stroll with the notable 
 mistress of the little mansion, to her out- 
 fields and farm, or to read aloud while 
 she and Honoria worked. There was 
 another haunt, too, of Miss O'Hara's, 
 where he delicately took care not to 
 meet her, but where he often followed 
 her steps. 
 
 It was to a decent little room in Eden- 
 fell, inhabited by a bed-ridden old woman
 
 110 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 who had been the village school-mistress 
 for thirty years, and many a promising 
 scion, and stately tree, had grown and 
 flourished under the salutary shade of 
 her primeval birch. 
 
 Hedworth and Delaval Fitz Arthur had 
 been her scholars when in petticoats. 
 Delaval remembered the childish eager- 
 ness with which he had ever mounted the 
 servant's back appointed to carry him 
 to and fro for Dame Wilson's instructions, 
 and the many sugar plums her sovereign 
 hand had bestowed upon his diligent 
 scholarship. Reverentially conscious of 
 owing his knowledge of the first six letters 
 of the alphabet to her solemn admixture 
 of sternness and graciousness, he deemed 
 attention to her helpless, purblind old 
 age, an absolute duty. 
 
 Fitz Arthur had a melancholy pleasure, 
 also, in talking with her of his brother, 
 whom he never mentioned before Sir 
 Everard. Dame Wilson loved poor 
 Hedworth' s memory, (he had been her 
 favourite by favour of a face like a peach,) 
 and it eased her heart to be thus privi-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. Ill 
 
 leged in telling over the stories of his 
 childhood, to one who had shared the 
 petty pains and perils of this darling 
 pupil. 
 
 At these times a tear often stole silently 
 down Fitz Arthur's cheek while the sweet 
 endearments of the period Dame Wilson 
 was describing, and the more joyous 
 companionship of boyhood, came over 
 him in a flood of remembrances. When 
 his heart was thus softened he would 
 listen with pecuHar delight to the praises 
 of Miss O'Hara, incidentally spread 
 through the poor spinster's narrative; 
 and he often returned home, musing less 
 upon the buried brother, than upon the 
 pious hand which he was told had long 
 taken care to keep weeds from growing 
 round the tomb which covered the re- 
 mains of Dame Wilson's favourite scholar. 
 In his various ramblings amongst rich 
 and poor, Fitz Arthur could not but ob- 
 serve that no one was so generally be- 
 loved as Miss O'Hara ; every body had 
 their own name of endearment for her : 
 with his father who loved the innocent
 
 lis HONOR o'hARA, 
 
 excitement of flowers, she was " his 
 nosegay," with her uncle " my kitten," 
 with Dame Wilson ** that lamb," with 
 Hetty Macready her ** jewel," with all 
 the cotters ** the good, dear, young 
 lady." Such epithets speak volumes ! 
 
 Honoria, indeed, could be amiable in 
 so many ways, that there was scarcely a 
 person existing, however oddly con- 
 structed, whom her widely-ranging cha- 
 racter could not find a harmony for. 
 Fitz Arthur saw this immediately, and 
 found in his turn, her note of unison 
 with him. 
 
 This he found in the uncommon 
 openness, without indiscretion, of her 
 character and conversation. Such frank- 
 ness is rare in women, who are generally 
 either timidly reserved, or impetuously 
 unguarded : it argues a loyal heart, and 
 a strong mind ; and is, therefore, to be 
 received as the herald of a spirit capable 
 of being moved to noble purposes. 
 
 Fitzarthur, though he did not much 
 frequent the rectory, from that tact which 
 made him feel that Honoria was never
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 113 
 
 her happy self in Mrs. Meredith's com- 
 pany, sought her everywhere else with 
 evident avidity ; gradually giving her 
 so much of his noiseless attention, and 
 being so continually at the command of 
 all her wishes, that Honoria felt, without 
 reflecting on it, nay, before she was 
 aware, that her power over him in every 
 way was absolute. 
 
 Yet, with all this, Honoria remained 
 cruelly indiflerent to Captain Fitz Arthur. 
 Given up to a prejudiced imagination, 
 and always, therefore, in pursuit of some- 
 thing better than what she saw daily, she 
 was naturally attracted to every unknown 
 person. In each new acquaintance, whe- 
 ther to be made at a country ball or a 
 private pleasure party, she hoped to find 
 that vara avis of her studies and her 
 dreams, a perfect character in a perfect 
 form : but, as this perfect character 
 united qualities which never have been 
 united in mere mortal, she pursued it in 
 vain. 
 
 Judging by the bias of her own heart, 
 Honoria thought those virtues the easiest
 
 114 HONOR O'hARA. 
 
 to practise, which are in truth the 
 hardest ; those the commonest, which 
 are in truth the rarest. Thus when she 
 heard her uncle mention instances of 
 pecuUar tenderness to the wayfarer, the 
 aged, the penitent outcast, which he dis- 
 covered to have proceeded from Delaval 
 Fitz Arthur ; when she was shown some 
 striking proof of his generous sacrifice 
 for the sake of his half-brothers ; when 
 she saw him yielding up his own refined 
 and studious habits with unabating cheer- 
 fulness to accommodate himself to the 
 less improving and more jovial ones of 
 his father; when slie witnessed the se- 
 rene kindliness with which he bore the 
 mixed insolence and mischief of his 
 youngest brother during his long holidays 
 — all seemed to her but matters of 
 course ; and some fantastic sort of excel- 
 lence which she would have found it 
 difficult to have described, still flitted 
 before her fancy, forming the desideratum 
 of her expectations. 
 
 Honoria was yet ignorant of the world, 
 and had to learn from stern experience
 
 115 
 
 how little of their first brightness, even 
 characters the most carefully moulded by 
 pious hands, retain after mingling with 
 that world. She had yet to learn that 
 in the breast of a truly good Christian lies 
 the well-spring of every heroic action, 
 every sublime sacrifice ; that the value 
 of our virtuous deeds depends not on 
 the size of the theatre upon which they 
 are acted, nor on the number of spec- 
 tators by whom they are applauded ; not, 
 even, upon the occasions by which they 
 are called forth. 
 
 It may cost one man as much to give 
 up the prospect of domestic happiness, 
 as it would do another to resign a king- 
 dom : yet no one perhaps knows of the 
 one, and the whole world rings with ac- 
 claim of the other. At the period of 
 Delaval Fitz Arthur's first acquaintance 
 with Miss 0*Hara, she w^as barely seven- 
 teen ; and she appeared to him then as 
 full of fascination and fault, sense and 
 silliness, as most young ladies of that age, 
 who have been principally left to chance 
 for the formation of their ideas upon life
 
 116 HONOR o'hARA, 
 
 and character. But he soon discerned 
 that the laughing girl had some admir- 
 able qualities to balance her defects ; a 
 certain high-mindedness and sturdiness 
 of principle accompanied her pliant so- 
 ciability and fond attachments : she had, 
 moreover, a mii.e of sterling good sense, 
 (imperfectly worked, indeed, because ly- 
 ing deeper than ordinary observers look 
 for,) but it was a mine, and a rich one. 
 
 He often observed, that Miss O'Hara 
 reflected more, and more to the purpose, 
 in ^ve minutes, than many folks of sager 
 reputations would have done in five 
 hours. The beautiful nonsense she some- 
 times talked before him of ineffaceable 
 impressions, faultless excellence, twin 
 souls, cold calculations, sordid care of 
 self, &c. &c. made him smile at its ab- 
 surdity ; sometimes gently condemn her 
 for misapplying terms ; oftener sigh at 
 his own w^eakness in admiring the looks, 
 voice, and enthusiasm of the mistaken 
 reason er. 
 
 He was, however, not without the 
 gratification of hearing, now and then,
 
 lidNOR O^HARA. 117 
 
 &rough Mrs. Preston, of good effects 
 produced by some casual remark of his, 
 or by some observation of Honoria's own 
 quickly-applying mind, upon actions of 
 his performing. The general tone of his 
 conversation had induced her to extend 
 her circle of books ; she read more, and 
 better works : his example, too, made 
 her ashamed of running about and en- 
 joying herself out of the Parsonage, 
 while her indulgent uncle remained within 
 it, a prey to solitude, — • or to his wife. 
 
 Fitz Arthur, therefore, met her less fre- 
 quently than formerly, in her tree-bower, 
 or on the hills ; but he heard of her read*, 
 ing with, and writing for, her uncle ; and 
 he oftener met her beguiling Mr. Mere- 
 dith from his long cheerless rambles, into 
 pleasanter walks with herself, conducting 
 to the resting-place of some favourite 
 neighbour's house. 
 
 These were lovely proofs of a lovely 
 temper; a heart so open to conviction, 
 so prompt in acting upon that conviction, 
 was surely rare ! The gem was not the less 
 valuable, because some of its native earth
 
 118 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 yet clung to it. All that rubbish of false 
 notions, extravagant sentiments, and na- 
 tional pride, which a neglected education 
 had left to accumulate over, and keep 
 down, her own natural sense, he thought 
 might easily be cleared away by an affec- 
 tionate hand, if that hand were loved 
 and privileged. And at first, wishing 
 only that he were her relation, and then 
 trying to establish himself her friend, he 
 watched, and hinted, and instructed, till 
 he loved her dearer than his life. 
 
 At this point Fitz Arthur started, paused, 
 and looked round him. His father's im- 
 prudent liberalities and credulous kind- 
 ness had burthened the family estate with 
 an unities and mortgages, which it would 
 require some years of rigid economy to 
 get rid of: besides which, the settlements 
 made upon Sir Everard's first wife and 
 her children, tying him up from pro- 
 viding sufficiently for a second family, 
 his heir believed himself bound in con- 
 science to give both his young brothers 
 fortunes, when it should please Heaven 
 to deprive them of their only parent.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 119 
 
 Meanwhile the education of both, "and 
 the suffering health of the elder, would 
 require large sums annually. 
 
 Fitz Arthur had given up every thing of 
 his own, independent of hi? pay, to pre- 
 serve the old mansion still for the fainily, 
 in something of its ancient dignity ; yet, 
 even so, there was some secret drain for 
 ready money, which he durst not, would 
 not enquire into, but which caused him 
 many an uneasy hour j and made him 
 fear that his poor father's self-incurred 
 misfortunes were not all over. Miss 
 O'Hara, he well knew, had not two 
 thousand pounds in the world ! 
 
 Shocking as it must appear to all lovers 
 under twenty, Captain Fitz Arthur, after 
 pondering on tliese facts, till he was 
 near relapsing into the sallow invalid 
 again, at length came to the magnani- 
 mous resolution of thinking no more of 
 Miss O'Hara as a wife. It is needless 
 to say how manfully he maintained this 
 resolution — every now and then — when 
 certain indications of utter unobservance 
 of his feelings, in the charming Honoria,
 
 120 HONOR o'hARA* 
 
 or of her eager interest in some new- 
 comer, reminded him that she had not 
 yet seen the man with whom she desired 
 to pass her hfe. The next day, perhaps, 
 a certain bright humidness in Miss 
 O'Hara's eyes, when they met, and she 
 remarked he looked ill, or an accent of 
 tender concern while she feared he was 
 fretting about his poor brother Hylton, 
 made passion rush on him again, like an 
 armed man ^ — feelingly convincing poor 
 Delaval, that 
 
 " He who would stay the sea with sand, 
 Or fetter flame with flaxen band, 
 Hath yet a harder task to prove, 
 By strong resolve to conquer love." 
 
 In the main, however. Captain Fitz Arthur 
 kept his engagement with himself; and 
 if he were one day too tender he was the 
 next too stiff. Honoria rallied him on 
 such ague-like friendship, as she called 
 his, with its hot and cold fits ; and blest 
 Heaven for having given her a heart that 
 always kept itself warm, and was ready 
 for a friend to warm their hands at, when- 
 ever they chose.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 1^1 
 
 At such moments the lover was on the 
 point of convincing her how ill he de- 
 served her gay reproach ; but happily, 
 Honoria's little jest uttered, she glided, 
 or bounded away, as the humour of the 
 moment prompted. 
 
 VOL. r.
 
 i^2 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Sir Everard Fitz Arthnr had been accus- 
 tomed to keep his own birthday ever 
 since he could remember one ; and its 
 sixtieth anniversary happening ten months 
 after his son Delava?s return, he pro- 
 posed commemorating both events, by 
 a dinner in honour of the one, and a ball 
 for the other. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur*s system of eco- 
 nomy did not exclude a moderate extra 
 expenditure upon particular occasions : 
 his father's birthday was one of these. 
 Sir Everard's proposal was cordially as- 
 sented to. Preparations for a dinner and 
 a dance were immediately commenced, 
 in their old fashion of profuse hospitality 
 for poor and rich; heightened in ele- 
 gance, and I fear it must be owned in 
 expence, by the suggestions of our tra- 
 velled soldier's improved taste. 
 
 Here, perhaps, Captain Fitz Arthur
 
 1^3 
 
 may be blamed, as departing from his 
 character and foregone purpose. But 
 Fitz Arthur is not described as perfect : 
 he had his weaknesses hke other men. 
 It is true, he was never to be awed from 
 right conduct by fear, nor won to give 
 up a principle from flattery : but no one 
 could so little resist the pleadings of af. 
 fection or of pity in his own breast : and 
 what a beloved person appeared to wish, 
 provided it was not actually criminal, he 
 could not help striving to obtain for 
 them, though at some risk of hereafter 
 inconveniencing themselves, as well as of 
 materially injuring his own comforts. 
 
 This indulgent nature he inherited 
 from the Fitz Arthur blood : from his 
 siother's he derived that sound judgment 
 and unbending rectitude, which kept this 
 yielding inclination from stooping too 
 low. 
 
 The first Lady Fitz Arthur was a 
 portionless daughter of one of the best 
 houses in Scotland. She came to Ar- 
 thur's Court with the noble spirit of high 
 blood, coupled to the self-denying habits 
 G 2
 
 %M HONOR O^HARAr 
 
 of honourable poverty : and she be- 
 queathed to her children Scottish sense, 
 Scottish principle, and Scottish ** attach- 
 ment to kith and kind." 
 
 The second son was too young when 
 she died to have profited much by her 
 example 5 but he remembered the ma- 
 ternal sweetness which had beautified the 
 inflexibility of her will 5 and her memory 
 equally beloved and reverenced by all 
 their dependants, influenced him in after 
 life, with beneficial effect. 
 
 No sooner were the Baronet's cards of 
 invitation sent out, than Mrs. Shafto ma- 
 noeuvred to get herself solicited to be- 
 come Lady Patroness : with the double 
 view of showing her consequence, and 
 excluding the vulgar herd. Unluckily, 
 there was an efficient mistress at Arthur's 
 Gourt, in the person of Mrs. Fothergill j 
 and the ladies of Shafto Place were there- 
 fore reduced to the humbler characters 
 of guests. 
 
 The dinner, though at a table running 
 the wholelength of the state dining-room, 
 (as the larger eating -hall was still called,)
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 125 
 
 was said to be given only to Sir Everard's 
 most intimate and nearest neighbours. 
 What was then the horror of Mrs. and 
 the Misses Shafto to behold " stupid Mr, 
 Meredith," <' vulgar Mrs. Meredith/' and 
 «« the impertinent Miss O'Hara/' seated 
 at the same board with themselves. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto had with much difficulty 
 made up her mind to the mortification of 
 seeing them amongst the mixed company, 
 whom every one expected would come 
 from the four quarters of the county to 
 dance, and then lay waste a standing 
 supper. But to be planted beside these 
 nobodies^ rooted at an everlasting dinner, 
 to be obliged to act the civil, and make 
 the agreeable, to such people ! — this was 
 almost beyond even the power of re- 
 ligion. Of religion, however, Mrs. Shafto 
 had exactly so much as enabled her to 
 whisper with great suavity and unction 
 to her more rebellious daughters, that 
 Mr. Meredith was in the church, and she 
 feared it might be wrong not to endea- 
 vour, it might be proper, perhaps, to 
 take Christian *« notice of his wife and 
 G 3
 
 126 HONOR o'hARA^ 
 
 niece.'* The young ladies pouted and 
 sat down. 
 
 Miss O'Hara was unfortunately seated 
 directly opposite to Mrs. Shafto, with a 
 tall, stooping, handsomish dragoon officer 
 on her right, and a sturdy old squire 
 (cut after the pattern of his own clipped 
 hollies) on her left : just far enough re- 
 moved from Captain Fitz Arthur, to keep 
 all his senses uneasily upon the stretch, 
 to see what Miss O'Hara was doing, to 
 hear what she was saying, to guess what 
 she was wanting j to fear, in short, that 
 she was too much pleased with one of her 
 next neighbours at least. 
 
 It may be supposed that poor Captain 
 Fitz Arthur failed in doing the honours 
 of his father's table. He was frequently 
 absent; gave wrong answers to various 
 challenges for drinking wine ; forgot to 
 drink the wine when it was poured out ; 
 and twice sent a plate of roast beef to 
 Major Stanhope, after the gallant officer 
 had declared himself engaged in an un- 
 successful assault upon a portion already 
 sent from the same bountiful hand.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 1^ 
 
 Many happy applications of military 
 terms, and as many ludicrous comparisons 
 of his heaped plate to a besieged town, 
 were made by the young officer, and 
 made with a careless good-humour which 
 disarmed criticism. He was prettily en- 
 dowed with that talent of saying lively 
 nothings, so often accepted for genuine 
 humour, when good spirits, good looks, 
 and above all, a handsome uniform sets 
 it oft*. The Major, therefore, followed 
 up his pleasantry, by assuring Miss 
 O'Hara in an audible whisper, that Fitz 
 Arthur certainly meant to stock him for 
 a siege -, adding such a string of amusing 
 absurdities about the sort of beleaguer- 
 ment he had to dread, and the forces 
 that were likely to sit down before him, 
 that Honoria's brilliant dark eyes laughed 
 through their glittering fringes, till they 
 blinded themselves and others. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur witnessed this 
 mirth ; he had caught the whisper ; there 
 was nothing offensive either in the mean- 
 ing, or the manner of it : nothing could 
 be more harmless or natural than the 
 G 4
 
 us 
 
 mirth of both ; yet he burnt all over with 
 a mingled sensation of resentment and 
 confusion. 
 
 The feeling causing this sensation was 
 momentary j it was but the infirmity of 
 jealous love, fearfully apprehensive of 
 being ridiculous in the eyes of her whom 
 he wished to inspire with far different 
 sentiments ; and such a heart as Delaval 
 Fitz Arthur's threw it off with instant 
 self-reproach. 
 
 This little incident did him the service 
 of restoring him to himself: he saw the 
 necessity of watching his own conduct 
 rather than that of others, (our best way, 
 indeed, through life itself^) and suddenly 
 rousing, he began a gay and graceful 
 attack upon the Major, which produced 
 infinite amusement to all within hearing. 
 
 The impulse of hilarity given by him 
 who did the principal honours of the feast, 
 gaiety became the order of the day. 
 Gentlemen who could not say briUiant 
 things, paid compliments ; ladies who 
 could not answer with a prettiness or a 
 pleasantry, could smile, bow, laugh, blush,
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 1^9 
 
 &c. Thus the whole company did more 
 than eat. 
 
 A gay clamour at table is particularly 
 favourable to flirtations : young ladies 
 previously held in awe by the conscious- 
 ness of having some envious eves-dropper 
 at their elbow, then venture to return a 
 compliment, or drop an encouraging 
 question ; and it is therefore at sucb 
 moments wary chaperons are especially 
 upon the alert. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto's mode of chaperoning 
 was capital : she watched, — not her own 
 daughters, but those of other people ; by 
 which means she acquired a knowledge 
 of all the schemes carrying on in the 
 county amongst the young ladies ; she 
 found out what plans in her own family 
 were likely to succeed or prove abortive. 
 On the present occasion, Mrs. Shafto af- 
 fecting to be most politely engaged in 
 breathing insipid civilities in a studied 
 voice into the ear of a venerable church 
 dignitary, who heard the tones without 
 attending to the words, was keenly ob- 
 serving her opposite neighbour: amaz- 
 G 6
 
 130 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 ing herself at the ease, the playfulness, 
 the infantine light-heartednessof Honoria, 
 coupled with what she termed a retenue of 
 manner that was absolutely provoking. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto could not help observing, 
 that Miss O'Hara seemed to know the 
 exact moment, when it was time to check 
 a vivacity in herself, which might lead to 
 the appearance of too sudden an intimacy 
 with a stranger of the opposite sex. At 
 the first familiar tone of Major Stanhope, 
 before his spirits could run him into a 
 single careless expression, Honoria chang- 
 ed her look ; and with a transition, quick 
 and irresistible as lightning, turned the 
 sportive skirmishing of her wit and the 
 Major's, into quiet though interesting 
 remarks upon the admirable paintings 
 which surrounded the dining-hall. 
 
 This change was effected with such 
 resolute steadiness and bravery, though 
 her heightened colour, and something of 
 embarrassment in her eyes told that it cost 
 something to her modest youth, to resist 
 her companion's efforts at bringing back 
 their former snortive tone, that even Mrs.
 
 HONOR o'HARAi 131 
 
 Shafto could not help thinking, at first, 
 that it was dignified. Delaval Fitz Arthur, 
 who observed it too, felt it delightful. 
 
 Upon second thoughts, neither of these 
 observers were quite as much gratified. 
 Mrs. Shafto finally settled, that this maid- 
 enly delicacy was a piece of acting in Miss 
 O'Hara, who had evidently a great deal 
 more in her than most people suspected ; 
 that she was a thorough-paced, designing, 
 artful girl, ready to take in the first young 
 man of good connections that came in 
 her way ; that she was awfully hand- 
 some, and as such, like " the beastly Cor- 
 sican fiend," " to-be-never-a-bit-the-less- 
 on-that-account-universally-detested-and- 
 avoided." Captain Fitz Arthur despond- 
 ingly admitted to himself, that there was 
 more danger in seriousness and senthnent 
 with a pleasing companion, than in com- 
 mon rattling, or even in dazzling wit; 
 and every time he looked at Major Stan- 
 hope, the more formidably good-looking 
 he thought him. Major Stanhope, in 
 short, became the stationary object of his 
 thoughts during the greatest part of this 
 G 6
 
 132 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 memorable evening ; so that he was per- 
 petually calling upon the officer for assist- 
 ance in his various duties at table, and 
 in the entertaining-rooms. 
 
 " I wish to my soul you w^ould find 
 another aid-de-camp!'* half whispered the 
 half-enamoured Major, half-angrily, when 
 he started up, for the fifth time, at a 
 summons from Captain Fitz Arthur. **This 
 confounded sixteenth call of yours has 
 lost me my standing-place beside Miss 
 O'Hara, — by and by I must get you 
 to tell me who she is." 
 
 " May I do myself the pleasure of 
 becoming your informant ?" asked the 
 courteous Mrs. Shafto, with an apolo- 
 gizing look for having listened, and such 
 a flattering air of interest, that although 
 the young soldier reddened till face and 
 coat were of one colour, he stammered 
 out something between a sillyish laugh 
 and a " thank you !" taking the seat she 
 winningly made for him on the sofa. 
 
 Major Stanhope, I must apprize my 
 readers, was known to Mrs. Shafto as the 
 younger son of a new lord with an old
 
 HONOR o'hara. 133 
 
 estate. He was nearly related to the 
 first military character of that period ; 
 and Major Stanhope, therefore, with such 
 advantages, was not unworthy the notice 
 of any commoner's daughter. A how- 
 d*-you-do acquaintance in London pri- 
 vileged Mrs. Shafto in the country in 
 doing the honours of her neighbourhood ; 
 and she hastened now to enter upon her 
 office. 
 
 " It is so very agreeable,'* the lady 
 resumed, *' to find one's own opinion the 
 opinion of another, especially if we are 
 inclined to like the person, that I really 
 could not help stealing in thus upon your 
 conversation about that very pretty girl. 
 I admire herself so much, and so much 
 compassionate her misfortune in being 
 connected as she is. No wonder you 
 asked who she is, since she has Fair 
 du monde at an age when other girls 
 are blushing and hiding behind their 
 mammas. How she has acquired this 
 wonderful self-possession nobody can ima- 
 gine ; it must have been born with her, 
 as we hear it is in people upon the stage j
 
 134 HONOR o'hara, 
 
 for she is actually niece to that little 
 over-dressed, vulgar, fussy woman, drink- 
 ing such quantities of negus/* 
 
 " And who is that little woman?" 
 awkwardly asked Major Stanhope, de- 
 signedly dropping every epithet except 
 the harmless one. 
 
 ** Our village clergyman's wife," was 
 the reply, ** a farmer's daughter. The 
 pretty girl is an orphan, wholly depend- 
 ent upon these people. Her father was 
 some Irish ensign or lieutenant in a 
 marching regiment. The foot, I believe. 
 Major Stanhope — " 
 
 '< Are often much better soldiers than 
 we cavalry fellows!" exclaimed Stan- 
 hope, with genuine sincerity, and an 
 honest simplicity, which showed that he 
 was not at all conscious of the lady's 
 meaning. 
 
 " Is it so?" was the lady's rejoinder, 
 uttered with the air of being pleased at 
 the removal of her own prejudice. " I 
 am really obliged to you for setting me 
 right. I shall respect infantry officers 
 from this moment; but what must I
 
 HONOR o'hara. 135 
 
 think of the person whose candour did 
 them justice, and waived the admitted 
 superiority of his own line of service ?" 
 
 Stanhope's sillyish laugh helped him 
 out again: it always stood his friend 
 when his modesty was overpowered; and 
 like many injudicious friends, did him 
 more harm than good. He had nothing 
 silly-seeming about him, except this 
 laugh : though after its first short burst, 
 Mrs. Shafto set him down for a good- 
 natured foolish young man, exactly suited 
 for one of her Shades ; and she destined 
 him instantly for whichever of the three 
 she might, after a little reflection, deem 
 best fitted to help off the others. 
 
 " Major Stanhope must excuse me, if 
 I take the privilege of a certain age," 
 resumed Mrs. Shafto insinuatingly, " and 
 frankly tell him, 1 must bring him and 
 Mr. Shafto acquainted. I am old- 
 fashioned enough to be pleased with 
 something more in a young man than a 
 fine person and an elegant address. (Mrs. 
 Shafto's flattery^trowel was now elevated 
 with no shrinking hand : poor Stanhope
 
 136 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 caught up a half-made bow, with one of 
 his laughs.) ** Your liberal sentiments 
 are very rare. I suspect there is a little 
 romance too, under that very becoming 
 uniform. Romance is only too engaging 
 in a young man.'* (The trowel was laid 
 on unsparingly, and the laugh in- 
 creased.) *' I shall never hear from you, 
 I am sure, those shocking questions 
 about a young lady's family, fortune, 
 and connections, which are so right in 
 papas and mammas, and so unnatural 
 in sons and daughters. I am so in- 
 terested in this pretty Miss O'Hara, and 
 so anxious to see her taken out of the 
 VERY under set she lives in, that I fear, 
 I almost wish to talk some unexception- 
 able man into doing a foolish thing. You 
 won't wonder at my foolish zeal, perhaps, 
 when I tell you, they talk of marrying 
 her to a son of Mr. Shafto's steward. It 
 will be dreadfully awkward, after having 
 met her in society here ! But luckily one 
 has seen her no where else 5 except at 
 their own parsonage." 
 
 " A steward's son !" repeated Major
 
 HONOR o'hara. 137 
 
 Stanhope, all scarlet again: even more 
 scarlet than his coat. It must be con- 
 fessed there was less of love than of 
 alarmed pride in the suffusion. Miss 
 0*Hara was well nigh done for. 
 
 ** They do, indeed, say so !" Mrs. 
 Shafto added, with a most prepossessing 
 sigh. '* Every body must wish to prevent 
 such a sacrifice, she is so pretty! yet 
 otherwise young Chaplin would be a 
 very suitable match for her 5 exactly in 
 her own line. I am looking about for 
 Mr. Shafto, that I may have the grati- 
 fication of making you and him ac- 
 quainted. You must allow me to present 
 Mr. Shafto. He will find ways and means, 
 I hope, of bringing you again into Miss 
 O'Hara's company." 
 
 *« Me ! O, positively not on Miss 
 O'Hara's account. I just asked about 
 her, because I sat next her at dinner, 
 and we got on together famously : but 
 I — , really I -^.'' The confused Major 
 stammered these disjointed sentences with 
 the sensation of being wasp-stung. Mrs. 
 Shafto smiled benignly 5 and by way of
 
 138 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 relieving his distress, as she had done his 
 heart of all inclination to fall in love 
 with Honoria, called his attention to a 
 beautiful young woman in white satin, 
 who was visible through the folding doors, 
 as she approached them from the outer 
 room. 
 
 " What a very fine young woman !" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Shafto. <* She is with 
 Lady Henderson I see: what an air 
 distingue I how feminine that downcast 
 look ! how very lady-like that almost pale 
 complexion ! certainly exuberant health 
 and spirits is a little vulgar! my dark 
 beauty must keep out of her way, if she 
 means to retain her conquests. I protest 
 that young lady seems as if she were made 
 of alabaster ! every body looks quite black 
 beside her! does she please you. Major 
 Stanhope ?'* 
 
 The Major was fair and blue-eyed him- 
 self, so of course he admired exactly the 
 reverse ; but he could net refuse a de- 
 served tribute of admiration to the deli- 
 cate loveliness of her he was called upon 
 to admire.
 
 HONOR o'hara. 139 
 
 " I felt sure you would be taken with 
 that look of high-breeding," resumed 
 Mrs. Shafto. " Lord Chesterfield used 
 to say (by the way, I dare say I am talking 
 with one of that immortal Peer's race ?) 
 that blood was worth all the beauty in 
 the world. I certainly agree with him : 
 that is, in thinking no beauty of skin or 
 feature can make up for the want of an 
 air of birth and fashion. O, here is Mr. 
 Shafto." 
 
 Stanhope started up. "I — , I — shall 
 be very happy to make Mr. Shafto's ac- 
 quaintance ; but, indeed, positively — " 
 
 " My dear Sir," soothingly exclaimed 
 his wily companion, laying her hand upon 
 his arm; *« pray don't give a serious turn 
 to my nonsense of the moment. I want 
 to present you and Mr. Shafto to each 
 other, because I am trying to amass a 
 little treasure of safe and improving ac- 
 quaintance for my son when he goes into 
 the world." Mrs. Shafto's eldest son was 
 a boy of Mteen at Eton ! 
 
 Major Stanhope was in the toils : he 
 stammered forth again some awkward
 
 140 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 compliment not half intelligible ; and Mr. 
 Shafto was called up. The Major was 
 introduced. It was discovered that he 
 was one of a shooting party at Lord 
 
 *s, nine miles off, and that he meant 
 
 to drive back in his tandem. 
 
 Mr. Shafto dexterously obeying certain 
 well-understood signals of his lady's eyes 
 and fan, plied him so hard with polite 
 entreaties, that he consented to drive his 
 servant and his tandem three miles instead 
 of nine ; sleep at Shafto Place ; breakfast 
 there ; daudle away a forenoon there, 
 seeing grounds and being shown pro- 
 spects which he foresaw would weary him 
 to stupefaction, having no interest in his 
 companions. 
 
 Even after this arrangement was made, 
 Mrs. Shafto did not let her prey escape ; 
 for she was anxious to keep him dis- 
 engaged as a partner, until one of her 
 daughters should have left the dance, and 
 come to see what her mamma had been 
 catering for her. She now turned the 
 conversation upon field sports. Stanhope 
 flew at the quarry j and quickly found
 
 HONOR o'hARA* 141 
 
 himself delivering a most able lecture 
 Upon how to raise, and how to bring 
 down birds, &c. to an extremely fine 
 lady, w^ho was listening to it with the 
 reverential attention of a disciple. 
 
 It was now Captain Fitz Arthur's turn 
 to laugh ; but he smiled only, as passing 
 to the dance with Miss O'Hara, he caught 
 part of Stanhope's ardent harangue. 
 *« Plow merciless you are to the poor 
 moor-fowl, Major Stanhope," Honoria 
 could not forbear exclaiming, as she 
 gaily curtsied by him j ** trying to in- 
 spire even our pitying sex with ambition 
 to maim and slay." ** I don't remember 
 ever to have met you with dogs and a 
 gun," she observed to her partner, with- 
 out waiting for the Major's defence. 
 
 Fitz Arthur's heart throbbed at the 
 complimentary tone of this question, till 
 it was felt against the soft arm which 
 rested on his ; he did not trust himself 
 to answer at the moment ; but shortly 
 afterwards said, in a voice of ill- disguised 
 emotion, *« I must not steal your good 
 opinion ; I was formerly far too fond of
 
 142 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 every ex ercise : I thought only of the exer- 
 cise, and the exhilaration ; but I once saw 
 a sight, and heard a cry — " He stopt, 
 not knowing how to tell, nor whether he 
 should tell the rest. 
 
 Honoria's earnest eyes were bent on 
 him, the ready tear was already waiting. 
 " I cannot tell you !" he continued. " It 
 is enough that I have never since been 
 able to go coursing ;" and he turned from 
 her, ashamed of the moisture rising to his 
 own eyes. 
 
 The fact which Captain Fitz Arthur 
 could not bring himself to narrate, was, 
 simply, that a poor hare, of which he 
 had been one of the pursuers, would 
 have given birth to young, perhaps in a 
 few hours, had not a cruel death pre- 
 vented her ; and it was these additional 
 deaths of unborn creatures which fixed 
 the pang inflicted by that well-remem- 
 bered cry. 
 
 Perhaps Miss O'Hara, with her usual 
 quickness, divined this fact, for she has- 
 tily bent down her head, and the next
 
 HONOR o'hara. 143 
 
 moment Fitz Arthur saw a large drop or 
 two standing among the leaves of some 
 geraniums in her bosom. 
 
 Never did lover more eagerly covet 
 his mistress's bouquet, than did our poor 
 unheeded one this very simple nosegay ; 
 the tears upon it were, in his eyes, worth 
 all the diamonds of earth or sky. 
 
 Miss O'Hara, however, danced as 
 gaily afterwards, as though no sad feeling 
 had crossed her. It was the first time 
 she had ever been Captain Fitz Arthur's 
 partner, and he kept such perfect time 
 with his few careless steps, his fine figure 
 looked to such advantage amongst a great 
 proportion of men too tall, too short, too 
 fat, or too thin, and the expression of his 
 shaded eyes was so much softer and 
 sweeter than usual, that she almost re- 
 marked it. 
 
 At the instant of completing their 
 share of the figure with the last couple 
 in the dance. Captain Fitz Arthur begged 
 his partner's pardon for a moment, while 
 he went to speak to a young lady just 
 observed by him, in company with her
 
 144 HONOR o'harA* 
 
 chaperon. When he rejoined Honoria, 
 she asked him the name of his very lovely 
 friend? for she was struck with the 
 modest and pensive loveliness of those 
 downcast blue eyes, and that transparent 
 fairness which Mrs. Shafto had lately 
 been contrasting with her own darkness 
 and brilliancy. ** That was Miss Cla- 
 vering," he replied. '^ I was her father's 
 aid-de-camp when he commanded at 
 Calcutta ; and I had, therefore, frequent 
 opportunities of being in her company. 
 In truth, I was so domesticated with her 
 during the first five years of my exile, 
 and she was such a child when we were 
 first acquainted, that but now I forgot 
 myself, and called her Agnes. She is 
 just out of mourning for her father, and 
 I am sure comes even to our moderate 
 dance with few spirits for it." 
 
 " Is she as sweet a creature as she 
 looks?" asked Honoria, following with 
 her eyes the slow and graceful progress 
 of Miss Clavering's truly feminine form 
 as she advanced up the room. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, she is !" returned
 
 HONOR o'hara. 145 
 
 Fitz Arthur earnestly, ** I only wish she 
 may be happier than I fear — '* 
 
 " I suppose I must not ask why you 
 fear she is not happy ?" said Honoria with 
 a pleading tone; *' her story belongs only 
 to friends, of course/' 
 
 " It has been too well known amongst 
 a certain set of people," repHed Fitz 
 Arthur, " to be called a secret ; I would 
 still refrain from discussing it generally ; 
 but to you, Miss O'Hara! I will tell it 
 you when we sit down between the 
 dances, for I hope some day to make you 
 and her known to each other." 
 
 The attention of both speaker and 
 listener was now called to their duty as 
 dancers, which each attended to with a 
 creditable fidelity. As they approached 
 the vicinity of Mrs. Shafto and Major 
 Stanhope they were amused, in spite of 
 softer thoughts, by catching, at intervals, 
 snatches of their prolonged conversation. 
 
 Honoria was accustomed to amuse her 
 uncle, after any little party, with the 
 narration of whatever had occurred 
 there of the comic or the interesting j 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 and as in all parties and battles, no one 
 individual can be every where, each may 
 have something new to tell his companion 
 when he quits the scene of action. Thus, 
 on the present occasion, Honoria was 
 treasuring up traits of the ridiculous for 
 harmless pleasantry in private : the fol- 
 lowing sentences particularly entertained 
 her. Major Stanhope was drilling Mrs. 
 Shafto in hunting. 
 
 << You should never ride more forward 
 than the tail of the pack ; a few yards or 
 so wide of the tail, is the thing : for it 
 must be a shocking bad pack, indeed, if 
 you can't see the front hound from the 
 tail of it ; and if your scent's bad, and 
 you cross it (which you are likely to do 
 by riding too forward,) its all up with 
 you. Nothing is so provoking too as a 
 fellow's capping hounds when the scent's 
 cold ! it just plays the deuce with them — 
 making them run all eager and abroad 
 like so many geese." 
 
 " Doubtless, vastly vexatious to a prac- 
 tised sportsman," observed Mrs. Shafto 
 complacently.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 147 
 
 ** Then the vexation of a stupid block- 
 head, bullying your best young hound 
 when he is cast, and trying all he can to 
 get in ! Such a fellow merits mobbing, 
 more than any skirter in the pack; they're 
 always doing mischief: if one of the 
 hounds happens to go off with a bad 
 scent, these sort of fellows halloo and 
 clatter on with such a noise that the 
 hound lifts, and you have a new scent to 
 seek ; then they regularly interfere at a 
 check : — the most unhandsome, ungen- 
 tlemanlike thing possible." 
 
 " Surely that is a reason why all ex- 
 cept gentlemen ought to be excluded 
 from a hunt,'' observed the very aristo- 
 cratic Mrs. Shafto. 
 
 " Why, so I think," returned the 
 liberal, English-hearted Stanhope, " if 
 you mean gentlemen by spirit and man- 
 ners ; let me find these, and I tell you 
 fairly, I don't much care, on my own ac- 
 count, whether the man I hunt with be 
 a peer or a pastry-cook. I might be 
 sorry on his, because he would lose so 
 H 2
 
 148 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 much time from making his pies, and 
 earning his bread/' 
 
 Honoria lost Mrs. Shafto's answer in 
 the din and intricacy of the dance ; but 
 Captain Fitz Arthur smiHngly whispered 
 as they changed sides, ** That was said 
 ludicrously by Stanhope, but its meaning 
 was excellent. — Don't you think so?" 
 Honoria' s beaming look answered him. 
 
 When the set was over, Fitz Arthur 
 led his partner to a seat, and there began 
 the little history he had promised. 
 
 *' I think it is about four years and a 
 half since Miss Clavering, then not seven- 
 teen, left India w4th her mother, to join 
 three sisters who had been previously sent 
 to England for education. Our first news 
 of her was, that she was going to be 
 married to a young man of family and 
 splendid endowments, though small for- 
 tune : that is, that Mrs. Clavering waited 
 only for the General's sanction to the 
 marriage. When the news came, the 
 General was just embarking for England, 
 ij^hither he went, in the fond hope of
 
 149 
 
 establishing the happiness of a beloved 
 child, and of passing the remainder of his 
 days in the bosom of peace and affection. 
 But circumstances had changed mean- 
 while ; and ere he was two months on 
 shore he broke off the match." " Oh, 
 cruel 1" exclaimed Honoria, inconsider- 
 ately, ** if they were greatly attached!" 
 
 " No, it was not cruel," resumed Fitz 
 Arthur, with apprehensive tenderness: 
 " I fear it was kind — right ! The 
 lover, though exceedingly in love, and 
 highly gifted, and possessed of many fine 
 qualities, was, report said, addicted to 
 high play ; and certainly gave tokens of 
 a despotic, and of a very unreasonable 
 temper. The General would not trust a 
 darling child's happiness in such hands ; 
 and Miss Clavering was too dutiful and 
 noble-minded to resist an authority exerted 
 upon just grounds." 
 
 " She was to have a large fortune, I 
 dare say," exclaimed Honoria, somewhat 
 indignantly ; *' and your General was 
 ambitious for his lovely daughter," 
 H 3
 
 150 HONOR o'hARA* 
 
 *' I shall appease you, I hope, by an- 
 sweiing no !" returned Fitz Arthur, with 
 a gentle smile. " When Miss Clavering 
 engaged herself to her lover, the General 
 had honourably realised a noble fortune, 
 and she would have been portioned ac- 
 cordingly J but the failure of a house in 
 which this fortune was temporarily placed 
 for investment in England, reduced the 
 family to actual beggary 5 while the in- 
 creased wealth and honours of her lover's 
 family, by the death of an unmarried 
 uncle, widened the distance between their 
 new situations. 
 
 " These circumstances, together with 
 fears of the young man's steadiness, (for 
 he had hastily abandoned an honourable 
 career in life for the vision of retirement 
 with the woman he loved,) made the Ge- 
 neral decide upon terminating an engage- 
 ment entered into w^hen the parties were 
 of equal prospects. Soon after which my 
 old friend breathed his last sigh, amidst 
 doubts and anxiety for those he left be- 
 hind. Mrs. Clavering and her four
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 151 
 
 daughters were then Hmited to the pen- 
 sion allowed her as his widow : - — so that 
 when Mrs. Letitia Branspeth, the Gene- 
 ral's cousin, declared her resolution of 
 making Miss Clavering her heiress, in 
 consequence of that young lady's dutiful 
 and judicious conduct, (as she styled it,) a 
 new fetter was put upon poor Agnes Cla- 
 vering's inclination. Mrs. Branspeth had 
 early credited the reports against her 
 young relation's lover, and her favour was 
 to be secured only by adherence to the 
 system of discarding him." 
 
 *' This, then, is the young lady I have 
 heard so much envied for her good for- 
 tune ! — Poor girl, I pity her !" was Ho- 
 noria's energetic exclamation. " For hav- 
 ing six thousand a-year in perspective ?" 
 *' No, not for that ; — but what has money 
 to do with happiness ?" 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur did not reply to 
 this every-day question of the inexperi- 
 enced : at that moment he could have 
 answered, *' Every thing ;" — but he was 
 silent. 
 
 H 4
 
 152 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 ** And does she come from Aycliffe 
 Castle to a ball, after all this?'' asked 
 Honoria, somewhat censuringly j " is it 
 not twenty miles from this ?" 
 
 " I believe it is," was the reply : 
 " But Mrs. Letitia is only come into the 
 country to look at some extensive alter- 
 ations going on at Aycliffe. She and two 
 of the Misses Clavering are staying at 
 Lady Henderson's ; whence they will 
 return to Bath, where Mrs. Letitia has 
 been living these last three years, on 
 account of a rheumatic complaint. I 
 suspect my father is solely indebted to 
 the old lady's great regard for him, for 
 Agnes's company. The poor girl carries 
 the look of a victim with her into gay 
 society." 
 
 *' And may I ask something about the 
 person she was to have married ! — Has 
 he proved worthy or unworthy ?" 
 
 *« I scarcely know how to answer you,'* 
 replied Fitz Arthur, "for I am unac- 
 quainted with his immediate connections ; 
 and the removal of Mrs. Clavering to
 
 HONOR o'hara. 153 
 
 Lisbon last autumn, for the health of her 
 youngest girl, deprives me of her confi- 
 dential communications. I believe, how- 
 ever, that he was not an habitual gamester, 
 and that he was disinterested, though ab- 
 surdly visionary ; he had some very pre- 
 posterous notions upon the nature of 
 confidence and affection. I'll give you 
 an instance of it. — He certainly made 
 confession of his first follies to Mrs. Cla- 
 vering, when soliciting the hand of her 
 daughter, and coupled it with the solemn 
 assurance that he had never touched a 
 card or thrown a dice since then. But 
 when the General questioned him upon 
 a story related to the former by a friend 
 of whose veracity and good intention he 
 had a twenty years' experience, the young 
 man took fire, considered his truth and 
 honour insulted ; and though owning that 
 he could satisfactorily explain every cir- 
 cumstance of the story, proudly insisted 
 upon unconditional trust in his assertion. 
 The General, unhappily, was as choleric 
 as the other showed himself to be arro- 
 gant y and they parted in mutual bitter^ 
 H 5
 
 154 HONOR 
 
 ness. In the same spirit of distempered, 
 exacting unreasonableness, the lover then 
 insisted upon Agnes's sanction to his 
 conduct. She distinctly avowed her firm 
 belief in his truth, but admitted a father's 
 right to challenge sober matter of fact. 
 This justice offended his haughty temper, 
 it wounded his overstrained sensibility, 
 and he abruptly broke with her. 
 
 " Still, however, he loved her sincerely, 
 though thus waywardly ; for I know that 
 immediately on her father's death he re- 
 newed his addresses, urging her to marry 
 him, in despite of the rich relation, whose 
 fortune she would forfeit along with her 
 favour." 
 
 " That was generous, surely !" 
 " At first sight it seems so," w^as Fitz 
 Arthur's reluctant answer ; ** but surely 
 it was selfish when looked into. Mrs. 
 Branspeth is violently his enemy ; and 
 had Miss Clavering pei*sisted in giving 
 him any encouragement, as her mother 
 has always been his advocate, not only 
 Agnes would have forfeited, but the 
 whole family would have lost their ample
 
 HONOR o'hara, 155 
 
 support through her means. The lover, 
 generous as he was, could not have pro- 
 vided for so large a family of daughters : 
 his independence was not above fii'teeii 
 hundred a year ; and he had slighted ad- 
 vantageous opportunities of getting for- 
 ward in public life. Surely, therefore, 
 he was tempting the amiable Agnes to 
 make him happy at the expense of her 
 future peace ! hers is not a heart to en- 
 joy domestic happiness — the greatest of 
 all," (Fitz Arthur smothered a sigh,) 
 " while conscious she had caused the po- 
 verty and broken the Iiopes of three 
 young sisters. Yet she loved this impas- 
 sioned young man too dearly not to suffer 
 almost mortal anguish from her inward 
 struggles. Should he not have spared 
 her those struggles ? — relied on her heart 
 — tried to redeem himself in her friend's 
 opinion, and waited with patient con- 
 stancy for the chances of the future ?" 
 Honoria turned on him a look of sad 
 conviction. <* I fear you are right," she 
 said. " What a lamentable perversity of 
 judgment in one who you say is so dis- 
 H 6
 
 156 HONOR O'UARA. 
 
 tinguished otherwise! poor Miss Cla- 
 vering !" '' Yes, I cannot understand 
 such self-indulgence, at the cost of the 
 being, dearest to us on earth," resumed 
 Fitz Arthur, insensibly mixing his* own 
 feelings with those of the two persons he 
 was considering. " The sentiment of real 
 and right affection appears to me to be 
 expressed by these lines : — 
 
 " O 'tis not pride ! — it is not pride 
 
 Which makes me thus determined shun thee ; 
 
 Thou canst not love, and I would hide 
 
 The tearful eye and wasted cheek, 
 
 The struggling sigh that fain would speak 
 
 Reproach, and say thou hast undone me ! 
 
 I would not pain that heart of thine, 
 
 For all the joys that might be mine 1" 
 
 Fitz Arthur repeated the lines with a 
 raised colour, and something of tremor 
 in his voice : his ow^n heart was not calm 
 enough to let him pursue the subject ; 
 and he was not sorry that the calls of 
 merciless dancers broke up their tete-d' 
 tete, and replanted them in their places 
 at the foot of the dance. 
 
 The second dance gone down, Fitz 
 Arthur led Honoria back to her uncle
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 157 
 
 (for Mrs. Meredith was at cards), only to 
 see her hand sought and obtained by an- 
 other; to see her dance again with as 
 much grace and hilarity as she had done 
 with him, and others before him ; to 
 hear her laugh, talk, amuse, enchant all 
 within eye or ear-shot of her ; and still 
 to observe that she was doing it with the 
 unconscious charm of a child. 
 
 Honoria, believing that her veins flowed 
 with as good blood as the best at Arthur's 
 Court, properly estimating the sacred pro- 
 fession of her uncle, whether in a curate's 
 gown or an archbishop's robes, — quite 
 at home where Sir Everard Fitz Arthur 
 was master, — and too early, perhaps, 
 habituated to company, felt as much at 
 her ease at a ball with country gentry as 
 if she had been on the hill-side amongst 
 the sheep. She was radiant with colour, 
 smiles, and the sparkling of those dark 
 eyes and white teeth, which might be 
 seen, as Sir Everard expressed it, from 
 the bottom of a coal-pit. She was simply 
 dressed in fine India muslin ; wearing 
 no ornaments except a single row of
 
 158 HONOR O HARA. 
 
 small but exquisite pearls belonging to 
 her great-aunt, and a bunch of scarlet 
 geraniums in her bosom. — Beauty dresses 
 itself. 
 
 The Misses Shafto, in chnging black 
 lace dresses, with gold borders, spangled 
 fillets, and gaudy armlets high above 
 the elbows of their long lean arms, were 
 strikingly different. 
 
 *« Don't those women look as if we 
 were playing at snap-dragon with them ?" 
 whispered a witling in the room to his 
 companion. The question was not unapt ; 
 for the sister shades, naturally of chalky 
 whiteness, were rendered of a ghastly 
 bhie, by a freezing January night, and 
 the scantiness of their clothing. The 
 colour of their eyes, too, seemed dis- 
 charged by the wringing effect of ex- 
 treme cold ; so that three more rueful 
 aspects could not well be imagined. How- 
 ever they were the Misses Shafto, and Sir 
 Everard Fitz Arthur's kinswomen, and 
 Delaval had duly danced with each, after 
 performing the same duty to ladies of 
 higher rank.
 
 HONOR o'hara. 159 
 
 ** Tlie impert'ment Miss O'Hara^^ had 
 come very low in their gallant cousin's 
 list ; and he would fain have made her 
 come later, that he might have stood by 
 her at supper, (for the ladies were to sit, 
 and tlie gentlemen stand,) but he denied 
 himself the gratification. He denied it 
 himself, not from cowardly shame of so 
 betraying his affection for a lovely and 
 deserving girl, but from the generous 
 wish of leaving her free to seek, and find, 
 perhaps, in him who should secure this 
 brief privilege, the man destined to please 
 and win her for life. 
 
 Poor Fitz Arthur! how imperfectly 
 was he known, how imperfectly was he 
 valued by the heart that, had it been 
 fully aware of his sterling worth, could, 
 and would have given him its warmest 
 affection ! 
 
 Honoria had seen the heir of Arthur's 
 Court at first through a cloud of pre- 
 judices ; and a host of false notions con- 
 tinued to keep the cloud from falling. 
 Was the mist ever to disperse ? or was it 
 to disperse too late ?
 
 160 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 She was this evening better pleased 
 than ordinary with Captain Fitz Arthur. 
 He had interested her by his unosten- 
 tatious sensibility while speaking of Miss 
 Clavering; and she remembered with 
 pleasure his hope, that they might be 
 known to each other hereafter. Still, 
 however, she had seen him dance and 
 talk with others, in perfect composure of 
 heart. 
 
 After going down one dance with 
 Mr. Tudor (the tutor of His Grace of 
 
 's young sons), she seated herself for 
 
 the short interval between that and its 
 succeeding one. 
 
 Except that Mr. Tudor talked too 
 much of the Tiber, and the Coliseum, 
 and the roses of Paestum, and was rather 
 apt to take offence, he was a tolerably 
 respectable partner, even for a beauty. 
 Mr. Tudor had a genteel figure ; a smooth 
 face ; wore powder because he thought it 
 right in a tutor so to do (though he was 
 under thirty, and powder was just gone 
 out of fashion) ; had hands almost as 
 white as the very white linen conspicuous
 
 HONOR o'hARA. I6l 
 
 at his wrists, and above the collar of his 
 well-brushed black coat; spoke in a 
 measured voice ; and was withal inclined 
 to take a very fair share in the decent 
 pleasures of life. 
 
 " These happy geraniums!*' he ob- 
 served, with a look which he intended 
 should convey a mixture of profound 
 respect and ardent admiration. ** These 
 happy geraniums remind me of the 
 splendid vegetation of Italy, that Hes- 
 perides of the world ! I remember once 
 going into villeggiatura with the Prince of 
 Santa Croce (that was when I had the 
 honour of travelling with the Honour- 
 able Mr. Harrington) — (going into villeg- 
 giatura, I ought to inform you, Miss 
 O'Hara, is the term by which the Italians 
 express the act or custom of removing 
 into the country to enjoy certain seasons 
 of the year) — such of us villeggianti (so 
 they designate persons in villeggiatura) as 
 were of cultivated tastes, made frequent 
 excursions from the villa of His Highness; 
 and I recollect going with another en- 
 thusiast like myselfi (pardon my present
 
 16^ HONOR o'hARA.' 
 
 fervour in reverting to it, Miss O'Hara,)" 
 'parenthesised this pedant, with the frigid 
 look of a statue, *' to ascertain the site 
 of Horace's Sabine farm. On the banks 
 of the Livenza (the Digentia of the poet), 
 we were ravished with the beauty of the 
 flowers. I had seen the roses of Fcestum 
 and Prceneste, but never had I beheld 
 such perfect color roseus as in the flowers 
 growing wild there, under that stillatus 
 cether ; never such color roseus except 
 on the cheek of one living beauty." And 
 Mr. Tudor bowed his powdered pate till 
 it almost touched the dust of the ball- 
 room. 
 
 " But surely, Mr. Tudor," exclaimed 
 Honoria, ** a scholar like you must have 
 found much higher objects of admiration 
 than roses, lovely as roses are ?" 
 
 <« That remark is highly creditable 
 
 — that question I mean," cried Mr. 
 Tudor, scrupulously correcting himself 
 
 — « highly creditable to your fine intel- 
 lect, madam ;" (he spoke in a tone some- 
 thing between pomposity and pathos ;) 
 " the Campagna di Roina (ancient La-
 
 HONOR o'hara. 163 
 
 tiurn) is full of interest to the scholar. 
 He is surrounded by monuments of those 
 great masters of the world; environed, as 
 it were, by fine associations. The shades 
 of Horace, Cicero, Virgil, and Me- 
 caenas meet him at every step ; they 
 may almost be termed the Dii Indigetes 
 of the 
 
 * Horrentique atrum nemus iraminet umbra.' 
 
 The line may be thus Anglicised : — 
 
 ' The dark grove hanging with terrific shade.' 
 
 Miss O'Hara, I am certain a lady of 
 your taste and fine susceptibility to all 
 that is splendid and heroic, must par- 
 ticipate in my passion for the ancient 
 Romans." 
 
 *' Must I confess," Honoria said, " that 
 I have read very little about them ; and 
 that what I have read, makes me fancy 
 them disagreeably theatrical in most of 
 their splendid actions ? so tyrannical too, 
 with the word liberty always in their 
 lips ! so cruelly callous to private suffer- 
 ing — so regardless of private comfort."
 
 161j honor o'hara. 
 
 Mr. Tudor did not exactly under- 
 stand her meaning in the last word ; he 
 smiled consequentially, yet tempering the 
 majesty of the smile by a most lover-like 
 spread of his ring-embellished hand over 
 his bending breast, he exclaimed, ** I beg 
 your pardon, fair lady ! — You would not 
 frame such an opinion, could you take 
 a leisure survey of the proofs still extant 
 of their attention to general comfort and 
 private accommodation. What are their 
 stratas vias, their vias si lice stratas ? their 
 vicinales (cross roads leading from farm 
 to farm)? their lapide quadrato stratas 
 (roads uniting symmetrical beauty with 
 utility) ? their basilicce and calcidice (por- 
 ticoed structures appropriated solely to 
 the use of pleaders and merchants) — 
 (admirably constructed too, so as to afford 
 shade in summer, and warmth in winter) ? 
 Then their stationes (extensive halls 
 open at all hours of day and night for 
 the reception of houseless poor) — (the 
 Greeks, indeed, had invented something 
 similar, which they called leschoe) ! their 
 tabema meritoria (a sort of Chelsea hospi*
 
 liONOR o'hara. 165 
 
 tal for invalid soldiers)! their thermo- 
 polia (elegant and pleasing places of 
 lounging, similar to our best coffee or 
 club houses) — (these to be sure were not 
 introduced till after the Punic war) ! 
 Then, my dear madam, the admirable con- 
 struction of their houses : — their rooms 
 covered in a manner to admit or exclude 
 the sun's rays, as the season for inhabit- 
 ing them required ; their carbasa^ or 
 blinds; \hQ\rvalv(B, or ventilating windows. 
 The felicitous distribution of their villas 
 into three separate divisions : the iirbana, 
 for the family ; the rmstica, for the hus- 
 bandmen; the Jr net uaria, for the magazine 
 of household plenty and provision. Every 
 noble mansion had its t?^iclhiium, or summer 
 eating-room, in the centre of a gi'ove or 
 lawn ; its valetudinarium, a quarter for 
 the sick. Every species of fowl or 
 quadruped had their distinct dwelling. 
 The comfort of all was attended to. Nay, 
 we even read of a gUrarium,'^ " Have 
 pity on me Mr. Tudor !" cried Honoria 
 with mock distress ; *« I don't know a
 
 166 HONOR o'haua. 
 
 word of Latin. — Pray what is a glira^ 
 rium P** 
 
 " I beg ten thousand pardons !" ex- 
 claimed the self-complacent lover, " a 
 glirariiim is a dwelling for dormice. Then 
 their fountains, Miss O'Hara ! you should 
 have been in Italy to feel, in all its ex- 
 quisiteness, the luxury of 
 
 * Ilia cadens raucum per levia murmur 
 Saxa ciet' 
 
 Once more I solicit pardon ! but our 
 miserable language supplies us with none 
 of those * verba sen epithet a valde ad de- 
 scriptionem accommodata^ which the clas- 
 sical scholar always uses in thought." 
 
 " O, if you regularly think in a dead 
 language, Mr. Tudor, you are awful ! I 
 dare not stay a moment longer near you." 
 And with the rapidity of light, Honoria 
 started up and flew to take possession of 
 a seat just vacated beside Mrs. Fother- 
 gill. Mr. Tudor, after a moment's pause, 
 followed, and bowing stiffly, enquired 
 with a mortified air whether he was to 
 understand that it was Miss O'Hara's
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 167 
 
 cruel pleasure not to go down the second 
 dance with him ?" 
 
 " O no ! certainly I will complete my 
 engagement, only you must allow me to 
 be dumb all the while, till I have learned 
 Latin.^' Even the playfulness of her 
 smile and glance could not atone for the 
 supposed affront put upon Mr. Tudor's 
 deified language — of ridicule, he con- 
 cluded such an august subject incapable; 
 — he bowed more stiffly, slowly repeat- 
 ing, <* You must excuse me. Madam, if I 
 decline accepting what I perceive would 
 be a sacrifice." And with the air of one 
 scorning her hand at the altar, the in- 
 dignant lover walked magnanimously 
 away. 
 
 Honoria used to his huffy fits, and 
 aware how quickly they were forgotten, 
 where she was the offender, rejoiced in 
 the power of sitting still, for at least half 
 an hour ; and she therefore gave her at- 
 tention willingly to Mrs. Fothergill, who 
 was suddenly inspired with a few ques- 
 tions regarding the arrangement of the
 
 168 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 rooms, and how the dinner was thought 
 to have gone off. 
 
 During the long pauses between these 
 important questions, Honoria, who was 
 luckily shaded by the folds of a curtain, 
 therefore sure of not being asked to 
 dance till inclined to put herself forward, 
 was amused by an audible dialogue be- 
 tween our witling, Mr. Sawbridge, and 
 Major Stanhope. 
 
 " So you have escaped at last, eh, poor 
 Stanny 1" was the salutation. " Egad, 
 I thought it was all over with you : when 
 I descried you in the fangs of Mrs. Shafto 
 — always delicately pared, I must confess, 
 but still fangs." 
 
 " To be sure it grew into a bore at 
 last ;" replied the good-tempered officer : 
 " but Mrs. Shafto is really a very civil- 
 meaning person ; and they give me a bed 
 at their house to-night." 
 
 " Yea, verily ! and they will cheerfully 
 give thee a wife to-morrow, if thou dost 
 merely hint a wish of the kind." 
 
 " That's being much too civil !" was
 
 HONOR o'ltARA. 169 
 
 the careless reply. *' However, as I detest 
 a cold drive in a raw morning, or in a 
 dark night, amongst a parcel of fellows 
 after a ball, one half of them sulky, and 
 t'other half drunk with conceit, because 
 the women have been quizzing them into 
 fancying themselves admired, I am vastly 
 obliged to those Shaftos for housing me 
 to-night." 
 
 " And what are they to do with you 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 *' Show me some place, I believe — 
 really I forget- — but it don't signify, for 
 I shall be off directly after breakfast." 
 
 *' The old trap ! the old trap ! and you 
 talk of breaking out ! poor Stanny ! and 
 you are to see a view from the top of a 
 Belvidere ?" 
 
 «* Pshaw, no ! — yes, — I think she did 
 say something of a Bel-something." 
 
 *' That woman kills me !" exclaimed 
 Sawbridge laughing to suffocation. '* She 
 is capital ! She's precisely like the man 
 in the Vicar of Wakefield, with his one 
 speech of the cosmogony of the world. 
 My dear fellow ! and didn't she talk about 
 
 VOL, I. I
 
 170 HONOll o'hARA. 
 
 the fine effect of singing, when heard from 
 a certain underground grotto there ?" 
 
 ** No, no — yes — no — yes, faith, I re- 
 member." Here Major Stanhope laughed 
 also, though it was after his own fashion, 
 foolishly; for he felt silly, and on the 
 verge of being taken in. 
 
 Sawbridge went off in what he called 
 jitSy which literally meant successive 
 bursts of laughter; and when he reco- 
 vered, with difficulty articulated, " All 
 this was played upon me, seven years 
 ago. I am proud to say it was the very 
 first performance of the lady's : it was 
 when Miss Shafto first came out. At 
 that time I y72i&acatch, a bonne partie, as 
 the ladies phrase it* I had then my fair 
 estates clear : not a soul of the tribes 
 of Israel was of my acquaintance. I 
 w^as, moreover, a simpleton of two and 
 twenty. Of course, the very first time 
 I appeared amongst the natives, I was 
 invited to dine and sleep at the Place. 
 At dinner the elegant Emily ate only 
 vegetables and boiled chicken, drank 
 iced water, was full of les petites atten-
 
 IIONOU o'hARA. 171 
 
 tions, et les petits soms. In the evening 
 no boring with song after song; Mrs. 
 Shafto knew the carte du pays too well 
 for that ; so we had jeux de socitte^ and 
 / shone! that hit me devihsh hard, I 
 own : she was near hooking me. Next 
 morning a breakfast recherche, side table 
 covered with fruits and flowers, all to 
 please my very refined taste, having just 
 returned from Greece : the perspective 
 of one with cold meat, and Mr. Shafto, 
 seen through the folding doors of an 
 inner room. At our table. Miss Shafto 
 herself, presiding over the fragrant cofFee- 
 urn ; clean and nice as her cambric hand- 
 kerchief. She was prettyish then, by 
 dint of frilling and furbelowing ; now un- 
 luckily out of fashion." 
 
 " Was! O that's too bad. Saw- 
 bridge." 
 
 " Faith, seven years delve deep into 
 beauty !" resumed the critic. ** However 
 Miss Shafto still dresses her feet uncom- 
 monly well. They'll take you in. You'll 
 fancy she has pretty feet. So you will be 
 I 'Z
 
 17^ HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 ^walked to the Belvidere (especially if the 
 wind blows moderately) ; Miss Shaf'to will 
 trip up the endless staircase just before 
 you, you of course having offered your 
 arm to the mother ; then Miss Augusta 
 wdll break out below from the grotto, 
 with * Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph,' in 
 her voice of the peacock; after which — " 
 
 " No, — no, — no afters, I beseech 
 you, Sawbridge !" interrupted Stanhope, 
 annoyed at the humiliating notion of 
 making one in a file of missed shots. <« I 
 won't hear another word." 
 
 Sawbridge held him fast by some of his 
 military trappings. *' Stay one moment, 
 only one moment," cried the inexorable 
 jester. " I am not going to say another 
 word about the Shaflos ; only tell me if 
 you ever had the good luck to see a 
 Fetch?" 
 
 " A what ! What the devil's a fetch ?" 
 exclaimed Stanhope, not aware any lady 
 overheard his demi-profane adjuration. 
 
 "Why in Scotch, a wraith; in French, 
 a double; in English, your own ghost,
 
 HONOR o'hARA, 173 
 
 or any other person's : they and you in 
 the body, though — " 
 
 '' Pshaw — stuff — man! you're beside 
 y^ourself." 
 
 " Then I'm my own fetch," smartly 
 observed Mr. Sawbridge; ** but only do 
 me the favour of looking down the room, 
 and you'll see Miss Shafto's at this very 
 moment. By gad, a dainty economical 
 spirit, for she represents all the three sis- 
 ters at once !" 
 
 Honoria looked in the direction Mr. 
 Sawbridge mentioned, and was not a 
 little amused by the sight of Miss Bella 
 Preston sailing up the room, in the exact 
 costume of the Misses Shafto. 
 
 Miss Bella had so actively intercepted 
 the secret of these ladies' dresses, that she 
 was actually their polygraphic copy: like 
 all copies rather overcharged : for she had 
 more gold borderings, more spangles on 
 her fillet, and gaudier armlets ; added to 
 which, she was herself taller and thinner, 
 and the train of. her lace dress was at 
 least half a yard longer. 
 I 3
 
 i74^ HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 At that period, trains were sometimes 
 said to be driving off in the shut of a 
 carriage-door, while the wearers were 
 just dropping their curtsy at the head 
 of their entertainer's staircase. 
 
 <* And behold Tilburina also ! Tilbu- 
 rina gone mad !" exclaimed our witling, 
 pointing his eye-glass at the pursy Miss 
 Dulcy, arrayed in veils and white satin 5 
 an undersized man in brown on one side 
 of her, and a smirking one in pepper-and- 
 salt on the other. " Behold Tilburina 
 between ' the polyaiithus meaUy and dap- 
 per daisy /' " 
 
 Major Stanhope could not refuse some- 
 thing beyond a smile to this ridiculous 
 quotation, and the more ridiculous group 
 it pictured. Sawbridge choaking with 
 mirth, w^ent on, " I wish you had been 
 with me twenty minutes ago, in the tea- 
 room, when those people entered ; there 
 was another man with them. Such a 
 treat! three such treats ! — If I were the 
 proprietor of those people, I would not 
 sell them for a thousand pounds apiece*
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 175 
 
 I Yow to gad they were as good as 
 Punch and his wife, ay, and the devil 
 into the bargain.** 
 
 Here Mr. Sawbridge v/as choaked with 
 the recollection of what his friend now 
 loudly called on him to repeat. 
 
 '« Why, there was the man," he en- 
 deavoured to say, " a spruce, slim prig of 
 a fellow, — a stiff college-man, — a regular 
 sap, 1*11 bet you a hundred ! — talking of 
 the Coliseum and the Conscript Fathers, 
 and the P^stum rose ; flourishing about 
 with his white hands to show them off, 
 and an antique ring, big enough for a 
 padlock — tenderly advising the fetch to 
 drink sugared water, as the ladies of an- 
 cient Latium were supposed to owe their 
 velvet skins to that beverage. Then the 
 fetch's answer by w^ay of French for 
 Mentor, ' Ah, you are always a men- 
 teur r Then Tilburina, * But are not 
 all saccharine substances or fluids inimical 
 to the teeth ? Do they not deteriorate ?' 
 Then, ' St. Peters^ and ' the Vatican,' 
 and * the Pope' from the prig ; and the 
 * Sacre college des Cardinaua:^ from the 
 I 4
 
 176 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 fetch. O, capital! She shall teach the 
 tongues to all my children that are to 
 be ! Hold me, my dear fellow, I shall 
 break in twain with laughing." 
 
 Mr. Sawbridge's mirth was in fact so 
 excessive, that many eyes were directed 
 towards the place where he stood j some 
 curiously, others in displeasure. 
 
 Major Stanhope, who was truly well- 
 bred, and somewhat modest, kept repeat- 
 ing, «' You are too bad, Sawbridge ; 
 pray be quiet. You are really too bad j" 
 but Sawbridge was i' th' vein, and on 
 he went. 
 
 ** Then comes the county member's 
 wife with some pretty apology to the 
 fetch, and the mad blue-stocking, about 
 not having returned a late visit of their 
 mamma's. Upon which, my fetch, fetch- 
 ing up her very best French, and mean- 
 ing to be most extremely amiable and 
 conciliatory, and to compliment my Lady 
 Henderson, and tell her she was privi- 
 leged in such neglects, being a sort of 
 public character ; says — says — " Saw- 
 bridge's laughter was actually choaking 
 him.
 
 HONOR o'hARA, 177 
 
 " Says ! well, what does she say ?" 
 asked Stanhope, catching in spite of him- 
 self, the infection of his companion's 
 overpowering laughter. " Don*t keep the 
 best joke to yourself after all." 
 
 Mr. Sawbridge was not in the least 
 inclined to keep this super-capital blun- 
 der of Miss Bella's to himself; but it was 
 some time before his often-checked and 
 as often-conquering laughter would per- 
 mit him to be intelligible. He then hastily 
 bent his face to Stanhope's. 
 
 What transposition of words was 
 breathed into the Major's ear, Honoria 
 did not attempt to catch ; she was satisfied 
 to let it remain, as he had done 
 
 «' Who left half-told 
 " The story of Cambuscan bold :" 
 
 concluding it must be something ex- 
 tremely awkward and absurd, from the 
 convulsions of laughter into which even 
 the well-bred officer immediately fell 
 upon hearing it whispered. 
 
 As if by mutual agreement of no more 
 provoking each other to such boisterous 
 I 5
 
 178 HONOR o'hara* 
 
 merriment, the two gentlemen retreated 
 different ways ; leaving Miss O'Hara to- 
 lerably well inclined to laugh with them ; 
 though grieved that such ridicule was in 
 a manner deserved by the daughters of 
 Mrs. Preston. 
 
 She had barely time to answer Mrs. 
 FothergilPs repeated questions of what 
 all that laughing was about, (for Mrs. 
 Fothergill was rather deaf,) when two 
 of the unconscious objects of Mr. Saw- 
 bridge's mirth came, the one fashionably 
 smiling, the other sentimentally sighing, 
 close up to her, with their ever-respect- 
 able mother. 
 
 " Dear, dear, Mrs. Preston !" half-ex- 
 claimed, half-whispered Honoria, warmly 
 pressing the two hands affectionately 
 held out, " I feared you were not 
 coming." 
 
 The cordiality of their meeting made 
 some ladies look as if they deemed it 
 underbred ; yet every body affects cor- 
 diality : the reality then, is a fault 5 — 
 that is a mystery ! 
 
 Mrs. Preston sat down between Mrs.
 
 HONOR o'hARA, 179 
 
 Fothergill and Honoria, the Misses Pres- 
 ton preferred proceeding on a voyage of 
 discoveries. Miss Dulcy was soon apos- 
 trophising the moon, through the painted 
 glass of the windows, by the side of Mr. 
 Tudor, Hstening with rapt attention to 
 his learned catalogue of names for the 
 Goddess of the silver bow ; and begging 
 hard to be allowed a little dislike to that 
 of Hecate. While the faithful disciple of 
 the ancients was endeavouring to inspire 
 her sister with classical respect for a title 
 degraded by vulgar notions only. Miss 
 Bella looking and moving in all directions 
 to detect every person of rank in the 
 room, to register the peculiarities of their 
 dress, and take minutes of their discourse, 
 was elbowing her way (and formidable was 
 that instrument in her person,) towards 
 a very small parterre of young ladies 
 with titles preceding their names. 
 
 In her progress, some one trod on part 
 
 of her sweeping gown ; it rent with the 
 
 withdrawing foot : the luckless destroyer 
 
 started, stuttered, tried to apologize, held 
 
 I 6
 
 180 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 out his hand to save tottering Miss Bella 
 from falling ; heard her good-humoured 
 *« O ! pray don't mind it -," and still hold- 
 ing her hand with the confused look of 
 the most easily-confused person in the 
 world, stammered out, «« a Miss Shafto, I 
 believe ! I really, madam — I hope — I 
 beg pardon ; I — I — may I be^ the 
 honour of leading you to — to — " a seat, 
 he xcoidd have said, ** to the dance,'' he 
 did say. 
 
 Miss Bella knew not if she were awake 
 or dreaming -, for the embarrassed, rue- 
 ful-looking speaker, who was all the 
 while nervously squeezing an opera hat 
 under one arm, while with the other he 
 w^as dragging her forwards, was no less a 
 personage than the Marquis of Brink- 
 bourn ; a near relation, and, therefore, 
 frequent visitant of the noble duke in 
 the neighbourhood : a single man ; and, 
 barring a very miserable person, that 
 seemed born for nothing but to sit shut up 
 in a sedan chair all the days of its mortal 
 existence, and a sheepish shyness which
 
 m 
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 181 
 
 kept his whole body on the fidget, he 
 might be considered a most brilliant part- 
 ner, either for life, or in a dance. 
 
 Miss Bella's hand was now nervously 
 riped by His Lordship's, her head was 
 urning : her conscience was yet vigilant j 
 and making a truly heroic effort, she 
 named herself, in contradistinction to 
 Miss Shafto. But His Lordship was in the 
 deep water, and there was no retreat for 
 him, ** All the same, madam ; any lady 
 here 5" — and to the amazement of every 
 one in the room, and out of the room, 
 Miss Bella Preston was seen leading off 
 ** Drops of brandy" with the heir to a 
 dukedom. 
 
 After the first buz of " Lord Brink- 
 bourn's dancing with Miss Preston," 
 ** Where ? where ?" after the rush to look 
 at them, the illustrious pair were left 
 room to go down the dance, during 
 which a feather might have been heard 
 to drop. 
 
 Never, certainly, did illustrious pair 
 acquit themselves worse. Lord Brink- 
 bourn's diamond knee and shoe buckles
 
 182 HONOR o'hARA, 
 
 were always catching different parts of 
 his partner's dress ; and Miss Bella's feet 
 were so encumbered by her clinging lace 
 train, which she had not taken time to 
 fasten up properly, that fear and anxiety 
 sharpened her visage visibly more and 
 more. 
 
 This dancing with Lord Brinkbourn 
 was certainly a martyrdom : like better 
 martyrdoms it had its triumph, and its 
 reward. Miss Bella was able to talk and 
 write of it for the whole remainder of her 
 life ; and as she never let any one into the 
 secret of His Loixiship's foregone confu- 
 sion and mistake, his selection of her as a 
 partner, stamped herself and her family 
 as good society to all eternity in their 
 county. 
 
 The few women of rank at Arthur's 
 Court were too well acquainted mth 
 Lord Brinkbourn's embarrassed manner 
 not to divine the jest; and they were 
 entertained. They were also too well 
 bred to give it utterance beyond their 
 own little set. But the half-way ladies, 
 those who skirted the awful heights of
 
 HONOR o'hara. 183 
 
 rank and fashion, were exceedingly af- 
 fronted ; declaring the Marquess's choice 
 of such a partner, an absolute insult to 
 all their county beauties. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto reconciled herself to it, 
 first, by fancying Miss Preston owed her 
 honour to the otherwise gross copy of 
 her daughters' dresses ; then by believing 
 it would be a mortal blow to Miss 
 O'Hara's pretensions as one of these 
 mortal divinities : to be thus publicly 
 pronounced inferior to Miss Preston, by 
 the heir to a dukedom, must infallibly 
 annihilate every particle of admiration 
 she had inspired ; yet how admired she 
 had heard her! Mrs. Shafto looked 
 round the room to see whether Honoria 
 did not owe this transient supremacy to a 
 particular dearth of pretty faces. But 
 there were the two Ladies Lumley, with 
 their skins of ivory, brows of jet, lips of 
 coral, and looks of languishment : there 
 were the four blushing daughters of the 
 
 Dean of , with the countenances and 
 
 shapes of Hebes j looking through nut-
 
 184 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 brown curls with the eyes of youthful 
 joyance : then there was the pretty Lady 
 Catherme Eustace with her shght form, 
 light wreathing hair, eyes and veins of 
 azure, eluding every attempt to detain 
 her with a pretty coquetry which gave 
 her the semblance of a thing of air: 
 lastly, there was Mrs. Branspeth's heiress, 
 lovely, decidedly lovely, but so much too- 
 retreating ! How vexatious that this 
 attractive heiress should be exactly what 
 was calculated to set Miss O'Hara's style 
 of beauty more strikingly off! Miss 
 Clavering was so very fair ; so very still ; 
 so very downcast looking ! Miss O'Hara 
 was so dark and bright at once ; so bril- 
 liant, yet so hlushfiil! Some one in Mrs. 
 Shafto's hearing had compared these two 
 beauties to the pearl and the diamond : 
 it was insupportably mortifying ! How- 
 ever, Mrs. Shafto was comforted by the 
 persuasion that Major Stanhope was either 
 brow-beaten or flattered out of his sudden 
 admiration of Miss O'Hara ; for after 
 dancing with Miss Augusta Shafto, he
 
 HONOR o'hara. 185 
 
 had taken refuge at the whist-table, 
 where he was losing his money as fast, 
 and as good-humouredly as possible. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur was relieved when 
 he looked into the card-room and saw the 
 Major at the same table with his father : 
 Sir Everard's partner of course ; for when 
 did Sir Everard ever win ? 
 
 But a new rival had arisen to disturb 
 poor Fitz Arthur's serenity, in the person 
 of Miss O'Hara's last partner, Mr. Frazer 
 of Dunraven ; a Highland laird, with the 
 quick keen eye, and manly bearing of 
 his country : one that had travelled 
 much, observed closely, and remembered 
 all he considered note- worthy; a fluent 
 speaker, w^ithout oratorical ornament ; not 
 a professed seeker of women's society, 
 therefore the likelier to be wholly fas- 
 cinated by one charming individual. 
 
 At dinner, Mr. Frazer had sat on the 
 same side of the table with Miss O'Hara, 
 too distant to hear or be heard by her : 
 he was deep in debate with her uncle, 
 whom he knew^ merely as the clergyman 
 of Edenfell, and chose, therefore, to fall
 
 186 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 upon, as a fit opponent in a learned 
 field. 
 
 Frazer was naturally of a keen and 
 controversial spirit which loved to grapple 
 with an argument merely for the sake of 
 feeling its own strength. Habit, and a 
 roving life spent amongst strangers in 
 foreign lands, had increased this in- 
 clination, and accustomed him, besides, 
 to a certain freedom of address, and way 
 of pouncing upon subjects, which some- 
 times disgusted, sometimes captivated 
 people, just as their passions, prejudices, 
 or opinions, did or did not run parallel 
 with his. 
 
 Neither the time allotted for dinner, 
 nor an hour afterwards, nor the period 
 hitherto passed in the ball-room, had been 
 sufficient for his eager appetite ; so that 
 he was still combating, with equal vigour 
 and ability, the merely bookish reason- 
 ings of Mr. Meredith against the fantas- 
 tical theory of black being the original 
 colour of mankind; when, accidentally 
 turning his head, his deep-set grey eyes 
 met the large, liquid, and earnestly-
 
 HONOR o'hara. 187 
 
 attentive ones of Honoria. Perhaps it 
 was as much the complimentary ex- 
 pression of those eyes, as the brightness 
 of them, which arrested and fixed him ; 
 for the hardy colouring of his -cheek 
 brightened with evident pleasure, while 
 he said, in an audible undertone, ** There, 
 sir ! look there, and tell me if darkness 
 may not be light? blackness, beauty?" 
 Mr. Meredith, seeing his niece, smiled ; 
 sighed, from some half-faded recollec- 
 tions ; and, claiming her, presented his 
 new acquaintance. Honoria, after a few 
 civil words, entreated her uncle and the 
 laird to finish the discussion, to which 
 she had been listening, she said, with 
 delightful interest. Mr. Meredith ex- 
 cused himself: he was weary of talking 
 and attending to arguments ; and he was 
 used to early hours ; and the chaise was 
 to come for him at twelve o'clock, and it 
 waited, and he must be gone. Mrs. 
 Meredith was at cards in another room : 
 Honoria could not be left sitting with 
 Mr, Fra^er, so there was no alternative
 
 188 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 but to dance with him — to the dance 
 therefore Mr. Frazer led her. 
 
 Amongst his other acquirements, the 
 Laird of Dunraven was a geologist. The 
 origin of mountains and the origin of 
 nations were subjects equally attractive 
 to his inquisitive spirit. Though but 
 eight and thirty, he had traversed half 
 Africa and Asia in pursuit of certain 
 data upon which to found some favourite 
 theories. His present residence in the 
 north of England was the consequence 
 of some fossil remains of " lions or 
 unicorns'^ having been found in a cave 
 there, which he wished to examine. 
 Every body stared, therefore, when they 
 saw the philosopher dancing with Mr. 
 Meredith's niece. 
 
 Miss Augusta Sliafto, who had of late 
 taken a passion for fossils and minerals, 
 even to learning the mystery of making 
 spars out of vitriol and ahim, now turned 
 as green as one of her own compositions. 
 Mrs. Shaflo quietly shrugged up her 
 shoulders, whispering, *' That girl will
 
 HONOR o'hara. 189 
 
 run herself out of breath, you'll see. She 
 goes too fast, and with too many, to se- 
 cure one. Don't mind, my love." 
 
 " I mind, ma'am 1" repeated the 
 haughty ill-tempered Miss Augusta ; 
 " be so good as spare your pity." 
 
 By the time that Honoria, light and 
 graceful as mist blown on the wind, and 
 Dunraven with the vigorous bound of a 
 Scottish foot, had readied the bottom of 
 the dance, Honoria's long hair got mi- 
 fastened, and she hastily sat down that 
 she might twist it up again, without at- 
 tracting attention. A complimentary 
 quotation from Ossian dropt the spark, 
 and Honoria's enthusiasm blazed up di- 
 rectly. She talked of Ossian — of green 
 Erin, where so many of his scenes are 
 laid ; she found Mr. Frazer had been 
 there, knocking at the Giants' Cause- 
 way, with pick-a5^e and hammer. He 
 knew all the dear bleak hills, the brown 
 turf bogs, the blue lochs, the flax fields, 
 — nay, every bleaching-ground round 
 and about fondly cherished Ballygarry.
 
 190 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 Honoria was suddenly and pow rfuUy 
 affected. The subject had taken her by 
 surprise, in a scene so different ! It was 
 like being hastily waked ; and she was 
 forced to answer gaily, that her answer 
 might not overcome herself. ** Och ! 
 and is'nt it Hetty Macready that would 
 have joy and pride to see the gentle- 
 man V she involuntarily exclaimed, with 
 a smile on the quivering lip imitating 
 the brogue. The smile fled : her eyes 
 were sparkling with tears — tears, na- 
 tural, unrepressible — tears, sacred to the 
 memory of her country — to that of the 
 home where she had been bred — to the 
 ashes of her parents — to the dust of 
 that kind relative to whose bounty she 
 owed present independence. 
 
 " And who is Hetty Macready?" asked 
 Mr. Frazer, surprised by the mixed comic 
 and pathetic of her tone. " I shall be 
 only too happy to make the acquaintance 
 of any friend of yours." 
 
 " My hair will fall down ; I must fasten 
 it better:" was her evasive exclamation,
 
 HONOft 0*HARA, 191 
 
 'as starting up, and putting her hand to 
 its careless knot, she ran through an 
 opened door into one of the passage 
 rooms. She paused here, not to adjust 
 her hair, but to wipe away the tears that 
 were crowding fast into her eyes, and to 
 chide herself, both for the emotion she 
 was betrayed into, and the thoughtless 
 exclamation she had made about her 
 nurse. It seemed to claim Mr. Frazer's 
 further acquaintance, and as such she 
 regretted it. 
 
 And how foolishly weak was her pre- 
 sent emotion ! How often had she 
 spoken of Ireland to Mrs. Preston, and 
 spoken with sadness perhaps, but always 
 tranquilly ! Honoria forgot, that al- 
 though she often talked of her country, 
 she had never, till now, met any one in 
 Northumberland, who spoke to her as 
 having been there. The mere circum- 
 stance of Mr. Frazer's knowing all her 
 old haunts, and some of her earliest 
 acquaintance, seemed to raise them be- 
 fore her. Mr. Frazer's vivid mode of 
 referring to places and persons was a
 
 19^ HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 sort of return to dear Ireland. And 
 should she not weep, indeed, when she 
 saw Ballygarry again ? Why then might 
 she not shed a tear now ? 
 
 Honoria wore her father's picture — it 
 had once been her mother's — and she 
 always wore it under her dress. She 
 faintly remembered her last sight of her 
 father ; for he died in India when she 
 was eleven years old. She was but seven 
 when he went, and his wandering life 
 before that, had given him few opportuni- 
 ties of seeing his child. She remembered 
 the sad and serious expression of his as- 
 pect, however, with tender respect. 
 
 She now drew this miniature from her 
 bosom, and bent her lips to it. On raising 
 her head, she was abashed by meeting the 
 eyes of Captain Fitz Arthur. "My father's 
 picture !" she said, blushing, and sliding 
 it back. ** I have been so foolish. Cap- 
 tain Fitz Arthur!" She could not say more 
 without renewing her weakness. 
 
 " Tears, Miss O'Hara!" Fitz Arthur 
 exclaimed, taking her hand with trepid- 
 ation, and drawing her towards the room
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 193 
 
 he had just quitted. " I hope no one 
 here ; I trust nothing under my father's 
 
 roof " It was Fitz Arthur's turn to 
 
 stop for want of words. Honoria hastened 
 to relieve his kindly anxiety, by briefly 
 and frankly telling him what had oc- 
 curred; adding, *' I just covet ten mi- 
 nutes to recover myself and cool my hot 
 cheeks j for I must be a perfect pseony 
 just now ; and you know we silly girls 
 stand dreadfully in awe of our own bad 
 looks !" 
 
 «* Well then, if you would not deem it 
 incorrect to sit those ten minutes with 
 Hylton, you will find him in that room 
 alone, enjoying his share, poor fellow, of 
 the dancing. I will carry your apology 
 for the present to Mr. Frazer." 
 
 " Hylton alone ! — I shall be so glad 
 to have a little chat with him !" and dis- 
 engaging herself from the trembling hand 
 that scarcely touched the one it held, she 
 vanished into a back room, where she 
 found the pale placid boy, raised by 
 cushions to a level with a small window 
 overlooking the ball-roorau 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 tg^^ HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 There was something heart-penetrating" 
 to her in this view of Hylton ; his sickly 
 look, languid attitude, his well-known 
 helplessness, his glass of toast and water, 
 his tasteless biscuit, nay, the very silence 
 and solitariness of the chamber he was 
 in, struck Honoria as pecuharly dismal, 
 when contrasted with the glare, the noise, 
 the mirth, the music, feasting, and festivity 
 of the one she had left and he was looking 
 into. When she remarked the meek and 
 patient, nay, pleased expression of his 
 pallid features, she could almost have 
 asked his pardon for having been joyous. 
 
 *« And you are alone, Hylton !" she 
 said tenderly. 
 
 " Yes, just this moment, dear Miss 
 O'Hara," returned the amiable boy, 
 extending his sallow hand to her ; " but 
 I have had visitors all the evening. 
 Your kind uncle left the dinner-room to 
 play a game at chess with me before the 
 ball began ; since then I have had my 
 father and good Sir John Henderson, and 
 dear, dear Delaval several times — he was 
 here only a moment ago y and Abbot is
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 195 
 
 only gone to get some supper before he 
 puts me in my chair and carries me to 
 bed : nobody is taken so much care of as 
 I am ; and now a lady comes to visit 
 me ! Will you sit down by me awhile, 
 or have you an agreeable partner wait- 
 
 iiig?" 
 
 Honoria was seated by Hylton in- 
 stantly ; she was touched by his artless 
 resignation to a fate peculiarly dreadful 
 to one of that active sex, whose destin- 
 ation in life appears that of action. 
 
 The boy's taste, habits of thinking, of 
 reading and of feeling, all tended to 
 make liim look with bitter regret upon a 
 misfortune which would blight his use- 
 fulness, perhaps exclude him from much 
 of the happiness of this world, and cer- 
 tainly incapacitate him from pursuing 
 any path of honourable ambition 5 a fate 
 which would condemn him to dependence 
 upon the humours and fortunes of those 
 to whom he belonged; a fate suifering 
 and solitary : yet to such a fate Hylton 
 appeared unaffectedly resigned. 
 
 K 2
 
 196 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 The early lessons of his meek-spirited 
 mother had been followed by the friendly 
 tuition of Mr. Meredith ; and insensibly 
 imbibing a taste for religious studies, he 
 found at once an object of pursuit on 
 earth, and a blissful incitement to press 
 on to Heaven. Hylton's wishes would 
 have led to the Church as a profession, 
 had his health permitted him to hope he 
 should ever be able to fulfil its high du- 
 ties : that impossible, he aimed at one 
 day serving the sacred cause by his pen. 
 Even now he wrote with ease and some 
 elegance, and all his serious reading had 
 the elucidation of Scripture customs or 
 Scripture doctrines for its chief purpose. 
 His regrets, moderated by the nature of 
 his studies, he was solicitous only to show 
 gratitude for the kindness bestowed upon 
 his wearying feebleness. He knew his 
 brother's generous heart was often laden 
 with the fear that all had not been done 
 that might have been, had his mother 
 lived longer, or Sir Everard been less in- 
 dolent j and eager to convince him that
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 197 
 
 Hylton could be as happy in his wheeled 
 chair, or on his sofa, as the most active 
 man on his feet, or on a horse, he was 
 always to be found amusing or employing 
 himself; ever thanking Heaven that the 
 most precious avenue of enjoyment was 
 left him — that of sight. 
 
 Forced bodily inactivity often renders 
 the mind more active : it was so in Hyl- 
 ton's case. He reflected, even more than 
 he read ; for prolonged study being for- 
 bidden him by his physician, he read 
 only such works as bore upon the subject 
 most interesting to him. In this practice 
 he was encouraged by his brother, whose 
 judicious tenderness rejoiced to foster a 
 taste or an ambition which tended to 
 fortify the soul of Hylton against those 
 natural sensibilities, which a passion for 
 poetry and romance nmst have heighten- 
 ed. The society of well-informed persons, 
 willing to answer the boy's sensible ques- 
 tions upon general subjects, was therefore 
 of peculiar consequence to him — it stood 
 in lieu of books. 
 
 K 3
 
 198 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 " I am so pleased when I can get a 
 page or two of you, dear Miss O'Hara,'' 
 he said playfully. " I call you my story- 
 book — you are so delightful! dear De- 
 la val is my history." 
 
 " Nothing better than that!" ex- 
 claimed Honoria. '* Poor Captain Fitz 
 Arthur to be only dry history." 
 
 '' Oh ! but he is my IHad and Odyssey 
 too I" Hylton said hastily, jealous of his 
 brother's reputation : " he makes me 
 admire danger and warlike actions, too — 
 too much sometimes." (The poor boy 
 sighed, and a tinge of colour was visible 
 through his pale cheek.) *^ I often think 
 that admirable Hector must have been 
 like my brother." 
 
 *' I dare say !" was Honoria's answer, 
 smiling with mixed expression. ** At any 
 rate, that hideous picture in the gallery 
 is not the least like Captain Fitz Arthur." 
 
 *« O, I am so glad you think so!" cried 
 Hylton. ** It is so very ill-looking; and 
 Delaval is so very handsome !" 
 
 " Sweet boy ! amiable boy !" burst in- 
 voluntarily from Honoria ) <* how^ you
 
 HONOR o'hara. 199 
 
 love your brother !" " Every body in 
 the house loves him," returned her 
 young companion. *' He makes every 
 body so happy ! My dear father is quite 
 a different person since became home: 
 even Thomas is not so naughty and rude 
 with him, as he is v/ith us. But then you 
 see, Delaval is never put out of" temper, 
 let people be ever so cross or violent, 
 and yet he never gives up a point." 
 
 Honoria's feelings were in the mood 
 suited to these overflowings of a heart 
 full of our first best feelings, pure as they 
 came from their spring. With more aban- 
 donment to her own sensibility, than 
 her gay temper ever allowed in herself 
 before witnesses, she suffered her eyes 
 to suffuse, w^hile she uttered a few kind 
 questions, calculated to encourage Hylton 
 in pouring forth this fond opinion of liis 
 brother. 
 
 In the midst of tlieir interesting con- 
 versation, the slow step of John Abbot 
 made her rise from her seat, and passing 
 her hand over her eyes, she bade Hylton 
 K 4
 
 €00 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 good night, in her usual tone of cheerful 
 kindness. The next moment she was in 
 the ball-room, and the moment after that 
 claimed by Mr. Frazer, as the lady upon 
 whom he had the right of attending 
 during supper. 
 
 For some time it was a most grievous 
 supper to Captain Fitz Arthur. He stood 
 directly opposite Miss O'Hara, behind 
 the chair of Lady Catherine Eustace, 
 who was either so fantastic as to like all 
 sorts of things from the remoter end 
 of the table, or was not unwilling, by 
 such little commissions, to show her 
 knight, a sworn one of hers being absent, 
 that she would not disdain more flatter- 
 ing attentions from the heir of Arthur's 
 Court. Continually moving to and fro, 
 with confectionery, fruit, jeUies, for the 
 pretty coquette, he caught every now and 
 then, just as much of Mr. Frazer's ani- 
 mated tones, looks, and gesticulations 
 as tortured him with the imagination of 
 more. Mr. Frazer was holding forth upon 
 a favourite theme, the Phoenician origin 
 of the Irish. He talked so well, though
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 201 
 
 SO fast and hotly, that even Mr. Saw- 
 bridge, who was a listener, could not ridi- 
 cule him. The occasion was tempting ; 
 for in truth, such a dissertation afteV a 
 ball, in the presence of a score or two of 
 young ladies, was not very well judged. 
 Had the fashionable phrase been in use 
 then, Mr. Sawbridge would indisputably 
 have employed it ; and, we should have 
 heard him whisper, " Bad taste — ex- 
 ceeding bad taste." 
 
 Several of the by-standers, surprised 
 at such a dissertation, pronounced the 
 Laird of Dun raven a very odd person ; 
 no one called him vulgar. Nothing in- 
 deed is vulgar, except pretension. Peo- 
 ple who live much by themselves, may 
 be rustic, or clownish, or over-bearing in 
 their manner ; but unless they aim at ap- 
 pearing something better bred, or better 
 informed than they really are, they can 
 never be vulgar. 
 
 Frazer's intrepid eccentricity, as much 
 as the language he displayed it in, pro- 
 claimed him oi'gude blude; he was there- 
 K 5
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 fore suffered to go on without the inter- 
 ruption of a single contemptuous glance. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur almost envied the 
 fluent tongue, and the sparkling satisfac- 
 tion of Mr. Frazer ; he quite envied 
 him "the delighted attention of Honoria, 
 who was leaning back to listen, though 
 without taking any other share in the 
 discourse. The yew-tree-shaped squire, 
 who had sat next her at dinner, sup- 
 ported in this memorable exhibition of 
 oratory, the honourable and useful part 
 of the talking stock. Mr. Frazer being 
 obliged to find some sponsible person, 
 whom he must appear to be informing, 
 ingeniously guessed at the capacity of 
 the squire, as an Oh ! and Ah ! respon- 
 dent; and laying hands on him, stationed 
 him by his side. 
 
 Honoria listened to them, with a kind- 
 ling face, and throbbing form, which 
 showed what an interest she was taking 
 in this genealogy of her country. Fitz 
 Arthur now gave himself up for lost. 
 Miss O'Hara had obviously captivated 
 Mr. Frazer, and Frazer evidently per-
 
 208 
 
 celved that he pleased her. Fitz Arthur 
 saw it in the eager fire of his elated 
 rival's eyes ; he heard it in the exulting 
 tone of his voice. For some minutes our 
 poor lover was utterly incapable of knowr 
 ing what his fine lady tormentress wanted, 
 or asked ; he was not sorry when he made 
 out that she wished him to lead her to her 
 chaperon, who was rising from the other 
 end of the table, their carriage having 
 been announced. 
 
 After duly escorting her sylph-like 
 Ladyship along the halls and galleries 
 leading to the grand entrance, seen her 
 into her mother's coacli, stood properly 
 shivering without a hat, on the steps of 
 the portico, till the coroneted vehicle 
 drove off, Fitz Arthur returned with 
 seven-league strides to the supper-room. 
 
 Greatest part of the company were re- 
 turned to the dance, and the attendant 
 gentlemen had now found seats beside 
 their ladies. As he hoped, as he feared, 
 he saw Miss O'Hara still there, and Mr. 
 Frazer seated between her and Mrs. 
 K 6
 
 204 HONOR 0*HARA« 
 
 Meredith. The latter always last to leave 
 an eating-room. Upon seeing Captain 
 Fitz Arthur re-enter, Honoria (uncon- 
 sciously at the instant, and afterwards 
 she could not well say why she did it,) 
 made a movement to rise, and leave her 
 knight to finish his supper without her. 
 Fitz Arthur remarked the movement, and 
 the slight embarrassment of manner 
 which had followed the glance, that told 
 her of his re-appearance. A second 
 time this evening, his heart throbbed with 
 troubled, doubtful, lover-like hopes, — the 
 next moment, he was his sad self again. 
 
 ** Sit down, Honor !'' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Meredith, not in her company voice, so 
 alarmed was she at the idea of thus losing 
 a mountain of trifle, which the shrewd 
 Laird of Dunraven had just heaped her 
 plate with. Electrified by the warning 
 tone, Honoria was in her seat immediately: 
 she dreaded an exposure of Mrs. Mere- 
 dith's temper. 
 
 Mr. Frazer was now talking of the 
 Eolian harp. Honoria had never heard 
 either that or the nightingale. The
 
 HONOR o'hara. 205 
 
 Laird was a great mechanic. " I will 
 make you an Eolian harp in a week's 
 time," he said, with easy gallantry, " if 
 you will do me the honour of accepting 
 it ; but to hear the nightingale, you must 
 allow some happy man to carry you to 
 the South of France. I should recom- 
 mend this very spring." 
 
 Mr. Frazer was known to be on his 
 way to the Pyrenees : and all who heard 
 his present recommendation, considered 
 it as a public proposal of marriage. Ho- 
 noria, alone, did not understand any 
 thing beyond the obvious meaning of his 
 words, and with an unchanged counte- 
 nance began playfully to question the 
 superiority of the nightingale over her 
 favourite sky-lark. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto, in her capacity of in- 
 quisitor-general, had *^remained with the 
 lingerers round the supper-table. She 
 now suddenly stretched across it address- 
 ing Mrs. Meredith with — ** You and I 
 never meeting any where, Mrs. Mere- 
 dith, really has given me no opportunity 
 of repeating my thanks for your so obli-
 
 206 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 gingly accommodating Signor Vocallino 
 with a room at the parsonage to give 
 my daughters their lessons. We are such 
 a comfortably reduced party here, just 
 at this moment, that I am sure the Misses 
 Shafto will have infinite pleasure in 
 showing you what their lessons have 
 turned out.'' 
 
 Mrs. Meredith was in as vulgar a fuss 
 of acknowledgments, and sense of the 
 great honour, as the great lady could 
 desire. She was quite sure, she said, that 
 she should be charmed with the Misses 
 Shafto's singing. — Such an education ! 
 They must be so accomplished! Often 
 and often had she listened in the passage 
 when the young ladies were singing with 
 their master — and wished so that she 
 might have gone in to them. 
 
 " And why did you not, my good 
 madam ?" 
 
 "O dear ma'am — gracious for ever! 
 You can't suppose, ma'am, I should take 
 such a liberty, — I could not think of any 
 thing so unpolite, -— I would not make so 
 free for any money."
 
 HONOR o'hARA. SO7 
 
 Mrs. Shafto was all smiles and civility; 
 her point was gained — the vulgarity of 
 Miss O'Hara's relations (to quote fash- 
 ionable slang, j completely sJiown up to 
 the Laird of Dunraven. After this, he 
 could never repeat his recommendation 
 of the South of France ; probably he 
 would not even choose to waste wood and 
 wire upon an Eolian harp. 
 
 Miss Shafto and Miss Augusta secretly 
 as much elated as their mother, by the 
 brilliant success of her stratagem, cast a 
 glance at the Laird, who they saw eye- 
 ing his vulgar neighbour with steady 
 composure. Captain Fitz Arthur thought 
 the Laird was considering how he should 
 ciil her entirely after he married Honoria; 
 the Misses Shafto decided he was thinking 
 how to cut at once both aunt and niece. 
 
 Under this agreeable impression they 
 began to sing with a spirit quite unusual 
 with them, a popular duet in the opera 
 of Dido. 
 
 " Very well, indeed ! vastly well !" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Frazer, who always took the 
 lead whenever any thing was to be said.
 
 208 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 "Your daughters credit their master, 
 Mrs. Shafto : I really did not think when 
 I heard them some months ago at your 
 own house, that they could have been 
 taught to sing half so pleasantly/' It 
 must be remembered, that the Laird of 
 Dunraven did not generally affect wo- 
 men's society ; therefore, when his va- 
 nity or his heart were not ministered to 
 by one of the sex, he was somewhat un- 
 ceremonious to them. 
 
 Another lady was solicited, and sang 5 
 then another and a gentleman with her. 
 All chose Italian songs. *' Italian music 
 indifferently sung, is very poor work after 
 all : very poor work !" muttered Mr. Fra- 
 zer. Then exalting his voice, ^* Can, or 
 will, no lady favour us with a song in our 
 mother-tongue ?" 
 
 " Certainly not in yours," observed 
 Captain Fitz Arthur smiling, *' unless Miss 
 O'Hara knows Gaelic. I know she sings 
 English, Irish, and Scotch ballads : and 
 I am one of the unscientific who will 
 plead for a song in an ordinary language." 
 
 Honoria blushed vermilion, and would
 
 209 
 
 have excused herself; for, though quite 
 hardened to singing before strangers when 
 a child in Ireland, and singing now fre- 
 quently in the garden to Mrs. Preston, 
 or on the hill-side to her dog and the 
 echoes, she was so entirely out of the 
 habit of exercising her vocal powers in 
 a circle, that she felt fluttered and irre- 
 solute — anxious to oblige, yet fearful of 
 failing. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto was so sure that such an 
 uneducated girl must sing out of time 
 and tune — that she could know nothing 
 of cadences — that, consequently, it 
 would be so greatly to the Misses Shafto's 
 advantage to let her sing, that Mrs. 
 Shafto joined in the civil importunity. 
 Even her daughters mangled some words 
 of entreaty, as they lifted their eye- 
 glasses with the precision of a military 
 movement, and stared at the blushing 
 attempt of Honoria to laugh at her own 
 nervousness. 
 
 A side glance from Mrs. Meredith de- 
 termined our heroine. It was the flash 
 before the thunder. Honoria's red lips
 
 210 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 unclosed, and the balmy voice was 
 heard. 
 
 She had accidentally chosen the beau- 
 tiful melody of " Ye banks and braes o' 
 bonnie Doon." Its pathetic simplicity 
 was suited to her taste and her tones : 
 and while those tones sank into every 
 heart of human .softness, not another 
 sound was heard in the room. Every 
 body w^as so attentive that Honoria's 
 agitation returned j and looking on eitlier 
 side, as if for help, she was on the point 
 of abruptly stopping, when Captain Fitz 
 Arthur with something of tremor in his 
 voice, gave timely support to her trembling 
 notes, by a low and beautiful second. 
 
 The glittering illumination of her 
 whole countenance amply repaid him for 
 the violence he had done his own retir- 
 ing character. She went admirably 
 through the remainder of the song; for 
 the loveliness of his tones, and of his 
 style, inspired her with yet tenderer soft- 
 ness than did the air itself Certainly, 
 when a man's voice is of a fine quality, 
 it is capable of more expression, more
 
 HONOR o'hARA. ^11 
 
 Variety; — it has, in short, a mellower 
 sweetness, and a deeper pathos, than the 
 voice of a woman. If, therefore, Ho- 
 noria's notes wanted strength or fulness, 
 Fitz Arthur's supplied them ; and as 
 their voices, now receding, now advanc- 
 ing, now soaring into one, thrilled in the 
 ear of Fitz Arthur, his heart thrilled also 
 with momentary delight For did not 
 Honoria's spirit seem then mingling with 
 his? 
 
 But she had chosen a Scottish instead 
 of an Irish air. It was quite clear, there- 
 fore, that she intended to please Mr. 
 Frazer. This plain inference soberized 
 the lover's fancy ; and when they con- 
 cluded, with merely a pensive smile and 
 bend of the head, he replied to her rapid 
 acknowledgments : " To think I should 
 never have heard of your singing !" she 
 exclaimed. " Fie, Captain Fitz Arthiu' ! 
 this is using your friends very shabbily.'* 
 
 Mrs. Shafto faced round upon our 
 heroine, with a look of supercilious sur- 
 prise. The words and manner of Miss 
 O'Hara indicated that familiar compa-
 
 212 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 nionship with their kinsman, which war- 
 ranted a suspicion of further views in one 
 of them at least. Mrs. Shafto was con- 
 founded. In her own thoughts she had 
 long ago settled a marriage between her 
 eldest daughter and the heir of Arthur's 
 Court, provided nothing better stepped 
 in; and provided the estates were not 
 ruinously dipped. Ever cautious of com- 
 mitting herself, the kind mother was only 
 waiting for certain information from an 
 ally, to begin her operations accordingly. 
 So absorbed was she by the speculations 
 suddenly excited in her, that she failed 
 to join the clamour of applause breaking 
 in upon Miss O'Hara's exclamation. 
 
 " And who shall say, after this, that 
 the nightingale is never heard in North- 
 umberland?" ejaculated Mr. Frazer. 
 
 Honoria blushed, and vainly tried to 
 turn aside the compliment by bending 
 her head to her partner in the duet. 
 Fitz Arthur felt heart-sick : the three 
 thin shades turned green. 
 
 " Every lady her own Philomel !" mut- 
 tered Mr. Sawbridge, who had lounged
 
 HONOR o'hAUA. 213 
 
 in with others at the sound of singing, 
 and was now helping to block up the 
 door- way, just behind Mrs. Shafto, 
 ** Every lady her own Philomel ! Vide 
 Advertisements in newspapers." 
 
 The benevolent Mrs. Shafto turned 
 upon him with a gracious smile, and a 
 glance expressive of approbation. *« Mr. 
 Sawbridge, may I beg you will have the 
 goodness to ask for my carriage ? Miss 
 Shafto, my love, Sir Thomas Butterby 
 will be so obliging as enquire for your 
 shawl. Major Stanhope, I believe you 
 belong to us. Augusta, my dear, — 
 Matilda, dearest !" The tender mother 
 had her whole brood under the maternal 
 wing in two minutes. 
 
 When Mrs. Shafto arose, could Mrs. 
 Meredith sit ? A large glass of delicious 
 Cup was left unfinished, while Mrs. 
 Meredith, with repeated bends and ser- 
 vile speeches, stood curtsying out her 
 Great Lady. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto' s civilities would have 
 honoured a French diplomatist. She 
 was civiller than Lord Chesterfield him-
 
 214 HONOR o'HARA. 
 
 self; so marking the vast distinction of 
 degree between herself and the person 
 she addressed : she condescended to 
 murmur some questions about certain 
 loads of fire-wood ; w^hether they ap- 
 peared punctually — were of the right 
 quality, quantity, &c. I must do her the 
 justice to say, in so low a voice, that but 
 for the audible responses of Mrs. Mere- 
 dith, (proud of her patroness's favours,) 
 not one of the by-standers could have 
 guessed the exact nature of these myste- 
 rious whisperings. 
 
 The expected answers obtained, and 
 another poisoned arrow^ shot, therefore, 
 at Miss O'Hara's ab^s qfconseque?ice, the 
 elegant mistress of Shafto Place finally 
 disappeared ; handed out by that very 
 Mr. Saw^bridge who had ridiculed her so 
 unmercifully, but w^hose vanity could 
 not resist her flattering glance, after his 
 last miserable joke. 
 
 Honoria's proud spirit, meanwhile, 
 was inwardly champing the bit. She 
 longed to tell Mrs. Meredith how shame- 
 fully she was degrading her husband and
 
 Honor o'haraw ^15 
 
 lierself, from that respectable station to 
 which he was entitled bv birth, breedino^, 
 and sacred calling, and which she might 
 demand in quahty of his wife. But to 
 speak without the purpose either of 
 pleasing, persuading, consoling, or com- 
 mending, was not in Honoria's character. 
 She never wanted to provoke, not even 
 to vent temporary spleen. Conscious 
 that on this, as on other occasions, jNIrs. 
 Meredith could only be provoked, and 
 was quite incapable of listening to, or 
 profiting by, reason, she curbed her in- 
 dignant impulse, and merely looking 
 down, prepared to follow her disagree- 
 able chaperon in the duty of wishing Sir 
 Everard and Mrs. Fothergill good night. 
 Perfectly self-assured, Mr. Frazer 
 hastened after them with blunt forward- 
 ness : his very ignorance of women's 
 characters making him rash in his con- 
 clusions upon their conduct. " I take 
 care of Miss O'Hara down stairs,'^ he 
 said, casting on those round him a glance 
 between triumph and defiance. " Depend 
 on it, Miss O'Hara," he added, witk
 
 216 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 hardy frankness, though in a lowered 
 voice, " that I shall not easily give up 
 even half an hour's right to this pretty 
 little hand.'' 
 
 Honoria endeavoured quietly to with- 
 draw her arm from his, over which he 
 had drawn it ; but he grasped the hand 
 he spoke of, and that so firmly, that she 
 could not disengage herself without a 
 struggle. She was obliged, therefore, 
 to submit. The appearance of Sir Eve- 
 rard and of Mrs. Fothergill in the room 
 whence they were going to seek them, 
 promised a quicker termination of Ho- 
 noria's thraldom. " That good lady 
 before us," the Laird asked, " she that is 
 speaking to the Baronet, is only your 
 uncle's wife ! not your blood relation ?" 
 
 *« Only my uncle's wife," answered 
 Honoria, dryly. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I thought so — I was sure 
 of it," Mr. Frazer rejoined. " Then I 
 don't care a gowan for her ! And where 
 did you learn that charming song of my 
 country ? I assure you " 
 
 Honoria interrupted his assurance by
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 217 
 
 replying, " In my country, Mr. Frazer ; 
 it was the last song I learnt there, so it 
 was naturally the first in my thoughts. 
 I owe no compliment to your country ; 
 she uses mine basely ! She makes a foray 
 upon our music, carries off the sweetest 
 airs, then passes them on England as her 
 own. I am quite sure the * Banks and 
 braes o' bonnie Doon' is an Irish air. 
 I will maintain the superior antiquity and 
 beauty of our music over yours." 
 
 The Laird of Dunraven's spirit of 
 controversy and disputation was roused ; 
 it was too strong for infant love. The 
 shade which had fallen over his brow 
 when Honoria pointedly accounted for 
 her choice of a Scottish song, suddenly 
 cleared off, while preparing himself for 
 combat, with " a voice loud and sprite- 
 ful as the trumpet of the challenger," he 
 called upon some one of the gentlemen 
 present to take up the gauntlet, and 
 enter the lists for the lady. 
 
 <* Behold the champion of Scotland !" 
 he exclaimed, with a vivacity and ardour 
 not ungraceful, though pronounced in 
 
 VOL. 1. L
 
 218 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 rather too declamatory a tone. ** Who 
 stands forth for the accuser ?" 
 
 Four or five gallant voices were heard 
 at once, proffering aid to the feebler side, 
 though professing total ignorance of the 
 nature or merits of the cause. Amongst 
 these was not Fitz Arthur: a sad still- 
 ness of the heart had seized him, — all 
 seemed over. This temerity of Mr. 
 Frazer's spoke of certainty in his views 
 upon Honoria. He could not surely 
 risk opposition to her opinions, had he 
 not assured himself, that she would be 
 pleased with a public display of his 
 talents and information. Fitz Arthur 
 smothered a sigh or two, and drew back. 
 Mr. Frazer found a serious opponent : 
 a young man, whom no one hitherto 
 had noticed after the first introductive 
 civilities, except those who brought him 
 to Arthur's Court. 
 
 This person had neither danced, played 
 cards, flirted, nor grouped with the other 
 men; he had moved noiselessly about 
 the room, as little regarded as a cat in a 
 garden ; and having a large green shade
 
 HONOR o'hara. 219 
 
 over his eyes, and being besides rather 
 slovenly dressed, failed to attract the at- 
 tention of the ladies. It was the more 
 noble in him, to buckle on his armour in 
 Miss O'Hara's quarrel. 
 
 Honoria, however, more distressed than 
 grateful, looked round for Captain Fitz 
 Arthur. " Only let me run away from 
 this battle before it begins," she exclaim- 
 ed, all confusion, yet trying to treat it 
 lightly. Fitz Arthur had hold of her 
 hand the next moment ; he was all warm 
 life again. Honoria' s heart must have 
 turned to him for protection, — he would 
 not thi7ik so, — he could but feel, that it 
 had. 
 
 With a cheek of fire, eyes that dared 
 not trust themselves with looking on her, 
 lest they should betray this brief trans- 
 port, and respiration short and fluttering, 
 he hurried her through the door-way, fol- 
 lowed by the clamorous ** Stop, stop !" 
 of Mrs. Meredith, who though eager to 
 avoid the threatened disputation, chose 
 to be taken as good care of as her hus- 
 band's niece. 
 
 L 2
 
 2^0 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 Meanwhile the two mortal combatants 
 set their lances in their rests, and ad- 
 dressed themselves in good earnest to 
 fight. One important feature, however, 
 was wanting in this mimic combat, to 
 give spirit to both, or at least to one, of 
 the knights, the presence of the lady for 
 whom it was undertaken. This accident 
 at first disconcerted Mr. Frazer; but 
 quickly recollecting, that his beautiful 
 mistress was at the mercy of her cha- 
 peron, he accounted for her desertion of 
 the field in no unflattering way, and be- 
 took himself, of course, to win a brighter 
 fame for her approval. 
 
 The astonished Laird of Dunraven 
 soon found he was measuring weapons 
 with as resolute a knight as himself, and 
 one better skilled in the arts of attack 
 and defence. Proofs, quotations, illus- 
 trations, all the missiles of antiquarianism, 
 poured upon him like hail : — head, back, 
 breast were battered. The obscure knight 
 wielded so trenchant a faulchion, and 
 laid it on so unsparingly, yet so gallantly, 
 that his annoyed antagonist, after a long
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 221 
 
 struggle, though disdaining to allow him- 
 self conquered, was obliged to admit 
 that his strength was exhausted, and that 
 he must be permitted therefore to breathe 
 awhile. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur, who had returned 
 to the room immediately after seeing 
 Honoria into her uncle's hack chaise, 
 now interposed. *« Most of us here be- 
 ing * men of the north countrie,'^' he said, 
 with benevolent concern for his rival's 
 discomfiture, " are too much interested 
 in our champion's success not to wish 
 his plume to triumph ; but as we must 
 all be admirers of Miss O'Hara, we can- 
 not desire to see her knight on the knee; 
 I shall therefore advise my father to use 
 his prerogative, and break down the 
 lists." 
 
 The gentleman with the great green 
 shade bowed gravely in token of assent ; 
 and, the tilting ended, seemed at once 
 to retire into himself again : but Mr. 
 Frazer awkwardly clamoured for a pro- 
 mise of renewing the combat, when both 
 combatants might have had time to pro- 
 L 3
 
 222 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 vide themselves with fresh arms. The 
 knight of the shamrock answered eva- 
 sively, yet courteously. 
 
 Sir Everard, who had followed his 
 son's counsel, and dismissed thejield with 
 some humour, followed it up, by shaking 
 the unknown gentleman by the hand 
 very cordially, saying, " Thank you, 
 thank you, my good young sir, for the 
 great treat you and Mr. Frazer have 
 given us. I have not heard such excel- 
 lent wrangling since I left Trinity. I 
 shall be heartily glad to see you again if 
 you remain in this part of the world. I 
 crave your pardon, sir, but the honour of 
 your name, if you please. I am getting 
 a little deaf. I really did not catch it, 
 when Mr. Charles Raby did us the favour 
 of introducing you.'' 
 
 « Gubbins, — Mr. Peter Gubbins !" 
 hastily called out young Raby, from an- 
 other end of the room, answering for his 
 friend. ** By the way, Gubbins, our 
 chaise has been waiting this hour." 
 
 The person addressed made a rapid 
 bow all round, without trusting himself
 
 HONOR o'hara. 223 
 
 to speak ; and getting away as fast as he 
 could, Captain Fitz Arthur heard such a 
 burst of laughter, immediately follow the 
 closing of the door, that he guessed the 
 reason of the stranger's silence, and pre- 
 cipitate retreat, must be to cover some 
 jest played off upon his father. The 
 laughter, however, was distinctly only 
 from Mr. Raby. Fitz Arthur was neither 
 a choleric, nor a petulant man, yet he 
 felt an emotion of displeasure at this un- 
 seasonable mirth. If it were in ridicule 
 of his father's old-fashioned hospitahty, 
 it must] be apologized for ; if in elation 
 of the success of some trick, or some bet, 
 it ought to be explained satisfactorily. 
 He followed, with the intention of ob- 
 taining an amicable explanation ; but the 
 offenders were too quick for him : they 
 had been driven off the instant before, 
 by four horses, seemingly as mad with 
 spirits as themselves, and to follow them, 
 would be making too serious an affair 
 of what after all might be merely the 
 laugh due to some previous jest, uncon- 
 nected with him or his. He returned, 
 L 4
 
 S24 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 therefore, without observation to the 
 party he had left, and having exchanged 
 with them a few remarks, upon ** that 
 devilish clever young fellow," as Mr. 
 Frazer called the stranger, " only so 
 over-keen, that he did not give his ad- 
 versary the fair play of time to think ;*' 
 the company departed, — tables w^ere 
 cleared, — lights extinguished ; — and, one 
 by one, masters and servants took up 
 their solitary candle: — one by one, doors 
 were heard to shut, — voices and steps 
 to cease. In another half hour, there 
 w^as not a single creature moving or 
 awake in the old mansion, — save only 
 Delaval Fitz Arthur. He was in bed 
 certainly ; but Honoria " had murdered'* 
 his sleep. And alternately thrilling with 
 a hope, inspired by her last act of the 
 evening ; then sinking at the recollec- 
 tion of her evident interest in Mr. Fra- 
 zer's conversation; and lastly, convincing 
 himself that, circumstanced as he was, 
 to think of such a wife was criminal, he 
 wore out the few remaining hours of the 
 night..
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 225 
 
 CHAR IV. 
 
 W^HiLST the inhabitants of Arthur's 
 Court were clearing away the decorations 
 of " feast and floor/* Honoria and her 
 aunt were ratthng home in their hack 
 post-chaise : the latter scolding the dri- 
 ver all the way (not without reason,) 
 for having put wet straw at the bottom 
 of the vehicle, instead of a bit of old 
 carpet, — scolding the very moon for not 
 shining, — and rating Honoria for having 
 no more manners than a hear^ looking at 
 and noticing Mrs. Shqfto so cavalierly, 
 • Not even the jingle of a hack chaise, 
 with all its appurtenances of loosened 
 window-frames, shaking doors and steps, 
 and clattering-hoofed horses, — not even 
 its joltings over ruts with their edges 
 sharpened by frost, could drown the 
 angry clamour of Mrs. Meredith. Ho- 
 noria hoped in vain that these increased 
 joltings, when they got upon the worst 
 L 5
 
 226 
 
 part of the road, would at least suffocate 
 some tones of that discordant voice ; but 
 a sinner might as reasonably have hoped 
 to smother the cries of conscience. In vain 
 did our heroine maintain with equal tem- 
 per and firmness the dignity of her blood, 
 as an O'Hara and a Meredith of the 
 West Riding ; her uncle's wife was bent 
 upon groveling in the dust, at what she 
 deemed a high superior's feet, for the 
 sake of securing more means to dazzle 
 an inferior's eyes. 
 
 Every one's integrity, it has been said, 
 has its price. Now, if Mr. Peter Gub- 
 bins would enter the lists for me, I 
 would combat that argument with any 
 one, for the sake of poor human nature : 
 but my own unassisted strength retreats. 
 
 I must acknowledge that the axiom 
 was true in Mrs. Meredith's case : she 
 would have bartered her husband's re- 
 spectability, and her own independence, 
 at any moment for a lace cap, or a new 
 pelisse. The fuel and butter from Shafto 
 Place had already gone half way towards 
 securing a gown of the richest raaron
 
 227 
 
 velvet. How then could Mrs. Meredith 
 fail to be the eternal laureate of Mrs. 
 Shafto? 
 
 She now, with more than her usual 
 venom, contrasted her great lady's mu- 
 nificence with '* the shameful shabbiness 
 of her husband's brother in India : who 
 had never, no not all the years she had 
 been married to his brother, never sent 
 her a single present ; not till Miss Honor, 
 forsooth, was come to have bed and 
 board under her roof. This was a re- 
 lation indeed, to be proud of! For her 
 part she did not give much credit to the 
 rank and riches of far-away folk. Mr. 
 John Meredith might have his letters di- 
 rected to the Honourable J. Meredith, 
 Chief Judge, Privy Councillor, &c., and 
 yet have no right to the title. For her 
 part she wished she saw substantial 
 proofs of his wealth. Mr. Meredith 
 had never been the better of a guinea of 
 his money : and never had any thing 
 from him except a heap of old rubbish 
 of coins and stones, and carvings and 
 books, that he made presents of himself, 
 L 6
 
 228 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 she supposed by way of getting rid of 
 them.'* 
 
 Honoria was in duty bound to repeat 
 some of her Edenfell uncle's explanations 
 in defence of his brother. The former 
 professed himself satisfied with his in- 
 come — he had no children — his widow 
 would have a provision at his death from 
 a Life Insurance Company, to which he 
 paid annually for that purpose — and he 
 neither wished nor wanted to incur pe- 
 cuniary obligations needlessly even to a 
 brother. Mrs. Meredith ought to remem- 
 ber, that the judge's situation in India 
 was more honourable than lucrative, that 
 it called for an expensive style of living — 
 that besides, he had not enjoyed it many 
 years — that he believed, upon the faith 
 of his brother, that his nearest relations 
 were in easy though plain circumstances, 
 and that consequently he never dreamed 
 of transmitting them money — that he 
 was now married, and to a woman full 
 twenty-five years younger than himself^ 
 likely to bring him a large family. Still,
 
 229 
 
 however, he had been kind, he had been 
 generous — he had invited Honoria to 
 go and Hve with them — and he had 
 twice sent over a box of such Indian ma- 
 nufactures as EngUsh ladies are known to 
 prize. 
 
 The woven-air in which Honoria was 
 dressed that evening — the Cachemire 
 shawl in which she was wrapped — the 
 fine cornelians on the person of Mrs. 
 Meredith, were no inconsiderable proofs 
 of her distant uncle's liberality w^heil 
 proper offerings were suggested to hini, 
 by his liberal young wife. 
 
 This unfortunate eulogium drew dowp 
 a torrent of reproaches upon Honoris 
 herself, for her folly and obstinacy in re* 
 fusing to accept the proposal of taking 
 her, made by the judge's lady. If her 
 uncle were such a great man, and his wife 
 so wonderfully kind, why did not she go 
 out to them and marry one of their Ben- 
 gal nabobs ? 
 
 Honoria now could only remain si- 
 lent. She knew Mrs. Meredith would 
 scoff at every one of those dehcate and
 
 230 
 
 affectionate feelings, which had been met 
 with the tenderest sympathy and approval 
 by her uncle the clergyman : and which 
 had she not felt, Honoria would have 
 loathed herselfl 
 
 She had a home, uncomfortable as it 
 was ; — she had an income sufficient for a 
 single woman's frugal maintenance in the 
 north ; — above all, she had an uncle 
 to whose happiness she even believed 
 herself essential. Thus circumstanced, 
 neither the prospect of splendour, nor 
 the offered kindness of unknown rela- 
 tives, could tempt her to leave Edenfell. 
 
 Luckily for her at this moment Eden- 
 fell was in sight. Mrs. Meredith lashed 
 herself into such a fury at her compa- 
 nion's silence, that when the chaise stopt 
 at the gate, she was well-nigh choaked ; 
 and ere she could recover, or begin bar- 
 gaining away the postboy's right to an 
 extra half-a-crown for going twice to 
 Arthur's Court, Honoria flew past her, 
 and gained the sanctuary of her own 
 room. 
 
 Having a second sight of a visit from
 
 231 
 
 Mr. Frazer, Honoria hastened directly 
 after breakfast the next day to Hazel- 
 dean, where she fell in with many of the 
 party she had danced amongst the evening 
 before. 
 
 Mrs. Preston, good-humoured, cheer- 
 ful, and hospitable, gave a welcome to 
 every one. She and her daughters were 
 always well, happy, and kindly ; their 
 house, therefore, was always pleasant. 
 Their roses were always earlier in blow— 
 and their fruits, sooner ripe than any other 
 person's : their very cows seemed of a 
 liberal temper; for if cream and syllabub 
 were to be had no where else, they were 
 sure to be found at Mrs. Preston's. In 
 hot weather, all the ordinary morning, a 
 table under the shade of trees, or in 
 winter within the sphere of a cheering 
 fire, was set out with refreshments adapt- 
 ed to different tastes and appetites, — and 
 perfect freedom allowed the visitors to 
 walk into the house, or stay without; 
 talk, or be silent. This freedom and hos- 
 pitality made Mrs. Preston's cheerful 
 Httle residence the lounge of all the
 
 232 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 idlers, the rendezvous of all the social, 
 and the home of all the affectionate, in 
 and about Edenfell. 
 
 After the Arthur's Court ball, of course, 
 there was a greater gathering than usual 
 at Hazeldean ; and a quicker consump- 
 tion of Mrs. Preston's bceuf peiidu, as 
 Miss Bella called it, cheese-cakes and 
 made wines (the only wine she allowed 
 herself thus to '' set at Jiow''). The in- 
 cidents of the ball were recapitulated — 
 beauties criticised — dresses quizzed — 
 a little harmless gossip indulged in — and 
 each individual's particular adventures 
 recounted dully or amusingly. Every 
 incident sunk into insignificance com- 
 pared with the description of Mr. Fra- 
 zer's discomfiture. At first, the details 
 of this singular occurrence were given 
 with extreme reserve, by such of the 
 ball-goers as had previously observed the 
 Laird's undisguised admiration of Miss 
 O'Hara 5 but on her eager questioning, 
 and genuine enjoyment of the scene, 
 though imperfectly described, the descri- 
 bers grew bolder, and some youthful
 
 HONOR o'hara. ^33 
 
 laughter at the learned Highlander's ex- 
 pense was the consequence. 
 
 In the midst of their mirth Captain 
 Fitz Arthur was announced. His en- 
 trance appeased the storm, and the sub- 
 ject was soon treated in its worthiest way. 
 
 The surprising talents of Mr. Frazer's 
 much younger antagonist were dwelt upon 
 by Captain Fitz Arthiu' with unfeigned 
 admiration. Such of Mrs. Preston's party 
 as had heard the debate, and were qua- 
 lified to estimate its merits, joined him in 
 eulogium. Miss Preston, however, cla- 
 moured loudly against the stranger's 
 " horrid nom de batiste ;^^ though ad- 
 mitting his ^^ grand talon!^' then renew- 
 ed her recommendation of the " hceiif 
 jpendu;^^ complacently adding, " Tai 
 mange un hoicchony and find it excellent: 
 pray follow my example !" 
 
 Every person present looked at the 
 moment as though they had literally 
 taken her advice ; and half-choaking, 
 tried to smother their laughter, by simul- 
 taneous enquiries of who Mr. Gubbins 
 was.
 
 ^3if HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur could only answer, 
 that an invitation having gone to Raby 
 Hall, and none of the family being there, 
 except the young templar, he had come 
 over presenting this gentleman, whom Fitz 
 Aj'thur remembered he had said he was 
 going off with, the next day to Edinburgh. 
 
 All source of further information was 
 therefore stopped for the present ; and 
 the impatient Northumbrians must wait 
 for Mr. Charles Raby's return, ere their 
 curiosity could hope for gratification. 
 
 By the time that Fitz Arthur, with a 
 talent little inferior to what he was de- 
 scribing, had faithfully reported the ar- 
 guments of Mr. Gubbins, repeating them 
 in terser language, — by the time he had 
 shown that gentleman's array of brilliant 
 figures, felicitous analogies, and decisive 
 conclusions, — showing too, how they bore 
 down the less orderly and less splendid 
 ranks of his opponent — Honoria was al- 
 most in love with her knight of the 
 shamrock. 
 
 She idolized genius ; she loved dear, 
 trodden-down Ireland, as her thoughts
 
 QS5 
 
 often called it; and she was ready to kiss 
 the hand that helped to raise her country 
 from the dust. The little mysterious- 
 ness, also, that there was in Mr. Gub- 
 bins's entrance and exit from Arthur's 
 Court — the odd, back-ground figure he 
 had chosen to play there, till the moment 
 of leaving it — and, above all, his having 
 cast aside this under-character for her 
 sake, were so many incitements to curi- 
 osity, and calls upon interest. 
 
 The old leaven of early romance began 
 to work in her. She recollected, with 
 secret pleasure, that on the evening be- 
 fore, when she was accidentally passing 
 a table where this gentleman was hastily 
 swallowing some tea, his green shade had 
 fallen down, and though in catching it 
 in the act of falling, his hand covered the 
 lower part of his face, she had observed 
 a forehead like Parian marble, and eye- 
 brows of the blackest and finest marking. 
 She remembered the circumstance had 
 struck her, simply from the discordance 
 of these brows with his hair, which was 
 of a dull ash-colour. Memory had
 
 ^36 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 almost unconsciously registered such ob- 
 servation. But his name was not roman- 
 tic. Peter was actually un-loveable ! 
 Gubbins was dreadful ! Yet stay — it 
 was something in Ireland : — it was the 
 name of one distinguished family there. 
 If; then, this eloquent defender of her 
 country were her countryman also, how 
 could she fail to fall most imaginatively 
 in love with him ? 
 
 She now took a very lively share in the 
 conversation, joining finally in the opi- 
 nion, that Mr. Gubbins, from his shining 
 talents, must be studying for the bar. 
 His appearance in company with a tem- 
 plar had suggested the idea. 
 
 «* Whatever he may be," Captain Fitz 
 Arthur concluded, in his usual spirit of 
 amiable remark, "he is obviously a 
 gentleman of the first class. Our over- 
 eager friend, the Laird of Dunraven, 
 seemed a little — " clownish beside him, 
 Fitz Arthur would have said ; but check- 
 ing himself for Miss O'Hara's sake, he 
 added hesitatingly — « a httle too vehe- 
 ment, with so courteous an antagonist."
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 237 
 
 Mr. Frazer's name producing some 
 enquiries about him, produced also the 
 information of his having just left the 
 Rectory, and being now on his way to 
 Hazeldean, where he talked of calling 
 after he had been to a good-humoured 
 friend's, where he expected to obtain 
 some harp-strings for his Eolian lyre. 
 Honoria discovered that Mr. Frazer was 
 on horseback : the bridle road was much 
 more circuitous than the foot-way to 
 Hazeldean ; she was just in time to avoid 
 him. Captain Fitz Arthur heard her 
 whisper to Miss Bella (for your lovers 
 are particularly endued with the faculty 
 of hearing upon certain occasions), that 
 she begged she would not notice her dis- 
 appearance, as she must slip away for 
 dinner at home. Bella, in return, smil- 
 ingly accused her of having made an as- 
 sigTiat : Fitz Arthur smiled too, while 
 ringing for his horse. Ere it w^as an- 
 nounced, Honoria vanished. 
 
 After ascertaining her stealthy depart- 
 ure, Fitz Arthur with a ruse pardonable 
 in a lover and a soldier, rode off full
 
 238 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 speed, in full sight of all at Hazeldean ; 
 then, when completely out of view, dis- 
 mounted as hastily, and bidding his 
 groom ride on with the horses to the Fitz 
 Arthur Arms, and wait him there, struck 
 into the fields, where leaping ditches, and 
 vaulting over gates, he startled Honoria 
 by suddenly alighting before her from 
 the opposite side of a hedge, as though 
 he had dropped from the sky. 
 
 The little cry she uttered, and the rich 
 crimson that instantaneously spread her 
 face and neck, were too evidently from 
 surprise : there was no confusion in her 
 eyes as she turned them with pleased and 
 thankful expression upon Fitz Arthur. 
 He, meanwhile, with the proper coward- 
 ice of a lover, was apologizing for the 
 fright he had thrown her into, pleading, in 
 excuse, some unimportant message from 
 Mrs. Fothergill which he had forgotten 
 to deliver, and just hinting at his fear of 
 letting her walk home unprotected. 
 
 " O you must not make me afraid of 
 rambUng aboiit by myself. I admit that 
 it is not quite safe when the gipsies
 
 HONOR o'hara. 239 
 
 are about ; perhaps you think not quite 
 right in a young lady ;" — (Honoria's 
 smile had enchantment in it; for it seemed 
 to own faultiness by its attempt to win 
 indulgence ;) — " but I was bred a wild 
 thing. Free air and liberty are my life 
 and soul. We have neither carriage, 
 nor lady's horse, nor lady's page at the 
 Rectory — nay, not even a garden with 
 one gravel walk for trailing up and down 
 in, by way of looking abroad on nature. 
 My uncle is not always in the idle 
 humour to admit me into his study ; and 
 the rooms below are, I may whisper it to 
 youy not particularly to my taste, in any 
 way ; so what am I to do ? e'en set a 
 stout heart and face upon it — determine 
 to believe nobody will harm me, or, what 
 is more to the purpose, suspect me of 
 harm, — and so go on vagabondizing by 
 myself Do you know, I really think 
 there are more scrapes to be got into, in 
 a room full of well-dressed, well-behaved, 
 civilized people, like all of you at Arthur's 
 Court last night, than amongst hedges 
 and ditches."
 
 240 
 
 " What scrape could Miss O'Hara get 
 into at Arthur's Court?" gently asked 
 Fitz Arthur, wishing to lead her to some 
 of that confidential conversation, which 
 not unfrequently gave him the happy 
 privilege of being useful to her, either 
 by his counsel or his interference. 
 
 <* I don't know — I " Honoria 
 
 looked aside as she spoke ; " but I feel 
 uncomfortable with myself. You know. 
 Captain Fitz Arthur, that you have ac- 
 customed me to speak to you now and 
 then, as if you were my relation, so shall 
 I honestly own, that I feel that forward 
 Mr. Frazer ought not to have taken it for 
 granted, that I would accept his Eolian 
 hai'p ; he ought not to go parading about 
 the country, enquiring for harp-strings ! 
 There, I see your eyes asking me, if I 
 did not mean to accept it. Certainly I 
 did, at the moment he offered it ; but 
 afterwards, I resolved otherwise ; when I 
 saw him so free and easy, and determined 
 to fancy I thought him clever and agree- 
 able-" 
 
 " And did you not think him clever 
 15
 
 HONOR o'hara. 241 
 
 and agreeable ?" her companion ven- 
 tured to ask. 
 
 ** Be quiet, Captain Fitz Arthur," 
 cried Honoria, with that pretty childish- 
 ness of manner, which is so captivating, 
 when it mixes up well with sound sense, 
 and dignity of carriage, upon proper oc- 
 casions. ** You shall not scare me thus 
 at myself. 1 know you want to con- 
 vict me of not having been dumb and stiff 
 enough at first." (Fitz Arthur smiled, 
 perhaps assentingly.) *' Well! — you don't 
 look very merciless, — so I will be mag- 
 nanimous, and confess I "was to blame. 
 I am so apt to hearken to a clever per- 
 son talking, with such a thirst for every 
 thing they say, or can say, that I quite 
 forget they are a living thing and not a 
 book. Well, I won't do so again if I 
 can help it : not even if that wonderful 
 Mr. Gubbins be the volume in hand. 
 Only tell me, dear Captain Fitz Arthur, 
 I charge you, tell me with a true friend's 
 sincerity — with as much honesty as if 
 you were my brother — if 1 deserved 
 that Mr. Frazer should make so sure I 
 
 VOL, I. M
 
 242 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 would accept his hai-p, and be gratified 
 by his telling me that he did not regard 
 my unpleasant aunt a gonioan V^ 
 
 The person Honoria addressed, no 
 longer heard even her. He was lost! 
 That thrilling ''dear Captain Fitz Ar- 
 thur," had undone him. He knew not 
 where he was, what he was doing, or 
 what he meant to say. He forgot that 
 he had resolved long ago, never to think 
 of the portionless Honoria as a wife. I 
 fear he had quite forgotten it for the last 
 eight and forty hours. 
 
 The extreme disorder of his looks 
 confounded Honoria ; she felt with wo- 
 man's instinct that he was on the point 
 of making her a declaration of love : and 
 soHcitous to save herself the pain of 
 paining him, she hastened to check the 
 flow of his feelings, by precipitately 
 adding, ** I have a dreadfully proud 
 heart, I fear ! For that coarse expression 
 of Mr. Frazer's appeared such an air 
 of superiority, that I can never have 
 a cordial intimacy with him ; he is now, 
 and always will be, only a clever person
 
 HONOR o'hara. 243 
 
 of my acquaintance. It was unpardon- 
 able in a Highlander, who knows the 
 superiority of blood even over title. The 
 O'Haras might be considered equal to 
 the Frazers, I think.'' 
 
 Our heroine purposely heightened the 
 offended expression of her voice, to pre- 
 vent Captain Fitz Arthur from imagining 
 her averseness to the Laird had any thing 
 to do with a preference for himself. A 
 lover is more easily scared than a house- 
 breaker : Fitz Arthur recovered self- 
 possession, wdth his comfortably habitual 
 notion of being nothing to Miss 0*Hara: 
 and he answered her, therefore, with a 
 calm sincerity which will perhaps pique 
 many of my fair readers' laudable esprit 
 du corps, far more than it did the vanity 
 of Honoria herself. " If I thought there 
 were one spark of coquetry in your 
 nature, my dear Miss O'Hara," he said, 
 manfully mastering a sigh, " I should 
 know it was vain to plead for indulgence 
 to Mr. Frazer : your own little faultiness 
 would make you jealous of any apology 
 for his self-satisfaction. But I am sure 
 M 2
 
 '^4}4 h:onor o'hara. 
 
 you erred unconsciously ; and therefore, 
 I am hardy enough to tell you, that he 
 ought not to be given over to utter re- 
 probation/' 
 
 " And why not ?" 
 
 ** First, take into consideration his sta- 
 tion — his fortune — his habits of life — 
 and his quick open character — these will 
 account for his being easily assicrable, 
 (May I make a word ?) on the score of his 
 acceptableness, in every way." (Fitz Ar- 
 thur stammered a little.) *' Surely, it is not 
 to the discredit of a man's heart that he 
 is quickly convinced of his fellow crea- 
 ture's good- will ? Next, call to mind the 
 train of pleasant accidents which helped 
 to raise his spirits into exultation. Re- 
 collect, Miss O'Hara, he first observed 
 you observing kimJ' 
 
 Honoria's cheeks out-damasked the 
 rose at that moment — her eyes fell under 
 their long lashes — and Fitz Arthur fan- 
 cied that more than the shaded light of 
 those eyes, was glittering through the 
 lashes, and shining hke dew upon hei^ 
 blushes^
 
 245 
 
 *^ Must I go on ?" he asked repent- 
 ingly ; <* it will be cruel to go on. No, — 
 no, — I cannot go on." *' Do, — do, — 
 Captain Fitz Arthur," exclaimed Honoiia 
 with fervent earnestness. She almost 
 took his hand : she did rest her hand 
 upon his arm a single instant, while ar- 
 resting his movement to turn away. ** I 
 want the truth, however I may wince : 
 tell me the truth as you would tell it to 
 a sister." 
 
 ' " Well, then — may I venture to say, 
 that to detect a young lady, listening with 
 deep interest to any discourse not ad- 
 dressed to herself, nor about herself, is 
 so uncommon a thing, that I don't know 
 the man who could resist the temptation 
 of laying a flattering unction to his soul 
 in consequence." 
 
 " O, you hard-judging person !" ex- 
 claimed Honoria, desperately mustering 
 all her vivacity to her assistance : "to 
 give it against me, merely for sitting 
 hearkening for ten minutes to a great ill- 
 looking Scotchman, with a loud stamping 
 voice, that I had never looked at or 
 M 3
 
 246 HONOR o'haua. 
 
 listened to before. Certes, you lords of 
 the creation are more blessedly to be 
 cheated into a good opinion of yourselves 
 than we your slaves, when such poor 
 oblations as these can win you to think 
 yourselves Apollos !'' 
 
 " You may make yourself as amus- 
 ing and charming as you please, Miss 
 O'Haral" replied Captain Fitz Arthur, 
 his whole soul dissolving in his eyes, as 
 they involuntarily turned and fondly hung 
 upon her ; '* I shall go on doing my 
 duty, at least so long as you allow me the 
 privilege of calling myself your friend. 
 I have not yet done my catalogue of 
 Mr. Frazer's apologies. You danced 
 with him immediately afterwards : that 
 was a matter of course, so not to be dwelt 
 upon. But he talked again, and talked 
 so well, that he moved your sensibility to 
 a degree which forced you to retire and 
 recover yourself. To start a tear of soft- 
 ness in a woman's eye 1 — Miss O'Hara, 
 I appeal to your own observation of hu- 
 man nature, if the certainty of having 
 done so, by his eloquence or his sympa-
 
 HONOR o'hara. 247 
 
 thy, was not enough to injure the sanity 
 of a man's opinion of himself? — Then 
 the song you chose " 
 
 *' O, no more! no more!'* interrupted 
 Honoria, putting her hands over her 
 face : *' you will quite overwhelm me. 
 I see I must never eves-drop any more, 
 though Shakspeare's ghost were holding 
 forth ; and I must always think before I 
 sing, as well as before I speak. Alas ! is 
 not that very hard ?" 
 
 *^ You do not think lightly of what I 
 have said, for all this playfulness," said 
 Captain Fitz Arthur, regarding her with 
 the tenderest, fondest longing to catch 
 and hold her to his heart for ever. 
 " You want no knowledge, my dear 
 Miss O'Hara, to fit you for making the 
 happiness of yourself and all around you, 
 except knowledge of the world : as that 
 grows upon you, you will learn the disa- 
 greeable necessity of being always vigi- 
 lant in society, and measuring your de- 
 gree of unreservedness by your degree 
 of intimacy with your company. Mr. 
 Frazer's fault, in my opinion, has been 
 31 4
 
 248 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 want of capacity to discover that you 
 are not a person to be judged by those 
 rules which suit young ladies educated 
 after the same pattern. He should have 
 made the discovery the moment he had 
 recommended you to go and hear the 
 nightingale in the South of France." 
 
 ** Why, what did I say upon that so 
 extraordinary?" exclaimed Honoria, sin- 
 cerely surprised, and afraid she had com- 
 mitted some distressing blunder. " What 
 could I have said ?" 
 
 *« Why, you neither coloured up, nor 
 looked down ; neither frowned nor smiled ; 
 in short, you evidently had not found out 
 by his tone and the faces of the company, 
 that Mr. Frazer is himself going to the 
 South of France in Spring." 
 
 Honoria could not misunderstand 
 Captain Fitz Arthur; his embarrassed 
 eyes and voice were commentaries on his 
 words ; she saw at once what he fancied 
 Mr. Frazer had meant to imply, and her 
 cheeks blazed again. 
 
 " In our mothers' childish days," Fitz 
 Arthur resumed hastily, ** I believe the
 
 HONOR o'hara. ^49 
 
 nursery talk used to be of ghosts ; now it 
 seems to be of proposals; and young la- 
 dies are instructed to expect an offer of 
 marriage under every dark compliment ; 
 relations step forth to ask the gentleman 
 what he means, as regularly as divines 
 were formerly summoned to exorcise an 
 apparition. In short, society is haunted 
 by the heartless spirit of establishment." 
 
 " Well ! and do you mean to recom- 
 mend my adoption of such ridiculous 
 fancies as you have just described?" 
 asked Honoria, a little archly, " Take 
 care. Captain Fitz Arthur, you are be- 
 ginning to argue against yourself." 
 
 Fitz Arthur had certainly confused 
 himself by his haste to relieve her from 
 confusion ; and he was therefore more 
 embarrassed as he replied, — ** No ! no ! 
 indeed. I merely meant to describe opi- 
 nions so different from yours, producing 
 such a different effect upon young ladies' 
 manners, as might bear out my position 
 of Mr. Frazer's being censurable for not 
 discovering that you were not to be 
 judged by the modish laws. I have be- 
 M 5
 
 Q50 
 
 fore proved to my own satisfaction, if not 
 to yours," he added smiling apprehen- 
 sively, ** that you were guilty of a want 
 of w^orldly knowledge ; that each of you 
 have had your unintentional share in pro- 
 ducing that /^emow^exhilarationin the poor 
 Laird which has offended you so much. 
 Is it not fair then, that you should for- 
 give him ? [and when he comes and com- 
 plains to me of your refusing his hand — 
 which you will do if he offers it too soon — 
 I will show him he had no right to ex- 
 pect you would accept it/' 
 
 ** Captain Fitz Arthur !" exclaimed Ho- 
 noria, breaking in upon his last awkward 
 attempt at sportive carelessness, " you 
 think then, that if it is not done too soon 
 —really, I am very much obliged to you 
 for thinking so highly of my taste." 
 
 Her tone of good-humoured resent- 
 ment was not unmarked by Fitz Arthur ; 
 it bore the evidence of sincerity : but it 
 was only her taste she vindicated. Not 
 a shade, not a softened turn of counte- 
 nance whispered any thing about her 
 heart. His heart fell all at once, a dead 
 weight within him.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 251 
 
 " Now, don't you desen^e that I should 
 be half inclined to beat you?" asked our 
 heroine, with one of her most bewitching 
 looks : ** you find fault with young ladies, 
 taught to do so, for believing too soon in 
 their conquests ; and you are grave with 
 me, because I did not, upon six hours' 
 acquaintance, nay, during the first six 
 minutes of my conversation with the 
 Laird of Dunraven, hedge myself round 
 with all sorts of cautions and cares to 
 keep off a proposal, — as I suppose you 
 would call it ! Can you really think I 
 am so silly as to imagine the good man 
 had taken a fancy to me, and a fancy too 
 that he would be thankfully accepted ? — 
 To tell you the truth, I thought some- 
 thing worse — no, not worse, but full as 
 mortifying ; I thought, from that insolent 
 remark of his, about not caring a gowan 
 for Mrs. Meredith, that he considered his 
 mere notice of the minister and his niece 
 an honour to them 5 such an honour, that 
 he might say unceremoniously whatever 
 came uppermost about their connections. 
 And if any thing that I said had given 
 M 6
 
 25^ HONOR o'hara. 
 
 warrant to such impertinence, I confess it 
 would humble me for the rest of my 
 life." 
 
 <* Do not injure yourself, do not humi- 
 liate yourself now, by such an idea !" ex- 
 claimed Fitz Arthur, his manly features 
 suffused with generous feelings. *' Frazer 
 ought not to have thought aloud 5 at 
 least, he had better have let all the rest of 
 his thoughts, have followed the expression 
 of this unlucky one. If ever I saw a 
 man suddenly and irresistibly struck, he 
 was by you. — Pray pardon my blunt- 
 ness. Miss O'Hara. And surely, with a 
 serious object in view, after having heard 
 the many ill-natured, unjustifiable — I 
 don't know what fit title to give to Mrs. 
 Shafto's obvious envy — poor Frazer might 
 be allowed to start at first. Afterwards 
 he disdained, you see " 
 
 Fitz Arthur was stumbling more and 
 more over his ill-arranged ideas and ex- 
 pressions ; Honoria felt for this embar- 
 rassment, his own relative being now a 
 sharer in the animadversions ; she rallied 
 him all at once, by exclaiming, " By the
 
 HONOR o'hara. 253 
 
 way, rny friend, how came you to know 
 all that I said and Mr. Frazer said, from 
 the moment we were introduced to each 
 other ? Why, you are worse Ihan a familiar 
 of the Inquisition V 
 
 Never was there a less happy attempt 
 at ridding a man of embarrassment. Cap- 
 tain Fitz Arthur's face was dyed with 
 crimson : nothing but pleading a lover's 
 interest in all her actions, could extenuate 
 his impertinence, he thought. Honoria 
 was immediately sensible of the mischief 
 she had heedlessly brought upon herself, 
 and her face became colourless with ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 At this critical instant they were both 
 relieved by the appearance of Mrs. Mere- 
 dith, issuing from the very back gate by 
 which the walkers were about to enter. 
 Having thrown open this gate, with what 
 housemaids call a slam, its force nearly 
 flattened poor Fitz Arthur, who was, 
 however, so closely imprisoned by the 
 sudden action, between that and the 
 wall, as to remain for some time an un- 
 willing listener to what ensued.
 
 254j honor o'hara. 
 
 Never before had Captain Fitz Arthur 
 been so edified by a shrew's oratory. 
 The current of every man's hfe appears 
 to have its ov\yi particular adornments or 
 deformities. If the stream of Fitz Ar- 
 thur's had been often troubled, it was not 
 by the tempers of those around him : his 
 trials had other sources. He now listened 
 with astonishment to the violence of Mrs. 
 Meredith. 
 
 Miss 0*Hara was saluted with a tor- 
 rent of invective, from which he learned 
 that *' dinner at the Rectory had been put 
 back in consequence of Mr. Frazer's 
 visit, and Captain Fitz Arthur's visit ; 
 and then that Miss O'Hara had kept it 
 w^aiting half an hour longer ; and before 
 they had got it over without her, Mr. 
 Edmund Chaplin had come in for early 
 tea ; and the dinner wasn't fit for a 
 Christian to eat ; the pickled pork was 
 boiled to a jelly : though she dare say^d, 
 that if Miss Honor had been at home, 
 she would have served her as she always 
 did, when they had good wholesome 
 pork — given herself airs, and eat bread
 
 HONOR o'hara. ^55 
 
 and butter : but that she must tell her, 
 once for all, she had better take what she 
 could get, and be thankful, for there 
 wasn't one of those men that were coming 
 after her, and making her fancy herself a 
 beauty, that meant her any good — they 
 were all too great gentlemen to think of 
 her as a wife ; all but Mr. Edmund Chap- 
 lin ; and him she chose to turn up her 
 nose at ; but she had best take care of 
 herself, or she would be going a gray gait 
 in a misty morning, like Bell Foster, the 
 set-up girl before her." 
 
 Such an harangue was too much for 
 the heart, the previously agitated heart of 
 Honoria to bear with her usual calmness. 
 She burst into tears, as Mrs. Meredith 
 jerked her violently forward by one arm, 
 exclaiming in a low sobbing voice, " O 
 ma'am. Captain Fitz Arthur hears you !" 
 Her action pointed to the door, behind 
 which she had seen him forced by the 
 violent way in which it was opened. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith stood petrified ; then 
 desperately stepping out, pulled the 
 dreaded door aside. Fitz Arthur was
 
 256 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 gone. Whether he had adroitly extricated 
 himself during the harangue, or during 
 the moment's suspension of.it-^how 
 much, or how little he had heard, remains 
 unknown : suffice it, he had disappeared, 
 and not even a rustling of the bushes 
 covering the angle of the wall betrayed 
 his recent flight. 
 
 Honoria was so relieved by this flight, 
 and so grateful for it, that she now bore 
 with more than patience, with apologizing 
 sweetness, Mrs. Meredith's increased 
 wrath, at suspecting she had been tricked 
 out of full ^ve minutes' scolding by a feint 
 of her niece's. She maintained that Cap- 
 tain Fitz Arthur had not been behind the 
 door; and bade her go in and say her 
 prayers, and think what was to be the 
 portion of — really, it is impossible to 
 pen down the strong term she used — in 
 the world to come ! 
 
 Honoria perhaps thought at the instant 
 her aunt could never think of that world. 
 To have uttered her thoughts would 
 have been dropping oil on fire ; so she 
 glided silently away in search of her
 
 HONOR o'hARA, ^57 
 
 constant resources on similar occasions — 
 Hetty Macready and the brown loaf. 
 
 Honoria was like Daniel and his com- 
 panions 5 she could feed on pulse and 
 water, and have as fair a face as those 
 that fared sumptuously. While she was 
 eating this wholesome food with unro- 
 mantic appetite, in spite of foregone 
 agitation and mortification, Hetty Ma- 
 cready found full scope for her fond elo- 
 quence. 
 
 " Och ! and its who but you, Miss 
 Honor ! show me the face to pit against 
 you ; and the manner on you ; and the 
 pritty ways, and the illigant hrading ! — 
 Sorrow to me, if I know where to choose 
 for you, darling !" 
 
 " Choose ! what for me, Hetty ?'* asked 
 our heroine, humouring her nurse rather 
 than herself, by thus giving her an open- 
 ing to speak of her conquests. 
 
 *' Why, what should I choose but a 
 good husband for you, jewel? Fait, and 
 they're to be had for picking up just now ; 
 and would I be the king in your way, 
 rose-bud? och, and I wouldn't."
 
 Q58 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 Honoria laughed. «* Just be so good 
 as not laugh, Miss Honor/' continued 
 Hetty, drawing up what had once been a 
 rounded slender throat, now, alas ! thin 
 and stringy : <« haven't I felt the tinder 
 passion myself? and don't I know what 
 it is ? and an't I sure his majesty came 
 out of the same churn wdth his subjects? 
 — God bless him! — and just as sure to 
 fall straight in love with you, if he saw 
 you, as all the oder gintlemen here. — 
 Bad luck to him if he didn't ! say I." 
 
 " Hetty! Hetty! you are speaking 
 treason!" exclaimed Honoria. <« But 
 what can have happened to make you 
 run on in this manner ?" 
 
 " What has happened, darling?" re- 
 peated Hetty, brightening up. *' Why, 
 hasn't there been a new lover here, the 
 morn ; and didn't I see the Captain (so 
 she always called Fitz Arthur) take a 
 leap like a young salmon straight down 
 into the middou's, just as you came in, 
 honey? I warrant me, he w^as timersome 
 of the rory-tory mistress here. And 
 hasn't there been that beggarly bog-
 
 HONOR o'hara. Q59 
 
 trotter, Mr. Edmund Chaplin, riding a 
 haste I long to bate,ox\\yjist becase he rides 
 him ? and don't I know there wasn't a 
 sowl worth saving at the ball, not a young 
 gintleman w^orth a rap, that didn't go 
 mad for you? — Och, botheration! don't 
 tell me, Miss Honor, that you mayn't 
 have the king if you like him! — Fait^ 
 and I don't know a better giiitlemaii, 
 barring his childer and his wife. To be 
 sure, her majesty being above ground is a 
 small ohjictio7i ; else I'd give you to him 
 with all the pUsure in life. — Howiver, 
 God bless the queen, though she does 
 stand in your way, jewel !" 
 
 *« Ah w^ell, Hetty, I see you will never 
 let me marry either of the Messrs. Chap- 
 lin," observed Honoria, with arch gaiety. 
 
 ^' Fait, and I'd rather pit Paddy's 
 stocking round your beautiful throat, 
 and strangle you, darling !" exclaimed 
 the nurse. ** Isn't the youngest one on 
 'em, a stupid spalpeen that don't know 
 how to hand you a potato witliout burn- 
 ing you ? That if you tould him to milk 
 the cow, would go milking the jack-ass.
 
 260 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 An awkward baste, not fit to carry gar- 
 bage to a bear ! If I mate him in the 
 entry, isn't he sure to tread upon my 
 corns ? and did I ivir see him open the 
 fore-court gate for you, Miss Honor, 
 that he did not lit it bang back in your 
 beautiful face ? He, the rapscalHon ! I 
 must beg you won't mhition him any 
 more, anyhow." 
 
 *' But old Mr. Chaplin is getting so 
 rich ; his sons will be so rich ! Then, 
 there's Mr. Philip Chaplin, the heir. 
 He has half a mind to me. Don't you 
 think I had better give him a little en- 
 couragement ?" 
 
 " Ah, now, darling ! Ah, now 1" cried 
 Hetty, in the coaxing tone peculiar to 
 her country — a tone which the heart 
 cannot resist, because it so often comes 
 from the heart. " Let that ill-looking 
 vagabond alone, and jist hear the affront 
 he pit upon me, one day. Och, and by 
 the sowls of my fader and my moder, 
 and " 
 
 " Hetty, dear Hetty, don't swear." 
 
 " Well then, dear, for the *wonst, jist
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 261 
 
 hear how he behaved. As I was a litting 
 him OLit one night, (though it isn't in my 
 place to wait upon a single cratur but 
 yourself; only I did it, out of the civil, 
 to Ned, who was gone after his Sunday 
 hat,) he pretends to tip me with a couple 
 of shabby testers, ' There, ould Irish- 
 woman,' says he, * there's a shilling for 
 you, to speak a good word for me to my 
 sweetheart. You know who I mean.' 
 And with that he winks, and jerks his bit 
 of a head like a little cock-sparrow, — the 
 poor cratur ! ' Free and aisy ! ' says I, 
 * but let me tell you, Mr. Chaplin, Miss 
 Honor's not for your money ; so plase to 
 take it back again :' and with that I tosses 
 it at him, ' Och, and she's for some- 
 body else then,' says he, — the black- 
 guard ! and off he goes, as if he had 
 said the witty thing and the wise. A 
 dirty rascal 1" 
 
 " An impertinent coxcomb!" Honoria 
 almost added : but restraining herself^ 
 she gave Hetty one of those little lec- 
 tures upon calling names, and suffering 
 displeasure to degenerate into abuse.
 
 262 HONOR 0*HARA.. 
 
 which poor Hetty's declamations upon 
 certain subjects too often required. 
 
 Conscious of deserving reproof, the 
 nurse bore it with good-natured submis- 
 sion of look and spirit : then burst out, 
 all at once on its conclusion, with — 
 
 " See the differ now of a gintleman ! 
 Don't you mind when Captain Fitz Ar- 
 thur got me to stitch up the sleeve of his 
 coat, when he'd tore it one day in trying 
 to get a sheep out of a pit, when I 
 come on him in the middow in his dis- 
 tress ? See if he even offered me the 
 affront of a tliirteener, — no, — nor twenty 
 on em ! Blissmgs on him, life and limb ! 
 He knew the Irishwoman's heart. Sure 
 there isn't a greater plisiire on earth than 
 to do the civil thing, and the kind !" 
 
 <« Oh, but Hetty," cried Honoria mis- 
 chievously, " you forget the shawl." 
 
 <« And you'd a had me refuse the 
 shawl. Miss Honor ! Hoot-a-toot ! Do 
 you know manners ? Do you know the 
 dacent and the ginteel? Sorrow come 
 over you, if you've forgot what Mrs. 
 Ally and I teached you in Ballygarry !
 
 HONOR o'hara. 263 
 
 See if I shouldn't have broke the Cap- 
 tain's kind heart — and a kinder 7iiver 
 warmed waistcoat ! *Mrs. Macready,' says 
 he, — och, and if he did not know my 
 name from the first hour he set his great 
 handsome eyes on me, as if St. Patrick's 
 self had tould him I 'Mrs. Macready,' 
 says he, 'you did my poor shoulder silch 
 a sarvice, that its but fit you should let 
 me take care of yours, so you must 
 oblige me by wearing this handkerchief 
 for my sake.' Upon which, he whips me 
 out of his great-coat pocket, that beau- 
 tiful silk shawl from the Chinas ; the 
 shawl that Madam Meredith isjist ready 
 to cut my throat for, every time she sees 
 it. Och ! and had you seen the rispict 
 of the cratiir ? With a face like a red 
 turf fire, and his hands trembling like a 
 peat bog !" 
 
 «« Of course, then, the poor Captain 
 is in love with you, Hetty," rejoined her 
 provoking foster-child. 
 
 " Now, Miss Honor! — Miss Honor ! — 
 when you know his ciffictiori for yourself! 
 Niver stept truer lover on shoe-leather.
 
 264 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 But then, he's not an Irishman — och 
 hone ! but that's a sorrow." 
 
 *' And you won't let me marry Cap- 
 tain Fitz Arthur ?" asked Honoria with 
 comic gravity. 
 
 ''Fait, and I don't well know what 
 to say," returned the artless nurse, with 
 as much real trouble of look and mind 
 as if Honoria's fate depended at that 
 moment upon her fiat. *' I take vastly 
 to the other gentleman that was here, 
 though he is not so well-limbed and hand- 
 some, and open-hearted looking, as Cap- 
 tain Fitz Arthur. But wasn't his grand- 
 mother a Caldwell of Carrickfergus ? 
 And hasn't he been over all the ould 
 places of the giants ? And doesn't he 
 believe in the good people ? And hasn't 
 he seen the banshee at Shane's Castle ? 
 And didn't he ask me if my husband 
 came of the Macreadys of Ballymoney ? 
 Sure and he did ! And what's more, he 
 minded him of the big bleach-ground 
 belonging to Mr. Phelim O'Rafferty, my 
 mother's father's third cousin ; and he 
 said the blood of the O'Bafferty's was as
 
 HONOR o'hARA 
 
 265 
 
 good blood as the Macreadys any day ; 
 and that I might hold up my head with 
 the best in Northumberland, barring po- 
 verty and serving. And he said you and 
 him had been talking of the dear countpy 
 till you cried, darling ; and then you min- 
 tioned me, and so he bethought to ask 
 for me when you didn't come home. 
 And he said you was the swatest cratxtr 
 ever sapped sowings, or washed with 
 buttermilk, let who would be the nixt.^^ 
 
 Honoria could not restrain a burst of 
 hearty laughter at the eloquent phrases 
 attributed to Mr. Frazer : yet conscious 
 that such mirth offended her doting foster- 
 motlier, she said more quietly, '* Well, 
 Hetty, and how many more gentlemen 
 will you insist upon my marrying ! For 
 I see by your tender concern for all that 
 you fancy fancies your child, she must 
 marry a score at least." 
 
 " Sure and I am sorry for the craturs /'* 
 returned the honest-hearted Irishwo- 
 man. ** There's not a bigger pain in the 
 world than love let me tell you, that's 
 felt it : and so you'll say wheniver you 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 see the gintletnan that's to be your fate, 
 as they call it. Didn't I fall straight in 
 love with Murphy Macready the very 
 moment I clapped sight on him — with 
 his roving step and roving eye? — Sorrow 
 on them ! Those beautiful black eyes 
 niver were made for the good of his sowl! 
 Och ! — and many's the heart-ache I 
 had with him, married and single. Miss 
 Honor, dear, niver let your fancy run 
 on a man that's lived free. My Murphy 
 had been out with the sodgers, and he 
 could niver after that, keep from the ruin 
 of him. Och hone ! Och hone !" 
 
 Honoria's young heart melted at these 
 tones of sorrow, from lips that had so 
 often lulled her infancy to sleep with 
 fondest bushings. She threw herself upon 
 her foster-mother's breast, repeating 
 in her tenderest accents, " Dear, dear 
 nurse — for all his w^anderings, I'm 
 sure your handsome husband loved you 
 dearly." 
 
 *« Ah, jewel, well may you call him 
 handsome ! Niver was carving or pictur 
 like him for the beauty of him. Then
 
 HONOR o'hara. *267 
 
 he could talk like ten dozen of angels ! 
 You see he came first to me to be fore- 
 speaker for Dennis Brady, that had a mind 
 to me then ; but instead of that, do you 
 see, fait he spoke for himself, *wonst he 
 had seen me and fancied me, wild bit 
 girl as 1 was ! Och, and was I long of 
 saying him yes !" 
 
 Hetty's countenance, which had been 
 saddening as she reverted to her past suf- 
 fering, from her husband^s infidelities, 
 lighted again as the vision of his love 
 and comeliness rose in vivid remem- 
 brance. For the moment she was eighteen 
 again, and Murphy Macready in the fash- 
 ion of rustic wooing, with his arm round 
 her waist as they walked under the trees 
 of Ballygarry. Hetty drew one of those 
 deep and fondly laden sighs, rarely heard 
 after five and twenty, and for a while 
 was fixed by melancholy recollections : 
 then, suddenly dashing away the tears 
 blinding her faded eyes, she exclaimed, 
 with the resolute gaiety of her country : — 
 
 " And what signifies thinking of the 
 days that's gone, and of them that's 
 
 N g
 
 ^6S HONOR O^HARA. 
 
 gone, darling? Pace to all the swafe 
 sowls on their cold pillows ! Och hone 1 
 and it's by the time ysp. are as ould as 
 Hetty Macready, you'll be having some 
 trisures in the black church-yard toa 
 I'm thinking I shan't be sorry to be one 
 of them, darling, since I've been minding 
 myself of Murphy. Fait^ and one's 
 happy but the whiles, after one has seen 
 the shroud and the sod put over them we 
 love." The tears ran down the poor wi- 
 dow's cheeks as she spoke, though she 
 smiled too, as Honoria pressed her in her 
 arms, wdth cheeks as wet as her own. 
 
 Honoria could not speak, through 
 sympathy, and natural shrinking from 
 the sure sorrows of coming years ; but 
 Hetty Macready bravely rallying her 
 own spirits, and kissing her foster-child's 
 smooth brow, cried out, — 
 
 "Now long life to all above ground 
 yet, and may you all survive one an- 
 other 1" 
 
 This ludicrous bull caused an instant 
 change in the feelings and thoughts of 
 both \ for Honoria was seized with a fit
 
 HONOR o'hara. 269 
 
 of uncontrollable laughter ; which, ex- 
 plained to her good-humoured nurse, 
 made her also give way to sudden mirth ; 
 after which, our heroine soon found an 
 opportunity of dismissing her to that 
 active employment, which was always 
 necessary when poor Hetty had been re- 
 calling the life and death of her dissipated 
 husband. 
 
 Honoria left alone, was left^ to think 
 of Captain Fitz Arthur principally : to 
 be heartily sorry that he certainly seemed 
 to like her so much better than she de- 
 sired, — to acknowledge the good sense 
 and good feeling of all he had said to her, 
 — to resolve to profit by it, — and then to 
 let her fancy run upon the little mystery 
 of her knight of the shamrock. 
 
 N S
 
 ^0 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur was obliged to 
 Mrs. Shafto for his riddance of one rival; 
 Major Stanhope drove from Shafto Place 
 full speed in his tandem, even at the risk 
 of breaking his neck while turning a 
 corner. He went thus hastily, it must 
 be owned, not to fly Miss O'Hara, but 
 the whole file of Misses Shafto, who were 
 forming into a compact body against him. 
 
 Providing for the possible failure of 
 her elder girls, the able mother contrived 
 that the sight-seeing party should meet 
 her two youngest daughters walking 
 through Lord Wearmouth's plantations, 
 with their very plain governess. On this 
 rencontre, the really fine hair of the pret- 
 tiest was admirably displayed, by mam- 
 ma's disliking the sit of her bonnet, and 
 taking it off to replace it in better style. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto was too experienced a ge- 
 neral to call attention to the wax-doll 
 head of her Jemima ; she simply exclaim-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 271 
 
 €d, " What a mop this head is !" As 
 passing her fingers through the thick 
 flaxen curls, she disposed them with 
 more order round the bold red cheeks. 
 
 Even this surprise did not take Major 
 Stanhope : he escaped without other loss 
 than that of his first inclination to know 
 more of Miss O'Hara. In justice to our 
 young field-officer, it is, however, right to 
 state, that he yielded up this wish not 
 to the pitiful attempt at degrading Ho- 
 noria from her rank as a gentlewoman, 
 but to his own constitutional abhorrence 
 of being spyed at ; to certain notions of 
 duty to his father ; and as the mess phrase 
 ran, the fear of being badgered by the 
 Shafto Place family ; a consequence he 
 saw would be inevitable, did he prosecute 
 any acquaintance at the Rectory. 
 
 I am sorry to inform my fairest read- 
 ers, that very few men indeed are so 
 hardly hit by the most formidable ar- 
 tillery of beauty, on one encounter, as 
 to be unable to draw off their forces at 
 will, and march away in as good order 
 as the Major did. Will they pardon me, 
 N 4
 
 272 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 if I add, the fact seems greatly in the 
 nobler sex's favour ! 
 
 Mrs. Shafto delighted herself with 
 thinking that she had deprived Miss 
 O'Hara of one admirer. Satisfied of that, 
 she generously endeavoured to supply her 
 with another ; and some gracious remarks 
 to their agent, Chaplin, upon the good 
 appearance and pretensions of his sons, 
 together with a gentle hint of where she 
 thought, from certain tokens, one of 
 them might make himself acceptable, and 
 where connection might stand in lieu of 
 fortune — (What adverse pictures of Ho- 
 noria's condition !) — these duly repeated 
 to Mr. Edmund Chaplin, rapidly in- 
 creased his incipient liking for the pretty 
 Honor O'Hara, (as he was accustomed 
 familiarly to call her, like all other under- 
 bred people speaking amongst their in- 
 timates, of those they know slightly, and 
 secretly allow to be their superiors,) and 
 at once gave substance and shape to his 
 intentions. 
 
 From that hour he became a constant 
 visitor at the Rectory ; and having for-
 
 HONOR o'hARA, 273 
 
 mally ^warned off his brother, betook him- 
 self to win and wear the beauty of Eden- 
 fell. His whole plan consisted in duly 
 drinking a certain quantum of tea every 
 evening of her making; as duly pro- 
 nouncing the said tea, through all its 
 changes from bachelor's essence to hus- 
 band's cat-lap, '« most super-excellent !" 
 regularly being of her opinion upon every 
 subject, however absurdly she might de- 
 liver herself, and rarely appearing with- 
 out some Morocco needle-book, French 
 riband, or gilt scent-bottle, first to offer 
 to Miss O'Hara, then give to Mrs. Mere- 
 dith. To the latter, these Uttle presents 
 were agreeable indemnifications for all the 
 tea he drank : so he was welcome to her 
 — to Honoria he was insupportable. 
 
 Yet Mr. Edmund Chaplin, though 
 bred to the talking and troublesome pro- 
 fession of the law, was a most inoffensive 
 visitor ; for he said nothing, unless he 
 was particularly addressed : he belonged, 
 in fact, to that class of silent wooers, of 
 which I believe nearly every agreeable 
 woman has had one, at least, during her 
 N 5
 
 ^74^ HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 Mfe ; who come regularly to their father^s 
 or mother's house every day; place them- 
 selves, what the Scotch term, right fore- 
 nent the object of their admiration ; 
 sitting still, and saying nothing ; every- 
 body as regularly wondering " what can 
 bring that eternal Mr. Smith, or Mn 
 Thompson to the house !" — ^till, at length, 
 after two or three years' steady visiting 
 (your silent lovers being always slow ones 
 too) the brazen head opens its mouth, 
 and the proposal is made, accepted, or 
 refused. 
 
 Mr. Edmund Chaplin was quietly pro- 
 ceeding onward to this point, by dint of 
 evening visits, while a very different per- 
 sonage was aiming at the same object 
 almost every morning. 
 
 Frazer of Dunraven regarded not 
 bodily refreshment of any kind ; no, nor 
 confusion of household concerns : so he 
 might but have ingress to Mr. Mere- 
 dith's reading-room, talk, and once at 
 least during the forenoon,^ see and seize 
 upon the attention of Miss O'Hara, he 
 was indifferent to every thing else*
 
 HONOR o'hARA. ^75 
 
 By a lucky chance, for it was not 
 the consequence of delicate consideration, 
 Mr. Frazer made his first appearance 
 at the Rectory, not merely to enquire 
 after his partner at the ball, but as the 
 express visitor of its master. He brought 
 some scarce volume, to which he had 
 referred during one of their learned dis- 
 cussions at Arthur*s Court, and with 
 which Mr. Meredith was unacquainted. 
 Thus establishing intellectual intimacy 
 with the uncle, he could let his inclination 
 for the niece run on without the necessity 
 of declaring it, either to herself or others, 
 until it was fit time to do so. 
 
 Mr. Frazer's well-known passion for 
 research, and the many forenoons he 
 spent solely in settling disputed points, 
 and hunting authorities through all the 
 books he found, and all he brought to 
 Edenfell, gave sufficient colour for his 
 visits, to prevent the servants from saying, 
 and Mrs. Meredith from admitting, the 
 probability of village-gossip being right, 
 when it proclaimed Miss O'Hara as his 
 object. Honoria herself was so awakened 
 N 6
 
 276 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 by Captain Fitz Arthur's observations, 
 that although she could not deny herself 
 the pleasure and instruction derivable 
 from listening to the interesting dis- 
 cussions now frequent, where formerly 
 only vulgar wrangling was heard, took 
 care to evince as much interest in her 
 uncle's evident display of erudition, as in 
 the wider information and keener remarks 
 of the Laird. 
 
 At once rendered wary of inferences, 
 and indulgent to Mr.Frazer's possible mis- 
 takes concerning her, by Captain Fitz 
 Arthur's sincerity, she managed to have 
 the Eolian harp presented to the house 
 rather than to herself. The instrument 
 was found to sound finely only in one 
 particular window, where the wind poured 
 a fuller stream : and though Honoria, 
 after she had heard its thrilhng, spirit- 
 like wailing, longed to appropriate it to 
 her own room, still she had the self- 
 denial to denominate the harp a fixture, 
 for which all future occupants of the Rec- 
 tory would be as surely bound to return 
 thanks to the donor as the present Rector.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 277 
 
 Mr. Frazer's hardy sort of love felt no 
 chill from this quiet refusal of his offering. 
 In truth, Honoria had accepted the best 
 part of it, when she went to hear it in 
 full play : — yet how could she, without 
 insolence or affectation, refuse to do so ? 
 
 As the wind, sweeping all the strings 
 of the harp at the same moment with one 
 wild blast, bore on and carried away 
 sounds to which no music from mortal 
 hand is comparable, either for sublimity 
 or sadness, it seemed to sweep her soul 
 along with it. The colour died and 
 revived in her cheeks — she scarcely 
 breathed — and the rapt attention of her 
 faculties was visible in the fixture of her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, what think you of this music ?'* 
 was the Laird's exulting question. ** What 
 does it make you feel ?" 
 
 Honoria woke as from a trance — " It 
 is like Ossian — like the sea — like being 
 alone among mountains!" was her an- 
 swer, her heart beating violently, her 
 whole soul too completely roused for the 
 soft luxury of tears. ** It agitates too
 
 ^78 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 much — I feel that I must be by myself 
 before I can quite enjoy it !" 
 
 What would Fitz Arthur not have 
 given to have heard this declaration ? — it 
 would have laid all his fears of Mr. Frazer 
 to rest. The latter had no perception of 
 what it implied ; but ever ready to oblige 
 Honoria, took Mr. Meredith by the arm, 
 leaving her to solitude, and the harp. 
 
 Mr. Frazer was a man of sudden, yet 
 steady purpose ; he was his own master ; 
 he had never been in the habit of con- 
 sidering himself accountable for his 
 actions to any one. Miss O'Hara's 
 countenance and manner made a strong 
 impression upon him at the first glance. 
 By his wanderings round the country, he 
 knew that the clergyman of Edenfell was 
 of a good Yorkshire family, and a scholar 
 into the bargain ; and that his portionless 
 niece came of as good a one on her 
 father's side. Her conversation, or rather 
 as Fitz Arthur suspected, her interest in 
 his, fascinated him completely ; and be- 
 fore he had talked to her of nightingales 
 and the South, he had said to himself,
 
 279 
 
 " This girl shall be my wife.*' Mrs. 
 Shafto's arts to fix his attention upon the 
 aunt's vulgarity merely made him utter 
 his thoughts too bluntly in consequence ; 
 for Mr. Frazer did not harbour the least 
 suspicion that he might be rejected. A 
 man must be very much in love, or very 
 deeply imbued with the idea of a woman's 
 delicacy on the subject of marriage, to 
 dream of rejection. Many men (I say it 
 with due deference,) consider women so 
 lightly as to care for no livelier sentiment 
 from them than simple preference ; they 
 ask for no higher qualities in a wife than 
 the capacity of wondering at and believ- 
 ing in their superiority. That nobler ad- 
 miration, which is paid by some similarity 
 of mental power, they deem out of the 
 question. For such men, there exists 
 none of those refined gratifications and 
 nobler joys which are so dearly and justly 
 prized by tenderer sensibilities ; for them 
 there is no second, more fondly cherished 
 self; in whom their existence is doubled, 
 their excellencies reflected, their very 
 being heightened into dignity by the con-
 
 280 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 sciousness of actuating and blessing that 
 of another. 
 
 The chief purpose of Mr. Frazer's 
 visits became soon so evident to Honoria, 
 from certain careless expressions of his, 
 that she spoke at once to her uncle ; 
 honestly declaring her inability to bear the 
 idea of giving herself for life to the man 
 of whom, clever as he was, she got tired 
 in half a day. Our heroine was too little 
 experienced in the world to feel or feign 
 the slightest regret at this rebellion of the 
 heart against prudence ; and Mr. Mere- 
 dith was scarcely more inclined than her- 
 self to grieve at the loss of so brilliant an 
 estabhshment for her : he felt the value 
 of her confidence, and wilhngly promised 
 to lend his aid to her determination of 
 discouraging the Laird's addresses, by 
 refraining from even the ordinary hospi- 
 tality of pressing his calls upon himself; 
 and he did it the more cheerfully from 
 observing the happy security of Frazer's 
 manner. Mr. Meredith's love had been 
 timid as tender ; it was tinctured by his 
 character j and so limited was his know-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 281 
 
 ledge of human nature, that he could not 
 believe in the existence of a passion with- 
 out these marks. He was, therefore, loth 
 to give his precious niece to one who 
 he fancied merely admired her as a pretty 
 decoration; and Mr. Frazer was therefore 
 intended to be civilly distanced. 
 
 Mr. Frazer easily settled this sudden 
 reserve of the worthy minister's as the 
 result of honest pride, solicitous to avoid 
 the odium of trying to draw him on. 
 Honoria's unvarying conduct w^as as 
 easily accounted for. The Laird was no 
 further skilled in woman's characters than 
 as the common-places of common books 
 and common talk teach. Women were 
 proverbially shy and sly, and given to 
 look no, as well as to say no, when they 
 meant to say yes, after all : so Mr. Frazer 
 went on, haranguing as usual in her pre- 
 sence, every now and then detaining her- 
 self and her attention, by force of his 
 vigorous intellect. 
 
 Honoria did not lose by such a lover ; 
 she gained much valuable information, 
 besides the habit of retracing in her own
 
 282 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 mind the events, opinions, or arguments 
 she Hstened to, analysing their strength 
 or weakness, importance or emptiness, 
 and so habituating herself to correct her 
 own bad taste or false judgments upon 
 other occasions. 
 
 She gained also the loss of Mr. Edmund 
 Chaplin. Mr. Frazer's obvious confidence 
 quelled that of this less fixed character. 
 Conscious of inferiority in every point 
 estimated by the world in general ; such 
 as station, fortune, acquirements ; the 
 wary youth prudently withdrew, without 
 subjecting Honoria to what she would 
 have deemed the humiliation, what he 
 concluded she would considerthe triumph, 
 of receiving an offer of his hand. 
 
 Mr. Frazer, immediately upon Mr. 
 Edmund Chaplin's return to business at 
 York, was looked upon by all the village 
 as Miss O'Hara's declared suitor ; and as 
 since Miss O'Hara's appearance at Sir 
 Everard Fitz Arthur's ball, several of the 
 neighbouring gentry who had not hitherto 
 visited Mr. Meredith now called upon 
 her 5 Mrs. Shafto heard on all sides, of
 
 HONOR o'hara. 283 
 
 the great match Mr. Meredith's niece 
 was likely to make, in spite of her many 
 disadvantages. 
 
 Miss Shafto had just begun to promul- 
 gate her unfounded behef of Mr. Frazer's 
 being six and forty instead of six and 
 thirty ; Miss Augusta to talk of him as 
 the most tyrannical-tempered man breath- 
 ing, and consequently to express pity for 
 the poor girl, who must think it her duty 
 to marry him from her very under situ- 
 ation ; when Mr. Frazer suddenly disap- 
 peared from every ordinary haunt — he 
 left the county — he went, without taking 
 leave of any one ! 
 
 All Edenfell was in amazement, for 
 Miss O'Hara went about as usual, and 
 things went on at the Rectory as usual. 
 Gossips were puzzled — friends posed : 
 the one set feared to extort the secret of 
 Mr. Frazer's refusal, if they were too 
 broad in hints of his having jilted the 
 lady ; and the others were honourably left 
 unable to refute the last mortifying as- 
 sertion. 
 
 The plain fact was, that Mr. Frazer
 
 284 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 had been refused ; and that the uncere- 
 monious offer he made for her to the 
 uncle, after being referred to herself, 
 was known only to those three persons. 
 
 At first the Laird was incredulous of 
 Honoria's rejection, though made to him 
 by herself He would not hear of his 
 visiting no more at the Rectory, except 
 as her uncle's visitor ; — he laughed at 
 her demure airs of earnest ^ as he styled 
 her repeated assurances that she could 
 not regard him as he wished — then bade 
 her be a little less womanish and fantas- 
 tical, and tell him honestly that she would 
 have him. It was quite impossible, in 
 Mr. Frazer's opinion, that she should 
 prefer living on, in a dull corner of 
 England, with a vixen of an aunt that 
 worried her every day, as furious dogs do 
 a kitten, to marrying a man who was not 
 thought the stupidest fellow in the world, 
 and who would carry her all over the 
 world if she liked it, and give her be- 
 sides every woman's nonsense she might 
 set her heart upon. 
 
 In answer to this harangue, Honoria
 
 HONOR o'hara, 285 
 
 repeated her refusal, together with cer- 
 tain conclusive arguments against Mr. 
 Frazer's secret certainty that ** she would 
 marry him after all." She cared for no 
 luxuries, no pomps, no vanities his for- 
 tune offered ; and in lieu of his really 
 informing conversation she could seek 
 books. She preferred the liberty of 
 singlehood — nay, its very insignificance, 
 to the awful duties and necessary thral- 
 dom of matrimony, unless those duties 
 and that bondage were rendered precious 
 to her, by the most devoted admiration 
 of, and spontaneous attachment to, her 
 lord and companion. 
 
 The Laird would fain have argued the 
 point, in the proud hope of being victo- 
 rious both as a lover and a disputant ; but 
 Honoria's demeanour, and steady repeti- 
 tion of his sentence, put it out of his 
 power to proceed. He was silenced for 
 five minutes at least ; then respectfully 
 taking her hand, and submissively touch- 
 ing it with his lips, he honoured his own 
 nature by seeking no quarrel with hers. 
 
 He confessed that he knew nothing of
 
 286 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 women's characters — that he perceived 
 he was quite ignorant of the way of mak- 
 ing himself agreeable to them — but that 
 he should do Miss O'Hara the justice to 
 say, she had always tried to get out of 
 his company, ever since the first evening 
 of their acquaintance j so that he had no- 
 thing to accuse her of. It was all his 
 own fault, for fancying women never 
 meant what they said or did in matters 
 of such a kind. In short, he was a very 
 unfortunate fellow, since he must give 
 her up at the precise moment she had 
 made herself still more the object of his 
 respect and admiration. He was ashamed 
 now that he had talked to her of jewels, 
 and carriages, and such stuff, as he had 
 been told, won every woman's heart. 
 
 It might be said of Mr. Frazer's pas- 
 sion, as it was of Wolsey's life, " Nothing 
 in his love became him like his leaving it." 
 He spoke with feeling and sincerity ; d^l 
 the softness of the sentiment by which he 
 was suffering, took away its usual rough- 
 ness from his frank honesty. 
 
 Honoria was touched: and now she
 
 HONOR o'hara. 287 
 
 could express gratitude for the preference 
 it was impossible for her to return. Be- 
 fore this, her pride was up in arms. She 
 renewed her hope that tliey were not to 
 lose Mr. Frazer's society as a friend. 
 
 Frazer with some emotion told her he 
 could not remain where he was — he 
 must be off somewhere — busy himself 
 in something quite new, till he should 
 forget her — which he feared would take 
 him a desperate long time to do — and 
 after that, perhaps, he might try how he 
 could stand meeting her again. He 
 only hoped she might soon find the man 
 to her mind ; for if once she was married 
 he must be satisfied. 
 
 J With this really worthy sentiment, 
 which Honoria's romance deemed a very 
 strange one for a lover, the Laird de- 
 parted in search of Mr. Meredith. His 
 own short story told, and friendly assur- 
 ances exchanged, they separated; — Mr. 
 Meredith charged with a round of civil 
 messages to all Mr. Frazer' s Edenfell 
 acquaintance, — and Frazer himself de- 
 parting with the feeling truly in his
 
 S88 HONOR O^HARA. 
 
 heart, which he had just uttered by his 
 hps; namely, that he cared not who 
 knew "why he went so abruptly. He had 
 wished to marry Miss O'Hara, and he 
 had gone so often to her uncle's, that 
 people must either think he had behaved 
 like a scoundrel, or been refused ; and 
 he would far rather be known to have no 
 talent for making love, than be set down 
 for an accomplished male flirt. 
 
 The sentiment was too honourable to 
 be acted upon by those whom it em- 
 powered to justify themselves from the 
 humiliating suspicion of having been 
 treated contumeliously. Mr. Meredith 
 and his niece preserved a generous silence 
 on the subject of Mr. Frazer's proposal ; 
 but they never varied in their cordial 
 mention of his talents and good qualities. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith triumphed at home by 
 perpetual invectives against her niece for 
 having suffered Mr. Edmund ChapHn to 
 sHp through her fingers, while trying to 
 catch one who would not be caught ; and 
 abroad she railed at Mr. Frazer, for 
 coming as much to the Rectory as if it
 
 HONOR 0*HARA. 289 
 
 were his own house, and then going off 
 without thanks or present to her. 
 
 During great part of Mr. Frazer's reign 
 at the Rectory, (for every house he lived 
 much at, he lorded over — its opinions 
 at least,) Captain Fitz Arthur was absent 
 upon family business, which he had 
 found it particularly convenient for him 
 to execute at that time. On his return 
 to Arthur's Court, the Laird of Dun- 
 raven was gone. He guessed his fate ; 
 and at that moment he could afford him 
 a sigh of sincere commiseration. 
 
 His own prospects, however, were not 
 bettered by Frazer's removal. He was 
 quite sure that at present he himself was 
 an object of indifference to Miss O'Hara ; 
 and he despaired of ever having it in his 
 power to endeavour at exciting that 
 tender interest in her breast, without ob- 
 taining which, life seemed as if it could 
 have no charms for him. 
 
 In addition to his father's involved 
 property, there were duties which, to 
 fulfil properly, must clog his own actions 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 through the whole season of manhood and 
 middle age. 
 
 To make the most out of Hylton's frail 
 constitution that could be made, was one 
 of these duties; to rectify the more serious 
 injury done to his younger brother's mind 
 and temper, by excessive indulgence at 
 home and injudicious treatment at school, 
 was another. To the performance of 
 these, Fitz Arthur must devote money, 
 time, and assiduity ; he must therefore 
 give up the army, and perhaps give up a 
 wife. 
 
 Fitz Arthur had reflected again and 
 again upon the right, and the practicable, 
 and the rational, in his own case. He 
 aimed at no theatrical effects in his con- 
 duct ; he coveted no praise for heroism ; 
 he w ould far rather have had no sacrifice 
 to make : but when good sense and good 
 principle told him one ought to be made, 
 he determined on it immediately. He de- 
 cided that it would be wrong in him to 
 return to India; nay, even to remain 
 in the army, — he must sell out, and be-
 
 291 
 
 take himself to the sober life of a country 
 gentleman. 
 
 By so doing he would be enabled to 
 act for his father, without appearing to 
 do so ; he would be at hand, to, keep 
 their new system of prudent expenditure 
 and regular liquidation going steadily for- 
 ward, and be able also to put a timely 
 stop to fresh impositions upon Sir Eve- 
 rard's good-nature. 
 
 By such means, the heir of Arthur's 
 Court might be privileged, after a few 
 years, in thinking of Miss O'Hara. But 
 Miss O'Hara would, long ere that, have 
 seen and been seen by the man formed 
 to captivate her heart and her imagination. 
 There could be no hope for Fitz Arthur, 
 then, except her affections were previously 
 engaged to him. To attempt such en- 
 gagement, generosity, nay, even love 
 forbade. Fitz Arthur truly loved — 
 prizing the happiness of Honoria far, far 
 beyond his own. " I must not think of 
 such felicity as that of being her husband ; 
 I must not repine that she is never likely 
 to be mine !" Such was his musing, com- 
 o 2
 
 292 
 
 mulling with himself, as he paced the 
 picture-gallery at Arthur's Court. ** I 
 must not allow myself to think — My lot 
 is a little hard — All those whom these 
 dumb memorials represent have had wife, 
 children, grandchildren, to love and to 
 lament them ; while I must live and die 
 unloved, unloving, sad, and solitary !" 
 
 Fitz Arthur checked himself — not 
 from shame of his own impudent as- 
 sertion, made in the very faces of several 
 persons qualified to contradict him ; for 
 some had died bachelors, and others had 
 lived miserable husbands — but from re- 
 morse at his ingratitude to Heaven, and 
 his injustice to the living : he thought of 
 poor Hylton's fate, and of his affection ; 
 of friends in distant lands ; of neigh- 
 bours and servants close at hand ; of his 
 father's affectionate devotion to his better 
 judgment. 
 
 *' I am an unworthy wretch !" he ex- 
 claimed ; ** I will not complain of my 
 lot ; it has many sweeteners — and it 
 might be so much embittered ! — Good 
 God ! it may still be so !"
 
 HONOR 0*HARA. 293 
 
 At that moment an object flashed 
 across Fitz Arthur's thoughts, which had 
 of late often occupied them, to the ex- 
 elusion of every cheering image — it was 
 a person whom he had never seen, but 
 had twice heard of accidentally, without 
 knowing wm.c he was, or why he came to 
 Sir Everard. 
 
 There were some circumstances attend- 
 ing this person's appearance which caused 
 a most grievous suspicion — grievous in- 
 deed, to a son who would willingly have 
 believed his father incapable of any one 
 act that could lessen a child's reverence 
 — he suspected this person to be an ille- 
 gitimate son of Sir Everard's. 
 
 Of the existence of such a brother, 
 Fitz Arthur certainly had never heard; 
 but that was no evidence against strong 
 presumptions in support of the disgrace- 
 ful suspicion. 
 
 Since the necessary examination of his 
 father's circumstances, our heir had 
 found several large sums unaccounted 
 for, which, when he naturally reverted 
 to them. Sir Everard begged might not 
 o 3
 
 294 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 be further questioned ; and lately, an- 
 other unaccounted sum had disappeared 
 from their banker's book. 
 
 Fitz Arthur knew that his father was 
 no gamester, and that all his present ex- 
 penses at Arthur's Court were regulated 
 by the plan laid down by his son, and 
 left subject to his scrutiny. How, then, 
 could this last sum be spent ? After his 
 son's return, Sir Everard, in the fulness 
 and unforeseeingness of his heart, had 
 shown him every letter he wrote or re- 
 ceived : till one day he failed in a single 
 instance. 
 
 As Fitz Arthur rather sought to avoid 
 this habitual confidence, lest his father 
 should at last feel it a sort of duty, he 
 would have been pleased with the in- 
 cident now under review, had not Sir 
 Everard thrust this letter into his pocket 
 with an air of confusion, and begun talk- 
 ing about something else, with a volu- 
 bility quite unusual. Delicacy forbade 
 the expression, even of a son's curiosity ; 
 and the incident passed from his mind 
 ere the day concluded.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. ^295 
 
 A week afterwards, as they were sit- 
 ting at breakfast, Sir Everard's Swiss 
 servant entered, and whispering some- 
 thing to his master, Sir Everard got up 
 hastily and left the room. Soon after- 
 wards, he sent a message to say he was 
 engaged, and begged Mrs. Fothergill 
 might not wait for him. 
 
 When the father and son met at dinner 
 that day, the former answered the latter's 
 natural question of whether his morning 
 occupation had been about any business 
 in which he could assist him, by a few 
 evasive words, immediately shifting the 
 discourse ; his son was too respectful to 
 repeat his enquiry. But shortly after- 
 wards, discovering the diminished fund 
 at their banker's, he put the two circum- 
 stances together, and had his own pain- 
 ful surmises in consequence. 
 
 One of Fitz Arthur's retrenching acts 
 was to do without a personal servant ; 
 there were some little offices, however, 
 which his father's old Swiss insisted upon 
 performing for him : and during the per- 
 formance of these offices, Wilhelm had 
 o 4
 
 296 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 ppportunities of hinting his knowledge 
 of some secret unknown to his young 
 master. Wilhelm had more than once 
 spoken of** cruel drains still upon his ho- 
 noured master's kind heart :" couphng 
 this with certain grave remarks about 
 "children born in sin, always living to 
 become shames :" adding, ** that it was 
 all right and good to give natural sons 
 education, but it should not be like gen- 
 tlemen — to give them thoughts above 
 themselves, and so bring them to ruin. 
 He should cast no reproaches upon a 
 poor lady in her grave, but he was very 
 sorry for his master." 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur saw that the old 
 man, grateful for his re-instatement at Ar- 
 thur's Court through his means, wanted 
 only a little encouragement to divulge 
 the whole matter, to one whom he be- 
 lieved had some right to know it. But 
 Fitz Arthur knew a son's duty too well 
 to tamper with a domestic for the sake 
 of acquiring a knowledge of what his 
 father chose to withhold ; he, therefore, 
 endeavoured to stop these insinuations.
 
 HONOR o'hara. 297 
 
 without wounding the poor man's feeHngs. 
 Wilhehn's intention was good ; he was 
 only mistaken in the means he used. 
 
 The Swiss silenced and cautioned, Fitz 
 Arthur revolved in his mind whether he 
 ought or ought not to speak to his father 
 upon the subject, which he concluded 
 must be Wilhelm's secret. If such a 
 being existed, as a brother of such birth, 
 breeding, and habits, as Wilhelm hinted, 
 it seemed incumbent upon him, for 
 his other brothers' sakes, to enquire into 
 this unfortunate one's character and pur- 
 suits. Yet how to wring such a humi- 
 liating confession from his father ! A fa- 
 ther, already too much humbled by the 
 consciousness of indiscretion and pro- 
 fusion i 
 
 With the only cowardice which can 
 belong to a good heart — the fear of 
 giving pain, Captain Fitz Arthur de- 
 ferred this enquiry from day to day, till 
 the very morning we are now intruding 
 upon his solitude : when walking up and 
 down the picture gallery with his father, 
 their cheerful converse was interrupted 
 o 5
 
 298 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 by the entrance of Wilhelm, who 
 coming up close to Sir Everard, whis- 
 pered something hke ** That gentleman, 
 sir." Left alone immediately, it is not 
 surprising that a man of Captain Fitz 
 Arthur's character, by whom virtue and 
 reputation were considered the finest in- 
 heritances, should fall into melancholy 
 ruminations. He sought to arrest his 
 thoughts from his father's secret, and the 
 act carried them to his own. He re- 
 membered every look and word that had 
 ever charmed him from Honoria ; and 
 he could recollect no argument in favour 
 of indulging the tenderness such remem- 
 brance awakened. 
 
 Fitz Arthur was from principle an 
 enemy to fruitless musings, inclined, as 
 he was, by a poetical taste, and a love- 
 cherishing heart, to the dangerous prac- 
 tice. At present he found himself in 
 that state of nervous dispirited ness, which 
 sometimes renders even the strongest 
 mind powerless ; and conscious, there- 
 fore, that his continued rumination must 
 grow into something worse than idling.
 
 HONOR o'hara. ^299 
 
 he had just sufficient vigour left to rouse 
 himself and go into the air. 
 
 The next moment he was out upon the 
 honeysuckle walk, as the terrace behind 
 the house was called. It was a fine 
 spring day ; and a confusion of nameless 
 sweet smells came on his sense with the 
 " nimble air." Scarcely any flowers were 
 yet blowing in the garden ; but the 
 sweetbriar hedge was out, and a passing 
 shower had just called forth its quicken- 
 ing scent. 
 
 Fitz Arthur descended the steps of the 
 terrace, and having studiously set him- 
 self to inspect the state of some tulip 
 roots, which he had put into the ground 
 himself to please his brother Hylton's 
 taste, he left it, to speak with some la- 
 bourers beyond. 
 
 After fetching a compass round what 
 remained of the park, he was returning 
 by its inner line to the house, with a 
 large handful of sow thistles for his in- 
 valid's pet rabbits, when he heard an 
 angry voice calling to some boy, to mind 
 ivhat he was doing : coupling the exhort- 
 o 6
 
 300 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 ation with a hearty curse. At such un- 
 usual sounds in his father's demesne, Fitz 
 Arthur involuntarily stopped. A gap in 
 the fence gave him a full view of the 
 youngster addressed, of the horse he 
 was bid to take care of, and of the 
 speaker. The latter, a well-dressed hand- 
 some man, about thirty, was standing, 
 carefully examining a parcel of notes in 
 a pocket-book. 
 
 Ere this person had closed the pocket- 
 book, and mounted his horse, Fitz Ar- 
 thur had completely surveyed him. The 
 face, he thought, was that of a deter- 
 mined, thorough-paced scoundrel : — the 
 features were regular, — the countenance 
 bad. It had a peculiar hardness of ex- 
 pression, in addition to a certain sensual 
 grossness, indicative of a nature which 
 would have its own gratification at any 
 price; and like the horrible Egalite's, 
 would be ready to purchase the en- 
 joyments of a brute by the acts of a 
 fiend. 
 
 Fitz Arthur's blood ran cold as he 
 looked on this man, and heard his loud
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 301 
 
 startling voice again say, as he threw a 
 piece of money to the boy, " There, 
 
 d you !" He did not doubt that 
 
 this was the person whose history Wil- 
 helm appeared so anxious to instruct him 
 in ; he must be his brother, then. 
 
 As the conviction sank upon Fitz Ar- 
 thur's heart, a set of horrible probabi- 
 lities in this man's career, past and to 
 come, rose on the instant before him. 
 Every possible degree of low vice and 
 shameless depravity : — forgery, murder, 
 outlawry, suicide, nay, the very gallows, 
 seemed to him written in legible cha- 
 racters on his dark and sinister brow. 
 A cold dew gathered over that of poor 
 Fitz Arthur, — he stood for many, many 
 minutes in death-like stillness : then turn- 
 ing abruptly away, he said in a tone of 
 agony, *' True ! true ! what have I to do 
 with happiness ?'* 
 
 The stern misery of his mind allowed 
 not of tears : but his heart was wrung 
 for his only parent. Disgrace and dis- 
 honour, nay, total ruin perhaps, might
 
 302 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 be the portion of his father's old age. 
 At that moment what a sermon Fitz Ar- 
 thur could have preached to every liber- 
 tine! 
 
 He turned out of the demesne, and 
 striking into a wood skirting the road, 
 endeavoured, while wandering there, to 
 settle his disordered thoughts, and recon- 
 cile the jarring wishes and resolutions of 
 ever}^ second instant. 
 
 Now it was that Fitz Arthur felt all 
 the value of what he w^as resigning for 
 his family — for what a relief it would 
 have been to selfish sensibility, could he 
 have gone immediately to his regiment, 
 and there plunged at once into the busi- 
 ness of his profession ! But duty and 
 affection commanded him to remain 
 where he was. He must now stand 
 forth to protect, if not his lawful inheri- 
 tance, at least the comforts arid rights of 
 his young brothers. It was evident this 
 man was making spoil of these ; and if 
 his system of secret robbery were suffered 
 to go on, their father's weakness might be 
 
 11
 
 HONOR o'hara. 303 
 
 worked upon to their complete destruc- 
 tion. There was no path, then, for a son 
 to take with honour to himself, except 
 the direct one. He determined, there- 
 fore, upon speaking to Sir Everard that 
 very day. 
 
 Amidst the bitterness of these rumina- 
 tions, there was some consolation to Fitz 
 Arthur — the solitary one of thinking, 
 from the apparent age of the reprobate, 
 that he must have been born three or 
 four years previous to their father's first 
 marriage. Had it appeared a later event, 
 even the tenderest of sons, the most 
 lenient of judges, felt he could not have 
 forborne a word, or look of reproach — 
 a mother's memory is so sacred ! Rest- 
 ing his thoughts upon this single consola- 
 tory point, and aware that, to execute his 
 painful and delicate task, he must be in 
 full self-possession, he quitted the wood, 
 with all its wild spring flowers of un- 
 heeded sweetness, and rambled in a wider 
 direction ; endeavouring to give salutary 
 refreshment to his spirit by stopping
 
 804 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 every now and then to talk with the 
 farmers, and notice their children. 
 
 After all, there was no better cordial 
 he- knew of, for a sick heart, than the 
 sight of dear Mrs. Preston's kindly smile, 
 and the sound of her welcoming voice. 
 He went therefore to Hazeldean,
 
 HONOR o'hara. 305 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 It was the last day of March. One of 
 those soft sunny days which, coming im- 
 mediately after a long succession of 
 frosts, storms, rains, and east winds, 
 takes us by an agreeable surprise, like 
 an unexpected and welcome guest, 
 spreading gladness over every counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Mrs. Preston and one of her daugh- 
 ters were literally idling to enjoy it ; they 
 were sitting under one of those large stone 
 porches, common to old farmhouses, and 
 which still remained at Hazeldean, by 
 way of support to the rose-bushes that 
 grew against and climbed over it. 
 
 As yet there were only leaves on the 
 rose-trees, and those but unfolding : 
 however, the fruit-trees made amends for 
 their deficiency. The cherry, — • the 
 plum, — the almond, were all covered 
 with blossoms : even the currant-bushes,
 
 306 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 with their flowers of delicate and doubt- 
 ful green, gave a smilingness to the scene, 
 and added humbly to its sweets ; a few 
 ground-bees were seen hovering among 
 the ivies that clothed a standing frag- 
 ment of the ruined abbey, allured thither 
 by the sunshine and the blossoms ; and 
 the clear note of the blackbird was heard 
 at intervals breaking through his thick 
 covert of hazel copse. Mrs. Preston's 
 loveable aspect seemed reflecting the sun- 
 shine and the amenity of all around her ; 
 whilst her daughter Bella sat, in happy 
 vacancy of thought or expression, by her 
 side, listening, not attending, to the gay 
 chat of two young ladies and their hand- 
 some brother, who were unluckily quiz- 
 zing one another, about some home-jest 
 that had nothing to do with fashion. 
 
 Honoria was one of the Hazeldean 
 party ; but she was sitting out on a bench 
 at a short distance, under the shade of 
 an ancient yew, now almost as shattered 
 and venerable as the ruin itself: her hat 
 was lying on the ground, (its crown 
 stuffed with violets,) and her uncovered
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 307 
 
 head bent over a thin quarto she was in- 
 tently reading. The volume bore all the 
 marks of a new publication, such as a 
 blue paper back, and a ragged edging of 
 very white leaves, evidently torn asunder 
 by hasty fingers. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself to speak to 
 Miss O'Hara,'' said the young man in 
 the porch, seeing Fitz Arthur make an 
 involuntary halt, as he was passing her. 
 " She is 7'apt just now, as our friend 
 Miss Dulcy would say if she were here, 
 You know, Mrs. Preston, I quiz the fair 
 dulcibella now and then, upon her fine 
 phrases." 
 
 •'What is Miss O'Hara's study?*' 
 asked Fitz Arthur of herself, in a voice 
 still tinctured with melancholy. 
 
 ** O pray don't speak to me : let me 
 finish this lovely ballad," was her reply, 
 without once looking up. Fitz Arthur 
 sighed unconsciously, and passed on; he 
 sat down beside Mrs. Preston in silence ; 
 but Fitz Arthur had the knack of making 
 his silence say something, when he 
 thought it right to do so ; and now the
 
 308 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 sweet complacency with which he first 
 eyed the garden, then rested his soft re- 
 gards upon Mrs. Preston herself, spoke 
 sufficiently. The gentle smile accom- 
 panying both actions expressed satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 " Did you ever see such a foolish las- 
 sie?" asked the motherly mistress of 
 Hazeldean, " to sit poring over that 
 book, when we have such a day as this ! 
 I don't think she has said ten words to 
 us, since Mr. William here, gave her the 
 sing-song thing." 
 
 " Poetry ! — and what is the volume ?" 
 asked Fitz Arthur, merely for the sake of 
 forcing himself into conversation. 
 
 Mr. WilUam Mulcaster did not re- 
 quire to be asked twice for information. 
 ** O, it is miscellaneous, — love, glory, — 
 death and despair, — sonnets and elegies, 
 — odes and ballads, — a first production. 
 By Jove, a capital one ! — anonymous 
 though ; but I know who he is, an old 
 Eton friend. — All London is talking of 
 the book : everybody reading it, — buy^ 
 ing it, — begging it, — borrowing it, —-
 
 HONOR o'hara. 309 
 
 stealing it. In short, there has not been 
 such an uproar about pen and ink craft, 
 since the days of Junius." 
 
 " Miss O'Hara is then singularly lucky 
 to get the book, without committing any 
 enormity for it," observed Fitz Arthur, 
 aiming at a little playfulness, to resist his 
 own blue devils. " The writer conceals 
 his name ; but you say, you know him : 
 Do you think he deserves his reputa- 
 tion ?" 
 
 ** He is as much admired as his book, 
 I can tell you, wherever he goes. A 
 monstrous fine figure," (Mr. Mulcaster 
 was a careless speaker for a college- 
 man,) " noble air of the head, — eyes 
 that look you through in no time, — and, 
 out and out, the best private actor, and 
 the best mathematician in Europe." 
 
 Honoria's eyes were now off her book, 
 and fixed on the speaker. 
 
 " Your friend's talents take a wide 
 range, it should seem," observed Fitz 
 Arthur, still manfully rolling up the con- 
 versation, or it would have fallen back 
 upon him, a dead weight, — <* has he 
 any profession ?"
 
 310 
 
 " Only that of a fine gentleman," re- 
 plied Mulcaster, with good-humoured 
 levity, — '* the snuggest profession going. 
 Let me tell you, he is one of our leaders 
 in that line, for all he dabbles in rhyme- 
 tagging. When he was at Oxford, all 
 our crack fellows used to dress after him : 
 so they do now in London ; and, as to 
 women's hearts, he mows them down by 
 dozens." 
 
 "No wonder!" said Fitz Arthur, 
 " with such notable weapons as you de- 
 scribe — figure, eyes, acting, and mathe- 
 matics ! It is a pity he does not use them 
 to a better purpose." Fitz Arthur spoke 
 with a tincture of austerity unusual to 
 him; it was not directly meant at this 
 unknown poet ; it arose from the morbid 
 state of distaste to mere pleasure-hunting 
 society, in which his late reflections had 
 placed him ; and, recollecting himself, he 
 added, " a genius for the sweetest and 
 sublimest of arts would of itself make 
 a man dangerous to a sex so much more 
 susceptible of fine impressions than ours. 
 So I must hope your friend is as merci- 
 ful as he is mighty." Then observing
 
 HONOR 0*HA11A. 311 
 
 Honoria's attention directed from her 
 book to their dialogue, he confusedly 
 uttered a wish of being permitted to judge 
 of the new poet, by her reading one of 
 the poems aloud. 
 
 *< O no 1" she exclaimed; " I have just 
 finished one, and you shall read us the 
 next." Rising as she spoke, she came into 
 the porch, and held out the volume to 
 him. 
 
 Fitz Arthur took it in silence ; and after 
 a few instants given to calm certain flut- 
 terings of his heart, read with unaffected 
 variety and sweetness of voice, a desul- 
 tory poem, merely entitled " Musings," 
 in which were many faults and some 
 beauties : both the faulty and the better 
 passages deeply tinctured with a sadness, 
 which harmonizing with the existing 
 feelings of the reader, bribed him into 
 approbation. 
 
 When he concluded, Honoria who had 
 been listening to him like one entranced, 
 (though ungratefully mindless of the 
 beautiful medium throus-h which the 
 poetry was transmitted,) was for a long
 
 312 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 time lost in the attempt at recalling all 
 her favourite passages : and quite uncon- 
 sciously, repeated audibly, with deeper 
 pathos, and softer tones, than even Fitz 
 Arthur had done, some of the lines lin- 
 gering on her ear : — 
 
 ** There, Memory wanders through her leaf-strewa 
 paths, 
 Heark'ning the many echoes of the past ; 
 Which, or from ruin'd hall, or lonely tomb, 
 Or human voice dear loved, with mournful sound 
 Knells on her widowed heart 1" 
 
 " That is so lovely !'* 
 
 Fitz Arthur's eyes filled with tears, as 
 hers seemed to ask for sympathy with 
 their admiration. He was thinking of his 
 brother Hedworth ; he turned away his 
 head. Honoria had never before thought 
 Fitz Arthur's eyes so finely expressive : 
 hers were yet resting on him, with newly 
 awakened interest, when he looked round 
 again. The expression of her face threw 
 him into fresh disorder ; it was a moment 
 or two before he could speak : he tried 
 to articulate steadily, whilst observing, — 
 12
 
 HONOR o'hara. 313 
 
 " Yes, that passage struck me while read- 
 ing it. Perhaps, from my unprofitable 
 habit of thinking more of the past, than 
 is either wise or worthy, in one that has 
 a present and a future to live in." 
 
 " Nay, but this passage,*' interrupted 
 Mr. Mulcaster, unceremoniously snatch- 
 ing the volume out of Fitz Arthur's 
 hand, and loudly declaiming, — 
 
 " * Strange was that fated night ! the granulous 
 
 shower 
 Rang on the earth, ice-paved ; its hollow sound, 
 Like rain metallic : prone at once it fell, 
 Unwaved by wind. But ever and anon 
 Long roll of distant thunder mutter'd far 
 Among the embattled clouds ; and lightnings flash'd ; 
 Sounds, deep and dire, came from the ocean caves; 
 Though neither blast swept their dark depth, 
 Nor living thing within, wail uttered ! — 
 O, 'twas a night to quail the ' " 
 
 " No horrors, — no horrors !" inter- 
 rupted Miss Preston. *« I do assure you, 
 Mr. Mulcaster, horrors are going out. 
 Mr. Lewis and all his ghosts and monks 
 are to be quite out of fashion before this 
 season ends." 
 
 VOL. I, p
 
 314« HONOR o'hara, 
 
 " With all my heart !" exclauned Mr. 
 Mulcaster, *' only listen to my favourite 
 here : the subject must please you 
 ladies." And clearing his voice with 
 three preparatory hems, in the true style 
 of set- reading; he went see-sawing 
 through the following stanzas. It w^as 
 impossible to decide whether Mr. Mulcas- 
 ter read in jest or in earnest. 
 
 " Comjoosed on the Beach at . 
 
 <« Here, where sands of ocean lie 
 Smooth beneath the azure sky, 
 Scarcely mark'd, yon tide draws nigh : 
 Like unseen love. 
 
 Sparkling in the joyous sun, 
 See its emerald waves come on, 
 Murmuring music as they run ; 
 Like whispering love. 
 
 <« Now with kissings soft, they lave 
 Level beach and pebbly cave, 
 Rilling back each glassy wave ; 
 Like half-check'd love. 
 
 *' Yet, from each receding low, 
 Farther streams their onward flow. 
 Rising fast, though seeming slow ; 
 Alas 1 like love.
 
 HONOR o'hara. 315 
 
 '* Higher heaves the strengthen'd tide, 
 Swifter now its volumes glide, 
 Deeper, though they spread more wide ; 
 Still, still like love. 
 
 " Lo ! the fiat sands disappear, 
 Ripples into billows rear, 
 Foaming high, yet glittering clear; 
 Like bolder love. 
 
 " On they rush, with foam and flash. 
 O'er the shoals and inlets dash, 
 Covering each with joyous splash; 
 Like conquering love. 
 
 « All that on that varied shore 
 
 Soothed or charra'd the sense before, 
 Lies at once deep flooded o'er; 
 Like hearts by love!" 
 
 As various as the humours of the au- 
 dience, were the opinions given of this 
 trifle. 
 
 Miss Bella pronounced it 171 good taste; 
 both the Misses Mulcaster *' thought it 
 must be very descriptive and very just ; 
 but they could not say : they were not 
 qualified to judge of its fidelity. (Laugh- 
 ing and blushing all the while.) William 
 indeed was quite competent j for every 
 p 2
 
 S16 irojroii o^hara. 
 
 body knew — '' Here they laughed again, 
 and whispered something to Miss Preston, 
 in which the name of a certain Lady 
 Catherine was audibly mixed. Miss Bella's 
 ears visibly stretched at the sound. 
 
 Mrs, Preston declared the verses were 
 better than most things about love, for 
 there was nothing dismal in them. 
 
 Mr. Mulcaster avowed his unqualified 
 approbation ; hinted at his sympathy with 
 all lovers ; talked of lurking wishes, and 
 ambushed Cupids, — of passions like pick- 
 pockets, robbing men before they were 
 aware ; then raved off in admiration of 
 sundry blazing odes, in which the lover 
 was described as stricken instantaneously 
 by the lightning of beauty: in fact, 
 proving to demonsti'ation, that as yet, 
 Mr. William Mulcaster knew nothing of 
 love, either as a sentiment or as a passion. 
 
 Captain Fitz Arthur managed to say 
 nothing. Honoria, who alone of all the 
 company had never been or fancied her- 
 self in love, spoke in her usual spirit of 
 frank remark. She owned the awful 
 subject was wholly speculative with her j
 
 HONOR o'hARA. ^17 
 
 and laughingly wondered what shape the 
 disease would take in her when her turn 
 came : she could only say, she thought 
 herself more likely to be struck all at 
 once, than to be stolen upon. 
 
 " Ay, ay, Honor, child, so you say,'^ 
 interrupted Mrs. Preston, laying her 
 hand on Honoria's arm with motherly 
 freedom. <* Yet for all this, you may be 
 heart-over in that deep sea, even now, 
 without your knowing it. Few persons 
 find out they are in that treacherous water 
 till they are within an inch of their lives ; 
 and then it is too late, as Mr. William's 
 friend writes." 
 
 A glance from Mrs. Preston^s frankly 
 laughing eye, had so effectually turned 
 away Captain Fitz iVrthur's at this mo- 
 ment, that he lost the opportunity af- 
 forded him of seeing how Miss O'Hara 
 looked when an allusion was made to a 
 possible — oh, no, he feared — an f?7?pos- 
 sible latent feeling for himself. He trem- 
 bled lest his old friend's adventurous 
 remark should have the effect of cbilling 
 Honoria's manner, or of drawing forth 
 p 3
 
 318 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 some killing answer. Honoria, however, 
 had covered momentary embarrassment, 
 by regaining the new publication; and 
 now suddenly exclaimed, — 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Mulcaster, you said the 
 writer had not put his name to his work ; 
 why, here it is, in the title-page : and 
 who do you think it is?" she added, 
 turning with animation upon Fitz Arthur. 
 
 Never did her brilliant eyes sparkle 
 more brilliantly, never did her counte- 
 nance glow with more light and beauty, 
 never did her clear voice ring with more 
 silvery sweetness ! 
 
 " Who can it be ?" asked Fitz Arthur 
 eagerly, anxiously. 
 
 " Hear the title !" she resumed, — 
 ' Feelings and Fancies, by Peter Gub- 
 bins, Esq.' Alack, what an unpoetical 
 name ! But my knight of the sham- 
 rock.'* 
 
 <** What's in a name? It is nor hand 
 nor foot!'" Mr. Mulcaster started off 
 with ; quoting Romeo or Juliet, in his 
 capacity of lover. 
 
 '' Mr. Peter Gubbins !" reiterated Cap-
 
 HONOR O^HARA. 319 
 
 tain Fitz Arthur, in a tone of greater 
 surprise, nay emotion, than Honoria 
 thought the occasion justified. " Is 
 your friend the author of this book. I 
 mean the gentleman who was at Arthur's 
 Court a month or two ago? But you 
 W'Cre away then." 
 
 " The same, the identical same," re- 
 plied Mr. Mulcaster j *' Raby told me af- 
 terwards." 
 
 " Then your friend is one of the 
 strangest persons I know," returned Fitz 
 z\rthur. " I wish he would leave off 
 going about the world as lie does, mas- 
 querading in private as well as in public." 
 
 " Ah, ha ! I see you do know him !" 
 exclaimed Mr. Mulcaster, and a look of 
 intelHgence then passed between him and 
 Fitz Arthur. Honoria saw there w^as a 
 mystery. The Misses Mulcaster were 
 clamorous for explanation ; both spoke 
 in one breath, — *' O do tell us. Captain 
 Fitz Arthur ! Do tell us of what pro- 
 fession Mr. Peter Gubbins is, — and who 
 he belongs to, — and where he comes 
 from. William is so close and cross." 
 p 4
 
 320 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 " Be quiet, girls ! hands off, I tell you!" 
 cried their brother, shaking off the young 
 ladies as they tried to pull him away, and 
 get possession of Captain Fitz Arthur. 
 " I protect Fitz Arthur ! Mind your own 
 little business, and don't pry into state 
 secrets ; go on jabbering about your ri- 
 bands and rebuses, and leave us lords of 
 the creation to a snug confabulation of 
 our own." 
 
 " Ah, now i dear William ! — Darling 
 William!—" 
 
 ** Avaunt, ye bell-clapper fiends !" 
 exclaimed their good-humoured but re- 
 solute brother. " I tell you, ye shall 
 know no more of Mr. Peter Gubbins 
 than that he wears a green shade, and 
 writes books. Whether he sweeps the 
 streets for his pastime between whiles, 
 or scribbles as a scrivener, becometh not 
 me to tell you. Away, shght things !" 
 
 " Well then, this I am sure of," laughed 
 
 Sophia Mulcaster, *< that your friend is a 
 
 fright with red eyes. Faugh ! nauseous !" 
 
 "That / know he is not!" thought 
 
 Honoria, who not choosing to be one of
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 321 
 
 the jostled off querists, quietly betook 
 herself to the book again. 
 
 ** O now, I know all about him !'* sud- 
 denly exclaimed Jane Mulcaster. ** Don't 
 you remember, Sophy, when William was 
 staying at Lord Sarum's, he came home 
 raving of a monstrously clever, agreeable 
 young man, an architect who had been 
 studying in Italy and Greece, and was 
 brought to Lord Sarum's by Lord Fran- 
 cis Fitz James ? And — " 
 
 " O mercy, yes !" interrupted Sophia. 
 ** William said he was such a genius, that 
 it was a pity he was not exactly one of 
 their set. O ! I remember his being so 
 sorry that his father was only a hop-mer- 
 chant ; — yes, yes, this is the man I am 
 
 sure." 
 
 ** Sweet simpletons ! Darling inno- 
 cents !" exclaimed Mr. Mulcaster. ** So 
 you have set it down in your wisdom, 
 that a genius for building houses, and 
 building the lofty rhyme, is one and the 
 same thing ! — go to ! chatterers !" 
 
 But the sisters were not to be so easily 
 put off; they persisted in accumulating 
 p 5
 
 82^ HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 reasons for the writer of Feelings and 
 Fancies being the identical architect ; 
 who, although the son of a dealer in 
 hops, was, by favour of divine genius, 
 voted presentable in good society. They 
 maintained that nothing was so natural, 
 therefore, as his very proper shyness at 
 Arthur's Court ; he must so dislike own- 
 ing his father's ignoble trade ! 
 
 Nothing could be made out of Mr. 
 William Mulcaster's shake of the head : 
 it might have as many versions as the 
 memorable one of Lord Burleigh. He 
 accompanied it with the highly flattering 
 exclamation of, *' two regular missy 
 girls !" And immediately commenced a 
 short dialogue with the unwilling Fitz 
 Arthur, in whispers. 
 
 Honoria, meanwhile, was poring and 
 pondering over her book, — endeavour- 
 ing to settle, whether the son of a hop- 
 merchant were entitled to precedence of 
 the son of a law-agent? and whether 
 Mr. William Mulcaster's provoking man- 
 ner, did not indicate that his poetical 
 and building friend were one and the
 
 HONOR o'hara. 323 
 
 same person? — Something within her, 
 either prepossession or plain sense, told 
 her that mind and morals were the real 
 objects of her respect ; — and that if 
 either of the Messrs. Chaplin had been 
 suspected of as much of the first quality, 
 as was attributed to the obscure Gub- 
 bins, and not known to be so deficient 
 in the other as report made them, their 
 origin might have been a bar, but not 
 an impassable one to her favour. 
 
 In the midst of these thoughts, Cap- 
 tain Fitz Arthur approached her, — he 
 begged to look again at the volume 
 which he confessed had now a new in- 
 terest for him, since he found it was 
 written by her knight of the shamrock. 
 Honoria relinquished the book. 
 
 Whilst he slowly turned over its leaves, 
 she appeared listening to a lecture of 
 Miss Preston's, upon a threatened fashion 
 of open sandals instead of shoes ; which 
 the latter declared, was on the point of 
 becoming general, having appeared upon 
 the modish feet of a certain duchess. 
 The fair Bella's concluding exclamation 
 p 6
 
 324 HONOR o'hARA. 
 
 of, " and qicelle goutte elk met dans les 
 habits r^ was lost upon our heroine. Ob- 
 serving Fitz Arthur's eye going several 
 times over the same page, she turned to- 
 wards him, enquiring which of the httle 
 poems was distinguished by such repeated 
 usal ? 
 
 " I fear I was not considering it with 
 so much approval, as — " Fitz Arthur hesi- 
 tated, he spoke with some emotion — 
 "as — yet it interested me. Tell me what 
 you think of it." 
 
 Honoria had not come so far in the 
 volume as this little piece, from which 
 she could, in truth, make out very little 
 sense, and less poetry : she now read it 
 with keen curiosity. The writer seemed 
 purposely to have made it the vehicle 
 of some private feeling : and was evi- 
 dently too sohcitous about expressing 
 that feeling clearly, for one particular 
 person's apprehension, to attempt cloth- 
 ing it in rich or beautiful imagery. 
 
 The substance of more than a dozen 
 stanzas may be summed up, in saying, 
 that they contained only a lover's re-
 
 HONOR o'hara, 325 
 
 proaches to his mistress for refusing to 
 become his wife 5 accusing her, (in ad- 
 dition to some regard for wealth and plea- 
 sure,) of sacrificing their mutual wishes 
 to overstrained notions of duty ; and 
 ending, by the prophecy, first of his own 
 death, and then of her eternal wretched- 
 ness, in consequence of that event. 
 
 Departing from her usual custom, 
 Honoria, after having read these verses, 
 did not immediately pronounce an opi- 
 nion. Fitz Arthur had to enquire what 
 she thought of them. 
 
 " In truth, I don't know," was her 
 hesitating reply. *' They seem to want 
 a key : they refer to some situation I can 
 but guess at. However, they make me 
 pity the writer." 
 
 " I fear they make me pity only the 
 person to whom they are addressed, who- 
 ever she may be," was Fitz Arthur's 
 answer. 
 
 " Pity her /" echoed Honoria. " Why, 
 is not she described as a heartless crea- 
 ture, preferring grandeur to domestic 
 happiness !"
 
 3^6 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 «* The poet accuses her, certainly ; 
 but, I think only of high-strained virtue. 
 His quarrel with her seems to be, that 
 she has suffered some powerful principle, 
 or, if you will, some sanctified prejudice, 
 to control her actions and condemn her 
 to singlehood. You observe he does not 
 accuse her of preferring another: he has 
 the vanity to believe in the eternity of 
 her attachment to himself^ and the bar- 
 barity to triumph in it. I cannot, there- 
 fore, sympathize with his feelings. Is 
 there not something savage in the threat- 
 ened punishment at the end of the 
 poem ?" 
 
 " Yes, if he really wished her so pu- 
 nished," returned Honoria, clinging to her 
 prepossession ; *« but surely some allow- 
 ance is to be made for surprised and out- 
 raged sensibility. Would it not be suf- 
 ficient to madden a saint, to find a w^oman 
 so inconsistent as to profess attachment, 
 yet refuse competence wdth the man she 
 professed it to, because he has not posi- 
 tive riches. This is w^hat I understand 
 from these verses."
 
 HONOR o'hARA. Wrj 
 
 • " I grant it," replied Eitz Arthur 
 gently ; " nay, I will allow as much as 
 you please to the infirmity of nature, 
 even in less justifying circumstances — 
 to sudden agony and momentary phrenzy 
 — [all this, uttered in plain prose, under 
 a paroxysm of disappointment, I might 
 have overheard, or even witnessed, yet 
 have deeply commiserated the sufferer! 
 but to pen down, and print such re- 
 proaches, seems to me unjustifiable. It 
 must either arise from the unmanly wish 
 of revenge ; or from the selfish hope of 
 awakening pity, till it has conquered 
 reason, duty, or whatever else has been 
 the writer's enemy." 
 
 " ' He jests at scars, who never felt a wound !'" 
 
 repeated William Mulcaster, with a glance 
 at his sisters, which neutralized his seem- 
 ing belief of the critic's insensibility. 
 
 " Ah ! Captain Fitz Arthur, you are 
 hard upon poor love," was Honoria's ex- 
 clamation, as she raised her eyes to him ; 
 his face was still suffused, for Mr. Mul- 
 caster's glance had not escaped unob-
 
 328 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 served ; and trying to cover his"'confu- 
 sion by an air of liveliness, he resumed 
 hastily, ** In my opinion it is just as un- 
 lawful to apply tortures to the mind, as 
 it is to the body, for the sake of extorting 
 confessions. I can imagine a situation 
 in which a woman may appear to deserve 
 some such reproaches as these ; yet be, 
 in fact, governed by the most admirable 
 motives, whilst making the cruel sacrifice. 
 I can imagine many more such situations 
 on this sorrow-teeming globe than — '* 
 
 " Oh, now I understand you !'* Hono- 
 ria instantly thought of Miss Clavering. 
 *« If this case at all resemble the one I 
 perceive you are thinking of, then I ad- 
 mit my poet is unjustifiable.*' 
 
 Another and another tide of blood 
 overspread every part of Fitz Arthur's 
 face as Honoria spoke ; but Mr. Mulcas- 
 ter spared him the trouble of explaining, 
 by breaking in upon the dialogue with a 
 burst of laughter. 
 
 " You two are capital fun just now, 
 arguing about nothing ! Most ladies' way 
 of arguing, by the way. I remember this
 
 HONOR o'hara. 329 
 
 poem well. I found a whole lot of them 
 one day w^hen I was rummaging up Gub- 
 bins's writing-case ; and he was in a fuss ; 
 and at last told me they were meant for 
 a romance he was writing. So it is some 
 Philander or Orlando that Fitz Arthur 
 would like to run through the body, and 
 that you Miss O'Hara are in such a hurry 
 to break your pitying heart for." 
 
 " What a waste of words and feelings 
 then V cried Honoria, secretly rejoiced 
 at finding Mr. Peter Gubbins was only a 
 lover in print. ** But I hope now, Captain 
 Fitz Arthur, that you cease to consider 
 my champion of the shamrock as one 
 whom we ought not to take an interest 
 in.'' In spite of herself, Honoria could 
 not prevent a little flutter being percep- 
 tible in her voice, as she asked this ques- 
 tion ; and Fitz Arthur's was not the 
 steadier in consequence, while answer- 
 ing. 
 
 <* It would be a sort of fraud then, 
 against an absent man, if I did not in- 
 crease your interest in him, by telling 
 you, that whether proud or ashamed of
 
 330 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 himself and his circumstances, he seemed 
 to think it right to explain them in a 
 note addressed to me the day after our 
 ball, to apologize for certain appearances ; 
 but I must not repeat what he said." 
 
 " And did he not own his father was a 
 hop-dealer ?" asked both the Misses Mul- 
 caster. 
 
 ** He certainly did tell me more about 
 himself than I could expect," replied 
 Fitz Arthur, smiUng at the hasty and 
 vehement gestures of their brother behind 
 them. "But as he had certainly no in- 
 tention of circulating his confidence, you 
 must pardon me for making myself full 
 as disagreeable as your brother here." 
 
 ** Horrid things ! I dare say you are 
 both freemasons !" ejaculated the eager 
 Sophia. " Now, I dare say you will be 
 afraid of telling us w^hether the man 
 writes a plain tradesman's hand, or a 
 gentlemanly scrawl ?" 
 
 " As poetical a hand as fair lady could 
 desire," was the answer, " Every second 
 word left to the imagination." 
 
 " Did the letter please you otherwise ?"
 
 HONOR o'hara. 331 
 
 enquired our heroine, half ashamed of 
 the interest she felt in the writer. 
 
 " Indeed it did. There was a noble 
 candour in it, — a self-blame for some- 
 thing of intrusion ; but I am saying too 
 much. I suspect he wished even the 
 fact of his letter to be as private as its 
 contents. Yet so called upon here, — 
 so tempted to do justice to one who ho- 
 noured himself by humbling himself, — 
 one so justly admired for — for talents, — 
 so called upon, I really cannot be so 
 very discreet as I ought.'' 
 
 Generous Fitz Arthur ! Thus to arm 
 another's image against your own dearest 
 wishes ! At that moment a glance from 
 Honoria thrilled through every nerve of 
 his body, followed by the immediate con- 
 viction of delight being folly ; for the 
 mere approval of that look might as well . 
 belong to the being of her imagination, 
 as to himself. In truth, the glance was 
 like ** life's mingled yarn, good and ill 
 together ;" for both admiration of the 
 speaker, and the spoken of, were in it. 
 Neither the one nor the other, as yet,
 
 332 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 however, could have claimed the largest 
 portion of the sentiment. 
 
 Whatever that eye-beam implied, Fitz 
 Arthur felt that it would be wise in him 
 not to stay for another. So rising, with 
 as much calmness as he could assume, he 
 hastily wished the little party good morn- 
 ing, and retired. 
 
 Miss O'Hara was now left to bear the 
 brunt of every one's raillery or railing. 
 Mr. Mulcaster accused her of being cru- 
 elly insensible to his friend Fitz Arthur's 
 ill-concealed passion. Miss Preston de- 
 clared, it was quite out of the Captain's 
 power to be in Miss O'Hara's society 
 without committing himself. The Misses 
 Mulcaster good-humouredly declared, 
 they were glad they saw too little of him, 
 to envy Miss O'Hara for captivating, 
 and to hate her for not caring about 
 him. Whilst Mrs. Preston, firm to her 
 one opinion, because it was her secret 
 wish, kept quietly saying, <« Oh, very 
 well ! We shall see, six months hence. 
 I only hope Captain Fitz Arthur will 
 never think of asking me to marry him,
 
 HONOR o'hara. 833 
 
 for depend upon it, I shall forget I am 
 sixty." 
 
 A general laugh at Mrs. Preston^s way 
 of recommending her favourite, turned 
 the almost serious attack upon Honoria 
 into a jest ; and she was bearing her part 
 pretty successfully in the bantering to 
 and fro, when the horses of the Misses 
 Mulcaster, and their brother, were an- 
 nounced. 
 
 All within doors was bustle and good- 
 byes, — picking up of whips, — and floun- 
 dering through long skirted habits ; whilst 
 from without, was heard the prancing 
 and pulling up of the horses, which the 
 groom chose to show off in great style, 
 to the delight of various dogs, big and 
 little, who were yelping and jumping 
 round their heels. 
 
 " Never attempt to run the county, 
 Sophy !" exclaimed Mr. Mulcaster, as 
 he passed to the gates whence all this up- 
 roar was heard and seen j *« for any 
 fool may track you. Always with a 
 string of puppies after you, either two- 
 legged or four-legged, like a Highland
 
 3S4f HONOR o'hara. 
 
 chief with his tail on. What bores you 
 girls are ! I pass my life in flogging your 
 yelping dogs, and shying your stupid 
 admirers. Why don't you get married 
 at once, and rid me of such infernal 
 plagues ?" 
 
 " Of course, it is for the sake of oblig- 
 ing you in this particular, that your sister 
 accumulates her number of admirers," 
 observed Honoria, *' that she may have 
 more choice." 
 
 " You never were more mistaken in 
 your days !" exclaimed Mr. Mulcaster, 
 who piqued himself upon appearing 
 to care nothing for sisters, w^hom he 
 reahy loved, and had a pride in. *' The 
 girl never makes any fellow^s in love 
 with her, — and she don't w^ant it. Only 
 let her have a score of idle danglers at 
 iier beck and call, upon all occasions, 
 and that's enough for her ! She marry ! 
 *I give thee sixpence! I'll see thee — ha, 
 hum, ha'd first.' I must not sw^ear, you 
 see. Miss O'Hara, even by quotation. 
 Parody the passage ! parody the pas- 
 sage !" And whistling with more light-
 
 HONOR o'hARA. S$5 
 
 lieartedness than refinement, Mr. Mul- 
 caster strode before his sisters through 
 tlie side gate. Then, after duly patting 
 and praising his sleek mare, calling her 
 dear slut, and insisting upon Miss 
 O'Hara's doing the same, lie assisted his 
 sisters to mount, — settled their stirrups, 
 their petticoats, and what he called all 
 the rest of their horrid tackle ; and be- 
 stowing sundry benedictions upon the 
 inventors of women, and sundry denun- 
 ciations upon the barking dogs, rode 
 away with a happy carelessness of look, 
 which made Honoria exclaim, as she in- 
 voluntarily contrasted it in her remem- 
 brance with the varying eyes and cheek 
 of poor Fitz Arthur, " That boy in lovel'* 
 The party on horseback cantered off 
 to Shafto Place ; the young ladies had a 
 visit to return. The brother intended to 
 parade the poems of his friend, by de- 
 scription and eulogium : the poems them- 
 selves being left in Miss O'Hara's hand 
 for quick perusal. The day was exactly 
 such a one as tempts people in the 
 country to pay visits 5 so Mrs. Shafto
 
 356 HONOR o'hara^ 
 
 was at home, and her daughters were 
 «« somewhere about the house or grounds." 
 Miss Shafto looked best in a bonnet, 
 she was out of doors : and of course 
 kept on her hat when called in. Miss 
 Augusta's nose had the infirmity of get- 
 ting red at the tip whenever she was hur- 
 ried, or heated, or cold, — so she was 
 sitting very still at an upright piano- 
 forte. Miss Matilda's stupid face always 
 wanted a fillip ; therefore, she was dis- 
 covered arranging portfolios of carica- 
 tures. The mother was loitering about 
 her conservatory, from which, as it com- 
 municated immediately with the morning 
 sitting-room, she returned, on the Misses 
 Mulcaster being announced, to her seat 
 at a little ornamented table, where lay 
 the very identical book Mr, William 
 Mulcaster came to puff! Near it stood 
 Mr. Tudor, the smart, obsequious, pe- 
 dantic Mr. Tudor, making alumets and 
 similes at the same moment. 
 
 Nothing could equal Mr. Mulcaster's 
 mortification at finding himself thus fore- 
 stalled : however, he took up the volume.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 337 
 
 Before he could speak, Mrs. Shafto, 
 glancing flatteringly towards him, after 
 welcoming his sisters, exclaimed, " Pray 
 don't w^aste your agreeableness over that 
 new publication, Mr. Mulcaster ! we see 
 you so seldom, that really we cannot 
 spare a moment of you. And it is very 
 indifferent, I assure you : pretty — rather 
 pretty — one of the things, — a battle- 
 piece, I think, or the Earthquake — w^hich 
 was it we thought pretty, Mr. Tudor? — 
 pretty enough !" 
 
 «< A battle-piece pretty !" repeated Mr. 
 Mulcaster, lifting up his hands and eyes. 
 
 " The appellation is not incorrect, sir," 
 observed Mr. Tudor, anxious to vindicate 
 the critical acumen of a lady. " The 
 writer of these verses has none of the true 
 furor poeticiis ; none of thsit Jelicitas i?i 
 verbis seligendis e^rquisita, that senteiitice 
 acres satyrum et facetum spirantes^ which 
 would enable him to astonish and intimi- 
 date. Where will you find in his poor 
 volume such passages as these ?" 
 
 Here Mr. Tudor bore down upon the 
 late student of All Souls with such a 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 
 
 broadside of quotations and parallel pas- 
 sages, that his shattered opponent was 
 soon obliged to haul his wind and sheer 
 off: he had no way of escape from the 
 bore of rubbing up rusty learning except 
 by allowing himself to be bantered about 
 one of the county beauties ; a practice 
 invariably followed by Miss Shafto; who 
 having once had designs upon the gen-, 
 tleman, was now never weary of proving 
 her complete indifference to all his con- 
 cerns. 
 
 William Mulcaster was at that age 
 when young men like to give publicity to 
 their love, and to the name of its object: 
 and as the goddess of Mr. Mulcaster's 
 worship had a noble preface to her bap- 
 tismal appellation, he was the less un- 
 willing to hear that name coupled with 
 his own. Tlie fair Lady Catherine too, 
 was not so cruel as to dislike hearing of 
 her cruelty from any person good-natured 
 enough to gratify girlish vanity, by talking 
 to her of herself, and of Mr. Mulcaster. 
 
 Thus, both the adorer and the adored 
 were what they called ^w/^^r^c? about each
 
 HONOR o'hara. 339 
 
 other ; and neither of them showed vio- 
 lent displeasure in consequence. All but 
 the couple themselves, therefore, were 
 quite sure it would be a match: they 
 knew their own hearts better. 
 
 Mr. Mulcaster now delivered himself 
 over to the flattering badinage of Mrs. 
 Shafto. Yet once or twice he endeavoured 
 to resume the subject of Mr. Peter Gub- 
 bins and his poems. 
 
 Mrs. Shaflo was not in luck ; she did 
 not perceive the interest her guest took 
 in the subject, though he recurred to it. 
 " My dear Mr. Mulcaster !" she ex- 
 claimed, as she went on rolling and pinch- 
 ing the slips of pink paper, which Mr. 
 Tudor was carefully cutting for her 
 important manufacture ; " don't insist 
 upon our admiring a book, written by 
 any one with two such names, — he must 
 be an under sort of person ; and really, 
 really,'* (looking round the room with an 
 affectation of search,) <* I may say it here 
 — I cannot think elegant compositions of 
 any kind can proceed from any pen but 
 a gentleman's : so do let us talk of a 
 Q 2
 
 340 
 
 much pleasanter thing ; one more in your 
 own way. Haye you heard that our 
 great neighbours are coming amongst us 
 again ? Some of the Wearmouth family 
 are positively coming from Lord Sarum's, 
 to be at Ravenshaw while the races are 
 going on.*' 
 
 " Are they indeed?" exclaimed Mr. 
 Mulcaster. ** I bet six to two my friend 
 Gubbins is of the party, — Mr. Peter 
 Gubbins." 
 
 ** Indeed!" re-echoed the lady of the 
 mansion. <' Is he a person of that style ?'* 
 
 In spite of Mrs. Shafto's foregone 
 complacent attention to his oft-repeated 
 " Lady Catherine said," and " Lady 
 Catherine was going," Mr. Mulcaster 
 was so ungratefully piqued at the slight 
 thrown upon his fellow-student's talents, 
 that turning upon her with the air of t/qu 
 shall get no more out of mcy he gravely 
 answered, ** I hope you find nothing 
 very astonishing, Mrs. Shafto, in a friend 
 of mine being a friend of Lord Wear- 
 mouth's !" 
 
 Mrs. Shafto was overwhelmed j self-
 
 341 
 
 convicted of extreme ill-breeding. Never 
 had she been so completely thrown off 
 her guard. To get handsomely out of 
 the scrape was impossible, unless she 
 sacrificed truth. Hers was a life of sacri- 
 fice in that way : so now, assuming per- 
 fect ease, she said, smilingly, ** I was a 
 little surprised at your poet being either 
 a statesman or a man on the turf — that 
 was all. He may be neither, though he 
 is Lord Wearmouth's acquaintance, and 
 coming down to these races. Emilia, do 
 you happen to know which of the Wear- 
 mouth family are coming to Raven- 
 shaw ?" 
 
 This question was asked with that air 
 of indifference to every common and un- 
 common occurrence, which it is so pecu- 
 liarly the province of a sated and fashion- 
 able life to bestow; which Mrs. Shafto 
 therefore assumed ; and which, from 
 having previously acquainted herself with 
 the particulars she was enquiring into, 
 she gave in most felicitous style. 
 
 Miss Shafto put up her glass to hear 
 the question. " I think, while she was 
 Q 3
 
 34^ HONOR o'hara. 
 
 dressing me to-day, Thompson told 
 
 me '' 
 
 " How sure all waiting-maids* names 
 are to be Thompson, or Johnson, or some 
 such vulgar name !*' interposed Mr. Mul- 
 caster. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto smiled on him with more 
 than her usual suavity. Such a smile ought 
 to have put him in good-humour with 
 her for life. But a man deep in flirtation 
 with a Lady Catherine, could not easily 
 forgive the insult of having been deemed 
 unworthy the acquaintance of the ac- 
 quaintance of a noble earl : and he kept 
 sturdily stiff, not even bending his head 
 in sign of thankfulness. 
 
 Miss Shafto's offended air reproved him 
 for the rudeness of breaking in upon her 
 reply to her mother. She went on : "1 
 think Thompson told me. Lord Wear- 
 mouth himself is coming, with the Dow- 
 ager ; and Lord Francis Fitz James, one 
 of young Lady Wearmouth's cousins; and 
 a good many more people, whose names 
 she had not heard. I really forget, though. 
 — Mr. Tudor, do be so good as put away
 
 HONOR o'hara. 343 
 
 that tuberose ; it is so overpowering !" — 
 And by this little commission Miss Shafto 
 intended at once to confirm her indiffer- 
 ence to the titled party in prospect, and 
 her thorough disregard of Mr. Mulcaster, 
 Mr. Tudor's hasty obedience nearly over- 
 set him. He was recompensed for mo- 
 mentary confusion by the liberal display 
 of his white hands and Iiis invaluable 
 onyx, which the removal of the unwieldy 
 garden-pot afforded. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto meanwhile had quietly 
 risen from her seat, crossed the room, 
 either for her work-bag, or solely for the 
 purpose of being arrested in passing a 
 window by the sight of Mr. Mulcaster' s 
 mare, which she declared was the most 
 complete and beautiful animal she had 
 ever seen. At first she kindly bestowed 
 it upon Mr. Tudor; then observed two 
 ladies' horses leading about also ; so pret- 
 tily recollected that it might be Mr. Mul- 
 caster's — nay, it musthe Mr. Mulcaster' s, 
 for she always heard gentlemen speak of 
 him as the best judge of a horse in the 
 county. 
 
 Q 4
 
 544 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 Mr. Mulcaster's ill-humour must have 
 been dyed in grain, for it abated not a jot 
 of its blackness after this pungent com- 
 pliment. However, the lady reseated 
 herself with dauntless placidity, and once 
 more addressed him : — *< I shall look over 
 these poems again with quite a new feel- 
 ing, since you say their writer is a friend 
 of yours, though I am past the age, I ac- 
 knowledge, of admiring poetry with such 
 animation as younger people do ; but my 
 girls, I suspect, have the taste of their 
 age ; and if your friend were only a poet, 
 would be delighted to know him. As 
 your friend, I put in my claim for his 
 acquaintance, — you must let me owe the 
 gratification of making his acquaintance 
 to you, — you must do me the favour of 
 bringing him to Shafto Place.'' 
 
 Mrs. Shafto did not doubt that the poet 
 was a man of family, since he was admitted 
 to the domestic circle of Lord Wear- 
 mouth ; and if not worth marrying him- 
 self, might be a great help in other ways 
 — such as writing and circulating little 
 complimentary songs upon her daughters.
 
 345 
 
 swelling their train of admirers, if siicli 
 train existed, &c. &c. j and her repeated 
 you musts were all said with most insinu- 
 ating humility. 
 
 Both the Misses Mulcaster, thinking of 
 hops, and the city, burst into a fit of 
 laughter ; vainly trying to get out a few 
 words which would have ended the lady's 
 solicitations at once ; but their brother's 
 quick and commanding frown chained 
 their tongues, and he said carelessly, 
 »* I shall certainly tell my friend what 
 you say ; but he is such a spoiled child, 
 that I assure you he goes nowhere from 
 mere civility, — he will know nobody, till 
 he sees whether he likes them or not." 
 
 " Oh, William !" ejaculated his sister 
 Jane. 
 
 *« 'Tis the fact, however. Miss Janet, 
 in spite of your little ignorant exclam- 
 ation. A man may be in the same room 
 a million of times with a set of quizzes, 
 and hear all their stuff and nonsense, 
 without being obliged to know them. It 
 would be desperately hard, as the world 
 goes now, if one must be introduced to 
 Q 5
 
 346 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 all the bores, and lions, and puppies, that 
 tag after our old maiden aunts, and young 
 maiden sisters !" 
 
 Mr. Mulcaster saw Mrs. Shafto's colour 
 rise, though she still preserved the usual 
 fawning courtliness of her countenance. 
 He still owed her a grudge ; and though 
 past the age of throwing stones and soap- 
 ing staircases out of pure waggishness, he 
 yet enjoyed a bigger bit of mischief. 
 Turning suddenly and spritefully round to 
 his sisters, he exclaimed, " Girls ! what 
 will you bet that the pretty Honor O'Hara 
 does not catch Gubbins ?" 
 
 <* Is your friend so susceptible then?" 
 asked Mrs. Shafto, scarcely able to com- 
 mand her looks any longer : ** or perhaps 
 you think that young lady pre-eminently 
 beautiful !" 
 
 Such a report did not suit Mr. Mul- 
 caster's views in another quarter ; and he 
 replied, in some confusion, "No — yes— 
 I think her extremely pretty; though I 
 don't generally like dark eyes." The 
 eyes of Lady Catherine, our sagacious 
 readers must guess, were light. 
 \%
 
 HONOR O^HARA, 34^ 
 
 ** I am quite of your opinion," returned 
 the able mistress of the mansion, ** Black 
 eyes certainly give rather too assured a 
 look to a woman's face, which, I believe, 
 you gentlemen say, ought always to be soft 
 and retiring, I remember your godfather. 
 Sir Harry Jessop (who, by the way, was 
 one of the most refined judges of his day, 
 in these matters I mean,) used to remark 
 that they were fit only for a milkmaid. 
 How well I recollect his admiration of 
 Lady Hexham's eyes when she was just 
 married ! — so very soft — so very blue — 
 so unlike all other eyes, except her very 
 charming daughter's !" 
 
 Mr.Mulcaster did not yet flinch, though 
 the Countess of Hexham was mother to 
 Lady Catherine. He was intended for a 
 senator \ and this sample of his resolute 
 stand against bribery, ought to have been 
 given on the hustings to his constituents. 
 Bowing cavalierly to Mrs. Shafto, 
 be begged to represent his godfather's 
 ghost, while thanking hei for the com- 
 pliment to his memory 5 then pursuing 
 Q 6
 
 348 HONOR o'riARA. 
 
 his determination of provoking her, re- 
 sumed about Miss O'Hara. 
 
 " I think she will just suit our poet's 
 taste. Then I shall take care to tell him 
 how she devoured his poems this morn- 
 ing, never asking whether he were a peer 
 or a ploughman. That touch will have 
 a great effect upon him : for if he were a 
 peer, he would hate to be toadied about 
 his rank, full as much as he does now 
 about his genius." 
 
 Mrs. Shafto treasured up this useful 
 hint concerning the poet ; but as it took 
 her some instants to digest the bitter em- 
 phasis with which Mr. Mulcaster had 
 uttered the word toadied^ Mr. Tudor 
 found opportunity to say, with forced in- 
 difference, while his visage fluctuated 
 between green and white, ** Some of your 
 friend's verses lead me to conjecture he 
 has no heart to bestow, even upon Miss 
 O'Hara — so what think you of proposing 
 Lord Francis Fitz James for her ?" 
 
 This was meant for a pleasantry, and 
 taken accordingly. The Misses Mulcaster
 
 HONOR o'hara. 349 
 
 glanced at each other, and laughed ; the 
 Misses Shafto severally threw back their 
 heads in due rotation, with a due portion 
 of contemptuous pity ; the eldest coldly 
 drawhng out, " Now pray, Mr. Tudor, 
 don't be too severe on that poor girl 1" 
 
 ** Many a heart's caught on the re» 
 bound, they say," exclaimed Mr. Mul- 
 caster ; <* and I say, sought into the bar- 
 gain ! Eh, Miss Shafto ! eh, Tudor !" — 
 (Miss Shafto was indignant scarlet ; Mr. 
 Tudor was rainbow conftision.) — ** So if 
 ray friend Gubbins has had his heart 
 trampled on by one woman, it is no 
 reason why he should not lodge it in the 
 kinder arms of another. And as to Tu- 
 dor's idea of Lord Francis, it is quite 
 capital : I am determined forthwith to 
 adopt it, and shall with all speed stride 
 off, and desire Miss O'Hara to sharpen 
 her best arrows for both the Lord and the 
 Bard." 
 
 ** Are you not a little afraid, my dear 
 Mr. Mulcaster," observed Mrs. Shafto, 
 with an air of affected benevolence, ** that 
 such a flattering injunction, from one of
 
 350 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 our admired young men, may tend to 
 turn that pretty little head ? Surely it 
 is cruel to excite hopes and wishes im- 
 possible to have realized ! The poor thing 
 has neither family, fortune, nor, I fear, 
 education, (as we now understand that 
 very comprehensive word,) to allow of 
 any really well-born person's thinking se- 
 riously of her ; pretty, very pretty, and 
 pleasing as she is. I am truly sorry for 
 her. Mrs. Meredith, though an excellent 
 vulgar woman, is a vulgar woman — quite 
 out of the question of being visited : so 
 who could marry such a woman's niece? 
 I am not afraid of saying I think con- 
 nection is every thing in marriage. If 
 Lord Francis Fitz James followed mi/ 
 advice, Mr. Mulcaster, I fear" (smiling 
 vnth a most caressing air of mock threat- 
 ening,) "he would enter the lists against 
 1/ou, for the favour of a certain very high 
 bred, elegant young woman in his own 
 set." 
 
 Mr. Mulcaster was fairly beat: the 
 flattery and the intimidation, were too 
 much for his resolution, to go on vexing
 
 HONOR o'hara. 351 
 
 her. Happily his youngest sister's vo- 
 hible ardour came to his aid, "Take 
 care, Mrs, Shafto,'* she archly exclaimed. 
 " Take care of what you say of Mrs. 
 Meredith. I can tell you, if that will 
 at all save her, that we visit her now ; 
 and I think there is one, rather connect- 
 ed with you, that would very willingly 
 make Miss O'Hara your relation, if she 
 would give him leave to do so.*' 
 
 Mrs. Shafto was all astonishment,*^ 
 sincere astonishment. She looked asto- 
 nishment, — she expressed astonishment : 
 the very alumet quivered between her 
 finger and thumb with astonishment. 
 <* What could Miss Jane Mulcaster 
 mean ?" 
 
 The blooming girl had something of 
 her brother's hardihood of character, and 
 though herEuphrosyne smiles disappeared 
 before the chilling look of the questioner, 
 she persisted in explaining. ** Every- 
 body could see," she said, " that Captain 
 Fitz Arthur was dying for Miss O'Hara, 
 and that she was cruelly insensible to 
 him. This was quite evident, for he was
 
 352 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 always so low and embarrassed in her 
 company; and she was so gaily at her 
 ease in his." 
 
 " Our cousin Delaval Fitz Arthur dy- 
 ing for Miss O'Hara ! our cousin !" was 
 repeated all down the file of the Misses 
 Shafto at the same moment, in different 
 keys. Disdain and disbelief was meant 
 to be the expression of each ; but the 
 eldest sister's sharp alt was the success- 
 ful one. 
 
 Mrs. Shafto had now quelled herself. 
 ** Will you permit me to give you a dif- 
 ferent version of such observations ?" she 
 asked graciously. " I have Sir Everard's 
 authority for saying his son's views are 
 in another quarter. And no wonder, 
 wh^re there is such loveliness, and will 
 be so much fortune. The young lady 
 you speak of, has of course lier view's 
 in playing the agreeable before the heir 
 of Arthur's Court. Idly calculating 
 upon her being a favourite with the good 
 old Baronet, and not being in the secret 
 of this old India flame, she hopes to suc- 
 ceed ; but I venture to say, both father
 
 353 
 
 and son may patronize her, when they 
 would be shocked to hear a hint of such 
 degradation as you speak oi\ Miss Jane. 
 I am not at hberty to enter fully into 
 Captain Fitz Arthur's present plans and 
 prospects* Thus much I will say, I am 
 vastly sorry if this young person is so 
 very much set up by injudicious notice, 
 as to fancy she dare attempt the con- 
 quest of the heir of a baronetcy ; and I 
 only pray you will pardon me, if I own 
 to being a little, — a very little, affronted 
 at the bare idea of such a person declin- 
 ing the future possessor of Arthur's Court. 
 It is very amiable in you to patronize this 
 young person, — so natural to a good 
 heart ! but you are just as likely to make a 
 bosom friend of one so completely out of 
 your own set, as any man of birth and 
 fashion is to marry her." 
 
 Mrs. Shafto's astrologer ought to have 
 learned his lesson from Caesar's ; he should 
 have bid her " beware of March." On 
 this memorable morning she was sin- 
 gularly unfortunate. Miss Jane Mulcas- 
 ter's cheeks blazed through the thick
 
 354 HONOR o'haua. 
 
 clusters of gold-brown hair which vainly 
 tried to hide their resentful colour, and 
 intercept the sudden anger of her gene- 
 rally gladsome eyes. She boldly avowed 
 a strict friendship with Miss O'Hara, 
 commenced she confessed at the Arthur's 
 Court ball: where, though she had talked 
 little with Miss O'Hara, she had heard 
 and seen so much of her delightfulness to 
 others, that she never rested till she got 
 her papa to let them all ride over and 
 call at the Rectory. She was quite sor- 
 row St. Cuthberts was such a way off 
 Edenfell, — eight miles! but for that, 
 they must have met so often before, and 
 found out how much they should like 
 one another ! As to her papa, the Dean, 
 he was enchanted with Miss O'Hara's 
 charming countenance and natural man- 
 ners. For her part. Miss Jane wondered 
 that all the men were not dying for Miss 
 O'Hara, as well as Captain Fitz Arthur." 
 ** But, my dear Jane !" interposed her 
 better, disciplined sister, " Mrs. Shafto 
 assures you, Captain Fitz Arthur has no 
 thought of our pretty friend ; pray don't
 
 HONOR o'hara. 855 
 
 be so positive," and she made a signal 
 look, by way of bidding her sister give 
 up the point, and keep the opinion. 
 The honest-hearted Jane paid no atten- 
 tion to it, resuming eagerly : — " Well ! 
 all I will say for a certainty, is, that if 
 Captain Fitz Arthur ever does propose, 
 he will not be accepted : for Honoria 
 never will marry any person she don't 
 care about, to the greatest degree ; and 
 I know she is not in the least attached to 
 him/' 
 
 «* When Captain Fitz Arthur does pro- 
 pose. Miss Jane,'* returned Mrs. Shafto, 
 actually shivering with repressed violence, 
 "^ow will allow me to be quite as 
 ceitain, that he will not be refused." 
 
 " So people said about Mr. Frazer,'* 
 Jane resumed, out of breath with good- 
 natured earnestness ; " and yet you see 
 he was turned away." 
 
 <* Did the young lady tell you so ?'* en- 
 quired Mrs. Shafto insidiously. "One 
 would not credit it otherwise." 
 
 *<0, no! but one may guess, -^ one 
 may be sure."
 
 S56 ' HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 " My dear, warm-hearted, generous 
 Miss Jane, allow an older woman, — a 
 much older woman than yourself^ to be 
 a little sceptical on such subjects. I do 
 not doubt Miss 0*Hara's pretensions to 
 beauty ; but Mr. Frazer was evidently 
 not a marrying man, even supposing she 
 was a proper connection. Had he been 
 so, there were a few faces in the county 
 that I shall name, if you provoke me," 
 (playfully looking up at her Hebe face,) 
 *• amongst people of his own class, that 
 must have secured him before he saw 
 Miss O'Hara's. 
 
 The blooming Jane was not so re- 
 morseless and unappeasable as her bro- 
 ther. She knew herself to be one of the 
 county beauties, and she looked blush- 
 ingly aside ; then rall)^ing back her spirit, 
 dauntlessly repeated, " Well ! for all 
 that, I will still maintain that Miss 
 O'Hara refused Mr. Frazer." 
 
 " Gentlemen must take care then, how 
 they propose to your pretty friend, it 
 seems, for more reasons than one;" 
 observed Mrs. Shafto, obliquely glancing
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 357 
 
 at a table covered with fashionable trifles, 
 to which Mr. Tudor had retreated at the 
 commencement of this conversation, and 
 where he now stood curiously examining 
 a gold thimble, as if tasked to make one. 
 
 *' Mr. Tudor, will you be so very good 
 as'give me that thimble ? I was just going 
 to look for it, and show Miss Sophia 
 Mulcaster a new sort of satin-stitch 1 
 have learned from Lady Henderson. 
 Mr. Mulcaster, what are you taking up 
 your hat for ? Now you have done all 
 possible mischief to poor Matilda's clas- 
 sification of these ridiculous prints ! I 
 wonder, Mr. Tudor, if the Roman ladies 
 used thimbles." 
 
 Mr. Tudor, lifted at once from his 
 present insignificance and recent con- 
 fusion, and lifted too upon his hobby- 
 horse, set off full gallop ; and even the 
 rival images of the openly scornful Miss 
 O'Hara, and the covertly encouraging 
 Miss Shaflo, were immediately run down. 
 He was full cry afler authorities and 
 grounds for opinions: and had already 
 named every Latin author, whose name 
 had heretofore struck terror into the soul
 
 358 HONOR 0*HARA. 
 
 of the young collegian, when the latter 
 started up, and called on his sisters to 
 wish Mrs. Shafto good day. 
 
 " I hear the awful roll of a carriage ! 
 O those confounded curs of yours, 
 Sophy!" he exclaimed, as the shrill 
 yelping of some, — the hoarse baying of 
 others, — and the low growl of a muz- 
 zled mastiff belonging to the house, were 
 heard mingling with the sound of wheels. 
 « What with their noise, and Mr. Tudor's 
 learning, my brain is fairly bothered. 
 Every one of those brutes, from this day 
 forth, will always seem to me to be 
 barking in Latin ; and Mr. Tudor, when 
 he speaks, bow-wowing. Association of 
 ideas, Mr. Tudor, you know. — Man is 
 the victim of associations." 
 
 The light-hearted William gave his sis- 
 ter Jane's arm such a tight squeeze 
 against his side, as he uttered this boyish 
 sarcasm, under the mask of Mr. Tudor's 
 own pomposity, that she cried out ; and 
 in the confusion of her scream, Mrs. 
 Shafto's polite solicitude, and the an- 
 nouncement of fresh visitors, the brother 
 and sisters finally escaped to their horses.
 
 HONOR o'hara. 359 
 
 Mrs. Shafto looked after the party for 
 a moment, with an emotion rather like 
 compassion. " Poor, unfashioned crea- 
 tures !" she thought^ " it is evident they 
 have no mother I" And she turned to 
 simper upon, and flatter her second set 
 of visitors, with the proud consciousness 
 of having rendered her girls as sharp- 
 sighted to their own little interests, and 
 as coldly indifferent to every other human 
 beings, as nature had made herself. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Mulcaster was ex- 
 claiming, <« How I do abominate toadies 
 and lick-spittles !" 
 
 ** And don't you think Mrs. Shafto re- 
 turns the compliment, by abominating 
 impudent, ill-mannered boys ?" asked 
 one smiling sister, as they cantered along. 
 
 " Well, if she does, I can tell you her 
 aversion warms my heart. Such a scare- 
 crow as she is, to all heart and heartiness! 
 Such a cankered heap of envy and 
 malice, and flattery and falseness, and 
 flummery and frippery, and — " "Wil- 
 liam! William!" 
 
 "I do delight in humbugging and
 
 360 
 
 mystifying her! Did you mark, girls, 
 how I worked her about Miss O'Hara? 
 and what a fuss she was in when she 
 found my friend Gubbins was good com- 
 pany. Such fools as she, are enough to 
 put one out of humour with family and 
 breeding, and all that my dear quiz of a 
 father calls *the salutary distinctions of 
 society.' One week in Mrs. Shafto's 
 society would drive me into binding 
 myself apprentice to a butcher or a 
 tailor ; but I have not done with her 
 yet.'' 
 
 " I protest she has made you quite 
 savage to-day !" observed the sprightly 
 Sophia. 
 
 Mr. Mulcaster abruptly checked his 
 horse, as if going to turn about. " By 
 the white hands of Mr. Tudor," he ex- 
 claimed, "I've a great mind to ride 
 back, merely to tell her to abuse Gub- 
 bins's poems to Lord Francis Fitz James. 
 I'll tell her he thinks them poor stuff, — 
 there'll be a kettle ! For he and Gubbins 
 are inseparable friends." 
 
 ** O fie, William !" cried his favourite 
 14
 
 HONOR o'hara. 361 
 
 sister, "planning a fib for the sake of 
 tormenting a person. You, the son of a 
 clergyman !" 
 
 " Pshaw ! I wish I was the son of a 
 tinker, if my father's trade is to keep 
 me in awe. I am not planning a fib, Miss 
 Janet : Fitz James does not think any 
 thing of Gubbins's verses; yet he has such 
 a regard for the fellow, that I am much 
 mistaken if he'll like to hear his genius 
 questioned by an old rag-doll like Mrs. 
 Shafto." 
 
 " WilHam ! William !" repeated Sophia, 
 " you have got such a trick of saying that 
 old rag- doll when you speak of Mrs. 
 Shafto, and swearing by the white hands 
 of Mr. Tudor, that I am in terror every 
 instant you will say it to themselves." 
 
 '* And don't you think it would do 
 them both, lots of good ?" asked the po- 
 sitive WiUiam. ** Mrs. Shafto might 
 then leave off painting her face with 
 whiting, which I'm sure she cribs from 
 the maids for cheapness ; and Tudor 
 might give up the villanous practice of 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 362 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 poulticing his paws every night. Hor- 
 rid monster !" 
 
 ** But you perverse boy I" cried his 
 elder sister, " why will you persist in be- 
 lieving Mrs. Shafto })aints white ? Did 
 you ever yet hear of a woman painting 
 herself a regular ghost-colour ?" 
 
 " Pshaw 1 1 tell you she does it to 
 look genteel ; she thinks colour so very 
 wiladyUke,'^ (Mimicking her.) "And as 
 to Tudor, 1 only wish I had him and 
 his pap and panada hands at Eton, and 
 I one of the fifth form again ; see if we 
 would not tattoo them a right goblin 
 black. Look at this hand, girls !" (thrust- 
 ing forth a palm, garnished with a set of 
 long elegant fingers, that might once 
 have honoured the roseate-handed morn :) 
 *« I hope Tve cheated the family com- 
 plexion. Look ! behold the blessed effects 
 of cricketing, rowing, sparring, clam- 
 bering, bell-ringing, cooking, driving, 
 and flogging your confounded dogS| 
 who'd say these hands were cut out of 
 the same cloth with your httle pinks and 
 whites ?"
 
 HONOR o'hara. 363 
 
 " Who, indeed !" reiterated the laugh- 
 ing Jane, drawing off her glove, and 
 placing a hand more delicate than a 
 flower, by the side of his tanned one. 
 
 The affectionate brother gave it a fond 
 
 squeeze, which he suddenly changed 
 
 into a screw ; so much of the boy was 
 
 there still in his ripening manliness. 
 
 " Come, you stand the torture bravely !'* 
 
 he cried. "You look all the prettier 
 
 for it, — it has made you blow out like a 
 
 full-blown rose. Jane, I've a great mind 
 
 to kiss you, where you sit, on the back 
 
 of your mare, (which, by the way, you 
 
 are now sitting with the grace of a corn 
 
 sack,) I've a great mind to kiss you, 
 
 for having given that whited-wall, that 
 
 pale pyramid, such a famous set down 
 
 about Miss O'Hara.'* 
 
 There were not lighter hearts in the 
 county than those of the Misses Mul- 
 caster : and at this compliment to Jane, 
 both sisters burst out^a laughing. But 
 Sophia quickly recovering herself, and 
 believing that three years difference in 
 their ages, imposed upon her the dis- 
 R 2
 
 364 
 
 agreeable duty of lecturing Jane occa- 
 sionally, hastened to remind her of her 
 over-eagerness in the dispute with Mrs. 
 Shafto. She said many meritorious things 
 upon the propriety of deference to older 
 persons, — upon the possibility of pre- 
 serving truth and politeness at the same 
 time, — of the injury so often done to a 
 friend by being too vehement in their 
 cause ; and she instanced Jane's positive 
 assertion concerning Mr. Frazer's refusal, 
 when the former only gathered it from 
 some vague expression in a note of his, 
 to their father. 
 
 Miss Sophia took care to add, it was 
 evident Mrs. Shafto would make the most 
 of this indiscretion, and go about saying 
 Miss O'Hara was either a false boaster, 
 or a most dishonourable young woman. 
 
 Poor Jane had not a word to say for 
 herself; the crimes of positiveness and 
 imprudence were proved upon her : and 
 she could only repeat, ** I am very 
 sorry." But her brother clamoured in 
 her behalf i if he could not argue ; till, 
 by main force of lungs and ludicrous
 
 365 
 
 epithets, aided by sundry tremendous 
 seeming lashes at Sophia's dogs, he fairly 
 silenced his sister's reluctant reproofs. 
 
 This young man had all the materials 
 in him for building up a most valuable 
 character ; as yet, these lay in notable 
 disorder, the rubbish uppermost. He 
 was not twenty, and with inherent love 
 of the true in every thing, detested^ as 
 he termed it, every body who was false. 
 His was the age of vehement indigna- 
 tion and relentless justice : and had he 
 been elected king, his first public act 
 would have been, to have had Mrs. Shafto 
 whipped at the cart's tail throughout his 
 dominions. 
 
 With common inconsistency, however, 
 William Mulcaster assumed something 
 himself; he affected a tone of roughness 
 and rudeness with sisters he doated 
 upon, — and spoke of a father he loved 
 and reverenced, too often, as if he were 
 speaking of an old hunks. 
 
 Having caught the fashionable cant of 
 denominating every displayed good feel- 
 ing humbugs he (what he called,) bullied 
 R 3
 
 366 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 the expression of each ; therefore went 
 on doing the humanest things, with an 
 air of pettish hiimonr. 
 
 If during rides or walks he saw a 
 sheep cast, or a young bird fall down 
 from the nest, he was sure to stop, and 
 turn the one, or climb to replace the 
 other ; always exclaiming, however, 
 ** There ! I suppose I must go and help 
 these brutes, or I shall have no peace 
 with you foolish girls V 
 
 As he was never willingly without one 
 or other of his sisters, he was sometimes 
 complimented upon being a good brother. 
 On such occasions, he never failed turn- 
 ing upon the luckless complimenter, and 
 goring them with the outcry ofi " I fond 
 of the girls ! — Never was man more 
 heartily tired of a set of women, tagging 
 after him like so many imps tormenting 
 a big fiend ! Here I go, hawking them all 
 over the county, and not a creature will 
 take them off my hands. The fellows 
 are too knowing." Mr. Mulcaster 
 might safely hazard such a declaration, 
 since his sisters were notoriously the 
 county belles.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 867 
 
 The Misses Mulcaster had the misfor- 
 tune of being motherless, which may ac- 
 count for a certain wildness in their fa- 
 mily habits. The finest natural qualities 
 need the training hand of judicious watch- 
 fulness. 
 
 As their father looked rather to the 
 solid than the brilliant in their education, 
 they were deficient in dazzling accom- 
 plishments. Not one of them played, 
 or sung, or danced, a whit better than 
 girls with ordinary ears and voices were 
 likely to do under the tuition of provin- 
 cial masters. They could read French 
 easily, but not lard their conversation 
 with it. They were not ignorant upon 
 any one subject of art or literature, but 
 they were learned in none. 
 
 Yet, in spite of this mediocrity of ac- 
 quirements, they made St. Cuthberts so 
 pleasant, that it might vie with Mrs. 
 Preston's house in the number of its 
 daily visitors. 
 
 After all, natural good sense, good 
 humour, and good spirits are women's 
 staples. If men would speak out, tliey 
 R 4
 
 368 
 
 would confess, that to be always admir- 
 ing is very fatiguing; and that nine 
 times out of ten, they would prefer the 
 light amusement of general conversation, 
 to the weighty demands of first-rate music, 
 or the toilsome task of attending to an 
 eloquent harangue. 
 
 Since the death of her mother, the 
 eldest Miss Mulcaster had governed her 
 father's house, without attempting to 
 govern her sisters ; she was mild and 
 affectionate, solicitous to make her sisters 
 happy, and careless of her own gratific- 
 ations. At seven and twenty, with the 
 complexion of seventeen, a lovely figure, 
 and a Madonna countenance, she chose 
 to consider herself as of matron age ; and, 
 in that persuasion, felt and looked solely 
 anxious to have other girls seen and 
 admired. She was, of course, her father's 
 principal companion : and tenderly be- 
 loved by all for whom her influence with 
 him, procured indulgences. 
 
 Sophia, the second sister, was showy 
 and attractive : she liked to be busy, and 
 amused and amusing j she delighted in
 
 369 
 
 being the centre of a circle, either of men, 
 women, children, or dumb animals. She 
 had the art of pleasing them all, and 
 keeping them all in good humour, — per- 
 haps because she did not excite strong 
 emotions. Nothing could be more ele- 
 gant than her person, or pi-ettier than the 
 play of her countenance. The pretty ex- 
 pressions of the latter, indeed, made very 
 indifferent pleasantries pass for wit, as 
 she uttered them ; and her admirers were 
 accustomed to speak of her, therefore, as 
 singularly entertaining. Of admirers the 
 fair Sophia had crowds, for it had be- 
 come a county fashion, to make one of 
 the train that were at her orders, and fol- 
 lowed her to ball, race, or walk, striving 
 for no more substantial favour at her 
 hands, than the momentary preference of 
 being bid to carry her shawl, or pick up 
 her fan. With this sort of admiration, 
 Sophia Mulcaster w^as so thoroughly satis- 
 fied, that a shrewd relation secretly pro- 
 phesied she would be the only old maid 
 in the family. 
 
 Henrietta, the third girl, was less 
 R 5
 
 370 HONOR o'hara, 
 
 striking, but infinitely more endearing 
 when known. In large parties, she 
 smiled and observed, and said little ; 
 but with the chosen few, she was de- 
 murely comic, if not sportive ; and the 
 timid, down-looking eye was then raised 
 with an arch humour, which was often 
 irresistible. 
 
 Jane, the youngest, had more positive 
 character and beauty, than any one of 
 her sisters : she w^as all bloom, buoyancy, 
 freshness, and mirthfulness : an extrava- 
 gance of good-nature and good-humour, 
 with what are called tearing spirits, made 
 her the joy of the house, and the favourite 
 of their neighbourhood. 
 
 In the inclination to give, Jane was 
 bounty itself: her yearly allowance was 
 always exhausted before it was due ; her 
 charities were indiscriminate, it must be 
 owned, as she never staid to enquire into 
 a case of distress, before she relieved it ; 
 but her gifts of mere good-will, though 
 nearly as numerous, were bestowed on 
 fewer persons. Never could she bear 
 to go to a friend empty-handed; when
 
 S71 
 
 she did not bring them a pre-determined 
 present, it was a ring instantaneously 
 snatched off her finger, or a bracelet off 
 her arm, or an ornamented comb out of 
 her hair, or the plume from her hat; in 
 short a tour amongst her favourites, would 
 at any time send Jane Mulcaster home, 
 stripped of every personal decoration. 
 
 Jane had been out only one year, yet 
 in that short time, it was whispered, she 
 had been as liberal of lier heart as of her 
 trinkets. This, however, was a cruel 
 calumny; the blooming Jane having only 
 been too obviously sorry for two pleasing 
 men, whom neither she herself, nor her 
 father, liked well enough to admit into 
 their family. 
 
 Such were the children of the excel- 
 lent Dean of , who were now 
 
 cantering homewards over roads like life, 
 rough and smooth by turns ; entering 
 into an offensive league against the mis- 
 tress of Shafto Place, and determining to 
 stand up for Miss O'Hara, because that 
 scheming personage evidently sought to 
 put her down. 
 
 R 6
 
 372 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 With as little notice of every natural 
 beauty he had passed on his way to Ha- 
 zeldean, as he then bestowed on them, 
 did Captain Fitz Arthur now retrace the 
 same paths. For some time his thoughts 
 were full of Honoria, — again, he thrilled 
 with those momentary glances which had 
 kindled as brief a transport, — again, he 
 dwelt with saddening intentness upon 
 her rekindled interest, in her champion, 
 the new poet. 
 
 It was too obvious that her heart was 
 yet fluttering, untaken, and uncertain, 
 though longing with natural instinct to 
 wing its way to some sheltering breast ; 
 as obvious, that such shelter was not to 
 be, could never be, his fondly yearning 
 bosom ! Under such conviction, he strove 
 not to think of her. 
 
 Every step he now took towards his 
 home, certainly distanced her image : 
 darker interests usurped the tender ones
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 373 
 
 of love ; whilst at each turning of mea- 
 dow or road, the figure of the stranger 
 he had seen on the avenue at Arthur's 
 Court, seemed to rise before him. 
 
 That ill-omened countenance threat- 
 ened so much of distress and disgrace to 
 all he loved, that he felt it had now be- 
 come his duty to speak upon the subject 
 to his father, and learn what they had 
 yet to dread from this suspected relation. 
 
 To prevent the frustration of this wise 
 resolution, Fitz Arthur went, immediately 
 upon entering the house, to his brother 
 Hylton's apartments, to enquire if he 
 would not take advantage of so fine an 
 afternoon, and drive over to Hazeldean. 
 
 One of Fitz Arthur's additions to his 
 poor brother's means of exercise and 
 amusement, had been a little four-wheeled 
 open carriage, drawn by one sure-footed 
 horse ; and he now urged him to use it, 
 under John Abbot's care ; promising, 
 that if he should stay to take an early 
 tea at Mrs. Preston's, he would himself 
 come and drive him back. 
 
 Fitz Arthur was aware that if Hylton
 
 374 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 remained at home, (though he always 
 dined at a much earher hour tlian the 
 rest of the family,) he would in some 
 measure prove an obstacle to the wished- 
 for confidence : since it was not the cus- 
 tom either of Sir Everard or himselfi to 
 absent themselves long from this' object 
 of their mutual solicitude ; and Hylton 
 himself, was ever eager to accept his 
 father's challenge to chess, or his bro- 
 ther's to some amusing exercise of me- 
 mory. Having previously ascertained 
 that Miss O'Hara w^as not going to spend 
 the day at Hazeldean, and that Mrs. 
 Preston was not going anywhere else, 
 he now" continued to talk of the green 
 hedges, and the balmy air, till Hylton 
 was roused from that lassitude of body 
 and mind too common with invalids, and 
 led to give his assent : the low carriage 
 was then ordered ; and having seen him 
 comfortably seated, and fairly off, he re- 
 tired to make some slight alteration in 
 his own dress. 
 
 The last dinner bell had ceased ; and 
 the orderly steps of the butler, with his
 
 HONOR o'hAUA. 375 
 
 weight of soup and silver, were heard 
 crossing the hall, followed by three of his 
 satellites, bearing dishes of lesser con- 
 sequence, ere Fitz Arthur descended 
 from his room. He had certainly not 
 been looking in the glass all that time : 
 neither had he left his servant ruefully 
 contemplating twenty failures, in the 
 shape of so many neckcloths, ill-tied, or 
 clumsily folded. He had been thinking 
 of any thing but himself So absorbed 
 was he, in settling and altering the way 
 in which he meant to commence his 
 painful enquiry, that even during dinner, 
 his abstraction continued ; he was not 
 aware of this himself, therefore was not 
 prepared for his father's remarks upon 
 such unusual seriousness. 
 
 The moment Mrs. Fothergill was with- 
 drawn, and their plain wines set upon the 
 table. Sir Everard pressed his son to say 
 what had put him so sadly out of spirits. 
 Ending with the affectionate pleasantry 
 of, " I hope you have no reason to fear 
 your fair mistress will refuse you, when 
 you get my consent to ask her ?"
 
 3^6 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 At that instant Fitz Arthur's com- 
 plexion might have been envied by any 
 pale beauty in Europe ; he stammered 
 something that sounded very Hke words, 
 without being words. 
 
 Sir Everard, not a whit the wiser on 
 the subject, continued in the same fatherly 
 tone : " On my life, Delaval, I shall be 
 just as wilHng to give my consent as old 
 Mrs. Letitia herself. Do you think I 
 would have let you ride twice over to 
 visit them, if the good old lady had not 
 said quite enough to me the night they 
 were here, to show what she wished for 
 her heiress ? Faith, when you were danc- 
 ing together on our ball-night, she asked 
 me if I did not think you w^ould make a 
 proper pair for something better than a 
 dance." 
 
 '* Sir, I don*t understand — who are 
 you speaking of, pray?" enquired his 
 son, in greater confusion and agitation. 
 
 ** Come, come, Delaval, don't pretend 
 ignorance. Who should I be talking of, 
 except Mrs. Letitia Branspeth and Miss 
 Clavering ? I always thought when you
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 377 
 
 were in India, from what you used to 
 write about her, that you were a little 
 smitten with your general's daughter. 
 Well — well! another year, and our 
 estates will have worked round ; and she 
 will have seen enough of Vanity-fair, and 
 all the nonsense they take girls to now- 
 a-days ; and after that she'll settle down 
 into a good house-governing wife, like 
 your dear mother. So wait till we are a 
 little clear, and then you shall put the 
 question. We'll go with our six horses 
 on that errand, I can tell you." 
 
 Here, I must beg leave to inform every 
 dashing young lover, who may do me the 
 honour of skimming these pages, that 
 Sir Everard Fitz Arthur, when he spoke 
 of goijig a courting with six horses, had 
 not the most distant idea of tearing 
 off in the hack-chaise-Gretna-green-style, 
 they suppose. He was very properly 
 thinking of the state-coach, and the state- 
 pace of six stately greys. 
 
 By the time his father's little harangue 
 was ended, the son's face was as white as 
 it had just before been red. " Be easy.
 
 378 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 dear sir," he said, in rather a husky 
 voice, affecting composure : " I am never 
 likely to put myself in the way of what I 
 might be pretty sure of — a refusal — were 
 I to ask the hand of Miss Clavering. I 
 give you my word, I never fancied my- 
 self in the least smitten with her, even in 
 India, where I knew her heart had never 
 felt any prepossession. My two visits to 
 Lady Henderson's, while she and Mrs. 
 Branspeth were staying there, w^ere more 
 for her late father's sake than her own, 
 highly, almost affectionately, as I regard 
 her. — I am not given to fall in love, I 
 assure you." (Fitz Arthur sighed, in spite 
 of himself, as he emphasized the words). — 
 ** At this moment something of a much 
 weightier nature occupies me. — I own 
 my mind is exceedingly disturbed — 
 distressed. I wish to ask my father a 
 question ; and I fear to pain, perplex, 
 perhaps displease. — A person I saw by 
 
 chance this morning " Fitz Arthur 
 
 would not go further. 
 
 " Delaval!" exclaimed the Baronet, 
 holding out his hand to him, yet with a
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 379 
 
 deep glow mounting to his very brow, 
 " when didst thou ever do any one of 
 these willingly? — Speak boy, speak out! 
 — What is it thou art afraid to say, or I 
 am to be afraid of hearing ?" 
 
 The colour deepened on the father's 
 forehead, and the son remained silent. 
 The former was the first to break the 
 awkward pause ; he struck his hand sud- 
 denly upon the table, exclaiming, " I'll 
 bet my Chloe against your whelp there, 
 that Wilhelm has been prating — he has 
 told you all about Stephen !" 
 
 Fitz Arthur felt an unaccountable 
 qualm come over him — actual sickness: 
 such is the mysterious force of mind ! 
 His ashy face presented a striking con- 
 trast to the crimson colouring of his 
 father's, while replying in a smothered 
 tone : '' Wilhelm has not explained any 
 thing to me, my dearest father ! but I 
 encountered a well-dressed man in the 
 walnut-avenue, whose appearance there, 
 occupied as he was, in counting notes, 
 made me apprehensive that — that my 
 father has some pecuniary perplexity still.
 
 380 
 
 from which he excludes his son ; may I 
 say, a son ready to submit to the mor- 
 tification of knowing no more than that 
 honoured parent chooses to tell ; nay, of 
 asking no more, should he be told it must 
 be so ; a son that only wishes to be made 
 useful — -to be allowed to stand between 
 his father — and — unnatural imposition 
 perhaps!'' — (Here Fitz Arthur faltered 
 and paused.) " For your own sake, dear 
 sir; for my young brother's sake " 
 
 He stopt abruptly, and affectionately 
 pressing his father's hand, held it as 
 affectionately to his lips. Never once 
 did he raise his eves to the face he con- 
 eluded must now be double-dyed with 
 the colours of shame. 
 
 " And prithee, Delaval," asked Sir 
 Everard, in a moderately embarrassed 
 tone, which his son could not help think- 
 ing would have better honoured his years 
 and character had it been more embar- 
 rassed, " Where then did you hear, if 
 not from Wilhelm, that this poor mis- 
 begotten plagued me for money ?" 
 
 Fitz Arthur's eyes were now rivetted
 
 381 
 
 to the floor. " I merely surmised it, sir, 
 from certain mysterious announcements 
 of his visits to you ; from your gracious 
 openness to me upon the manner in which 
 you spent every part of your income, ex- 
 cept certain small sums at your banker's." 
 (His father's countenance changed vi- 
 sibly.) " In God's name, do not think, 
 dear sir, I presume to question your right 
 to apply these how and where you will ; 
 nay, much, much larger ones. I am ready 
 to acknowledge that the person we speak 
 of has a right to expect, even to claim, 
 due provision ; but I am anxious your 
 feelings should not be imposed upon, my 
 other brothers not injured ; your own too 
 kindly heart " 
 
 " Your other brothers !" repeated Sir 
 Everard, in a tone of genuine astonish- 
 ment. " Why what brothers have you 
 besides Hylton and Thomas ?" 
 
 Fitz Arthur looked up : " Is not the 
 man we talk of, my brother?" 
 
 The hasty question could not be re- 
 called; but his father's look had answered 
 it whilst uttering ; and overpowered with
 
 38^ 
 
 shame at the indignity his agitated spirits 
 had offered that dear parent, Fitz Arthur 
 bent his head again upon the honoured 
 hand in silence. 
 
 *< Oh, now I understand ! now I see !" 
 cried the good Baronet, laughing between 
 tears and mirthfulness ; then recovering 
 himself with something like a sigh, he 
 wrung his son's hand : '* No, my boy ! your 
 old father was never such a reprobate as 
 the fellow that made that boy's mother 
 what she was when he was born ; I loved 
 the pretty girl too well, long before I saw 
 your mother though. All the young fel- 
 lows w^ere in love with her. You must 
 have heard Parson Meredith and me talk 
 of the beautiful Bell Foster. He and I 
 were not friends then, — though the girl 
 cared for neither of us, as it turned out ; 
 and my father would not hear of it. — 
 Come, my boy, cheer up : don't look 
 down again, now you find you need not 
 think a shame of your father!" 
 
 There was much in Sir Everard's 
 speech to keep Fitz Arthur's eyes still 
 down, though no longer from the pious 
 5
 
 HONOR o'hara. 383 
 
 'fear of confusing him. An intolerable 
 weight was at once taken from his heart ;. 
 but he was overpowered by the sudden 
 sensation of relief. His heart swelled ; 
 every thing in the room seemed to turn 
 round with him, and he might have 
 fallen, had not a burst of joyful tears re- 
 lieved him. As his son started from his 
 seat, Sir Everard opened his arms ; their 
 looks reflected each other. Fitz Arthur 
 returned his father's strong pressure with 
 one as strong, yet more agitated; then 
 disengaging himself, hurried out of the 
 apartment. 
 
 Will it be wondered at, that the first 
 words he articulated were addressed in 
 hasty ejaculation to his Father in heaven ? 
 ** My God, I thank thee!" fervently re- 
 peated again and again, was all he was 
 able to say for many minutes, while taking 
 a few disordered turns up' and down the 
 passage. Other words w^ere inadequate 
 to express what was passing within him. 
 He rejoiced that one so worthless as this 
 Stephenappeared, wasnot connected with 
 himself by blood j he rejoiced that his
 
 384 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 innocent brothers were not to be exposed 
 to probable disgrace and suffering on this 
 man's account: above all, he rejoiced 
 that his father's conscience was not bur- 
 thened with the guilt of seduction. He 
 felt too, as if this moment had been the 
 first in his life, to show him how much he 
 loved that artless parent. 
 
 After short absence Fitz Arthur re- 
 joined Sir Everard. The sunshine of 
 happiness was upon his countenance ; it 
 warmed his father's heart. He drew a 
 chair close beside him, and affectionately 
 retakhig his hand, said, ** And who, dear 
 sir, xvas the father of this man ? who, 
 from what you say, I still conclude to 
 be a natural son. What are his claims 
 upon us? — I trust I may now ask these 
 questions, without impertinence or irre- 
 verence." 
 
 The cheerful kindness of his son's 
 voice reassured the Baronet. '* Why, to 
 my shame be it spoken," he replied, ** the 
 scapegrace has no claim upon me in the 
 whole world ; and yet I have been fool 
 enough to let him get such a head of me
 
 385 
 
 somehow, that he has drawn my purse 
 dry often ; when, on my soul, the money 
 ought to have gone to have pushed you 
 on in your profession/' 
 
 " When you tell me who and what he 
 is," said. Fitz Arthur, " I feel pretty 
 sure I shall not think so." 
 
 Sir Everard shook his head, but re- 
 sumed : — " His father was my last lady's 
 only brother ; as handsome and practised 
 a libertine as any going. Poor Bell 
 Foster was only a half-pay navy captain's 
 daughter, with no money, nor much of a 
 bringing up ; her mother being taken off 
 when she was in arms. So a fine man of 
 the world, with a red coat into the bar- 
 gain, was like enough to persuade her that 
 there was no use in asking his friends' 
 consent. The short and the long is, she 
 went off with him, under promises he 
 never fulfilled. She bore him this son, 
 however ; and her father dying of a 
 broken heart six months afterwards, she 
 never held up her head again, (so my 
 wife told me,) but followed him to the 
 grave before her child was six months' 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 386 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 old. I must tell you (to show you the 
 poor girl was no hardened sinner) that 
 from the hour she heard of her father's 
 death, she refused to live with Major 
 Elliot ; went and threw herself and child 
 upon the charity of my tender-hearted 
 Nannie ; then, God help her ! only a girl 
 of sixteen.'' 
 
 " And could Lady Fitz Arthur at that 
 time be of any essential service to her ?" 
 asked Fitz Arthur. 
 
 " Indeed she was," answered Sir Eve- 
 rard. ** She interceded with her father 
 for her maintenance ; and he, seeing that 
 poor Bell was a true penitent, was only 
 too glad to put her out of his son's way. 
 However, as I tell you, she lived but five 
 or six months after Captain Foster's 
 death ; leaving her child a sort of legacy 
 to its young aunt. All would have done 
 very well, had it not pleased God to 
 remove old Mr. Elliot suddenly; upon 
 which, what could my Nannie do, but 
 try to make the major provide properly 
 for his motherless babe? She got him 
 to do it ; that is, to send him to school
 
 HONOR o'hara. 387 
 
 when he was old enough. And she, 
 being too fond of this godless brother — 
 dear soft soul that she was! — hushed up 
 the matter; so that scarcely a creature 
 knows here what became of Bell Foster, 
 or whether she went away to her ruin or 
 her uprise. My Nannie had promised 
 the dying Magdalen that she would be a 
 mother to her child; and I do believe 
 that was the reason I found her a single 
 woman at one and thirty, when she and I 
 first met at Scarborough, above fifteen 
 years ago. She would not consent to 
 marry me, till I had given my consent to 
 her going on with seeing young Stephen, 
 and helping him now and then at a 
 pinch.*' 
 
 *' And this man's father, my dear sir, 
 how did he act?" asked Fitz Arthur, al- 
 most foreseeing the sort of answer. 
 
 " Why, he had him home from school 
 sometimes when he was himself at home, 
 or had him to the places his regiment was 
 quartered at; setting him no good ex- 
 ample, you may be sure ; and at last he 
 got him a commission in some foot regi- 
 s ^
 
 388 
 
 ment, without giving him money to spend 
 in the way he was used to whenever he 
 was in his company. At last. Major 
 Elliot was killed in a duel, leaving no 
 will, nor a penny to Stephen, now nearly 
 eighteen years of age ; and after that the 
 young man fell upon us." 
 
 <* My dear second mother !" exclaimed 
 Fitz Arthur, his eyes filling with tender 
 and grateful recollection: ''I fear she 
 would think it her duty to continue all 
 his fatal indulgences I" 
 
 " Ah, that she did, kind soul !" resumed 
 the artless Baronet. ** We consulted to- 
 gether ; and as the boy was an officer, 
 and had got expensive habits, and had 
 been left so cruelly in the lurch by him 
 that had taught him them, we agreed to 
 make over to him at once, four thousand 
 pounds ; he promising to live upon the 
 interest of that and his pay together. 
 We did ; but. Lord bless us ! then came 
 debts of honour, and other debts, and 
 promotion. In short, the four thousand 
 was run through ; and then it was always 
 begging and writing, or coming to my
 
 HONOR 0*HARA. 389 
 
 poor easy-hearted wife, looking like his 
 father, and talking like his father (always 
 respectful and grateful though) ; many a 
 woman's ornament did the dear soul deny 
 herself, unknown to me, to get him out 
 of troubles: so when it pleased Heaven 
 to take her, I was forced to go on some- 
 thing after the same fashion. Then every 
 time he applied to me, he vowed it should 
 be the last ; so that I did not care to say 
 any thing of the matter to any one, for 
 fear of disgracing him, and ripping up 
 the old grievance of his father's bad be- 
 haviour. Besides, he always takes me 
 unawares. However, I begin to be quite 
 wearied out now ; that is, I think he is 
 growing too much for me to manage by 
 myself: yet I am so afraid of younger 
 blood taking fire 1" 
 
 " If you fear that I should get into a 
 quarrel with this man, my dear father," 
 said Fitz Arthur, " dismiss the idea. I 
 feel now, what I must ever feel on the 
 subject ; something much stronger, yet 
 quieter than anger — indignation at the 
 base ingratitude and cowardice of the 
 s 3
 
 390 HONOR O^HARAr 
 
 profligate !" Fitz Arthur spoke with an 
 energy and sternness unusual to him ; 
 hastening to quell the emotion which, in 
 spite of his belief to the contrary, was 
 fast kindling into wrath, as he thought of 
 his credulous father's long harassment oi' 
 spirit, in consequence of this reprobate's 
 exactions ; he added temperately, " Pray 
 tell me, dear sir, what brought him here 
 to-day." 
 
 <* Why, to get more money, to be 
 sure," replied Sir Everard, with a half- 
 groan. " Twelve months ago he sold 
 out of the army, and embarked in some 
 business, and now he is a bankrupt ; has 
 had a roguish partner, or an unfortunate 
 speculation — I don't clearly understand 
 which — but he came to beg a sum to fit 
 him out for the West Indies, where he 
 says he has a lucrative situation offered 
 him 3 and that if once he and his wife 
 were settled there, they would be sure of 
 a good provision." 
 
 Fitz Arthur shook his head expres- 
 sively. Sir Everard went on : — " I do 
 assure you, Delaval, I was high and hard
 
 HONOR o'hara. 891 
 
 with him this time ; I told him roundly 
 that I did not believe one word he said, 
 and that I should give him the money, 
 because I never meant to giv^ him any 
 more while I had breath : for I had out- 
 run myself so scandalously by such fool- 
 eries, that my sons were like to be 
 beggars for it all the days of their lives ; 
 and that now you were come home, 1 
 was turning over a new leaf, and never 
 meant to spend a penny after this without 
 having your good-will with it." 
 
 Fitz Arthur continued in serious 
 thought for some moments after Sir 
 Everard ceased speaking, then said, some- 
 what hastily, *' I should like to see and 
 talk with this man — I must do so." 
 
 ** You, Delaval !" exclaimed his father: 
 " by my word, that was what made me 
 so shy of telling you the matter. I knew 
 you would run over all my folly in it, and 
 be for taking it up hotly with this poor 
 never-do-good. — You men of the sword 
 are forced to do so, they say. But is not 
 one dear boy in the churchyard enough 
 for a father, Delaval ?" 
 s 4
 
 39^ HONOR o'hARA* 
 
 " My dear father !" was all that Fitz 
 Arthur could say in reply. The mention 
 of his brother, from lips that rarely trusted 
 themselves with Hed worth's name, went 
 to his heart. He saw tears on Sir Eve- 
 rard's cheek, and he turned away his 
 head ; accompanying the respectful 
 movement with a pressure of the hand, 
 expressive of tenderest sympathy. 
 
 When the father and son had reca* 
 vered themselves, the latter explained 
 his purposes so fully and temperately to 
 the former, and so thoroughly convinced 
 him, that instead of wishing to shame and 
 irritate the person in question, he was 
 desirous only of ascertaining his future 
 means of subsistence, and ridding them- 
 selves of continued imposition ; that Sir 
 Everard, entering more into detail of 
 Stephen's proceedings, gave his son the 
 satisfaction of being certain that he had 
 clues to discover all his frauds, and 
 grounds for threatening him with punish- 
 ment, should he resist following any 
 course his injured friends might counsel 
 him to piu'sue. There was so much to
 
 liONOR 0*HARA. 39^ 
 
 blame, or rather to deplore, in the con- 
 duct of Stephen's patrons, that candour 
 acknowledged the youth's extravagances 
 and vices might be fairly attributed to 
 their weak indulgence ; and as such, ought 
 not to be severely dealt with in the man, 
 though they must be resolutely. And 
 for those injudicious patrons too, Fitz 
 Arthur found excuses, in the youth and 
 inexperience and natural partiality of 
 Elliot's sister ; in his father's recollection 
 of an early love, and indulgent fondness 
 for his last wife. Both had acted to the 
 best of their judgment ; and if blame were 
 to be awarded, it was not to be given to 
 either of them. 
 
 Never does the awful denunciation, 
 contained in the second commandment, 
 appear so strictly fulfilled as in the case 
 of illegitimate children ! They come 
 into the world without other inheritance 
 than that of shame and dependence ; 
 they are claimed by none — owned by 
 none; they want the first incentive to 
 every generous affection, namely, a respect- 
 able and fostering home ; they live with-
 
 394 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 out example of good ; and those who 
 gave them being, however theh' remorse- 
 ful hearts may yearn after virtue, dare 
 not enforce its practice by precept alone. 
 
 Illegitimate children, therefore, have 
 neither family bond, family character, 
 family comfort, to lay waste by their ex- 
 cesses ; and untaught to dread offending 
 our Father in heaven, what feeling is to 
 restrain them from selfish gratifications ? 
 The very first institutions of society 
 (those of the married state,) are armed 
 against them ; outlawing them from 
 name and property. How then are the 
 godless amongst these unfortunate per- 
 sons, to help hating such institutions ? 
 
 These, and other apologies of general 
 application for the son of Major Elliot, 
 and others due to the youth's particular 
 circumstances, tempered, in the just 
 mind of Captain Fitz Arthur, as it arose, 
 that strong indignation which would 
 otherwise have rendered it impossible 
 for him to have met, with perfect self- 
 command, the man who had taken such 
 cowardly advantage of his father's best 
 feelings.
 
 HONOR o'hARA. 395 
 
 He was softened also by the pleasure 
 he felt on another score. Never had he 
 beheld his father's amiable heart placed 
 in a more favourable light. With the 
 judgment displayed, he would have no- 
 thing to do : the actuating motives were 
 purely benevolent. There was less 
 weakness and more goodness in the 
 whole affair than Fitz Arthur had given 
 his father credit for, in his first view; 
 and that the concealment which had 
 afflicted him, arose, not from guilty con- 
 sciousness in Sir Everard, but from the 
 dread of personal danger to his son, was 
 a joy for which there was no drawback. 
 
 In the fulness of all these sacred and 
 sweet emotions, Fitz Arthur discussed 
 now his own future purposes. Sir Eve- 
 rard's eyes ran over, when he found that 
 his son would voluntarily renounce the 
 profession in which he had acquired a 
 high reputation, and was still partial to, 
 for tlie sake of brightening his remaining 
 years. 
 
 ** Then I am propped up for life !" he 
 exclaimed. ''God knows, 1 often feel that
 
 396 HONOR O^HAkA. 
 
 I am a child still, and not fit to be trusted 
 to walk alone : any smooth-tongued swin- 
 dler can come over me. I wish it had 
 pleased the Lord to have given me a little 
 more sense amongst the rest of the good 
 things he gave, and I have made away 
 with, for w^ant of it !" 
 
 " Dearest father !" said Fitz Arthur 
 fondly pressing the hand he took, with 
 even more than his usual reverence, 
 '' you do not want mor^e of any quality ; 
 you only require a little less of heart. 
 Yet I do not think there is son or servant 
 of yours that would barter the last for 
 the first. So let us be content with our 
 allotments, and simply stand to our 
 guard, for the time to come.'* 
 
 " I should have told you all about this 
 business long ago," resumed Sir Everard, 
 "but the fellow was cunning enough to 
 keep me up to the secret plan, by hints 
 of his own hot temper, and your probable 
 reproaches for what he had got out of 
 me. And indeed he promised so faith- 
 fully never to trouble me again, after 
 these last hundreds, that I was fain to
 
 HONOR o'hara. 397 
 
 believe you need never be vexed by 
 knowing the fool 1 had been so long. 
 To be sure he has got money enough 
 out of me under divers pretences." 
 
 Fitz Arthur was aware that his father's 
 great error had been neglecting to see 
 that his bounty was actually applied to 
 the purpose for which it w^as said to be 
 required. Had Sir Everard exerted him- 
 self more actively, and rather sought a 
 respectable mode of earning his own 
 maintenance for Stephen, than supplied 
 his immediate wants on every occasion, the 
 man might at last have been established 
 in something useful and gainful. As it 
 was, it appeared too likely that, habitu- 
 ated to live upon begging, he was even 
 now about to waste the money just ob- 
 tained, instead of applying it to a per- 
 manent settlement for himself and his 
 wife. 
 
 It w^as in this belief that Fitz Arthur 
 felt called upon to take a personal share 
 in so painfid a business. He found the 
 man had a wife ; they might have chil- 
 dren : if so, compassion called for his
 
 398 
 
 interference, in addition to the duty he 
 owed his own family; and to preserve 
 their future security, was a sacred obli- 
 gation. 
 
 Whilst considering the character and 
 conduct of the person in question, he 
 was too candid to fail of perceiving that 
 the root of all the mischief lay in Major 
 Elliot's heedless choice of a profession 
 for his son. Having deprived him, by 
 his very birth, of all the rights and privi- 
 leges, and reflected respectability of a 
 gentleman, he ought not to have put him 
 into a situation, where devoid of these, 
 the youth must try to make another sort 
 of consequence for himself; namely, that 
 of freer expenditure than better-born 
 associates. 
 
 A parent in such circumstances, has 
 no reasonable ground for expecting his 
 son to be that prodigy of spontaneous 
 excellence, which teaches how to seek 
 distinction by nobler and worthier paths. 
 
 The just and generous nature which 
 was now meditating over this mass of 
 misery and criminality, felt the moderat-
 
 HONOR o'hara. 399 
 
 ing influence of such reflections act upon 
 his own feeUngs ; and he hoped that, by 
 treating Stephen's past actions with 
 merciful leniency, he might the easier 
 induce him to wish and to will a different 
 course hereafter. 
 
 Mr. Stephen's haunts were in London. 
 Thither Fitz Arthur informed his father 
 he should, with his leave, repair imme- 
 diately. The business of quitting the 
 army would be quicker got through 
 there than in Northumberland ; and with 
 part of the money he might receive for 
 his commission, he inwardly determined, 
 if need were, and the man's assurances 
 justified it, to speed his settlement in 
 some permanent way of providing for a 
 family. 
 
 Neither love nor marriage w^ere again 
 mentioned by father or son. When the 
 Captain's horse was announced (which 
 he meant to ride to Hazeldean, that 
 Abbot might hav^e a conveyance back,) 
 they parted. The heart of one sadly sure, 
 that to think of either love or marriage 
 in his case was desperate 5 since every
 
 400 HONOR o'hara. 
 
 guinea that came to him seemed so 
 strangely to make wings for itself, the 
 moment it reached his hand : the other's 
 state of mind sweet and tranquil; he 
 saw sunshine on the surface of his be- 
 loved Delaval, and he guessed not that 
 
 *' The stream ran in coldness and darkness below." 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. & R, Spottiswoodc, 
 
 New- Street- Square.
 
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